Fair Maiden (24 page)

“What is there to do?” She leaned backward to lie out upon
the blanket, then suggested, “Watch the clouds?”

How was he supposed to get down on one knee when she lay
below him? He did it anyway. Braced on his right knee, he bent over her and
looked down while he dug the box out of his pocket. “I have some plans.”

“You do?”

“I’m in love with you, Contessa.”

Green eyes fringed with thick lashes blinked up at him, and
she tried to sit up.

He gently pushed her back down, and shushed her. “Let me
finish.” Removing the ring, he gathered her left hand. “There has been no ring
here before, and I’m glad there never was, but there will be now.”

“I-I’m confused. I thought we were already betrothed.”

“We are, but I wish to make it official.”

“Oh.” Contessa looked at the ring between his fingers. “Are
those emeralds?”

“Yes, emeralds to match your eyes and diamonds to match your
soul. Contessa, will you be my wife?” He began moving the gold onto her finger.

Unfortunately, the moment he let go of it, she suddenly
turned back into a spirit, and the stone-encrusted gold dropped to the blanket.
No, he thought, he wouldn’t curse. Not in front of her, and certainly not now. Jackson was right in chastising him for his foul language. Christian could admit the habit
was getting out of hand. He would control himself now when he wanted to bellow
like a sailor, for he was not a sailor, and never had been. He had no right to
talk like that, especially around a sweet lady-like Contessa.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Christian schooled his expression, feigning calmness with
the situation, and tried to get her back. After speaking her name a number of
times, she did return to the living, but just as he tried to put the ring on,
she again became untouchable. In his head he cursed profusely.

“Christian, I—I…” She rose as she spoke and hovered in front
of him.

He slipped the ring up to the knuckle of his pinky finger.
“I’ll wear it for now, but I do wish for an answer. Will you marry me?”

Again she hesitated, again he spoke, looking up at her,
“Sweetheart, please be my bride. We’ll solve this—”

No
was written upon her face, and he feared she might
refuse him. “Have you not wished for this?” he queried with a gentle tone.

“I—well, yes, I have wished for this.” She blushed prettily
and he knew it was difficult for her to admit it.

“I’ve wanted this, too. I was going to propose anyway,
before my mother....Tessa, please.”

Her breath shuddered as she drew in air. “What if I stay
this way? Always flickering back and forth between life and death?”

Christian didn’t know the answer to that. He touched her
hand and felt it pass through his. “We’re already betrothed, this is simply a
formality,” he said instead of trying to respond to her questions.

Letting that sink in, he watched, and waited, then finally
she said, “I love you, too. Yes.”

Christian barely heard the words, but they were enough. Only
then did he rise from his knee, his gaze locked with hers. She turned solid and
sank to the earth. Determined, he seized her hand and slipped the ring on
again.

This time it stayed, and she stayed; they both exhaled in
relief, except she was now dressed in that golden wedding gown again. The
flower wreath had fallen to the grass and he picked it up, replacing it upon
her head. She looked quite medieval with loose curls gracing her shoulders,
with ribbons and flowers in her hair. He lifted her fingers to his lips and
kissed her hand, and then her mouth. It was a lingering kiss, one befitting a
proper proposal. “Thank you,” he whispered after releasing her.

Chapter
25

Soirée
Escape

Water lapped at the sides of the boat as Christian pushed
the oar through the water. It had been difficult getting into the small craft
with this wedding gown on. Christian had wrapped the train around her legs,
lifted her into the seat since she could no longer walk, and then piled the
remainder of fabric on top of her knees.

He appeared determined to enjoy the rest of their outing,
even if she was dressed like a bride.

The sun hung low in the sky, and it was rimmed with the
orange and pink of sunset, just as the clouds were. Contessa drew in the scents
around her. She could smell the moss and the water and—she wrinkled her
nose—the fish.

“This would be a fine fishing spot,” said Christian. “Mother
said Father came out here daily when they took holiday at Krestly.”

“Hmm,” she agreed, “It does smell like a good place to catch
fish.”

