A Marquess for Christmas (Scandalous Seasons Book 5) (13 page)

Patrina curled her fists along the edge of her seat and gripped hard, filled with an insatiable urge to toss the other woman out on her ear. “I believe you are wrong, my lady.” She prided herself on the steady deliverance of those handful of words.

Weston’s sister shook her head, pityingly. Pity. That bloody awful emotion Patrina detested above all others. “You aren’t very smart, are you, showing feelings for inappropriate men? First that Marshville fellow and now, my brother who could never love again after his Cordelia.”

The truth of the woman’s words sank into Patrina with an agonizing slowness, gripping her with the numbing truth. Agony tugged at her belly.

“No, Lady Patrina,” she pressed, as relentless as Boney’s forces marching through the barren wilderness of Russia. “We can’t have you wedding Weston. You’re wildly inappropriate for him and…” She paused. “You will damage his children’s reputations.” The hard glint faded from the viscountess’ eyes, replaced by a hint of softness. She leaned over and touched her hand to Patrina’s. “If you’ll not think of Weston, then think of his children. Think of young Charlotte. The day will come when she makes her entrance into Society and all will remember the horrid tale of…” The viscountess’ words trailed off and she cleared her throat. “I really needn’t continue. I imagine you can very well supply the details.”

Patrina could. She’d not for this woman. But she could. She knew the details so very well they haunted her waking and sleeping thoughts, robbed her of the ability to sleep.

Lady Merewether’s visit had forced her to confront the selfishness in the decision to wed Weston. If only she and Weston were involved, then she’d jump to her feet and jab her finger toward the doorway, and order the viscountess gone.

But there was more to consider.

There was Charlotte and Daniel.

Her eyes slid closed a moment. She could not wed the marquess. Not because she didn’t care about him. She couldn’t marry him because she loved him and he didn’t deserve to know any more misery than he’d already known at his first wife’s hands. He deserved far more; he
and
his children.

She stared at her lap, swallowing past the blasted lump in her throat. With the lamentable mistake made, Patrina had already brought pain upon others. She could not so hurt Charlotte and Daniel. With their mother’s infidelity, they’d already known too much of life’s harsh cruelty.

“
You
must end it,” the viscountess urged. “You know Weston would never rescind his offer.”

Patrina glanced away, the meaning clear. She must release him from his obligation. Her lips pulled with bitterness. First a scandalous flirt who’d elope, and now a jilt. My, the papers would relish every last shameful bit of this great tale. She touched the snowflake at her neck.

“Thank you, Lady Patrina,” the viscountess said, with the most warmth and sincerity she’d evinced this whole curt, perfunctory meeting. Perhaps because she saw the decision in Patrina’s stare.
And knew.

She gritted her teeth so hard pain radiated down her jawline. “I’m not doing this for you, my lady.” Patrina’s hand fell back to her side. The tension seeped down her body and to her toes as the fight went out of her. How could she give him up? How when he’d filled her life with such happiness these eight days, fleeting moments which, would never be enough? “I don’t know what to say to him,” she whispered more to herself.

“Oh, merely pen him a note,” she said so breezily Patrina’s head shot up with disbelief. “Thank him for his very generous offer, but tell him…” She tapped the tip of her finger to her lip. “Perhaps tell him you still love the gentleman who—”

“No,” Patrina bit out. The fury and outrage laced in that one-word utterance seemed to penetrate the flighty woman’s ramblings. She smoothed her palms over her skirts. When she’d manage to reign in her temper she began again. “No, my lady. I’ll not tell a lie even to set your brother free. The gentleman who ruined my reputation isn’t even deserving of false words of pretend love uttered even to protect your brother.”

“Very well.” The viscountess’ lips tightened so that Patrina wondered if she’d merely imagined any earlier softness from the cold woman. “Allow me to be perfectly honest with you.”

Patrina quirked an eyebrow, tired of the role of wounded woe-is-me-young-lady, pitied by young ladies throughout the
ton
and scorned by nobles across the whole blasted English isle. “You haven’t already?”

The other woman pressed on. “I do not care if you profess to love another, claim tedium drove your acceptance of Weston’s offer, or simply offer no explanation at all. My only concern is my niece and nephew’s future happiness and that happiness cannot, will not, ever be tied to you.” Her chest rose and full with the passionate fury of her deliverance. “Have I been clear?”

Patrina stood in a flurry of skirts. “Perfectly,” she said coldly.

