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This morning, they sat enjoying a leisurely
breakfast and Mariah was struck by the thought that if he were her
husband, they would enjoy mornings like this every day. It was a
fantasy that she was allowing herself to indulge in far too often
of late.

"What will you do today?" she asked him
boldly, as though she had a right to inquire.

"Since the roads are too bad to travel to my
mills, I had thought to go as far as the village and set about
finding workers to begin your changes."

"
My
changes?" Mariah gaped at him.
"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, my dear, some of your ideas are rather
elaborate, which is not in the least bit surprising,"

Mariah ignored his sarcasm just as she tried
to ignore the fact that he had called her
his dear
. Was she
becoming dear to him?

"So I will need a carpenter at the very
least. Plus, I need to find someone who can source paper-hangings
and such like."

"But, but — do you mean you are making
all
of the changes I suggested?"

"Well, why not?" he asked grinning. It seemed
he was enjoying himself immensely. "I read your notes — demands
more like — and they all made perfect sense. You have obviously
thought hard about it, and I'm grateful."

"You are?" she asked, a little bewildered.
Usually her helpful notes, which she distributed frequently to
family and friends on a variety of topics, were viewed as
interfering and unwelcome.

"I am. For so many things," he said and his
eyes glowed in a way that set her body on fire.

He hadn't touched her since their talk, but
she wanted him to — quite badly, in fact.

She smiled in response and knew that her love
for him must be stamped across her face. But she couldn't help
it.

A footman entered with more coffee,
effectively breaking the spell, and Mariah glanced down at her
plate feeling suddenly self-conscious.

"What will you do today?" His soft inquiry
started her. "Continue in the library?"

"Well, I had thought to. Though, to be
honest, since you've decided to keep everything, the work is
practically finished. Will she like it, do you think, if she isn't
that fond of books?" she asked of his mother, for whom he had
obviously decided to keep the library, hoping to distract her from
her grief.

"I have no doubt she will love it," he
answered with a cryptic smile on his face.

Mariah frowned a little, feeling like he was
hiding something but was soon distracted by a less than pleasing
thought.

"Actually, if the roads to the village are
passable, I-I should really return home," she said trying not to
sound too heartbroken by the idea.

He didn't respond, and Mariah looked up to
see him frowning at her.

But then his face cleared and he spoke again.
"Yes, I suppose you should. Though I do not want you driving the
gig alone."

She could argue that she was perfectly
capable of driving it alone, but if it meant more time with him she
was staying quiet. "You are probably right. Would you be so kind as
to take me into the village with you when you run your
errands?"

"Of course. However, I — uh, I have just
realised that I have a pressing missive that I must send off to
Carson this afternoon, so my trip to the village may have to be
delayed. Perhaps even until tomorrow. I hope you don't mind?"

Mariah grinned at him, she couldn't help it.
"I do not mind at all," she said, a burst of happiness exploding
inside her.

His answering grin set butterflies fluttering
around her tummy.

"Neither do I."

Mariah spent the morning finishing her
catalogue of books. The library was truly fascinating, and she
hoped with all her heart that it would bring Mrs. Haverton some joy
and through her, some joy to her son. She hadn't been exaggerating
when she said she was practically finished with it, though, and
with a sigh, she closed the ledger on the last of her notes.

To her mind, a gentleman could live extremely
comfortably on the proceeds of the collections should he chose to
sell but she was delighted that Brandon was going to keep it. In
any case, he hardly needed the money. By all accounts he was rather
wealthier than she had originally thought.

She looked out the window and smiled at the
beautiful vista before her.

The winter sun was bright today, blinding her
as it hit the pure white snow.

Everywhere she looked there were footprints,
some hers, dotted round the place but they didn't spoil the view.
If anything it was nice to see footprints around the old manor
house again.

Deciding that a tramp through the snow would
be just the thing, Mariah went and fetched her sturdy outdoor boots
and heavy woollen cloak then set out on a long, meandering
walk.

She wasn't out long however, when a childhood
memory caught her in is grip and she began making a snowman.

Mariah was so taken with the task that she
did not notice the time and she spent a happy couple of hours
building a rather large specimen of snow.

The problem now was that she could not reach
the top to place his head on.

She had just hefted it from the ground in a
most unladylike fashion when the sound of a chuckle sent her
spinning round.

Brandon was grinning at her, looking carefree
and happy. The sight made her heart soar.

"Allow me," he said stepping forward to take
the head from her hands. He stepped to the snowman and placed it
easily on top before stepping back to survey her handiwork.

"It's a little crooked," he said.

"How dare you? He's perfect."

"He?"

"Yes, he. Mr. Snow."

"You've named a man made of snow?"

"Naturally," she answered as if it were
perfectly normal to name piles of snow.

"Are you done?"

"Of course not, he needs a face and some
arms."

"He does?"

"He does."

Brandon gave a long suffering sigh though he
was still smiling.

"Very well then, let's get him finished
before you freeze to death."

Mariah was so elated at spending this time
with him that she didn't question it and they both set about making
him into the best possible snow sculpture possible.

Mariah couldn't remember a happier time than
she spent in the garden that afternoon. Their search for stones and
twigs descended into a snowball battle worthy of Nelson himself,
and Mariah had to admit a laughing defeat before they could
continue with Mr. Snow.