He laughed, and lifted the bouquet of flowers she still held
closer to her nose. “Isn’t it pretty, though?” Grateful the odors surrounding
them were smothered by the scent of yarrow and bluebells, she smiled and
nodded.

She looked around them as the boat rocked gently. The late
sunlight sparkled on the water like jewels of amber. Bright white shined around
the silhouettes of the cattails and grasses growing along the bank. “No, this
is not pretty,” she said. “This is beautiful.”

Tessa only realized she was shivering when Christian removed
his coat and draped it around her shoulders. “Perhaps we should be getting
back,” he said swatting at an insect.

Smiling, Tessa slid her arms into the sleeves and pushed
them up to release her hands. The material still held his body heat, and she
liked that.

“Would you like the last chocolate?” He held it out for her.

“Yes, thank you.” She took the candy from his hand and ate
it.

White teeth flashed when Christian grinned. He rowed toward
the shore. “How does hot tea and warm scones sound for when we get back?”

“Wonderful.” She giggled. “You spoil me, Christian. Around
you I will never fear going hungry.”

“I should hope not.”

The boat bumped the edge of the bank, and Christian jumped
out, grabbed the rope and tugged it farther onto the grass. Once it was tied to
a tree trunk, he set one foot in the boat, looped one arm around her back and
the other under her knees.

“This dress is heavy,” he said, adjusting his hold on her as
he straightened. She slung arms around his neck.

“Perhaps the problem is that you feed me too well.”

“Are you suggesting I restrict chocolate, clotted cream, and
pudding from your diet?” he asked settling her upon the horse with such ease he
could not possibly have been speaking the truth about her being heavy.

His words reminded her of the steaming bread pudding
smothered in cream they’d enjoyed the other night. “Please, no,” she whispered
when he climbed up behind her and took the reins.

She felt his deep chuckle against her back, and when he
whispered into her ear, his mouth moving against her earlobe, she felt
gooseflesh spring up all over her skin, “I could never deprive you of such
things, my darling. For as long as we live you shall be lavished with sweets
and dressed in the finest silks and the most delicate laces.”

“You do plan to fatten me up!” she accused. “Can you afford
to dress a plump girl so elegantly?”

“Of course I can.”

“You should never indulge a woman so much.”

“Nonsense.” After brushing her hair aside, his mouth pressed
against her neck.

Later that evening whilst they sat together in his study,
Christian abruptly cut his curse off mid-syllable with a few growled murmurs.

Contessa bit back a giggle. She could almost see the
profanity still hovering at the edge of his lips. “What is it? No one is ill, I
hope.”

He flicked his wrist and tossed the message he’d been
holding onto his desk. “No, but I wish it were that simple…. Mother has planned
our ball for
this
Friday instead of next.” After pulling such an angry
face, she was completely taken aback when he laughed suddenly and said, “The
same evening as Muriel’s Egyptian Masquerade. She’ll not be pleased.” He
laughed again, and his dimple deepened.

“What are we going to do?” She set down the copy of Robin
Hood she was reading, moved toward the desk, and lifted the invitation to read
it.

His expression sobered. “We have to go.”

“How can we? What if I—?”

“If we don’t attend, Mother will disown me.”

“I do not believe she would, she loves you…”

“Perhaps she wouldn’t disown me completely, but her feelings
would be deeply injured, especially after going to all the work it will take to
plan such a party.” He took the missive back. “I can’t do that to her.”

“I see your point. We must honor your mother.”

Christian lifted one eyebrow and looked her up and down.
Today she was dressed in a pale blue gown of such thin material she feared
tearing it with each movement. “We’ll order a golden ball gown for you,
something similar to your wedding dress. And do your hair half up, and half
down.”

“Oh.” She touched the elaborate chignon Tabitha had done for
her that day. “Christian, that is brilliant!”

Smiling with a cunning twist to his mouth, he gathered her
hand into his and kissed the ring. “I’ll order the dress tomorrow.”

