Once Upon a Kiss (Book Club Belles Society) (32 page)
Read Once Upon a Kiss (Book Club Belles Society) Online
Authors: Jayne Fresina
No, he will not come. I have resolved myself to it.
How gray the sky is today. So many leaves are blowing about in the lane that I cannot
Justina dropped her pen and leaped up for a better view through the window.
Darius Wainwright strode down the lane with a letter in his hand. As he neared their gate he encountered a puddle and rather than walk around it, as one might expect of a very proper gentleman, he jumped, clearing it easily. She saw him smile as he opened the gate.
Knocking her chair over in haste, she ran from the bedchamber, flew down the stairs, across the hall, and flung open the front door while he was still reaching for the bell cord.
“You came.”
He looked startled, then his features relaxed in a broad, wretchedly handsome smile. “Of course.”
Standing aside, she gestured for him to enter, glancing nervously over her shoulder, not wanting her mother to know he was there until he had spoken with her father and all was settled. Although she did not expect anyone to raise an objection at the prospect of being rid of her at last, she still could not quite allow herself to believe it was all happening. Not to her.
“Did you come for your hat and gloves?” she asked in some belated attempt to be demure.
“No.” He laughed. “I came for my mistress.”
Oh, gracious, she sincerely hoped her mama was nowhere nearby to hear that.
“This arrived for you,” he said, handing her the letter. “I passed the haberdasher just as the post arrived, and he had this in his bag today. It must be important, as I’ve seen you waiting impatiently for the mail before, so I thought I’d better bring it here directly.”
She opened it while he waited. One quick scan of the letter was not enough to absorb what she read. Two more perusals made it certain.
Her manuscript had been accepted for publication.
With all these things falling around her like the autumn leaves in their lane, she could not think what to do first. After turning and stepping in every direction, she suddenly came up against Wainwright’s chest again and he held her arms.
“What is it, Justina? You’ve gone white as the ghost of Nellie Pickles.”
She looked up at him gravely. “You may not wish to marry me now.”
“Whyever not? What have you done now, woman?”
When she handed him the letter he read it quickly. She watched him, wringing her hands together. Surely he would not want a wife who wrote books. What gentleman would?
Finally, he folded the letter and gave it back to her. His eyes were warm as he cupped his hands around her face and kissed her. “This is wonderful news, Justina. Why on earth would I
not
want to marry you now?”
“You don’t mind?”
“Good Lord, no! You have an incredible imagination, and it should be put to use.”
She flung her arms around his neck, knowing then that she loved him deeply and need have no more fears about the future.
He chuckled gently. “Just don’t ever write about me in your books.”
“Don’t worry about that,” she assured him. “Someone already has.”
December 1815
His niece, Sarah, bounced on her hay bale, applauding wildly as the players took their final bow. Darius had never seen her quite so animated and excitable, but she had evidently enjoyed the play. Her face was shining with merriment, and she had laughed throughout—even at parts that were not supposed to be humorous.
It was gratifying to hear her say, “Uncle Darius, I’m so glad you sent for me. I’d much rather spend Christmas here with you and Aunt Jussy than in Dorset or London.”
He was cognizant now of not always having concerned himself with her entertainment. His first priorities had been fixed elsewhere, but his niece was almost sixteen and would soon be out in Society. He did not want her to be shy and withdrawn as he had been, afraid to laugh or to love. She was lucky to have an aunt like Justina, who would encourage the girl out of her shell. The two were good friends already.
Too furious with Darius for marrying a bride of his own choosing, his stepsister had dashed off to Dorset, not remaining to fulfill her role in the play. Much to everyone’s astonishment, Miss Milford stayed behind and took over the lady’s part. She had, it seemed, taken an unexpected liking to the village of Hawcombe Prior and found herself useful in managing the life of Mr. Kenton.
Miles had taken Miss Catherine Penny to meet his family in London and their wedding would take place in the spring. Darius and Justina had not felt it necessary to wait that long. Just as well, considering his young wife’s condition. She had been content with a very brief engagement and a hasty, small wedding, for he didn’t want her changing her mind before he got her to the altar.
His wife rushed over now to find out what he thought of her play.
“My darling,” he smiled at her, “what was there not to love? Scenery falling on the actors’ heads—particularly on Augusta Milford’s. Improvised lines substituted for those forgotten, and Miss Sherringham speaking not only her own part, but that of the other actor in her scene too. It was a triumph.”
“Next year, you must play a part, Mr. Critic!”
“Only if I get to kiss a pretty girl named Justina.”
She pursed her lips. “It’s a serious play, Wainwright, not a Parisian music hall burlesque.”
So he had to make do with kissing his wife there and then, much to the shock of the good residents of Hawcombe Prior.
“Now, Sarah, tonight I shall introduce you to the Book Club Belles,” she said, taking his niece’s hand. “They are all anxious to meet you.” Thus she whisked the timid girl away to where Rebecca, Lucy, and Diana waited.
The old Darius might not have approved of his niece reading romances with the wayward ladies of the Book Society. Mrs. Birch, he thought with a smile, certainly wouldn’t.
Better get back to Midwitch and make certain Sir Morty had a few extra bales of straw tonight. Wouldn’t want the dear old fellow to catch cold.
As Darius turned away, carefully avoiding eye contact with Farmer Rooke, who was still intent on securing a standing bacon order for Midwitch, he glanced toward the open door of the barn and saw it was snowing outside. The merry Yuletide scene was complete. Justina would be pleased.
But a tall figure stood framed against the dark sky—a man in military uniform under a tattered greatcoat. He wore no hat and snow gathered on his dark hair. At his booted feet rested a large leather sack. His face was sun-browned, his eyes startling, capturing a strange, intense heat. A thick trimming of snow covered his wide shoulders like an ermine cape, so he must have been out in the snow for a while.
He looked at Darius and his weatherworn, deeply tanned face eased into a broad grin. “Hello, Handles! Yuletide felicitations to you.”
It was Lucius “Lucky” Wainwright, back from the dead.
***
In his sty, warm and comfortable, Sir Mortimer Grubbins had dug himself a snug hole in the thick straw. Here he settled down for a nap as night fell and the snow came with it. For a moment he kept his bright eyes open and fixed upon his newfound treasure, the pearl and ruby locket he’d dug up out of the orchard and brought here to his cozy nest. But eventually sleep overtook the beast, and he closed his eyes, slumbering contentedly.
Thanks so much to Aubrey, Danielle, Cat, Rachel, and all the folks at Sourcebooks for everything they do. Thanks also to my friends, family, and readers for their support.
Jayne Fresina sprouted up in England, the youngest in a family of four daughters. Entertained by her father’s colorful tales of growing up in the countryside, and surrounded by opinionated sisters—all with far more exciting lives than hers—she’s always had inspiration for her beleaguered heroes and unstoppable heroines. Visit
www.jaynefresina.com
.
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