Authors: Jillian Hart
Chapter Nineteen
W
hit started after her, but Charles caught his leg. “Stay. She needs time to think.”
“From what I can see, thinking only makes matters worse,” Whit countered, shaking him off. He had to catch her, had to tell her he understood.
He'd asked her to trust him, but when he'd been unable to act, she'd been there to help save him. She seemed to think he wanted her to trust and wait; knowing her, he could never ask that of her. He was alive right now because she acted.
He'd never thought to question his definition of love, until Ruby. He'd seen only his father's distress at the loss of his wife. But love wasn't one-sided. It was mutual admiration, mutual protection. It was sharing feelings even when it was uncomfortable. He had to tell her he understood that.
Stokely-Trent cleared his throat. “What do you intend to do with me, then?”
Henrietta's head came up, and Charles was watching Whit, too. He wanted nothing more than to chase after Ruby, but he knew his duty.
“You will give your blessing to your daughter's marriage to my cousin, if he still wishes to align himself with your family.”
Charles gazed at Henrietta with a tender smile. “Gladly.”
“And none of us will ever speak of this again,” Whit continued. “I think you know what would happen to your family's reputation if this incident ever became news.”
Stokely-Trent visibly swallowed. “You are very generous, my lord.”
“See that you remember that,” Whit replied. He went to help Charles raise Henrietta to her feet.
She wavered on the path, clutching at his cousin as if she expected to fall again. With a sigh, Whit draped her arm over his shoulders while Charles came along on the other side. Her father lumbered along behind.
The way back was slow and painful, and not only because of their exertions. All Whit could think of was Ruby. She was clearly trying to have faith in him, in others. Indeed, he realized, she had never completely given up. She had tried to trust, confessed her fears to him freely. Somewhere inside, she still hoped that her concerns about the aristocracy were misplaced.
And where hope lived, love could grow.
Mr. Stokely-Trent said little on their walk, and Charles and Henrietta were both quiet, as well. Whit could only think they, too, were assessing their futures. But as they reached the hill overlooking Bellweather Hall, Charles spoke up.
“While we're confessing things,” he said, angling his body to help Henrietta over a bump in the path, “I should tell you, Whit, that I knew Hollingsford before he and Ruby arrived.”
“Oh?” Whit replied, only half listening. His mind had already raced ahead to his reunion with Ruby at the Lodge. There had to be something he could say, something he could do to reach her.
Help me, Lord! I can't lose her!
“Yes,” Charles said. “I had him appraise the Danning diamonds. I thought to sell them, you see.”
Whit nearly stumbled. “What?”
“Ha!” Stokely-Trent crowed. “I knew you gambled.”
At a look from Whit, he quieted.
“I was in a bad way,” Charles admitted, with a smile to Henrietta as they descended toward the carriage road. “I didn't see any future for myself. But when it came time to do the deed, I couldn't. You've only ever been a friend to me, Danning. Forgive me for even considering the matter.”
Whit wished Ruby could have heard his cousin. For one thing, she'd have felt vindicated to find this theory also validated. But more importantly, perhaps she'd see that while temptations abounded, not all men fell to them.
“There's nothing to forgive,” Whit replied. “Just know if you ever find yourself in financial difficulty, come to me, and we'll meet it together.”
“That's why you were willing to give up on the idea of marrying me when Father refused to give you his blessing,” Henrietta murmured, head once more hanging. “You needed my dowry, which he could withhold if we married without his consent.”
Stokely-Trent's eyes narrowed.
“No, love,” Charles replied, and Whit saw his grip on her tightening. “I didn't want to pull you into the mess I'd made. I love you too much.”
Henrietta's head came up, smile growing. Whit released his hold on her and allowed them a few moments of privacy. Her father squirmed but held his tongue.
Whit hoped to give Henrietta a chance to escape upstairs and change before seeing her mother, so he brought them in through his fishing closet. For once the sight of his rods and flies didn't encourage him to head for the stream. All he wanted was to find Ruby.
