Chapter 3
Mary scribbled fiercely at her writing desk before the frost-tinged windows. A soft blue, winter light bathed her room and the single taper she’d lit to illuminate her pages danced cheerfully.
The guests had been arriving all afternoon and she knew she should be glad. She was! For they were all free now of the prison her father had made for her, Rob, and their mother.
That darkness was gone now forever with her father’s passing. Bitterness had given way to joy. Dawn had come to Blackdown. Even now, cloudless blue sky caused the snow-blanketed ground to wink as if covered by millions of priceless diamonds. Everything fairly glittered.
She bit the end of her wooden quill as she contemplated the vast estate unrolling before her.
No. She would not think about him. The man who had changed everything from the moment she had set eyes upon him.
His rough voice and rough hands were not her concern.
Mary looked back to the parchment, half-filled with quickly scrawled words.
Richard Heath. . .
Her heart all but skipped in anticipation.
He was coming for Christmas.
What ever would she do?
She had not seen him since he had so bluntly proclaimed that a lady such as she was no longer to keep company with a man such as he.
But it was his company she preferred to all. It drove her mad that she could not make him see that.
Truly, it amazed her he had agreed to leave London for the polished halls of aristocrats at all given his general dislike of the upper classes. But he had formed the most unlikely of friendships with her brother and his closest friends.
And that made everything all the more complicated. What would Rob truly think of her friendship with Heath? Was friendship truly the proper word? Of that, she was not certain.
Sighing, Mary flung her quill down. Ink spattered the ivory page and she folded her arms beneath her breasts.
It did seem that she was destined to play a role she had no interest in. Even Heath had made it seem like that was what she should do.
Duke’s daughter, indeed. She snorted.
The very idea. For far too long, she had been forced into a submissive guise, unable to be herself. Now was her chance to shed all that and choose her own path.
No, it was not her fate to marry some silly arse of a man who cared naught but for dogs, lace, and snuff boxes.
Oh, how she longed for a man who had looked into this hellish life and laughed, unbowed.
As if the bidden devil had heard his name, Heath’s voice boomed up from the drive and she realized that the most recent coach to arrive was his!
Mary bounded up from her chair, all but knocking it over. She pressed her face to the cold glass, desperate to catch sight of him.
To no avail.
His voice filled the frigid air, but he was already mounting the steps, vanishing beneath the elaborate portico.
What to do? She bit the inside of her cheek.
Stay here?
No. She would not hide. He might have told her to avoid him, but surely even he would agree such a thing would be impossible at a Christmas party?
And so, anticipation lacing through her veins, Mary dashed out of the room, certain that this Christmas, Richard Heath’s presence was almost certainly the greatest present of all.