A Wallflower Christmas (15 page)

Glancing upward as she finished reading
A Christmas Carol,
Hannah saw the rapt faces of the children, their eyes shining. There was a brief silence, the shared pleasure of a wonderful story tinged with the regret that it had to end. And then they were all standing, moving about the room, their faces sticky with milk and cookie crumbs, their small hands clapping enthusiastically.

There were two imps on her lap, and one hugging her neck from behind the chair. Hannah looked up as Rafe Bowman approached her. The rhythm of her heart went
wild, and she knew her shortness of breath had nothing to do with the small arms clamped around her neck.

His gaze strayed to her disordered clothes and tousled coiffure. “Well done,” he murmured. “You've made it feel like Christmas. For everyone.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, trying not to think of his hands on her skin, his mouth—

“I need to talk to you.”

Carefully Hannah dislodged the children from her lap and disentangled the arms from her neck. Standing to face him, she tried in vain to straighten her dress and smooth her skirts. She took a deep breath, but her voice emerged with a dismaying lack of force. “I…I don't see how any good could come of that.”

His gaze was warm and direct. “Nevertheless, I'm going to talk to you.”

The words from his letter drifted through her mind.
“I want to kiss every soft place of you…”

“Please not now,” she whispered, with her face flushing and an ache rising in her throat.

Reading the signs of her distress, he relented. “Tomorrow?”

“I need too much of you…”

“Yes,” she said with difficulty.

Comprehending how deeply his presence unnerved her, Rafe gave her a slight nod, his jaw firming. It seemed there were a dozen things he wanted to say, words hovering impatiently on his lips, but something…compassion or pity perhaps…afforded him the necessary self-restraint.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated quietly, and left her.

Nannies and nurserymaids came to collect the children, and Hannah went out into the hallway in a daze of misery.

No one had ever told her that love could make every cell in one's body hurt.

She was becoming fairly certain that she would not be able to attend Rafe and Natalie's wedding, that all the events of their married life, the births of children, the celebrations and rituals, would be impossible for her to tolerate. She would stew in jealousy and despair and resentment until she disintegrated. The common wisdom for a woman in her situation was that someday she would meet another man, and she would forget all about Rafe Bowman. But she didn't want another man. There was no one else like him.

I'm doomed,
she thought.

With her head lowered, she plowed along the hallway, intending to go to her room, where she could mope and cry in private. Unfortunately, walking with one's head down meant one could not precisely see where one was going. She nearly collided with a woman approaching from the opposite direction, someone who walked with a distinctively long, free stride.

They both stopped abruptly, and the woman reached out to steady Hannah.

“My lady,” Hannah gasped, recognizing Lillian. “Oh…I'm so sorry…I beg your pardon…”

“No harm done,” the countess assured her. “My fault, actually. I was hurrying to tell the housekeeper something before I had to meet my sister, and—” She paused and stared at Hannah closely. “You look ready to cry,” she said bluntly. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Hannah said brightly, and a few hot tears spilled out. She sighed and bent her head again. “Oh,
bollocks.
Forgive me, I must go—”

“You poor thing,” Lillian said with genuine sympathy, seeming not at all shocked by the profanity. “Come with me. There's a private parlor upstairs where we can talk.”

“I can't,” Hannah whispered. “My lady, forgive me, but you're the last person I can confide in about this.”

“Oh.” The countess's eyes, the same velvet brown as her brother's, widened slightly. “It's Rafe, isn't it?”

More tears, welling up no matter how tightly she closed her eyes against them.

“Is there a friend you can talk to?” Lillian asked softly.

“Natalie is my best friend,” Hannah said between sniffles. “So that's impossible.”

“Then let me be your friend. I'm not sure I can help—but at least I can try to understand.”

They went to a cozy parlor upstairs, a private receiving room decorated in a plush, feminine style. Lillian closed the door, brought Hannah a handkerchief, and sat beside her on the settee. “I insist that you call me Lillian,” she said. “And before either of us says a word, let me assure you that everything in this parlor will remain completely private. No one will know.”

“Yes, my—Lillian.” Hannah blew her nose and sighed.

“Now, what happened to make you cry?”

“It's Mr. Bowman…Rafe…” She could not seem to put her words in the proper order, and so she let them tumble out, even knowing Lillian would never be
able to make sense of them. “He is so…and I've never…and when he kissed me I thought
no,
it's merely infatuation, but…and then Mr. Clark proposed, and I realized I couldn't accept because…and I know it's too soon. Too fast. But the worst part is the letter, because I don't even know who he wrote it for!” She went on and on, trying desperately to make herself understood. Somehow, miraculously, Lillian managed to make sense of the mess.

While Hannah poured out the whole story, or at least an expurgated version, Lillian gripped her hands firmly. As Hannah paused to blow her nose again, Lillian said, “I'm going to ring for tea. With brandy.”

She pulled the servants' bell, and when a maid came to the door, Lillian cracked it open and murmured to her. The maid went to fetch the tea.

Just as Lillian returned to the settee, the door opened, and Daisy Swift poked her head inside. She looked mildly surprised to see Hannah sitting there with Lillian. “Hello. Lillian, you were supposed to play cards.”

“Hang it, I forgot.”

Daisy's brown eyes were filled with curiosity and sympathy as she glanced at Hannah. “Why are you crying? Is there something I can do?”

“This is a very private and highly sensitive matter,” Lillian told her. “Hannah's confiding in me.”

