Brenda Hiatt (15 page)

Holly replied that she had done so on a few occasions in her youth. “I may well have forgotten how by now, though.”

“In that case, we’ll have to reteach you,” said Hunt. His tone, as well as his look, was pleasant, if not loverlike.

Perhaps he was merely playing his role for the dowager, but Holly took hope from it nonetheless. “I shall look forward to that,” she said.

He did not come to her room that night, and Holly made no further attempt to speak to him, but her spirits remained high as she changed out of her gown and into her nightdress, then unpinned her hair, unwilling to ring for Mabel. Sitting at the dressing-table and brushing out her long locks, she gazed dreamily into the mirror. Hunt had not been nearly so cold towards her today. And tomorrow would be the mistletoe hunt…

It was Christmas, the season of miracles. It was going to be all right. Somehow, she was convinced, everything was going to be all right.

B
EFORE EVERYONE
had even breakfasted the next morning, the children were clamouring to begin the search for mistletoe. Hunt entered into their enthusiasm determinedly, in an attempt to suppress his wildly conflicting feelings towards Holly.

“William, do you remember which trees we were lucky with last year?” he asked his nephew as the party gathered in the Great Hall.

“Of course. Are we going all together, or shall we split into teams, Uncle Hunt? May I be on yours?”

The other two children began calling out who they wanted on their teams, as well, but the dowager raised her hands for silence and they subsided.

“As I shall be the judge of who brings in the most mistletoe, I shall choose the teams. Suppose you go out two by two? Reginald, Anne, Philip, suppose each of you take one of the children. Hunt and Holly may make the fourth team.”

At once William protested. “But Uncle Hunt and I were already planning our strategy! It isn’t fair!”

Hunt was quick to agree. He had no wish to be alone with Holly, tormented by the memories of last year—not until he had sorted out his feelings. “Perhaps larger teams are in order,” he said. “William may be on my team, as he wishes. Father and Reggie can take Alice, and Michael may go with his parents. Do you come, Camilla?”

“I believe I will,” she said, to his surprise. Though the mistletoe hunt was an old Wickburn tradition dating from his father’s youth, he could never recall her taking part in it. “I’ll be a part of your team, Hunt, if you do not mind. Wickburn and Reggie will not wish to proceed at my pace, I know.”

Hunt nodded reluctantly, knowing that William would not care to go slowly, either. Still, having her along made any tête-à-tête with Holly even less likely. He didn’t know if he would be more likely to accuse her or forgive her if they were alone—nor was he sure yet which he ought to do.

Outdoors, the three teams headed in different directions. William eagerly led his team towards the orchard, where he claimed he had found an enormous bunch of mistletoe the year before.

“Hold up, hold up, we have ladies with us,” Hunt admonished him. He paused, looking back at Holly and Camilla toiling through the snow. Already it appeared that his stepmother was regretting her decision to come. And Holly looked pale, he thought. Instinctively, he held out his
arm for her. Camilla hurried forward, taking the proffered arm before Holly could.

“Oh, thank you, dear boy. I fear I am not at all accustomed to walking through snow.” Behind her, Holly gave him a half smile and shrugged. “Now where has that little monkey William got to?” the duchess continued.

“I’ll go ahead with him, ma’am,” said Holly, quickening her pace.

“Very well, my dear. I am not certain I can manage without Hunt’s support.”

Hunt glanced down at Camilla impatiently, wondering why she had chosen to come along at all. As she trotted past, Holly smiled and Hunt felt a tug at his heart. He smiled back.

“My! How pretty the estate looks, covered in snow,” commented Camilla, slowing her pace further. She chattered on, walking more and more slowly, until William and Holly were completely out of sight. “So much nicer than the rain and sleet they get farther south, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” replied Hunt distractedly. “Though Holly told me once that it snows often enough in Derbyshire to preclude hunting for at least a part of every winter.”

“Does it, indeed? I had thought—” She broke off at the sound of a shrill childish scream somewhere ahead.

“That sounds like William!” Leaving the duchess where she stood, Hunt raced towards the rise. As he ran, he heard other cries that sounded like Holly’s. He forced himself faster through the snow, knee-deep in places.

