Page 4 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
She brushed away the tears brimming at her eyes, dashing them before they could freeze on her dark lashes.
"Think!" she chided herself, soft and sharp. "North or south?"
Her horse snorted, shifting his weight with impatience, making the frosted grass crackle beneath his hooves.
What was to the north? Realistically.
She thought it likely that Glory and her husband had retired to Somerton for the winter, but she did not know for sure. She had replayed every conversation they'd had during this past Season in her head, but they had not discussed it, and she could not know before making her choice.
Of course, there was no guarantee thathewould be there.
Gloriana had said many times that Lord Moorvale was practically a member of House Somers, and spent all important holidays with the family at Somerton, at least when he was not abroad. So that meant there was a chance, a good chance. Was that what she wanted?
To be honest, there wasn't even a guarantee that Glory would be there. It was her brother-in-law's estate, after all, not her husband's. Perhaps she and Alex wished to observe the winter season privately, in some new home that Tia knew nothing about.
Riding to Somerton would be a gamble, an uncertainty at best. It was not sensible.
Would Viscount Somers even take her in, having fled from her bridal altar to his doorstep? He was famously proper, to the point of dourness, and she only knew the viscountess in passing. Would they balk at her arrival and plea for sanctuary? Would they parcel her off back to her parents straightaway?
There was no way to know for certain what would happen if she chose north, if she chose Somerton.
South was the reasonable option. South was safe. Nell would set her to rights and protect her. Nell would not feasibly have Lord Moorvale in her home for Christmas. She could recover in the south, and formulate a plan for her future. She knew she ought to go south.
And yet Tia turned her horse to the left, and headed north.
Chapter 2
Sheldon Bywater frowned at the scaffolding.
It wasn't that it was unpleasant to look at. After all, there had been scaffolds here and there, reaching around the walls of Hawk Hill for over a decade now. In fact, the scaffolds were almost charming in the frost, with tiny icicles dangling from each railing. He had come to find them a fond thing to look upon, for they represented progress and new life for the old castle.
He was frowning because the builders had just informed him that this was the very last leg of work they would have to do. The improvements were finished. Twelve long years, and it was almost done. He knew it should have been a relief, but instead it filled him with the strangest sense of dread. Perhaps this looming and ominous sensation was just the way of finishing any long-lived task, but Sheldon suspected, deep down, that it was something more.
He suspected that he didn't want it to be finished because once it was, he'd no longer have such a viable excuse for constantly being elsewhere. He sighed, turning his eyes to the sprawling, frosty moors that rolled and reached into the foggy curtain of the horizon. He loved Moorvale, of course, it was just that damned castle, looming over him like his father used to do, that made him itch to be away again.
He startled, the sensation of a warm, wet nose pushing into his hand jerking him back to the present. It immediately made him smile, easing a bit of the knot of tension that had begun to string itself together between his shoulders. He knelt down and took his bloodhound's face between his big hands, rubbing her ears between his fingers as she smiled up at him, her breath forming a frosty cloud. "You're a good girl, aren't you?" he asked needlessly. "Are you ready to go to Somerton? Would you like that, Echo?"
Awoo, said Echo in apparent agreement, leaning forward to encourage more petting. She particularly loved having her ears rubbed.
He gave her half a smile. Christmas would always be at Somerton, at the very least. He didn't need excuses for that. It had become tradition, and this year was certain to be special, now that all three of the Somers siblings had married, and two of them had already started families.
Even Echo had a family now, after a fashion. She'd be visiting her puppies at Somerton as well, and perhaps even the mystery dog who sired them. Sheldon was fairly certain that it was a particularly cheeky Jack Russell terrier that he'd seen in the pens, but one could never be sure.
He pushed himself to his feet, the knot tightening again, tugging at the base of his neck at the thought that he really should have pups of his own by now, and a wife besides.
He was the last of his line, after all. His father had never let him forget it.
"Lord Moorvale?" came a voice from behind, more impatient than reverent, despite the use of his title. "Are you coming?"
Sheldon sighed, shaking his head so that some of the thoughts he'd suddenly been bombarded by might scatter away, and turned to acknowledge the local carpenter with a nod of acknowledgement. "Apologies, Cosgrove," he said gruffly. "The final stages of the renovations are doing a number on my mind."
"Almost done, eh?" the older man said with a raise of his brows as Sheldon made his way across the lawn to meet him. "Wagers in town say it'll never be finished."
The two men walked in step to the old carriage house, used more these days for storage than horses since Sheldon had built a superior structure early on in his tenure as marquis. Echo trotted along happily next to them, leaving paw prints in the frost-kissed grass underfoot.
"I had a look already," Cosgrove said, scratching at the thinning hair under his woolen cap. "It's an old carriage and it needs repairs, certainly, but I think it could be restored rather than scrapped, if you've a mind to do so."
"I don't want it," Sheldon said immediately. "If you want to take the thing whole, restore it, and sell it, you are welcome to do that. I just want a few pieces of the embellishment before it goes. I am truly amazed it's been back here all these years and I didn't know about it."