The viscountess gave a toss of her golden curls. “Thank you for speaking with me. I wish you a very Happy Christmas, my lady.”

Patrina did what she’d been longing to do since the harridan had stolen the small vestige of happiness she’d grabbed for herself in these nine months. She pointed to the door. “If you will. I’d like you gone.”

The Viscountess Merewether stood. Her mouth opened and closed several times and then on a huff she swept across the floor and pulled the door open. Mother and the three Tidemore sisters spilled into the room. Weston’s sister snapped her skirts and all but shoved past the array of black-haired girls.

“Well, I never!” Mother exclaimed, striding into the room. “Of all the outrageous, heinous,
impolite
things to do.” By her heavy emphasis on impolite Mother clearly indicated what charge she found to be the most egregious.

“That shrew!” Prudence chimed in.

“She is horrid!” Poppy said on a cry. “Er, horrible,” she amended when everyone looked to her. “This isn’t a time to scold me on my use of horrid,” she said quickly. “This is about—”

“
That woman
,” Penelope seethed.

And just like that, the viscountess became
that woman
, joining the ranks of the Albert Marshvilles of the world.

Her sisters’ loyalty tugged at her heart. Even Mother, who’d moved with an impersonal politeness around Patrina since the failed elopement, staunchly defended her eldest daughter. Her family’s unwavering love made the pain of regret somewhat less aching.

Mother began to pace. “Well, it is no matter. She can demand whatever she wants a million times to Sunday. The decision is not hers. The decision is yours, Patrina.”

Yes. And sadly, she’d already made it. She’d made her decision when she’d run off recklessly with Albert Marshville, and that act could never be undone. “I require paper and a pen.”

Mother paused mid-stride. Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Never tell me…you do not intend to…”

“I cannot marry him, Mother,” she said quietly.

“Of course you can!” Mother and the Tidemore sisters exclaimed.

She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m ruined. And I’ll not ruin his children.” Even though he’d told her nothing else mattered—it did. He, Charlotte and Daniel,
they
all mattered.

“Bah, his children are young. They’ll not be affected by the scandal.”

Patrina would wager not even her own mother believed that effortless lie.

Poppy touched a hand to her shoulder. She started, not having realized her sister had made her way over to her. “What will you say, Patrina?”

Tears clogged her throat. She shook her head. She really didn’t know.

Weston picked up a roll and smeared butter upon the flaky, white, still-warm bread.

“Will Lady Patrina have a new gown?” Charlotte called from across the breakfast table.

He glanced over at his daughter and opened his mouth to speak.

“Who cares whether she has a new gown?” Daniel grumbled.

“Daniel,” he scolded.

The nursemaid seated beside Daniel leaned over and whispered something in the boy’s ear.

His son shoveled a heaping spoonful of eggs into his mouth. “Well, it’s true,” he said around the food.

“When will you two wed?” Charlotte continued. “Will she live here?”

“Surely you don’t expect she’ll live with her own mama,” Daniel shot back.

Weston fixed a hard stare on him and his son dropped his gaze to his plate. “Yes. Lady Patrina will live here,” he said to his daughter. “Will you,” He hesitated. “mind having her share our home?”

Charlotte wildly shook her head. “Oh, no. Not at all, Papa. It shall be good fun having a mother. Do you believe she will take me for ribbons?”

A footman entered bearing a silver tray. He carried the missive over to Weston.

“I imagine she will, Char.” He absently picked the note up, studying the delicate scrawl upon the sheet. His daughter beamed and continued to prattle on. He unfolded the sheet and scanned the page. His heart thudded to a stop. And when it resumed beating, it beat a hard, painful rhythm inside his chest. He quickly re-read the lines.

Dear Weston,

I wanted to thank you so much for the short, though beautiful gift of your children. Both you, as well as Charlotte and Daniel’s presence, has brought me much joy in a recently dreary world.

Upon further consideration, however, with strictly the well-being of your children in mind, I must rescind my acceptance of your very generous offer of marriage.

I bid you and your family every happiness…

Signed…

Weston surged to his feet. “My horse,” he thundered to a footman at the edge of the door. She’d simply sever the connection after having accepted his offer to protect his children? She did so with his family’s happiness in mind? If that had been the case, she’d have realized Weston, the Marquess of Beaufort didn’t do anything he didn’t wish to do. And more, she’d filled his life with more happiness than he’d ever thought to know after his wife’s treachery. A knot formed in his stomach. He’d allowed Patrina to believe he would enter into a union with her for the sole purpose of providing a mother for his children. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He should have told her earlier how much she’d come to mean to him. The day they’d sat piecing together the kissing bough, he should have taken her in his arms and assured her that he wanted her for her...wanted her because he loved her.