“Oh, confide in me, too!” Daisy said earnestly, coming into the room. “I can keep a secret. Better than Lillian, as a matter of fact.”

Without giving Hannah a chance to respond, Daisy closed the door and came to sit beside her sister.

“You are to tell
no one,
” Lillian said to Daisy sternly. “Hannah is in love with Rafe, and he's going to propose to Lady Natalie. Except that he's in love with Hannah.”

“I'm not sure about that,” Hannah said in a muffled voice. “It's just…the letter…”

“Do you still have it? May I see it?”

Hannah regarded her doubtfully. “It's very private. He didn't want anyone to read it.”

“Then he should have burned the damn thing properly,” Lillian said.

“Do show us, Hannah,” Daisy urged. “It will go no further, I promise.”

Carefully Hannah pulled the scrap of parchment from her pocket and gave it to Lillian. The sisters bent over it intently.

“Oh, my,” she heard Daisy murmur.

“He doesn't mince words, does he?” Lillian asked dryly, her brows lifting. She glanced at Hannah. “This is Rafe's handwriting, and I've no doubt he was the author. But it is unusual for him to express himself in such a manner.”

“I'm sure he knows many pretty phrases to attract women,” Hannah mumbled. “He's a rake.”

“Well, yes, he's a rake, but to be so open and effusive…that's not like him. He's usually—”

“A rake of few words,” Daisy finished for her.

“My point is, he was clearly moved by a very strong feeling,” Lillian told Hannah. She turned to her younger sister. “What do you think, Daisy?”

“Well, reading such sentiments from one's brother is slightly revolting,” Daisy said. “Wine and honey,
et cetera. But regardless of that, it's clear that Rafe has fallen in love for the first time in his life.”

“The letter may not have been meant for me—” Hannah began, when the door opened again.

It was Evie, Lady St. Vincent, her red hair arranged in a loose chignon. “I've been looking for you,” she said.

“We haven't seen you for days,” Lillian said. “Where have you been?”

Evie's color deepened. “With St. Vincent.”

“What have you been…Oh, good God. Never mind.”

Evie's gaze fell on Hannah. “Oh, dear. Are you all right?”

“We're discussing something
highly
private,” Daisy told her. “Hannah's in love with Rafe. It's a secret. Come in.”

Evie entered the room and sat in a nearby chair, while Lillian succinctly explained the situation. “May I see the letter?” she asked.

“I don't think—” Hannah began, but Daisy had already given it to her.

“Don't worry,” Lillian murmured to Hannah. “Evie's better than anyone at keeping secrets.”

After Evie had finished reading, looking up with round blue eyes, Hannah said morosely, “It may not have been intended for me. It could just as easily have been written for Natalie. Men adore her. They're
always
proposing to her, and she manages them so well, and I can't manage them at all.”

“N-no one can manage men,” Evie told her firmly. “They c-can't even manage themselves.”

“That's right,” Lillian said. “And furthermore, any woman who thinks she can manage men shouldn't be allowed to have one.”

“Annabelle can manage them,” Daisy said reflectively. “Although she would deny it.”

There was a brief tap at the door.

“The tea,” Lillian said.

However, it was not a maid, but Annabelle Hunt. “Hello,” she said with a smile, her gaze sweeping across the group. “What are we doing?” As she looked at Hannah, her expression softened with concern. “Oh, you've been crying.”

“She's in love with Rafe Bowman,” Evie said. “It's a s-secret. Come in.”

“Tell
no one,
Annabelle,” Lillian said severely. “This is confidential.”

“She's not very good with secrets,” Daisy said.

“I am, too,” Annabelle said, coming into the parlor. “At least, I am good at keeping big secrets. It's the little ones I seem to have a problem with.”

“This is a big one,” Lillian told her.

Hannah waited with resignation as the situation was explained to Annabelle.

Receiving the letter, Annabelle scanned the scorched parchment, and a faint smile came to her lips. “Oh, how lovely.” She looked up at Hannah. “This was not meant for Lady Natalie,” she said decisively. “Hannah, Rafe's attraction to you has not gone unnoticed. In fact, it has been discreetly remarked upon.”

“She means everyone's gossiping about you,” Daisy said to Hannah.

“I believe,” Annabelle continued, “that Rafe likes
Lady Natalie—there is certainly much about her to like. But he loves
you
.”

“But it's impossible,” Hannah said, her face drawn with miserable tightness.

“Impossible that he could love you?” Daisy asked. “Or impossible because of the infernal deal that Father has set up for him?”

“Both,” Hannah said dolefully. “First, I don't know if what he feels for me is merely infatuation…” She paused to blot her burning eyes.

“‘Ask me an hour from now,'” Annabelle read softly from the letter. “‘Ask me a month from now. A year, ten years, a lifetime…' That's not infatuation, Hannah.”

“But even if it's true,” Hannah said, “I would never accept him, because he would lose everything, including his relationship with his father. I would not want him to make such a sacrifice.”

“Neither should Father,” Lillian said darkly.

“Perhaps I should mention,” Daisy volunteered, “that Matthew is determined to have it out with Father on this issue. He says Father can't be allowed to run to such excesses. Limits must be set, or he'll try to trample over
everyone
. And since Matthew has a great deal of influence with Father, it's very possible that he can make him retract his demands.”

“But no matter what,” Annabelle told Hannah, “you have nothing to do with the relationship between Rafe and his father. Your only obligation is to make your feelings known to Rafe. Out of love for him—and for your own sake as well—you must give Rafe a choice. He deserves to know your feelings before he makes important decisions about his future.”