The Winter Wish (6 page)

Sarah
slowly nodded her head.

“And
someone to support you?”

At
this Sarah frowned. She rather thought the idea of needing a husband to live
was an old fashioned one, but she knew she was in the minority. As far as
society was concerned a woman’s goal in life was simple: find a man with a
title and wealth, marry him, and raise a brood of squalling children so their
house in the country would pass on to someone other than the crazy uncle.

It
was not the most romantic of notions, but Sarah knew her options were limited.
Her parents would not be able to support her forever, especially when they had
three other daughters between the ages of fourteen and twenty. Her father was a
Baron, and while he never discussed financial matters with the rest of the
family and they lived quite comfortably, Sarah was not oblivious. She knew her
mother had stopped buying new gowns for herself last spring and Julia – the
youngest of the four sisters – had a wardrobe contrived of nothing save
hand-me-downs from her older siblings.

“Sarah?”
Lily prompted, her lips pursing as she waited for an answer.

“Oh
very well, I
do
need someone to support me. Although if I had my way it
would not be so,” she grumbled under her breath.

Lily
held up her hand and began to fold down her fingers one by one. “You desire a
family, you require financial security, and you must wed before you are a
withered up old maid. Have I missed anything?”

“No,”
Sarah said glumly.

“And
you are positively certain you want Lord Heathcliff?”

“I…
Well, that is to say yes, I do, although I would need to know why he acted so
poor—”

“Do
you
desire
Lord Heathcliff?”

In
an instant Sarah’s cheeks went from pale ivory to burning red. “Lily,” she
gasped, pulling her hand free and scooting to the edge of the chair. “That is a
most inappropriate thing to—”

“I
will take that as a yes,” the brunette said with satisfaction. “And if that is
the case then it has been decided.”

As
a recipient of Lily’s wayward scheming on more than one occasion, Sarah did not
share her friend’s enthusiasm. “Lily,” she said cautiously, wishing she had not
drank
quite
so much for surely everything would be making much more
sense if she were sober, “exactly what has been decided?”

Jumping
to her feet, Lily spread her arms wide and grinned like a cat that had just
swallowed the proverbial canary. “Why, your marriage to Lord Heathcliff, of
course!”   

“My
m-m-marriage?” Sarah sputtered.

“Granted
we can get you two in a compromising situation, of course.
And
he agrees
to offer for your hand.
And
he actually goes through with the wedding.
And
you do not end up with your heart broken, shunned by your family and all of
society, forced to flee to the coast of France to escape your ruined reputation
and take up work as a dockside tart.” Lily blinked innocently. “This is one of
the best ideas I have ever come up with, I think. Truly, what could go wrong?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

As
it turned out, compromising oneself was not as easy as it seemed. For one, it
had taken Lily nearly seven days to convince Sarah to go along with her
scheming. Eventually she had given in simply to shut Lily up and (although she
was loathe to admit it) a small part of her secretly thrilled at the idea of
being Devlin’s wife, whether it be by fair means or foul.

Once
Sarah finally agreed to the plan, they had sought to set it in motion. There
was only one small problem: Devlin could not be found.

For
all intensive purposes the Viscount had vanished off the edge of the earth. For
a week straight Sarah and Lily attended every ball, play, and tea party within
London in the hopes of catching sight of him, but it was all to no avail. The
man was gone and no one – not even his poor butler, whom Lily had cornered and
interrogated – knew where he was.

On
the brink of giving up, Sarah agreed to join Lily for late afternoon tea at
Twinings. Dressed to the nines in a thick wool cloak, not one but two scarves,
and a fur trimmed hat Sarah set out, navigating the bustling foot traffic as
best she could given the precarious footing.

It
was now mid-way through December and winter had not been kind to the city.
Snow, all but non existent last year, had been falling nearly nonstop since early
November. As a result the streets were often packed to the gills for where
there had been two traveling lanes there was now only one. Tempers were high,
angry words quick to fly. Even the upper class, usually so impervious to the
woes of the lower, were beginning to feel the strain of the harsh, unforgiving
season. 

Keeping
her head down and her eyes on the narrow path in front of her, Sarah hurried to
Twinings as fast as she dared, loathe to stay out in the frigid air any longer
than absolutely necessary.

As
she walked her thoughts went to Devlin, as they often did. She wondered where
he was and what he was doing. She thought of their last encounter, and visibly
winced when she remembered how furious he had become with her. Since then Lily
had questioned a few well known gossips and now Sarah at least knew
how
Devlin
could become so enraged at the idea of her dancing with Lord Gibson over him,
what she did not know was
why
.

While
she had been covertly watching him from afar for years, he had not known who
she was until a few short weeks ago. How, then, could she provoke so much
emotion in him? Having always been quite astute when it came to other’s
feelings, Sarah knew there had not been just anger in Devlin’s eyes when he
turned from her. He had displayed regret as well, and a sliver of hope she
recognized instantly for it was the same she nurtured within herself.

Did
he then feel the same pull towards her and she did towards him? It was not
something Sarah could put into words, however many times she tried. Was it
destiny? Fate? True love? She did not know. She did not even know if she
believed
in any of those things.

She
had always thought that if Devlin ever realized she existed everything would
come together, rather like a fairy tale in its last chapter right before the
happily ever after. Now, however, she was more confused than ever before and
there did not seem to be a solution in sight, no matter how many different
schemes Lily came up with.