Such a revelation should riddle him with terror.

And yet, it didn’t come. Instead, a semblance of calm and the absolute rightness in loving her filled Weston.

The liveried servant hurried out of the room.

“What is it?” Charlotte called. Lines of worry creased her small brow.

He forced himself to take several calming breaths. “Nothing, poppet,” he assured her. “A matter of business.” It had begun as merely a kind of business proposal “to see to.” But at some point, it all changed. He needed her when he’d not allowed himself to depend on anyone for all these years now. He craved her smile and her laughter. He yearned for her gentle teasing. He longed to lay her down and lay claim to her lean, lithe body. And he’d be damned if he let some misguided sense of honor allow her to snuff the happiness she’d brought him.

“Is it about Lady Patrina?” Daniel, clever and world-wary for one of his tender years, asked. “She probably decided she didn’t want us, too,” he mumbled that last throwaway comment beneath his breath.

Weston’s gut wrenched at the reminder of the pain wrought by Cordelia—a woman who had placed her happiness before that of even her own children. Unlike Patrina who would set them aside to keep them safe. He clenched his jaw. Like hell, she would. “Look at me, Daniel.”

His son hesitated and then raised his stubborn, angry gaze to Weston. “Lady Patrina cares very much about you and Charlotte.”

Daniel pushed the uneaten egg about his plate with his fork and gave a reluctant nod.

Now, it became a matter of convincing the young lady that not only his children needed her…but he needed her, as well. And he’d never wanted anything or anyone more.

Patrina sat on the wrought iron bench and stared at the boxwoods, heavy with snow. She pulled her cloak close, burrowing into the thick woolen fabric to brace herself from the chill.

By now, Weston had surely received her note, read her wishes, and knew she no longer would wed him. She’d sent it round yesterday morning. Yesterday. She scuffed the tip of her foot into the thick snow, drawing a faint circle in the fluffy white substance.

She really didn’t know what she’d expected of him. The illogical, foolishly naïve woman who still longed for love and hoped for happiness had imagined an extraordinary scenario in which he stormed from his home, ordered his horse, and charged after her. He’d declare his feelings…

Patrina shoved aside the pathetic yearnings. More likely, the marquess had realized how wholly unsuitable she was and had found a good measure of relief in being absolved of his—

Something landed hard at her back. She stiffened as the cool, wetness of snow seeped into the material of her cloak. She turned, just as another snowball found its mark at her shoulder. Outrage thrummed through her. “What—?” She leapt to her feet and froze. Her throat worked painfully at the sight of him in his towering golden glory, a shimmer of sun in the cold, wintry world.

Weston stood, some seven yards away, a snowball in his hand. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “I am displeased with you, madam.”

She swallowed hard. “My lord?”

His next snowball found its mark at her opposite shoulder. She stared down at the white fragment left upon her cloak. “Did you just hit me with a snowball?”

“No,” he barked. “I hit you with three snowballs.”

Well
. “How did you know I was here?”

“
That
is what you’d ask me?” His golden eyebrows dipped. “Your sisters were quite forthcoming.”

Oh, she could just imagine. She imagined such forthcoming-ness also included mention of a certain viscountess to whom Weston shared blood. Her sisters’ betrayal needled at her heart. “Why are you here?” Surely he knew she made this sacrifice for him.

“I don’t want nor need you to make any sacrifice for me, Patrina Tidemore,” he snapped, having clearly followed the unspoken direction of her thoughts.

If his tone wasn’t so harshly angry, she would have been warmed by his— She gasped as he bent down and hastily put together another missile. “What are you doing?”

He stood. “You do not get to enter my life…the lives of my children…and then send around a letter politely refusing an offer.”

“I—”

“An offer you already accepted.”

She stiffened her spine at the biting fury in his clipped tones. “I’ll have you know I’ve done this for you.”

He glowered. “What have you done for me? Taken away all happiness you’ve brought into my life? Plunged me back into an icy, solitary world?”

