The Frost Fair (32 page)

Something in the gallant friendliness of his manner and a new, warm smile in his eyes as he looked at her set her pulse hammering. Nervously, she put a hand to her tumbled hair and tried to brush it back out of the way. “Yes, there
is
a reason but it's rather … er … private. Mortimer, would you very much mind if I spoke to Sir Geoffrey alone for a moment or two?”

A chill gust of wind brushed by them at that moment, and Geoffrey, not really aware of what he was doing, reached out and lifted Meg's fallen hood back in its proper place. Meg's eyes flew from Mortimer's to his in questioning gratitude.

Mortimer looked from one to the other with dawning suspicion. “Ah, so
that's
the way of things, is it? Set your sights on Carrier now, eh? That's why you've played cat-and-mouse with me!”

Meg expelled a furious breath. “Really, Mortimer,
must
you make these embarrassing outbursts? I'm completely losing my patience with you!”

“Losing
mine
, too,” Mortimer countered angrily. “No need for you to say any more, Meg. Don't need to be told twice, not I! You've a new escort now, so I'll take my leave. Good day to you both.”

He turned and walked stiffly away. Meg looked after him with a sigh of misgiving. “Mortimer, wait! Are you going to look for Arthur and the others?”

Mortimer stopped, turned and frowned at her in severe reproach. “No!” he shouted over the wind and the noise. “Going back to
Yorkshire
. In Yorkshire, a fellow knows where he stands!”

“Coo!” laughed a woman in the crowd, “I kin show ye where t' stand, dearie!”

There was a hoot of laughter. “We'll miss ye, chum,” a man chortled. “Don' stay away too long!”

Red faced, Mortimer turned away and, while the derisive jeering rose around him, he ran off and disappeared into the crowd.

“Poor fellow,” Geoffrey murmured, taking Meg's arm. “I quite feel for him.”

Meg looked up at him with sardonic disdain. “Oh, you do, do you? I suppose that bruise on his face is a sign of your
sympathy?
”

“But, ma'am,” he responded in injured innocence, “if I'd have known then that the boy was a victim of your—how did he put it?—cat-and-mouse games, I might never have done it. Having been one of your victims myself, you see—”

“See here, Geoffrey Carrier,” she exclaimed, snatching her arm from his hold, “I've told you before that I do
not
play the sort of flirtatious games you are hinting at!”

“Never, ma'am?”

“Never!”

“I seem to remember a time not so long ago when you fluttered your eyes and made provocative remarks and used all sorts of tricks—in very, expert style, I might add—to make a victim of
me
.”

Her eyes dropped down in guilty recollection. “Well, perhaps I did, but only because you deserved it.”

“Yes, I probably did,” he said placidly, taking her arm again and falling into step beside her. “But aren't we forgetting that you have something particular and private that you wish to discuss with me?”

“Yes, of course. I
was
forgetting, and it's the reason I came! Mortimer gave me the most astounding news, and I wanted to speak to you before you hear it from Trixie. Now, Geoffrey, I know you'll think I'm interfering in matters that are out of my province, and that the suddenness of the arrangement is only another sign of Trixie's lack of particularity, but I'm convinced that
this
time the match shows the most
promising
—”

“Are you speaking of Trixie's attachment to Arthur Steele?”

“Yes! Good heavens, how did you—Have you seen them?”

“Just a moment ago.”

She stopped her strolling and looked up at him in concern. “Oh, Geoffrey, you didn't storm in and spoil things, did you?”

“When, ma'am, have I
ever
stormed in and spoiled things? Isn't it possible that I have as good an instinct as you for recognizing a man of solid worth?”

Meg blinked. If one thought about it, one might realize that
that
was a very pleasing sentence. Not only did it mean that Geoffrey approved of the match, but there was an implied compliment to herself hidden in all those words. “Oh, I'm
so
glad!” she sighed, relieved.

“Are you, Meg?” he asked, watching her closely, “I had a notion that Steele and
you
might make a match of it.”

