MEREDITH AWOKE IN a fog. She remembered the warm bath, the tray of food, and the bed covers slipped over her. She’d fought off sleep, wanting to wait until Chetwyn returned, but exhaustion had claimed her. Rolling onto her side, she stared at the burgundy draperies, thinking of others that she’d recently encountered. They were drawn aside, and through the windowpane she could see the darkness. She’d slept through the day. They’d missed the play. Tonight was the ball. She needed to get dressed and see how Chetwyn was. She knew Lord Tristan had stayed behind to continue searching for him. She wondered if he’d found him or if Chetwyn had made his own way here.
Reaching over, she yanked on her bell pull to summon the maid who had been assigned to her. When the door opened, however, it was Lady Anne who walked through.
“Oh, finally, you’re awake.”
“Lord Chetwyn?”
“Doing remarkably well. Tristan announced that he found him at the abbey ruins, although I shall eat my favorite bonnet if Tristan truly found him there and not at the castle.”
Meredith felt the heat suffuse her face. While she didn’t know Lady Anne well, they shared a common interest: Chetwyn. Meredith felt as though she could trust her with anything involving him. “He didn’t want us to be found together.”
“No, he wouldn’t have, now, would he?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I know him well enough to know that he would give to you what he once gave to me.”
With her brow furrowed, Meredith stared at her. “What was that?”
“The gift of choice.”
AS MEREDITH DESCENDED the stairs, she could hear the orchestra playing a quadrille, the first dance of the night, according to the dance card that the duchess had given her. She much preferred the waltz. She considered going to the grand salon. Instead, she turned into the parlor and walked over to the small decorated tree that sat on a table near a window. Tiny boxes were gathered beneath the boughs. Meredith had little doubt that they contained treats that the duchess would pass out to her guests tomorrow upon their parting. She would return home to spend the holiday with her family, and a few days afterward she would be moving into the residence she would share with Litton. Where she would share his bed. Where he would touch her and kiss her and bring her pleasure, and she would do the same with him.
And all the while she would think of Chetwyn, who could have stayed by her side this morning. Then she would be marrying him. In the years to come, would each have wondered if the person sitting across the table was the one they would have chosen—if given a choice?
Only she had a choice. Chetwyn had ensured it by leaving.
“Oh, there you are. I’d heard you were finally up and about.”
Turning slightly, she smiled at Litton. “Yes, I had quite the lovely nap.”
“Let’s go have our dance, shall we?”
“How many?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“How many dances?”
“Well, two, of course. The first and the last.”
“And in between?”
“You shall dance with others, and I shall play cards.”
Four dances the night they met. She wondered how long it would be before he desired only one . . . and then none.
She swallowed hard, considering if she really wanted to know the truth, but she had to put the niggling doubts to rest. “The night when we were discovered kissing in the garden, during Greystone’s ball—I heard my father and brothers coming.”
He stared at her as though she’d lost her senses. “As did I.”
“I tried to slip away, so we wouldn’t be caught. You held me tight and whispered that it would be all right.”
He smiled. “And it did turn out all right, didn’t it?”
“Would you have held me so tightly if I had no dowry?”
He laughed. “Now you’re being silly. Let’s go join the merriment.”
He took her arm, and she shook him off. “I’m serious, Litton. We had time not to get caught.”
“I wanted to marry you,” he said impatiently. “Is that suddenly a crime?”
“Not a crime, but not entirely right, either.” She thought of the kiss that Chetwyn had bestowed upon her in the billiards room. Then again when they were walking. At the castle. It was as though he couldn’t get enough of her, would never have enough of her. “Do you know that we have not kissed once since that night? Not once.”
“I took liberties that night I should not have taken. I’ve been trying to spare you any further gossip.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So you did tell people about the kiss in the garden.”
He shrugged. “Only as a precaution.”
“Against what?”
“Your father changing his mind and thinking that it didn’t matter, that our marriage was not in order.”
She gave a light laugh. “Since he’s withdrawn the dowry, that’s not likely to happen, as he knows no one else will have me now.”
He grabbed her arms, jerked her. “What are you talking about?”
Not a lie, she told herself, but a small test. “My father has decided, based upon the recent worry I caused him, that I shall not come with a dowry.”
Releasing her, he plowed his hands through his hair. “I won’t have it. We discussed the settlement. Granted, we haven’t signed the papers, but I was depending on that dowry to cover my gaming debts. I shall have a word—”
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I shan’t be marrying you, with or without the dowry.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Have you been testing me? You silly girl, I’ll tell everyone what happened in the garden. Your reputation will be ruined. No one will have you.”