His words tugged at her heart. “Oh, Wes—” He launched his snowball. It collided with her chest. She looked at the white splattered mark upon her breast. “You do know it is ungentlemanly to throw snowballs.”

He took a step toward her. “Is that all you’d say to me?” Then another. His black cloak snapped angrily about his ankles. Patrina glanced around at the small drifts and bushes preventing escape. Not that she feared him.

“Do you fear me?” he snapped.

Her head shot up, startled at his uncanny ability to know just what she was thinking. “Er, no.” She paused. “Should I?”

The low-growl that rumbled from his chest provided very little reassurance. He reached into the front of his cloak and withdrew a familiar note. He tossed it toward her. A gust of wind caught the thick sheet and carried it several feet where it fluttered silently into the snow. “What the hell is the meaning of this?” His booming voice carried through the empty park, echoing in the stillness.

Even as her heart was breaking for all she’d never have with him, she tipped her chin up a notch. “That is a letter.” His golden brows met in a single, furious line. Who did he think he was coming here and wreaking havoc on her already tumultuous mind? “I did not mean to wound your ego, my lord. Upon careful consideration—”

“By God, Patrina, if you say u
pon consideration, however, with strictly the well-being of your children in mind, I must rescind my acceptance of your very generous offer of marriage.”

She flattened her lips as he tossed her words back at her, as though they had no meaning, as though she’d not cried until she feared she’d break from penning those blasted words.

He claimed her gloved fingers in his. “Did nothing I say mean anything to you?” he demanded, his tone harsh and guttural. “I spoke to you about the happiness you’ve shown me. I spoke about how you’ve shown me how to laugh and smile again.” He dropped his voice to an angry whisper. “And then you’d so effortlessly cut me from your life.” Gold flecks glinted in his eyes. “Will you not say anything?” He released her suddenly and spun away. Walking away. Out of her life. And the glimmer of happiness he represented would be forever extinguished.

Patrina swallowed hard. “I-it mattered,” she called after him, hating the break in her voice that signified weakness.

He froze, his back presented to her.

She fixed her gaze on the immaculate fabric of his cloak. “You must understand, with my decision, I sacrificed not only my own happiness but that of all of my sisters. Even as they don’t fully realize the consequences of what I’ve done, the time will come when they enter Society and are spurned for their connection to me.” She held her palms up, forgetting he could not see her silent entreaty. “Don’t you see, if you were to wed me, the same will happen to Charlotte and the time would come when you resented me?” She sucked in a shuddery breath. “Maybe even hate me for a brash, girlish mistake I made seemingly a lifetime ago. And that I could not bear, Weston.” That would destroy her in way Albert Marshville’s betrayal never could have. “Please, don’t leave.”
Not you.

He whirled around. “Is that what you believe? That I’m leaving you?” His long legs ate away the distance between them.

Patrina trailed the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “Well, I did assume… that is to say…” She sighed. “Yes.” She paused, her breath coming in labored gasps. “Weren’t you?”

A gust of wind whipped his unfashionably long golden strands about his eyes. “I was not.”

“Oh.” She studied the tips of her boots while waiting for him to say more. Wanting him to say more,
needing
him to say more. The winter wind gusted about them, dusting her cheeks with flakes of snow. The scent of him, honey and mint filled her senses, intoxicating in its sweetness. She ached for him.

He nudged her chin up with his knuckles. “I swear, Patrina Tidemore, you are the only woman I know who’d not ask me where I was off to.”

“Where were you off to, Weston?”

He fished around the front of his cloak and withdrew a small packet. “Here.” He held it out.

Her fingers, nearly numb with cold, shook as she fumbled through the pages. Her heartbeat paused and then sped up. Her gaze flew to his. “What does this mean?” Her words emerged as a breathless whisper.

“I went to gather the only people that matter.”

Her gaze wandered past his shoulder. Her breath caught at the collection of individuals a short distance away. Her brother paced back and forth, rubbing his hands together, and occasionally breathing into his gloved fingers. Penelope, Prudence, and Poppy chatted excitedly beside Weston’s children and a beleaguered, official-looking gray-haired gentleman. Then Patrina looked to her mother, smiling for the first time in nine months. And Juliet, who, in her delicate condition, really shouldn’t be out, yet was here anyway. Her sister-in-law gave a slight shake of her head, as though interpreting Patrina’s thoughts. A wide smile wreathed the woman’s cold-reddened cheeks. Patrina swallowed and managed a nod, assuring her that at last everything was all right