One Snowy Night by Amanda Grange
Rebecca felt her stomach churn. Lacy had seen them together at The Queen’s Head, when she was arguing with Joshua over the room. The door, she remembered, had been open, because she had not wanted to close it, for to do so would have been to shut herself in with a stranger. It was the worst thing that could possibly have happened. Although the encounter had been innocent, no one would believe it. Indeed, Lacy himself did not believe it. Having seen her talking to Joshua whilst Joshua had been in a state of partial undress, and having heard Joshua invite her to share his bed, he had drawn his own conclusions. And now he meant to noise them abroad.
Her spirits sank still further as she realized that her reputation was ruined.
But she had reckoned without Joshua’s strength of character.
‘I don’t think so.’ His voice was like steel.
‘Oh, don’t you?’ jeered Lacy. ‘Well, perhaps if your mistress had been more accommodating, and perhaps if you hadn’t manhandled me, then I might have been persuaded to keep what I know to myself. But as it is . . . ’
His voice tailed away. He had started his speech full of confidence, but at the word "mistress" the atmosphere had changed, and a deadly silence now filled the room.
Lacy glanced nervously at Joshua and backed away.
There was a moment of tense silence. Then, ‘Tell me, Lacy,’ said Joshua. ‘How are you with a pistol?’ He spoke conversationally, but the air suddenly felt as tight as a drum, as though one wrong word or gesture would rupture it.
Lacy felt it. He fingered his collar nervously, as though he was finding it difficult to breath. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, that if you blacken Miss Foster’s name in any way, you will find yourself needing one,’ said Joshua levelly.
Lacy gave a bark of laughter, but it was forced. ‘You wouldn’t fight a duel over her,’ he said with bravado. ‘She’s not your wife. She’s nothing but your strumpet. Besides, duels aren’t for your kind.’ He sneered again. ‘You’re in trade, Kelling. You’re not even a gentleman.’
‘I count four,’ said Joshua calmly.
Lacy looked at him suspiciously.
‘Four reasons for calling you out,’ Joshua elaborated. ‘One, your attack on Miss Foster; two, your threat to spread gossip about the lady and myself; three, your slur on the lady’s character; and four, your slur on my right to call myself a gentleman.’
Lacy licked his lips.
‘You are the only person to know of the incident at The Queen’s Head,’ went on Joshua, his eyes hard. ‘If I discover that anyone else knows about it, I will know who has been spreading the rumour. And I, Lacy, am a very good shot.’
Lacy looked from one to the other of them, as if trying to decide whether it would be worth his while to resort to some kind of blackmail. But one look at Joshua’s implacable features decided him. ‘Very well,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘I will keep quiet.’
‘A wise choice,’ said Joshua evenly. He strode over to the door and held it open.
Lacy, with a last furtive look, slipped out of the room.
With his departure, some of the tension that had filled the room began to dissipate. Rebecca let out sigh of relief. Without realizing it, she had been holding her breath.
Joshua, whose eyes had followed Lacy out of the room, turned to look at her.
As she felt his eyes on her, Rebecca felt suddenly awkward. He was taking in every detail of her: the flush on her cheeks; her rapid breathing; and the rise and fall of her breast.
‘Did he hurt you?’ he asked, his eyes returning to her own.
‘No.’ She remembered Lacy’s attack on her, and was thankful that Joshua had arrived when he did - although she had given a good account of herself before he had entered the room. In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, which was still tense, though now in a subtly different way, she gave a weak smile and said, ‘Though I believe I hurt him. I stamped on his foot when he tried to kiss me.’
He smiled, too. Then his eyes mellowed, and the hard line of his mouth softened. ‘I hope you would not stamp on my foot if —’ he began; before cutting himself off.
There was a heart-stopping moment and everything was suddenly very still. Rebecca could hear the coals shifting in the hearth. As if some unseen force was compelling her to do so, she turned her eyes up to his. ‘If —?’ she whispered. Her voice trembled, but the rest of her was rigid. It was as though she was waiting for something. But what?
‘If . . .’ said Josh, his voice suddenly husky.
He was looking incredibly desirable. Standing there before her in the candlelight, with the flames painting gold highlights into his hair and with copper sparks flashing from his eyes, he was the most devastatingly attractive man Rebecca had ever seen. But it was not just his mane of dark blond hair and his copper eyes that made him so attractive, it was the force of his character; a force which echoed her own. He crossed the space between them and took her hands between his, whilst all the time his eyes never left hers. He stroked his strong fingers over the backs of her hand then turned them over and stroked the palms.
He dropped one of her hands, and she felt torn, both relieved that he had let it go, and yet devastated that he had done so.
But he kept hold of her other hand. He kissed the back of it, then stripping off her long white evening glove he kissed it again, turning it over and kissing her palm. She gave a long, shuddering sigh, and as if it released something inside him he abandoned convention entirely and pulled her roughly into his embrace.