Topping the rise, he saw a sight that made his heart stand still. Below was the pond he and Anne had mentioned at dinner last night—the pond Anne had fallen into as a child. Now it was William who had fallen through the ice, still thin after only a few days of frost.

Holly was in the water, too, apparently attempting to wade out to where William floundered, a few yards away. As
he watched, she lost her footing and fell forward, for a moment disappearing completely under the water. Then she was up again, half-walking, half-swimming towards the child.

“Hold on!” shouted Hunt. “I’m coming!”

A
S THE ICE WATER
closed over her head, Holly almost panicked. Then, desperately, she remembered the swimming lessons Noel had given her when they were eleven, and began to stroke with her hands against the water. In seconds, though it seemed far longer, she broke through the surface into the wintry daylight.

William was nearly within reach, his face white and scared, his arms flailing wildly. Holly righted herself. Yes, her feet could still touch the bottom.

“William, listen to me!” she shouted authoritatively. It would never do to let the child know she was nearly as frightened as he. “Stop thrashing about and reach for my hand.”

Holly reached as far forward as her arm would stretch, using the other against the water to maintain her balance on the slippery ooze on the bottom of the pond. Slowing the windmill action of his limbs, William finally focused on her.

“Everything will be all right,” she assured him as calmly as she could through her chattering teeth. “Just take my hand.”

A little of the fear went out of the boy’s eyes and he stretched one mittened hand towards her. As soon as he stopped thrashing, however, he sank like a stone.

Holly made a grab for him, but he was still a few inches out of reach. Dimly, she heard shouting behind her, but she did not dare turn to look. Pushing her feet against the mud,
she propelled herself forward. She could still see William just below the surface, and in a moment she had him under the arms, lifting his head above the water.

The frightened child immediately seized her in a death grip, nearly pulling them both under. Making soothing noises, Holly turned back to the edge of the pond. The snowy shore looked impossibly far away, though in fact it was only a few yards. Her whole body was racked by such violent shivers that she could scarcely stand.

Then, to her overwhelming relief, she saw Hunt. Behind him, and off to one side, Sir Philip was also running towards them, followed more distantly by Lady Anne.

“Stay where you are, Holly! I’ll get you both!” shouted Hunt, peeling off his caped cloak.

Gratefully, Holly halted, clasping the now-sobbing William to her chest.

“Wait!” cried Sir Philip, coming up just then. “Take my hand, Hunt, and we’ll form a chain to pull them back.”

Hunt nodded. Sir Philip remained with one foot on shore while Hunt waded out to where Holly stood. She inched forward, and in a moment Hunt reached her outstretched hand. Their progress back was slow, for William’s weight impeded Holly’s movement. As soon as he could, Hunt took the boy from her and handed him to his father. Then, one arm firmly around Holly’s shoulders, he guided her back onto the snowy shore.

By now, everyone else in the party had gathered around the pond, brought by William’s screams when the ice first cracked. Lady Anne wept over William, still in her husband’s arms, while the other children looked on with frightened expressions.

“Is he going to die, Mother?” asked Alice, her lower lip trembling.

Quickly, Anne pulled herself together. “Of course not, darling, but we must get him back to the house at once and
into a hot bath. Reggie, dear, will you run ahead and have one drawn?”

Lord Reginald pelted off towards the house and Sir Philip headed after him as quickly as he could manage. The duke and duchess followed with the other children. Anne started to join them, but then stopped and turned to Holly.

“There is no way I can ever thank you enough. You saved my son’s life.” Heedless of Hunt, who by now was nearly supporting Holly’s whole weight, she hugged her sister-in-law fiercely.

“Why, you are nigh frozen to death! Hunt, you must get her into a bath immediately—and yourself, too. We’ll talk more later, my dear.” With that, she turned and ran after her husband.

“Th-th-thank you,” Holly managed to stammer as Hunt propelled her up the hill towards the house. “I d-don’t—”

“Don’t try to talk now,” he said shortly. “Walk as quickly as you can. It will warm you somewhat.”

Holly bit her lip, though it was so numb that she could not feel her teeth against it. With the others nowhere near, Hunt plainly saw no need for tenderness, or even civility. The affection she had imagined in his eyes earlier had been an illusion, after all.