Unfortunately, the firing squad called them into the withdrawing room before they could pass.
“Lord Danning,” Lady Wesworth declared, rising from the sofa, “your cousin abandoned Amelia on the riverbank.” She raised her formidable chin as if prepared to defend her daughter from invaders. “She could have been accosted by ruffians!”
“Now, Mother...” Lady Amelia started, offering Whit an apologetic look from beside the marchioness. She had dressed in her riding habit as if intending to go out. Now she took in the state of his and Henrietta's clothes, and her eyes widened.
Henrietta's mother must have seen the mess at the same time, for she came rushing forward.
“Henrietta!” she shrieked. “Look at your gown! It's ruined! What have you and Lord Danning been doing!”
Henrietta touched her hand to the chest of her gown, and mud fell in a clump to the carpet.
“Miss Stokely-Trent slipped on the hillside and would have fallen if not for Charles's assistance,” Whit said with a warning glance to his cousin. “I suggest we allow her to repair to her room to recuperate.”
Henrietta smiled at him gratefully, but her mother would have none of it.
“Henrietta!” she scolded. “We told you we would not countenance an alliance between you and Mr. Calder.”
“Perhaps you should reconsider,” Lady Wesworth advised, raising a feathered brow. “It seems that may be the best she can do.”
Mr. Stokely-Trent reddened, but his wife puffed up, and Whit prepared himself to wade into the fray. Then Henrietta raised her head from off Charles's shoulder.
“Yes, you told me,” she said to her mother, “and I despaired. But no more. I love Charles, and I'd marry him if he was an untitled pauper.”
“Which I am,” Charles admitted, giving her a squeeze. “But I love your daughter, and I'll do all I can to be worthy of her.”
Before Mrs. Stokely-Trent could protest anew, Whit stepped between them and his cousin. “I'm sure you'll all need to discuss the matter, once Henrietta has been made comfortable. Excuse me.”
He turned for the corridor, but Lady Wesworth's voice called after him, spite evident in each syllable.
“If you're looking for that Hollingsford chit,” she said, “you're too late. She called for her carriage some time ago.”
Her carriage? She'd run from him on the slope, but surely she wouldn't run away for good...would she? Doubt set his heart to pounding. With a nod to his guests, Whit strode for the front of the house.
His staff opened the door for him just in time to see the Hollingsford coach make the turn out of the drive.
Whit rushed forward, nearly colliding with Quimby, who stood at the edge of the gravel and watched them go. “You are an idiot,” Quimby said.
The world had just crumbled like the slope, and Whit could only stare stupidly at him, no doubt confirming his valet's suspicions about his intelligence. “What?”
Quimby shrugged as he turned to face Whit. “It needed to be said. It was clear from the start that you and Ruby Hollingsford were perfect for each other. And she has such an outstanding sense of style.” He sighed. “Ah, well. I suppose I'll have to dig deeper for the house party in Suffolk.”
“There will be no house party in Suffolk,” Whit ordered, backing away. “There is no need. I've chosen a wife, and I intend to catch her.” Turning, he ran for the river.
He slipped once on the grass above the bank and nearly went down on the rocks of the shore, but he beat the coach to the bridge and flagged it. The Hollingsford coachman reined in with a smile, and the two servants in the rumble seat were grinning, but their looks were nothing to the smile on Ruby's father's face as he lowered the window.
“Well met, my lord,” he declared. “Do I take it you'd like a word with my daughter?”
“I would indeed,” Whit said, sucking in a breath from his run. He glanced in the coach, but the seat opposite Hollingsford was empty.
“Funny thing, that,” the older man said. “She was so certain it was time to leave, but she couldn't bear it in the end. Jumped right out of the coach shortly after we left the drive. Davis was taking us to that wide spot below the bridge to turn around and go back for her. Unless I'm mistaken, she ought to have reached the river by now.”