Eventually, as the sky darkened and her teeth
began to chatter in earnest, she declared their creation finished,
and they sauntered back toward the house.

"You will come to the Christmas fete, won't
you?" Mariah asked him through frozen lips that she suspected were
turning blue.

He looked down at her, and his face
registered displeasure.

"You are freezing, Mariah. We should have
come in sooner."

"Nonsense, I'm fine," she said with
chattering teeth. "But the fete?"

"I don't know," he said doubtfully, "what is
it?"

Mariah laughed.

"What do you think it is?" she asked. "'Tis
nothing painful, I assure you. Just some carolling, food, hot
cider, dancing."

"I don't dance," he said, suddenly sounding
quite petulant.

"
Can
you dance?" she asked.

"Well, yes," he answered grudgingly, suddenly
showing an intense interest in his Hessian boots.

"Then you dance," she smiled.

"I'll dance if I can dance with you," he
said, lifting his eyes now and smiling.

Mariah smiled shyly in answer. "I'm sure that
can be arranged."

The mood was somewhat ruined suddenly when
Mariah stepped on a stone hidden beneath the snow and took a
tumble. She reached out for purchase to stop her fall and grabbed
hold of his coat. But since he wasn't expecting it, all she
succeeded in doing was pulling him on top of her.

They landed with a thump in the snow, and
Brandon immediately reared up on his hands peering at her, his eyes
lit with concern.

She was and she found the situation most
amusing. She burst out laughing, not caring that her hair was now
being soaked by the freezing snow on which she lay.

She looked up into his eyes and the laughter
died on her lips.

Good heavens, he was beautiful.

Without thought to her actions, she lifted a
hand and brushed a lock of hair from his brow.

Her simple action was like a tinder to a
fire.

She watched, bemused, as his control snapped
and he dove down, plundering her mouth with his.

Mariah gasped at the welcome invasion,
twining her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

He groaned and complied, rolling over and
carrying her with him so that she lay atop him.

Oh, God. Mariah could quite happily stay
there forever.

The kiss went on and on, and she knew that
she wanted more. That if he were to ask for more, she would give it
to him.

The sound of a gentle throat clearing had
them springing apart, and Mariah scrambled hastily to her feet.

She turned and saw a woman whom she had never
seen before eyeing them both with eager interest.

"Hello, darling" she said to Brandon who was
standing now with a look on his face like he was heading to the
gallows. The woman was smiling, though the sadness in her eyes
clenched around Mariah's heart.

Dear Lord. This could only be his mother.

"We decided to come early and surprise you,"
she said softly. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your, er,
friend?"

Mariah's cheeks flamed. The woman
was
his mother. And she'd just caught Mariah sprawled over her son.

Mariah had made her
escape as soon as possible without seeming rude, though she
laughed, albeit hysterically, at the thought of being concerned
about rudeness when she'd been attacking Brandon on the front lawn
not thirty minutes ago.

What on earth would his mother think of her
now?

As she waited for her bath to come, Mariah
paced agitatedly up and down her room.

Brandon had changed with his mother's
arrival, reverting back to the surly, sullen man he'd been
before.

She tried not to be hurt by it but she was.
Of course she was.

He must be furious with her.

She turned with a smile of relief on her face
as the door opened, no doubt heralding the arrival of her hot water
but instead a tiny person bounded into the room, a blur of golden
curls and white dress.

"Hello." The blur skidded to a halt and
addressed her shyly.

Mariah smiled at the gorgeous creature who
had just burst into her room.

"Hello, there," she answered kneeling down to
the child's level. "I think I know who you are. You're Charlotte,
are you not?"

"I am," answered the little one, her
cornflower blue eyes huge in her baby face. She was an absolute
doll, and from Brandon's description of her, the very image of her
poor mother. "But everyone calls me Lottie."

"What a pretty name for a pretty young lady.
May I call you Lottie?"

Lottie nodded then tilted her head and
studied Mariah closely. "I know who you are too."

"Oh, you do?"

"Yes, you're the damned nuisance that Uncle
Brandon won't marry."

Mariah felt as if she'd been doused in icy
water. "I… beg your pardon?" she said in astonishment.

Lottie shrugged in that marvellously uncaring
way that children had and repeated it.

"At least, that's what Uncle Brandon just
shouted at grandmamma. I'm sure one of those words is naughty
because Uncle Brandon always says naughty words when he's cross,
and he's very cross now."

"Lottie, will you excuse me?" Mariah said
without waiting for an answer as she swept from the room.

She reached the drawing room but paused
outside as the battle that Lottie had heard clearly raged on.

"You simply cannot cavort with a respectable
young lady in full view of God knows who and
not
marry her,
Brandon. It is simply not done."

"Do you think I give a damn about what's done
or not?" Brandon was yelling. "I am warning you, Mother. Let this
drop. I will not be trapped in the parson's noose because of one
meaningless kiss."

"How can you say such a thing?" his mother
demanded while outside the room, Mariah's heart broke in two.
"After the way your sister—"

"This is
nothing
like Daphne," Brandon
bellowed. "I haven't touched her save for a few kisses, and nor do
I intend to. How can you think I would do such a thing?"

"I don't," his mother replied now in soothing
tones. "But still, Brandon. The girl has a reputation to think of.
Besides, I saw the way you looked at her and she you. Clearly there
is some feeling between you. Some affection."