She smiled, took his arm and began to walk on. “Because of the scene that night he came to see you with Charles Isham? I'll admit that I considered the possibility briefly. But I believe that Arthur and I are both relieved at the way things have worked out, Arthur in particular. He thinks I've become a sour old maid since …”

“Since?” Geoffrey probed gently.

She cast a quick look at his face and then dropped her eyes. “Oh, since … the winter set in.”

“I see. And
have
you been a sour old maid since the winter set in?”

She looked at him challengingly. “I suppose
you
would think so. All you men seem to enjoy maligning our characters when we women see fit to disagree with you.”

“You are referring to me in particular, aren't you, Meg?”

“If the shoe fits …”

“I'm no longer certain it does fit, my dear. It's been a very long time since I really believed that your character is seriously flawed. And certainly after the very generous and thoughtful care you've taken of my sister, I would be a fool not to recognize the depth of feeling of which you're capable. Don't think that I'm not fully aware of my enormous debt to you.”

“There's no need to feel indebted. I've enjoyed having Trixie with me. I never before realized how much I … I miss having a family of my own.”

They strolled on silently, neither of them sure how to go on. Meg, on her part, wondered if she'd revealed too much. Her mention of the change in her mood since “the winter set in,” and her need for a family … was it all too obvious? But she'd said it, and it was too late for retraction. She would simply hold her tongue and wait for a reaction from him. Meanwhile, she could walk beside him quite happily, enjoying the amber glow of the setting sun which was making a golden firmament of the ice. It suddenly occurred to her that for the past few minutes she hadn't been aware of the surroundings, of the people, the noise or the sights. Here in the midst of this extravagant, boisterous, unlikely thoroughfare, she'd been aware only of the two of them. Was that what love was—two people feeling themselves alone in a crowded world?

Geoffrey was wondering uneasily why he couldn't seem to bring himself to speak aloud the words he'd promised himself to say. There hadn't seemed to be a right time, the right words, a proper opening. For a soldier, he wasn't planning the attack with very commendable strategy. And even if the strategy had been more promising, he was enough of a soldier to know that it wouldn't work if it weren't carried out with courage. He squared his shoulder for another foray.

But before he could begin, Meg spoke. “Oh, I almost forgot. You must have seen my Aunt Bel when you found Trixie. Was Dr. Fraser with her?”

“Yes, he was, and they seem to have had a most satisfying reconciliation.”

“They have? How wonderful! How did it come about? Tell me everything!”

He sighed in frustration. “I don't
know
everything, my dear. And I'd rather not talk about your aunt and the doctor right now, if you don't mind.”

“Oh? Well, we needn't, then. As long as I know they're reunited, I can learn the details later. And I'd rather hear about how you think Arthur and Trixie will suit.”

Geoffrey was beginning to feel dismayed. Was she hemming him in with irrelevancies because she didn't want to reopen the door he'd once closed? But he was a soldier. When hemmed in, a soldier took advantage of whatever tactical openings the situation provided and fought his way out. “Speaking of Arthur and Trixie,” he said with a sudden smile, “I must admit that I'm glad
you
and he didn't make a match of it.”

“Well, of course you are. If we had, Trixie might still be betrothed to Mortimer. Of course, I was hatching a plot to scotch the affair, but my scheme wasn't working very well. I was trying to prove to Trixie that the fellow was a treacherous opportunist, but—”

“Good Lord, was that why you were kissing him today?”

“Yes, of course. What did you
think
I'd been doing?”

“I was trying not to think of it at all,” he admitted, telling himself that this little diversion would not seriously deflect the direction of his attack. “But to return to the subject of—”

“Of Trixie and Arthur—”

“Of why I'm glad you didn't marry him,” he insisted firmly. “It's because the fellow, solid though he may be, is not good enough for you. Trixie says that only a duke or a King's minister will do for you.”

“Does she really?” Meg laughed. “Then it's no
wonder
I'm still on the shelf.”