Whit whirled. A redheaded beauty was careening down the slope, muddy skirts bunched in her fists.
“I'm going to marry your daughter,” he tossed over his shoulder before running to meet her.
* * *
Where was he? Ruby could scarcely catch her breath. Her ribs hurt, her feet hurt, her face hurt from crying, but worse was the pain in her chest at the thought of leaving Whit.
She'd been so sure leaving was the right thing to do. She could not be the woman he wanted, could not find this illusive faith he so praised. She'd managed to slip into the house unnoticed and had gone straight upstairs to order her maid to pack only the essentials.
Is something wrong, Miss Hollingsford?
Mr. Quimby had asked, pausing before the open door to her room.
I'm leaving,
she'd said, as if he could have doubted the purpose of her maid throwing her things into a bandbox willy-nilly.
Fetch the coach and my father, in that order.
He'd opened his mouth as if to protest, then peered closer, bowed and gone to do as she'd bid.
All the while something had pulled at her, whispered that she was making a mistake. She'd felt as if hands tugged at the sodden skirts she'd refused to change as she climbed into the coach.
Are you certain?
her father had asked.
Tell Davis to drive,
Ruby had said, head high and tears falling.
And she'd no more than settled in her seat before her heart tried to break free of her chest.
This was wrong. She was wrong. Years ago, when the bullies had threatened her, she'd run, and she'd promised herself she would never run again. This time, it wasn't a bully after her but the fear of her own making.
She was afraid Whit would hurt her.
Yet he had never hurt her. He'd been kind and considerate from the very first moment he'd seen her at the river. She'd been annoyed by it, railed against it, but there it was. She'd doubted him, and he'd forged ahead. No other had ever been so loving, so determined. She'd thought she'd mastered fear with her boxing, her shooting. But this was a different fearâa fear of opening her heart, and it was what stood between her and Whit.
Even between her and God.
“Stop the coach,” she'd said to her father.
He'd frowned, but reached up to rap on the ceiling.
Don't go getting sick on me now,
he'd warned.
Before the coach had even halted, Ruby had thrown herself out the door.
Now she paused on the riverbank, scanned the area. Mr. Quimby had taken one look at her in the doorway and pointed her toward the river. Whit had to be here. She had to see him. She had to tell him the truth, hope that he would still be willing to give her another chance.
Please, Lord, give me another chance! I see the problem now. I won't run again, from him or from You.
“Ruby!”
She gasped in a breath as she sighted Whit. He was coming down the bank from the bridge, pell mell, muddy boots sliding on the rocks. She never doubted he'd make it safely. She ran to meet him at the river's edge.
“Oh, Whit, I believe in you, I do! I love you. I know I've been stupid and headstrong, but if you could ever find it in your heart to... Oh!”
Her perfectly proper earl pulled her into his arms and kissed her, and every other thought, the sound of the river, the feel of the breeze, the pounding of her heart, faded away. She'd been so blind, expecting things that didn't matter. What mattered was this, the two of them, the love between them, spending the rest of their lives together. In his arms, at his side was where she belonged, forever.
When at last he raised his head, his smile sent a delicious shiver through her.
“Ruby Hollingsford,” he said, face once more solemn, “I love you. I love that you aren't afraid to speak your mind. I love how you attack problems head-on. I love that you are never still, always moving forward, always acting to protect those you love. I am honored to be counted among their number. I may be a crafty aristocrat, but I will never do anything intentionally to hurt you. Marry me.”
Breath still shaky, Ruby managed a nod of approval. “Well said. I accept.”
Whit raised his brows. “Just like that?”
Ruby grinned. “Just like that. You've won your wife campaign, my lord.”
“Allow me to demonstrate my gratitude.” Whit lowered his head to hers once more. Just before she closed her eyes, Ruby saw a massive trout leap from the river.
Whit didn't even notice.
That's when she knew he really loved her.
