Twelve Days in December: A Christmas Novella (10 page)

Feeling as if she was the most wretched woman ever to have lived— for being unfaithful to Matthew and unloving to William— Charlotte had spent a long night crying herself to sleep.

Voices sounded outside the alcove, so Charlotte stood, prepared to leave if her place of respite was discovered.

“He’s even more pathetic than when we were engaged,” a female voice announced. “I heard he had to practically beg the woman to marry him— and she’s not even from our circles.”

“I heard she’s a widow,” another female voice said.

The first spoke again. “I heard that too. And she has a child. William Vancer couldn’t even find a woman who hadn’t been married already.” A fit of giggles followed.

Charlotte held her breath and took a step back, lest the curtain rustle and she be revealed. Who were these women, and why were they speaking so unkindly of William?

“Well, one thing is certain. He doesn’t love her
. I
broke his heart when I eloped with Avery the day William and I were to be married, and it will take more than some widowed farm girl for him to forget that day, and to forget me.”

“That he has married suggests that he has, dear,” a third voice chimed in.

“That’s what you think,” the first woman said. “Would you care for a small wager on the matter? The men needn’t have all the fun gaming.”

“I don’t know, Daphne. I’ve seen William Vancer when he’s angry, and he isn’t one you wish to cross.”

“Anger is not the emotion I plan to illicit from him.” The woman who had to be Daphne laughed. “Come along, girls, and I will prove to you that I’ve ruined Mr. Vancer for any woman who might set her cap for him— including that mousey wife of his.”

There was murmured agreement to this, and the group moved off. Charlotte peeked through the curtain as soon as she dared and caught a glimpse of a yellow gown before it disappeared around the corner into the ballroom.

Bringing a hand to her head, she leaned against the wall.
William was engaged to be married before— before Marsali and Lydia.
He had not spoken of it, and little wonder, given the sound of the abuses he had suffered at this woman’s— at Daphne’s— hand.

“I broke his heart…”
Why would someone boast of such an act? Charlotte felt a surge of protective anger.
William is out there— with that woman, who intends to hurt him again.

I will not let her
. Jamming her sore feet into her slippers, she decided what she must do. She left the alcove but, instead of returning to the ballroom, hurried up the stairs to the hall above. Once there, she looked down upon the occupants of the ballroom until she located her husband, speaking with a group of men.

Still safe, then.

Charlotte did not bother searching for the woman in the yellow gown but instead flew down the staircase and crossed the ballroom to stand at William’s side. He was still conversing with two men she had been introduced to on their wedding day and again this evening, Lord Thornthrope and Mr. Astor. Charlotte placed her hand upon William’s arm and waited, not so patiently, for him to finish speaking.

With the first lull in conversation, he looked at her, surprise registering on his face. Worry must have shown on hers.

“Are you all right? Has something happened?”

“Not at all.”
Not yet, anyway.
She forced a smile. “I have missed your company this evening is all.”

“It’s a rare woman who says that to her husband,” Lord Thornthrope said jovially.

“Good for you, Vancer, for finding yourself a wife who cares for more than your pocketbook,” Mr. Astor said.

“I have been most fortunate,” William said, bestowing a look of such tender affection upon her that Charlotte felt her confidence boosted in what she was about to ask of him. There might not be love between them, but there was respect and friendship and a strong attraction, and perhaps that would be enough— for a few minutes, at least— to pretend something more.

“The night grows late, and we have yet to dance,” Charlotte said.

William’s mouth lifted in a smile. “A situation we must remedy at once.” He

gave a slight bow to their companions. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen.”

Charlotte curtsied to them. “Good eve. It was a pleasure to see you again.” They offered similar sentiments, then stepped aside, allowing William to lead her toward the center of the floor, where couples were taking their places for the next waltz. Charlotte leaned in close to him as they walked. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she pled, “I have a favor to request.”

“Anything.” He paused, glancing at her with concern. “What is it you wish?”

“Please dance with me… as if you are in love with me.” The words sounded needy and desperate, but Charlotte could take no thought for her own pride at this moment— only his was at stake. She must show that Daphne woman that she had not crushed William, that he had moved beyond the hurt she had caused him.

That he is so much better than she.

William’s brows drew together with concern, and he reached his hand up to cover hers on his arm. “I care a great deal for you, Charlotte.”

“I know.” She spoke hastily and as quiet as possible. “I will explain later. Just please. Pretend feelings beyond our friendship— for this one dance, I beg of you.”

“You need not beg.” The tension between his brow ceased, and his gaze upon her turned tender once more. He brushed a straying hair from her face and allowed his hand to linger. “Only know this. I am not good at pretending, so do not mistake my actions for that. As I told you once before, when I begin something, I never change course. What I start in this moment, with this dance, is irrevocable.”

Charlotte felt herself nodding slowly, so as not to break their gaze or to entirely give her word that she was in agreement or understood.
Pretending to love me is irrevocable or…
The other possibility was too frightening.
Ours is a marriage of convenience
. She’d been telling herself that for nine days now and believing it less and less.

But she had reconciled her mind and heart to that course. To venture into deeper feelings would require further emotional distance from Matthew. He could not be her last thought at night if she allowed herself to love William. Already she struggled with that, with remembering Matthew often enough and the feelings she had for him.
But it will become easier again, when our twelve days in December are over.
William would return to spending his days at work, and she would settle into the routine of being mistress of his house, drawing on different memories— those of her mother when Charlotte was but a girl and they had lived on a grand estate in France.