“I think you may be wrong on that score.” At least she hoped he was. But even if he wasn’t, as she walked from the room, she realized that she’d been spared making a grave mistake.
“—TWENTY STITCHES PER INCH.”
Chetwyn tried to look impressed with his present dance partner’s sewing skills, but the truth was that Lady Beatrix’s words merely collided together as they bombarded his ears and made no sense. He’d heard that Merry had recovered from her ordeal and would be coming to the ballroom before the night was done, so he was trying to distract himself. A part of him wished desperately that he had stayed by her side at the castle. It would have ensured she became his wife.
But he didn’t want her forced into something she might not want. He just didn’t know where he would find the strength to stay away from her once she married Litton. But stay away he would, because the last thing he wanted was her unhappiness.
“Pardon me.”
At the tap on his shoulder, he came to an abrupt halt and almost forgot to breathe. Merry stood there in a striking red velvet dress with white trim. She smiled at him, and this time his heart nearly forgot to beat. Then she turned her attention to Lady Beatrix.
“Forgive me for interrupting, but a gentleman asked me to give this to you,” she said, holding out a slip of paper.
“Oh.” Lady Beatrix took it, unfolded it, and read it. She blinked her eyes. “Who gave this to you?”
“He asked me not to say. He wanted to remain a bit mysterious, I think. But I am given to understand that he is quite impressed with your sewing skills.”
Lady Beatrix brightened. “Indeed. I knew some gentleman would eventually appreciate them.” She looked at Chetwyn. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I must see to this.”
“By all means. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?”
Lady Beatrix gave a tiny squeal before hurrying from the room.
Chetwyn studied Meredith. “What have you done, Merry?”
“I wanted to dance with you.”
“Well, then, allow me the honor.”
Taking her in his arms, he swept her over the dance floor. “Who was the note from?”
She smiled. “Me, of course. It said only, ‘Meet me in the library.’”
“At least she’ll be warm.”
Her smile grew. “And not alone. I saw Lord Wexford going in there on my way here.”
He laughed. “Jolly good.”
She blushed. “Who knows? Perhaps something will come of it.”
Tightening his hold on her, he asked, “And what of us? Will anything come of us?”
“I’m not quite sure. It depends on you, I suppose. You should know that within my pocket I have a slip of paper for every lady you intend to dance with tonight. I want all of your dances.”
“You shall have them.”
“You should also be aware that Father threatened to take away my dowry if I didn’t marry Litton. I suppose he knew I had reservations and thought to dispense with them. I don’t know if he’ll carry through on his threat.”
“I’ve told you before that I don’t give a damn about your dowry.”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t love Litton. I never did, but he seemed a pleasant enough sort, and he made me feel appreciated. I thought I would be content with him, but then I discovered something I wanted more. Just a few moments ago, I cried off with him. He plans to tell everyone about the tryst in the garden. I shall be ruined.”
“Lovely chap. I shall introduce him to my fist later. But right this moment you do know that the best way to stop gossip is to give people something far more interesting to talk about.”
She nodded. “I never stopped loving you.”
His heart contracted, then expanded, and he thought it might burst through his chest. “That’s good, because I have loved you from the night we met, and I shall love you until the day I die.”
“Then kiss me now.”
And he did. He stopped dancing, folded his arms around her, and lowered his mouth to hers. He heard the slowing of feet, a few gasps, some chuckles, a clap or two. Yes, they would be the talk of high society. But he wasn’t quite done.
Breaking off the kiss, he held her warm gaze for but a moment before going down on bended knee and taking her hand.
All dancing halted. The music stopped.
“Merry, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, my marchioness, the mother of my children? Will you be my love for as long as I draw breath?”
Tears welled in her eyes, as she pressed a trembling hand to her lips. “Oh, Chetwyn, yes, of course.”
Taking from his pocket a ring with small emeralds that matched her eyes, he slipped it onto her finger. At her stunned expression, he couldn’t help but smile. “I told you, Merry, that first night that you were the reason I was here. Happy Christmas, my love.”
Standing, he kissed her again as a rousing cheer went up from those who surrounded them. As her arms closed around his neck, he pulled her in against the curve of his body and held her tighter. It was going to be a very lovely Christmas for them both. The first of many.