His eyes bored down into her own. It was as though he was looking through them into her very soul. His mouth came closer and her lips began to part. She could feel the heat of his breath, clean and sweet, and her eyelids, heavy, started to close. She felt his arms drawing her closer, crushing her against him in a virile embrace; she could almost taste his lips, and then —
A loud crash from just outside the room penetrated the spellbinding aura that surrounded her. She became gradually aware that there was a world beyond the one encircled by Joshua’s arms, and knew that she must rejoin it.
He knew it, too. He was pulling away from her, dropping his arms, letting her go . . . .
She swayed for a moment, not yet able to stand without his support, then made a great effort and managed to steady herself. As she did so she began to remember where she was, and to realize what had just happened.
Oh, no! she thought, overcome with mortification. Despite all her resolutions to the contrary she had almost succumbed to Joshua’s powerful attraction.
‘I . . . I must go,’ she said, wondering what had come over her. How could she have become so lost to all sense that she would allow Joshua to pull her into his arms? She picked up her glove and pulled it on with shaking fingers. ‘Hetty will be wondering where I am.’
‘Of course.’ His voice was husky.
To Rebecca’s relief he stood aside so that she could pass.
‘But you will not find Hetty in the ballroom,’ he said. ‘She has had to retire to the ladies withdrawing-room. Mr Korbett stood on her gown in the boulanger and ripped the hem. She asked me to explain her absence and tell you she will return to the ballroom as soon as her dress has been mended.’
‘So that is what brought you here at such an opportune moment,’ said Rebecca.
‘That. Or fate.’ He looked down at her with an enigmatic expression on his face.
Her eyelids drooped. The atmosphere was again becoming charged. She must leave. At once. Whilst she still could.
With a great effort she stirred herself. She gave herself a moment to gather her wits. Then, smoothing her skirt, which had become crushed when Joshua had pulled her into his arms, she went out into the hall.
As she did so she caught sight of a wisp of white muslin whisking round the corner. She noticed that one of the chairs lining the corridor was a little out of place, and guessed that one of the young ladies at the ball must have knocked it over, causing the crash she and Joshua had heard.
She patted her hair, unfurled her fan, and then making an effort to appear calm and unruffled, she returned to the ballroom. Just before she went in she took a moment to glance at herself in a gilded looking-glass hanging on the wall.
To her surprise - and her profound relief - no trace of what had just passed between her and Joshua could be seen. She had thought it must be clear to all the world that he had pulled her roughly into his arms, and that she had turned up her face in willing expectation of his kiss. But she looked serene. No one would guess, from looking at her, that inside, her emotions were a conflicting mass of unresolved feelings.
Why had Joshua kissed her hand? Why had he stripped off her glove? Why had she let him? Why had he dragged her into his arms? And why had she not recoiled in horror when he had done so, instead of melting into his arms as though she had been born to do it?
These were questions she could not answer. They disturbed her deeply, and shook her to the roots of everything she knew - or thought she knew - about herself.
Her aplomb was gone, leaving nothing but confusion in its wake.
But this was not the time or the place to think about it. No matter how difficult it was, she must push those thoughts aside. She took a deep breath and then she went through into the ballroom.
Fortunately she had not been missed. Hetty had not yet returned to the ballroom, and Charles was partnering an elderly dowager on the dance floor. By the time Hetty returned, Rebecca was able to laugh and dance, and it appeared as though nothing untoward had happened.
Joshua remained in the morning-room in order to give Rebecca time to rejoin their fellow guests. It would not have done for them to return together in case their joint return had given rise to speculation about their absence. The situation was difficult enough, with George Lacy having seen them together at The Queen’s Head. The last thing Joshua wanted to do was to expose Rebecca to any more harmful gossip.
But that was not the only thought to plague him. Whilst he waited in the morning-room he asked himself what he had been thinking of in taking Rebecca into his arms. As soon as he had rescued her from the clutches of George Lacy he should have encouraged her to return to the ballroom. Instead of which he had given way to his feelings, dragging her into his embrace. It was only the timely intervention of the crash from outside the room that had prevented him from kissing her.
And oh! how he had wanted to. He had never been so tempted in all his life. It had been bad enough when he had kissed her hands - and what madness had induced him to strip off her glove? - but when he had felt her soft body pressing against him as he had embraced her, when she had turned her face up to his, the temptation had been overwhelming.
That she had not known what she was doing had been clear enough. If he had not known that she was an innocent in the ways of men and women from hearing Jebadiah speak of her, he would still have recognized it for himself. She had led a protected life, and despite her spirit, her innocence was palpable. And yet when she had turned up her face it had almost undone him.
He shook his head in bewilderment. How had it happened? She roused in him feelings the like of which he had never known. Feelings that were too strong to deny.
He paced the room. His encounter with Rebecca had left him filled with a restless energy, and he needed to do something to dispel it.
He still could not believe that he had almost kissed her. If he had done so . . . .
He did not want to think about it.
Fortunately he had been saved from taking such an irrevocable step by the crash outside. Because if not for that he would have kissed her and then his fate would have been sealed. For having kissed her he would have had to offer her marriage.
Marriage!
He shuddered as he thought of it.
Marriage was not for him.
When he was eight-and-thirty, perhaps, and had a dynasty to found. But not at eight-and-twenty.