Friendship, nothing more.
But for this one dance, for the remainder of the night, she must pretend otherwise.

During her musings, William had guided them to take their places for the waltz. He faced her. “Of a sudden you have grown quite serious. Do you wish to recant your request?”

“Not at all.” She gave him what she hoped was a coy look, peering up through her eyelashes. She should not have become discomfited by his words. That was all they were— words. And this was all pretending, and she must do it well. She cared for him and could not bear the things she’d heard Daphne say of him.

Recalling those, and how much gratitude she felt to William for literally rescuing her and Alec, Charlotte placed her hand on his shoulder and lifted her head to meet his gaze. His eyes held no amusement, but rather a new intensity she had not witnessed before.

His hand came to her waist, pulling her in closer than necessary, or perhaps decent. His other hand claimed hers, but not before he brought it to his lips for a lingering kiss.

The first strains of music began, and William stepped forward and was soon leading her in flawless circles about the room. She wasn’t certain how he could guide them so skillfully, as his gaze never left hers to look elsewhere and judge where they might be going or the distance between other couples. Charlotte found herself unable to look away. The blue of his eyes seemed to deepen as they regarded her in a way they had not before.

“You look beautiful tonight.” His gaze at last left her own to drop to her lips.

“Thank you.” She sounded and felt breathless, though the dance was not taxing. “It is all I can do to appear fine enough to stand at the side of my handsome husband.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Do you know that I cannot recall a time— before now— when someone told me that I am handsome?”

“Well, you are.” Charlotte tucked that information away, telling herself she must remember to compliment him often.

“Then we are both fortunate, indeed, as will our children be.”

He squeezed her hand as he said this, both his action and words causing her heart to pound. Of course he would want children of his own. She’d known that when she agreed to marry him. But she had also believed it would be some time—
years?
— before either felt comfortable enough to broach that subject. What had she done in asking him to pretend love?

From the corner of her eye, Charlotte caught a flash of yellow.

She longed to look and see the face of the person attached to it but dared not. Neither did she need to, in order to confirm her suspicions. In the second she had been distracted, William’s face had paled. His jaw clenched tight, and his grip on her hand became almost painful.

It is she. This woman who hurt him.

Desperate to distract him, to save him further pain, Charlotte returned to the subject at hand. “William, how many children would you like?”

“How many—” His gaze snapped back to her.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath and plunged on. “The farming families where I lived in Virginia had quite a number of children— some as many as a dozen. But I imagine that here in the city it is different.”

“I don’t really know,” he admitted. “I have not paid attention to such things, nor thought on them much myself.”

That was reassuring, at least. “But you would— like a child of your own. At least one.” She could not quite believe they were having this conversation
here
in the middle of a crowded ballroom, just days after they had wed. But she could think of nothing else that might distract him enough.

She dared a glance to her left and caught the woman in the yellow dress staring at them. Charlotte turned quickly back to William and found him watching her, a look of sudden understanding dawning.

He drew her closer yet and bent to whisper in her ear. “I would like a child, Charlotte.
Our
child. No one else’s. Certainly not Daphne Hyde’s.” He circled them away, maneuvering, Charlotte suspected, to get them farther from his former fiancée.

“However,” he continued, his face close to hers once more. “All in good time. I find that I should very much like to kiss you first.” Upon saying this he drew back, as if to gauge her reaction.

Though she’d believed herself beyond blushing, Charlotte felt her cheeks heating. And she could not seem to keep her eyes from William’s mouth, from those inviting lips that were smiling at her in a knowing sort of way.

She felt suddenly grateful for the pressure of his hand at her back, and for the strength of his arm supporting hers midair, for she felt weak and unable to think clearly.

Looking into his eyes once more, a rush of emotion that had nothing to do with gratitude crashed over her. This man she was dancing with, this intelligent, kind, handsome man, was hers. Surely he could have had his choice of many women, yet somehow it was she who had the good fortune to be here in his arms.
To be his wife. To someday carry his child.

She felt dizzy and overly warm and delightfully giddy all at once, as if she’d just awoken and realized where she was and who she was with.
He is mine. I am his.
It was more than the sense of security she had craved, more than the friendship that had grown in the past days.
Frighteningly more.
She felt like a schoolgirl again and, had she only closed her eyes, might have believed she was back in England, a seventeen-year-old girl dancing with a man for the very first time.

Instead of closing, her eyes opened wide as she recognized the feelings, the intensity she had not felt for so very long.
Matthew, forgive me.
But it was a half-hearted prayer. Her thoughts were all for the man before her. The one whose gaze spoke of longing and need and… love.

“There was no need to ask me to pretend,” he whispered as their dance came to a close. “I am enchanted by you, and more than that, am coming to love you more rapidly than I ever would have believed possible.
You, Charlotte,
are the miracle of my life.”

“I have thought of you the same way,” she admitted. Only now it was a different sort of wonder she felt taking place. “Oh, William.” She lay her head against his shoulder, heedless of what others around them might think.

He tucked his head close to hers. “I think I have had enough dancing for tonight. Let us go home.”

December 30

Charlotte woke the next day to find that Lady Cosgrove had returned, after seeing Marsali safely installed at Charlotte’s previous place of employment. Charlotte was sad to learn that Christopher had not yet been located, and she spent a moment of worry, wondering what would happen should he not be found.