Of
course, Lily could scheme from sunrise to sundown and it would all come to no
avail unless they found where Devlin was hiding. Even though it was a foolish
notion, Sarah could not help but feel he was avoiding her. Silly, really. She
was nothing to him; another nameless face in a long line of nameless women.

Releasing
a long, pent up sigh at
that
rather depressing thought, Sarah tightened
her scarf around her neck to ward off the slicing chill of the wind and turned
left. Without warning the heel of her boot skidded across a patch of hidden
ice. A muffled shriek burst past her lips as she flew up in the air, arms wind
milling wildly. With nothing to cushion her fall, Sarah fell hard on her back.
Her head slammed into the frozen earth, there was a bright flash of light… and
then nothing but darkness.

Devlin
watched Sarah fall as if from a great distance. Helpless to save her, he tried
to nonetheless, sprinting between two carriages and nearly upending a third.
Falling to his knees beside her, his hands flew across her body, gently probing
for any broken bones.

 People
gave them a wide berth as they passed and no one offered to help. A fainting
woman was not such an uncommon occurrence, and by the familiar way Devlin was
crouched over Sarah no one had any reason to doubt he was not her husband or a
close family relative.

He
spoke her name once, twice, three times. Her eyelashes fluttered against her
pale cheeks, delicate as golden butterfly wings, and Devlin eased her head onto
his lap, supporting her neck while she slowly surfaced from unconsciousness.

“What…
What happened?” she breathed, blinking in confusion.

“You
slipped on the ice and fell. Do not move,” he warned when she gasped and
struggled to sit up. “I do not believe you have broken anything, but you have
quite a knot on the back of your head. My townhouse is a short walk from here.
I can carry you there.”

Sarah’s
forehead creased. “D-Devlin?” she asked in bewilderment.

“Yes.
I was across the street when I saw you fall.” A half smile curved his mouth as
he tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “And that is Lord Heathcliff
to you, Lady Dawson. Let us not forget what a stickler you are for propriety.”

“Devlin,”
she repeated, as if he had not spoken a word.  And then, in a wondrous voice:
“I must be dreaming.”

“Do
I often appear in your dreams, then?” Grinning, Devlin scooped her up in his
arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of feather down. Her head lolled
against his chest and she sighed, her eyes drifting closed. Alarmed, Devlin
gave her a little shake and her eyes popped open at once.

“Stop
that,” she complained, glaring up at him. “My head hurts.”

“I
know darling,” he said soothingly. “I know it does. But you cannot fall asleep,
do you understand?”

“Cannot
fall asleep,” she sighed.

“Exactly
so.”

Devlin
could not remember ever walking so fast in his life. Navigating the late
afternoon foot traffic with ease, he all but sprinted to his brownstone at the
end of the street. Reynolds met him at the door, opening it with timeless
precision and watching with carefully concealed interest as Devlin swept
inside, still cradling Sarah in his arms as if she were a child.

“I
will need a basin of hot water, towels, and a nightgown brought up to my
chambers at once,” Devlin demanded. “Lady Dawson struck her head on the ice and
I fear she may be concussed.”

“Should
I call a physician?”

He
shook his head. “No, I just need what I asked for, and be quick about it
Reynolds!” Without waiting for the butler’s reply he bounded up the stairs and
headed directly for the double oak doors at the end of the wide hallway.
Kicking them open with one well placed strike of his boot, he carried Sarah
across the master bedroom and laid her ever so gently in the middle of his bed.
She moaned as he eased her head back onto one of the pillows, and mumbled
something under her breath while he began to unlace her shoes.

“What
was that?” Gently easing one shoe off and then the other, Devlin peeled away
her stockings as well for they, like the rest of her clothing, had gotten
soaked through while she laid on the ground.

“I
asked where I was and – Lord Heathcliff!” With something that sounded halfway
between a shriek and a squeal, Sarah shot up into a sitting position, her eyes
darting wildly around the room before they landed on Devlin. Her mouth dropped
open, and as she slowly followed his gaze down to her bare ankles, she
shriek/squealed again. “What… How did… I… Oh, oh this is most improper! Lord
Heathcliff,
what are you doing here
?”

Devlin
enjoyed seeing Sarah when she was so flustered. He had never met another woman
who came undone so easily. It was refreshing after being surrounded day in and
day out by calculating shrews who manipulated ever twitch of emotion that
crossed their faces.

Easing
away from the edge of the bed he held up his hands, palms facing towards her,
and suppressed a grin when she grasped the edge of the top quilt and brought it
up to her chin.

“You
slipped on the ice and cracked your head. I brought you here, to my townhouse,”
he explained patiently for the second time.

Sarah’s
eyes widened. “But w-why would you do that?”

“Why
would I help you?” he said, being deliberately obtuse.

“No.”
Her lower lip jutted out in frustration, and it took all of Devlin’s considerable
self control not to take that pouty lip between his teeth and—

“Why
would you bring me here? To your home,” she clarified, her brows knitting
together over the bridge of her nose.

Crossing
the room to where a water pitcher rested next to the washbasin, Devlin poured a
glass. “A drink?” he asked, holding it aloft. Pressing her lips tightly
together, Sarah shook her head from side to side and immediately winced,
reminding them both of the seriousness of her injury. “Wait here,” he said.

“Where
would I go?” Sarah cried after him as he left the room in search of the items
he had requested. Reynolds met him at the top of the stairs, red faced and out
of breath.

“Here,”
the butler said, transferring a pile of freshly pressed towels into Devlin’s
arms. “The water will be done boiling in a minute. I will have it brought up as
soon as it is ready. Is there anything else you desire, Lord Heathcliff?”