Sudden tears that sprang as much from disappointment as from reaction to her recent ordeal blinded Holly and in a moment she was sobbing uncontrollably. With a muffled oath, Hunt lifted her in his arms as though she weighed no more than William and bore her swiftly to the house.

T
HE NEXT FEW HOURS
were hazy for Holly. Someone, she was not sure who except that it was not Hunt, stripped her of her sodden, icy clothing and deposited her in a steaming bath. As she slowly thawed, her mind seemed to grow foggier rather than clearer.

She did not remember getting out of the tub at all. She was dried, wrapped in a warm, dry flannel nightgown and
tucked beneath several layers of blankets with a hot brick at her feet. Then she sank into blissful oblivion.

When she awoke, Lady Anne was at her bedside, just seating herself in the chair.

“Oh, I did not mean to wake you, Holly,” she said contritely. “I’ve just seen William to sleep again and wanted to sit with you for a while. How are you feeling?”

“Warm again.” Holly smiled at Anne’s anxious expression, trying to reassure her. “Only a bit achy. Probably because I have not been used to so much exercise. I shall be fine, I am certain.”

Anne breathed a sigh of relief. “I wished to thank you again for what you did. ’Twas very brave. I daren’t think of what would have happened had you not been by when William fell in.” She shuddered.

“I’m very glad I was near enough to be of use. Still, if I had stayed even closer to him, it would not have happened at all.”

“Nonsense!” said Anne roundly. “William has already told me that you warned him to stay off of the ice but that he would not listen. I know from long experience how difficult it is to keep that boy from a course once he is set on it. Had I been with him, he’d have done just the same, I am sure. And I cannot swim. I really have great cause to be thankful that you were there instead of I.”

Holly managed a wan smile but said nothing, feeling illogically as though she had betrayed Hunt’s trust yet again.

Anne went on, “In fact, in William’s eyes, as well as my own, you are quite a heroine. All through his bath he could talk of nothing else.”

Holly wished she dared ask whether Hunt shared his nephew’s opinion, but she could not. Still, Anne’s words comforted her somewhat.

“I am only glad that William is all right. He has suffered no ill effects, then?”

“None at all. ’Twill give him something to boast of to the other lads when we return home.” Anne laid one hand on Holly’s forehead. “I am relieved that you are not feverish, either. Grandmama wished to have the doctor in to see both of you, but the duchess pooh-poohed the suggestion. For once, it appears that Camilla may be in the right.”

Holly frowned. “Are you not close to the duchess, either?” She surprised herself with the question, which was undoubtedly impertinent. Her recent experience had apparently not made her any more cautious.

But Anne answered readily enough, after a quick glance towards the open doorway. “I fear that neither Hunt nor I have ever really regarded Camilla as a mother—nor has she encouraged it. ’Twas not so hard on me, for I was too young to remember my real mother and Grandmama did her best to fill her place. But for Hunt it was difficult.”

“How so?” prompted Holly. She so desperately needed to understand what drove her husband.

“Well, Papa seemed to have little time for him—or the estates—after he married Camilla. As a result, Hunt took on responsibilities that should not by rights have been his for years. By the time he was twelve he was practically managing all of Wickburn, with Grandmama’s help. Even now, he takes tasks on himself that most men would leave to their stewards.”

“Yes, I had noticed that,” said Holly. “Both he and Grandmama appear to have a very strong sense of responsibility to the land and the people here.”

“Oh, between them I doubt there are any tenants in England with less to complain of. But sometimes I think Hunt pushes himself too hard.”

Holly had to agree, remembering the inordinate amount of travel he’d had to do on Foreign Office business. And look at the thanks he had received.

“He will not listen to me, Holly, but perhaps you might have some influence on him,” Anne suggested. “Help him to take life a little less seriously.”

First Grandmama and now Anne,
thought Holly in exasperation. In fact that was precisely what she had tried to do at the start of their marriage—a task she had been making some progress at before everything fell apart. Aloud she said, “I will do my best.”

Anne smiled and stood. “Of course. How presumptuous you must think me! But I daresay you would be the same were it your brother. You rest now, and I will return to speak with you in the morning.”

“H
OW IS SHE
?” asked Hunt when Anne peeked into the library, where he sat alone. “Is she awake?”