“Will there be enough time to have it made?”

“If I pay Mistress Madison enough coin, she’ll get it done
in time.”

The gown was done in time, and it was lovely, even though
she’d seen embroidered silk much like this far too often over the past several
weeks. The sleeves were longer than most of the gowns at this ball would be,
but also shorter than her original dress. The train was much shorter, and it
was bustled in the back, just in case they had to alter her wedding gown again.
The differences were quite clear to her, especially with the more modern cut to
the bodice, but also subtle enough to fool anyone not paying attention.

“You look lovely, my dear,” said Tabitha, pressing soft
white gloves into her hands. “It’s time.”

“Thank you, Tabitha, I appreciate everything you do and have
done.”

“It is my pleasure. Now get moving before His Lordship
begins bellowing.”

She laughed and left the chamber.

Christian was waiting for her at the base of the staircase.
He was a vision in black and white. The coat, with its long tails, fit him
perfectly, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his
hips. The gray-striped vest was an elegant contrast to the pure white shirt and
cravat he wore. He took her hand, led her out the front and then tucked her
into the carriage. With a tap from his walking stick against the roof, they
left his townhouse and set off for his parent’s home at the north end of London.

The marchioness truly had gone all out for this event. The
décor took Contessa’s breath away when she and Christian entered the dining room.
A lavish feast was spread out along an enormous sideboard, with a row of
servants flanking each end. In the center stood an elaborate ice sculpture of
several doves flying around one another, the curve of their wings connected to
form a heart shape. But almost more overwhelming to her senses were the aromas
of the many dishes available. Heavenly. Her stomach grumbled, and she placed a
gloved hand over her middle.

The room filled with guests as they sat around the long
table. Then the delightful sights and smells were forgotten and replaced with
fear. If….

“Relax,” whispered Christian. She found it difficult to take
his advice because she could feel the tension in his limbs even when not
touching him. He was just as concerned about this situation as her.

“How…?”

“Minced Pie?” he said, holding a platter filled with many
little pastries.

“Aye, um, yes. Thank you.” She took one and set it onto her
plate. Was she supposed to eat this with her fingers or with a fork?

“Either will do,” he said softly, because apparently she’d
been scowling down at the food.

She chose the eating utensils, praying she would not drop
them. But her hands trembled so badly the cutlery clattered against the dish,
emitting a light tinkling noise. Terrified of drawing attention, she set the
fork and knife down and tucked her hands into her lap. Hoping no one would
notice if she did not eat.

A bite of bread held in Christian’s fingers appeared before
her nose.

Startled she looked at him.

“You must try the French bread, darling, Mother’s cook makes
some of the best I’ve ever tried.”

She accepted it and then noted with panic that many eyes
were on her and him. Her mouth was too dry to swallow the morsel which was
acceptably tender on the inside and crusty on the outside. She was too worried.
Almost franticly, she reached for her cup, and gulped down a good amount of the
contents.

“Do you like it?” asked Christian.

She nodded, wishing she could enjoy the meal without so much
fear consuming her.

The awkwardness did not improve. “Christian,” began his
father. “Tell us how you met Contessa, would you?”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “We met at…the Wimple’s.
She walked in, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.”

Then his mother chimed in, “Contessa, dear, tell us more
about your family. What are your parent’s names?”

She remembered that from her dream. “James and Annabelle.”

“And their titles?” the marchioness asked, her tone making
it quite clear she was bothered Tessa had omitted something so very important.

“Sir and lady James of Camberly Lemere.” Contessa offered,
hoping that was enough.

Bless the servant who offered Lady Sparks some asparagus,
and distracted her from inquiring more.

Another bite of food was presented from Christian. She
opened her mouth, hoping, as she was certain he was hoping, that if she were
chewing they may not ask her any more questions.

“I do not know them. Do you, darling?” the marquess queried
of his wife.

Lady Sparks speared two small pieces of the vegetable. “I
was told they were in France, but we did send an invitation to the address
Christian gave me. Contessa, why was it they could not come again?”