There it was—the perfect opening. Geoffrey had, with artful cunning, rock-like persistence, skillful adroitness and Machiavellian guile, maneuvered the conversation to just where he wanted it. All he had to do now was make the charge. “The men of London must be idiots,” he said, mustering all his courage, “to have let a woman of your attributes languish on the shelf. We Yorkshiremen, on the other hand—”

“Look, Geoffrey!” she cried, looking down the river's street with eyes that shone with excitement, at a small, crowded, colorful booth. “There's the puppet theater!”

“Wh-what?” he croaked in frustration.

“The puppet theater! Don't you love puppet plays? I wonder … do you think we could—?”

“But Meg, I was telling you—!”

“Yes, I know … some nonsense about Yorkshiremen not letting a girl of my attributes lie on the shelf. Really, Geoffrey, for a man who claims to despise flirtatious games, that is the most
blatant
sort of cajolery. If I were you, I'd go back to my old, glowering ways. These sorts of blandishments don't suit you. Now, please, would it be too much trouble to take me to see the puppets?”

While he stood gaping at her, trying to restore his shattered defenses, she laughed, slipped her arm out of his and ran toward the puppet tent. With a cry of outrage, he dashed after her and, catching up, whirled her around. “Damn you, woman,” he muttered furiously, grasping her shoulders roughly, “how can you keep chattering on about puppets when I'm trying to tell you that I love you!”

“Wh … what?” she asked, blinking up at him open-mouthed.

“I love you! Now please pay attention, for this isn't at all easy for me to say. I probably should have waited to say this in the privacy of your sitting room, but I've launched into it now, so there's no retreat. I love you, do you understand? I've loved you since that first night in the Horse With Three Tails Inn, when I looked up at you from my table and saw that red hair of yours all lit by lamplight. Oh, good God, I sound as idiotic as my sister with her story of syrupy
pies
! Well, are you just going to stand there gaping at me, or are you going to acknowledge in some way that you've heard what I said?”

“Oh, Geoffrey!” she breathed, her eyes wide and her expression awestruck.

“Yes, that
is
my name. Is that
all
you can manage?”

“Oh, I didn't expect … I never dreamed …”

“Meg, my dear girl,” he said in an agony of suspense, “I know I didn't say it at all well, but surely you've understood enough to realize that you've got to say something more!”

“Oh, Geoffrey!” Her eyes filled with tears, and with a little shiver, she threw herself into his arms. The act drew the eyes of a number of passersby, but Geoffrey, completely unheeding, tightened his hold on her and put his lips against her forehead.

“Does this mean,” he asked, choked, “that you in some manner return my sentiments?”

“Oh, y-yes! Very much! More than I c-can
tell
you!”

In spite of the audience that was growing into a crowd, he bent his head and kissed her fervently. The watchers laughed and applauded, but neither of them paid any attention. It was only when a boisterous little fellow tapped Geoffrey on the shoulder and asked if he might be next in line that Geoffrey recovered his wits, took Meg by the hand and drew her away from the teasing, cheering throng.

They walked along hand in hand, using this moment of silence to permit themselves to grasp the significance of what they'd just experienced. “I suppose you realize, my dear,” he said after a while, “that I've made you an offer.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Then you will marry me?”

“Yes.”

“And … you're really willing to … give up all your London luxuries … the balls, the modistes, the shops, the theaters, the flirts … and come to live with me in Yorkshire?”

“Oh, my dear … yes!”

He looked down at her with a kind of startled joy. “You know, my love,” he said when he could trust his voice, “I really
must
kiss you again.”

The warmth of his words and his smile made her blush. “Geoffrey, you can't! We'll only attract another crowd.”

“Then let's go somewhere where I can.”

“But … I haven't yet seen the fair!” she objected.

“That's true. We mustn't miss the puppets.”

“Or the gingerbread booth …”

“And the Prick-the-Garter,” he agreed. “It would be a shame to miss that.”

“And there's the Wheel of Fortune …”

“And the oysters … only sixpence the dozen …”

“And the skittle alley! Even Aunt Bel says one shouldn't miss the skittle alley.”

He grinned down at her. “Of course one shouldn't. And the woman selling Brandy-balls,
hot …
”