“Yes, but I told her to rest. You should rest, too, Hunt. You were nearly as chilled as she, and you’ve done little but sit by her bed since getting out of your own bath.”

“I’m fine.” He dismissed her concern brusquely. “I was not in the water for more than a moment.”

And if he were ill, he thought, it would be no more than he deserved. He had allowed, even encouraged, Holly to go ahead with William so that he need not deal with his feelings for her. His misguided pride had nearly cost them all dearly.

“Hunt, it wasn’t your fault, either,” said Anne gently, sitting down next to him.

He looked up, startled. “What do you mean?” Like his grandmother, Anne sometimes seemed to have an uncanny ability to read his mind.

“Both you and Holly seem determined to blame yourselves for what happened. As I told her, William has been getting into scrapes since he was a baby. He eluded the vigilance of his nurse time without number, and she is the most trustworthy soul in the world. And now his tutor complains to me constantly of how difficult he is to control.”

“Rather like me at that age, eh?” Hunt allowed himself a reluctant smile.

“Yes, rather like you—before you began taking the cares of the world on your shoulders, at least.” Anne’s smile held something of concern, but Hunt looked away.

“Still, I should not have allowed the two of them to go on ahead like that. Holly is not as familiar—”

“Now there you go again.” Anne cut him off. “Holly is a grown woman, and an intelligent one. I doubt she would thank you for treating her like a child. Pamper her when she needs it, yes, but do not try to do her thinking for her. She’s perfectly capable of taking responsibility for her own actions.” She rose. “Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to look in on William one more time.”

Hunt sat there after she left, staring into the fire. Was that what he had been doing all along—treating Holly like a child?

Certainly, he had ordered most of the details of their lives, even to include the decorating of her own rooms. But that was what husbands did, wasn’t it? He recalled her eagerness to be involved in Foreign Office affairs—and how he had forbidden it.

He had never shown even a modicum of trust in her judgement, he realized. Instead of making her a partner in his life, he had treated her more like a possession or, yes, like a child—to be instructed by his grandmother and guided by himself. Small wonder if she wanted more from life.

Hunt now remembered his intention of living apart from Holly after the Christmas season was over—and recoiled from it. The moment he’d seen her in danger, the truth had struck him again with blinding clarity.

He loved her.

No matter what she had done, no matter what her feelings towards him, he loved her. What was more, he needed her—needed her far more than she could possibly need him,
improbable though that would have seemed to him mere days ago. He could not imagine his life without her.

But—supposing
she
wished to part from
him?
Could he bear to let her go, after coming so close to losing her this morning?

Hunt stood and walked over to the window, where he stared out across the bleak, dead landscape. It must be her decision. If she wanted to leave, he would have to let her, though it killed him. It was as Anne said—she was a grown woman, not a child, not his possession.

But before he gave her that choice, he would do everything in his power to win her love.

H
OLLY WAS MORE
than a little disgusted at herself when she found she was still weak the next morning. It was not as though she had been injured, she told herself. A fright and a dunking in ice water should not still be affecting her so a day later.

Determinedly, she sat up when a maid came in with her breakfast tray. She would never clear things up with Hunt if she spent her time at Wickburn playing the invalid. When she tried to stand, however, her head swam and she had to sit back down.

“Holly, dear, pray don’t overexert yourself,” exclaimed Lady Anne, following her breakfast into the room. She nodded for the maid to leave them, and when she was gone, said, “If Camilla were in your place, she would expect cosseting for a fortnight at the very least, I assure you. It will do you no harm in
her
eyes to pretend to a greater degree of, ah, delicacy than you truly feel.”

“My sister Blanche is the same.” Holly chuckled at Anne’s wry smile. “She always made me feel that good health was somehow less than ladylike.”

“Then you know exactly what I mean. Camilla has done the same to me for most of my life.” Anne rolled her eyes.
“‘How excessively
strong
you are, my dear,’” she mimicked.

Holly sighed. “I fear this time my, ah, delicacy is not completely feigned. But I cannot imagine why I should still feel as weak as dishwater. It is most frustrating, I assure you, when there is so much to do before Christmas.”

“You will feel more the thing by tomorrow, I am sure.” Anne picked up the breakfast tray where the maid had left it and brought it forward. “You ate very little yesterday. Perhaps that is much of the problem.”