As his thoughts returned to George Lacy, however, he began to realize that he must offer her marriage anyway, whatever his personal feelings might be. Because if Lacy had seen them together at The Queen’s Head then someone else could have seen them there as well.
He had never even considered this complication after he had spoken to her at the inn. It had never occurred to him that by being alone with her, however unwittingly, in one of The Queen’s Head’s bedrooms, he had compromised her. And if it had occurred to him at the time he would not have cared. Rebecca had been nothing to him then; no one; and he would not have felt obliged to offer her marriage. Society, he knew, would have expected it, but he had never allowed himself to be dictated to by anyone, and certainly not by Society.
But now that he knew who she was, and realized that they had been seen, he would have to offer her marriage anyway. It was not because of Lacy - Lacy would not talk, he was too much of a coward - but someone else might have seen them, and he would do nothing to risk the reputation of Jebadiah’s granddaughter.
His face softened as he thought of his godfather. It was Jebadiah who had supported him in his desire to learn about the cotton mills that were springing up in the north, bringing wealth to the area and the country as a whole; Jebadiah who had reasoned with Joshua’s family, telling them that trade did not sully the hands of a gentleman, but instead encouraged enterprise and self-reliance; and Jebadiah who, sensing a kindred spirit in Joshua, comprising a ruthless determination and a sharp ambition, had helped him achieve his goals.
He owed everything he was to Jebadiah. And he would not repay the old man by bringing disgrace to Rebecca.
It was a nuisance, he thought, running his hand through his mane of hair. He did not want to marry, no matter how desirable he found Rebecca. And yet it must be done. He knew where his duty lay.
What was that Hetty had said earlier in the evening? That she intended to take Rebecca to visit Frost Fair tomorrow? Very well. He would meet Rebecca there, and tell her of his plan. He and Rebecca would become betrothed. And at the earliest opportunity they would be married.
Chapter Four
‘Frost Fair?’ asked Rebecca.
It was the following day, and she and Hetty were sitting in the drawing-room, looking through the latest edition of the Ladies’ Monthly Museum. It was one of Hetty’s favourite fashion journals, and the two ladies were perusing the latest styles when Hetty mentioned the fair.
‘What is Frost Fair?’ Rebecca looked up from the journal. She had never heard any mention of it before, and was curious as to what it could be.
‘It really is quite exciting,’ said Hetty. ‘I was talking to Mrs Minshull last night and she told me all about it. She and her husband have been, it seems, and they found it most exhilarating. Frost Fair is a fair set up on the Thames,’ she explained, ‘The weather has been so cold this winter that the river has frozen over.’
Rebecca looked at her in surprise.
‘It is quite true, I assure you,’ said Hetty. ‘I haven’t taken leave of my senses! But it is not to be wondered at that you are surprised. I was surprised myself. I do not remember the Thames ever freezing before - although I believe my mother told me about something similar happening in her childhood,’ she said with a frown, as she struggled to recall the memory. ‘Yes,’ she said more definitely, ‘I believe she did. Not that I ever saw it then, of course. But I would like to see it now. It is truly amazing, or so Mrs Minshull says. And it is not only the river that is amazing, it is what has been done to it. The shopkeepers and hawkers have lost no time in transforming it into a street - Freezewater Street, they call it. They’ve set up stalls and booths, and are busy selling their wares. But that is not all. There are jugglers and acrobats to entertain people, and all manner of open-air coffee shops —’
‘Coffee shops?’ interrupted Rebecca, growing more and more surprised.
‘But surely the ice isn’t strong enough to hold tables and chairs, as well as stalls and booths and people?’ asked Rebecca.
‘It appears to be. Apparently, it is solid. And not only tables and chairs have been set out on it, but braziers, too. There are all manner of meats and pastries for sale, and roasted chestnuts. In fact, the chestnuts are particularly good, if Mrs Minshull is to be believed.’
‘Mrs Minshull is fond of chestnuts?’ asked Rebecca humorously, remembering that lady’s impressive girth.
Hetty’s eyes twinkled. ‘She is. But it is not just the stalls of food that sound so interesting, it is the host of things to do. There are skates to hire, and all kinds of other entertainments. I thought, if you liked, we could go.’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ said Rebecca, caught by Hetty’s enthusiasm.
‘Then it is settled. We will go this afternoon.’
After luncheon, wrapped up well against the cold, Rebecca, Hetty and Charles set out to visit Frost Fair. A few soft white snowflakes drifted out of the sky as they stepped into the carriage, but otherwise the day was fine. Once they were settled the carriage set off at a sedate pace. The roads were very slippery, and Charles had given his coachman instructions to take matters carefully, as he did not want to risk any injury to the horses.
London looked very different under its thick coating of snow and Rebecca barely recognised the streets. They looked strange compared to the last time she had seen them, in the summer. But it was the river that was the most startling sight. It had been completely transformed.
‘It’s breathtaking,’ gasped Rebecca as she stepped out of the carriage once they reached the Thames. She marvelled at the change the bitterly cold weather had brought about. The river, which usually flowed merrily past, was now frozen solid. Up and down its length, boats and ships could be seen, caught fast like flies in amber, trapped until the thaw.