Epilogue
P
eter Quimby stood at the edge of the woods, watching as Whit tenderly kissed his bride-to-be. A smile curved Quimby's lips. He couldn't have imagined a better partner for his friend and master. Whit would give Ruby the place among society that had been denied to her, and she'd help him remember how to have fun again.
Thank You, Lord, for nudging me to invite her.
Yes, things were looking up in any number of ways. Charles Calder had already begged Quimby's pardon. Now Quimby understood how Whit's cousin had narrowly avoided the temptation to steal from the estate. He thought Charles would be a better man for coming through the fire. And what a relief to know most of the accidents truly were nothing but accidents! He suspected something had happened up among the hills todayâhe'd never seen so much mud in his life! But all seemed to have resolved itself nicely.
Behind him the veranda doors opened so quickly they slammed against the walls on either side. Surprised, he turned to see Lady Amelia running out, with her mother right behind her.
“Stop this instant!” Lady Wesworth ordered, face set and head high.
Lady Amelia turned to meet her mother's outraged gaze. She was dressed in that plum-colored riding habit Quimby longed to update with at least a scarf.
“Forgive me, Mother,” she said, her words coming out stiffly, as if each one was spoken painfully. “I know you want the best for me. But I will not pursue Lord Danning. It's clear to me that he loves Miss Hollingsford.”
If Lady Wesworth took a few more steps away from the house, it would be clear to her, as well. Quimby melted back among the trees.
Her mother sniffed. “And why not when she all but threw herself into his arms.”
Actually, she'd done that, too, Quimby thought with a quick glance down to the river to confirm that Whit and Ruby were still standing there kissing.
“I can't promote myself to a gentleman in that way,” Lady Amelia protested. “It's not in my nature. And I think it only right that the man I marry appreciate me for myself.”
Lady Wesworth bore down on her daughter as if she would seize her and carry her back into the house. “The man you marry must be a credit to your family. That is the purpose of marrying.”
Quimby raised his brows. Lady Amelia raised her head. “No, Mother. I don't believe that anymore. Marriage, a true marriage, should be about the meeting of hearts and minds, of two becoming one. That's what we should look for in a match.”
“Oh, Amelia.” Lady Wesworth stopped just short of her daughter with a sigh. “That Hollingsford girl has filled your head with nonsense. Perhaps the lower classes wed on a whim, but we know better. We marry for proper reasons, like advancement and alignment of property.”
She took a step back from her mother. “Is that why you married Father? There must be more to life than that cold existence.”
Lady Wesworth stiffened. “How dare you! You've no idea what I've endured for your sake, ungrateful child!”
Lady Amelia turned and fled. Her mother clutched her chest a moment, as if her daughter's behavior had truly pained her, then retreated to the house, shutting the doors quietly behind her. A few moments later, and Quimby spotted Lady Amelia riding out of the stables, encouraging her horse to fly.
It seemed Lord Danning wasn't the only one to benefit from an acquaintance with Ruby Hollingsford. Lady Amelia was trying her wings, and Quimby could only applaud her.
Come to think of it, her ladyship had begun acting strangely after the visit to Hollyoak Farm. Her maid had complained of the fact when the servants had gathered to eat. Could Lady Amelia have felt the first pangs of amour at the sight of Lord Hascot? Was that why she was now so set on marrying only for love?
Quimby had known John, Lord Hascot, nearly as long as he'd known Whit. The fellow had all too many reasons to avoid marriage, not the least of which was a first love that had gone horribly wrong. But perhaps if Quimby put a word in the ear of Hascot's veterinarian, Marcus Fletcher, the seed of romance might be planted. After all, if Quimby could mount a successful campaign to find Whit a wife, what was to say that Fletcher couldn't wage a campaign to make Hascot a proper husband?
All Hascot needed was the good Lord's help and a little nudge from the master matchmakers.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from A HERO FOR CHRISTMAS by Jo Ann Brown.