Page 44 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
"The moon is full tonight," said Sheldon Bywater as, one by one, the Somers family began to wrap up their evening libations. "I may go admire the stars and the snowbank before bed, if anyone would like to join me."
He did not look directly at Tia, for he likely was better at such indiscretion than she, but all the same, it was obvious that the invitation was intended for her.
"That sounds nice," Gloriana replied in a voice that implied it sounded utterly horrible. "It's just rather cold, isn't it?"
"Yes, so bundle up if you do come out," he said with a shrug. "It isn't so bad after a storm. All the moisture from the air is trapped in the snow."
Gideon was stifling a yawn behind his hand, apparently utterly uninterested in such a prospect, but his wife was watching Sheldon with keen-eyed interest, as though he had just uttered a secret passphrase that meant something else entirely.
He stood, setting his glass down with a delicateclack,and craned his neck side to side, already making his way to the door, sending his voice behind him. "I'm going to go put on an overcoat myself. I'll be at the rear entrance, by the dining room. There is a stone path we can take."
"We," repeated Heloise Somers with her eyes on the space where he'd been. "I know it can be beautiful outside this time of year, but I'd much rather see it from a warm bedroom window."
"Excellent," said her husband. "Then off to bed we go."
Tia said nothing, rising and avoiding Gloriana's eye as she deposited her empty glass on the serving tray and attempted to leave in the inconspicuous wake of the rest of the family. She did not have to verbally announce that she intended to accept his invitation, did she? There was no rule requiring that!
What did Tia care for rules anyhow? She had proven to herself and the world that she would do as she wished, hadn't she? The thought bolstered her as she scaled the stairs, giving a lift to her chin and a strength to her shoulders as she went into the bedroom and began to methodically choose a few warm layers. Her grandmother's combed wool coat, with its generously warm hood, would suit her well, as would the rabbit fur muff Glory had lent her as part of her visitor's trousseau.
A runaway's bridal trousseau, she thought with a twist of her lips. Borrowed. Just like her freedom.
She pulled pale blue gloves on her hands and changed out her slippers for leather boots. She thought perhaps she should bring the jacket he'd left down to return it to him, but she had stowed it away under the bed and was not yet ready to part with it. It was not suspicious to have it, she reasoned, for this was his bedroom going on several decades of regular stays at Somerton.
She envied him his semi-permanent place here, she thought, tiptoeing down the stairs toward the dining room. She was already familiar enough with this place to know which stair squeaked the loudest, and how best to skip it on her way down. How wonderful it must be, she thought, to have a place here, whenever one might wish it, rather than as the result of desperate need.
Her Nana's cottage had been like that: a hideaway and sanctuary. Now, a family of strangers lived in it.
She hoped they loved it well.
She passed a small handful of servants, none of whom seemed to find anything amiss in her dress or manner. She was simply a guest here, going for an evening stroll before bed. Hopefully, she was the only one who had accepted his invitation. She would resent having to share his company tonight.
The rear door was slightly ajar, leading out into a moon-soaked night. It was immediately apparent, upon setting foot without, that it had begun to snow again. Unlike the storm, this snow was gentle and soft, landing in clinging drifts to the curls framing Tia's face.
She inhaled deeply, loving the scent of cold on the air. She could see him up ahead, waiting with his back to her, marveling up at the tapestry of light that sprawled out across the sky. Endless, countless stars clustered together to keep warm on this snowy winter night, each wishing they could be a little closer to the large, alabaster moon that hung in the center of it all.
The halos around the moon were blue and white, and though she knew it was not possible, she could swear that as she got nearer to Sheldon, each halo grew a little in size, as though she were that much closer to the moon herself. Her hands were warm inside the fur muff, and she felt the startle of cold air when she removed one to touch Sheldon on the shoulder and draw his attention to the first and likely only guest to attend his evening stroll.
He turned to her with a smile that bordered somewhere between childlike jubilation and relief. "You came," he said.
"I did."
"I wanted to show you this before the sun went down," he confided, taking hold of her hand within the warmth of his own. "In this direction, the fields seem like they stretch on forever. When it was still bright, I swear you could see clear to Leeds."
"It is still reasonably bright," Tia said earnestly, staring out into the great white expanse of the night, lit with the eerie glow of the full moon. "And it is still beautiful."
He nodded, leading her by the hand onto a snow-dusted path made of stone, which sat elevated enough that it must have cleared during the wind and sun today. "These used to be rose gardens, when the old viscount was alive," he explained. "Ruthie—that is the dowager—always had an uncanny talent for growing things, especially pretty flowers. I'm not certain what they use it for now, in the warmer months, but I've always enjoyed this pathway."
"My Nana grew violets," Tia told him, leaning into the warmth of his arm as they strolled, blinking away the snowflakes that drifted onto her eyelashes. "I used to help her in the garden. She grew vegetables and herbs too. I wouldn't say that I have an uncanny talent, but I should like to keep my own plants someday, whether pretty or practical. Do you keep a garden at Hawk Hill?"
The question appeared to startle him. She felt the muscles in his arm tense against her, his fingers going a bit slack in her grasp. He took a short breath and shook his head. "No. Keeping the thing standing has been my only real activity as marquis since inheriting it. My father seemed to believe that it had retained its integrity from the day he was born, until he left this mortal plane, an octogenarian."
"Goodness!" she said, eyes wide. "That's a strong bloodline to inherit, isn't it? I think my Nana was only recently sixty or so, but she married very young."
He gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze at the mention of Nana, which made her throat constrict a little in the cool night air. They walked in silence for a time, following the silver path of the walkway, passing by benches and stone garden pots covered in patterns of frost and fluffy white snow. Ahead, there was a small shack with a glass roof that likely functioned as a greenhouse, where the kitchen staff might keep herbs and other necessities growing throughout the year—a cold frame, her Nana would have called it. It appeared the little structure marked the other end of the path under their feet.
"The construction will be complete by the time I return home," he said into the silence, his eyes focused ahead. "I've come to realize that a completed Hawk Hill terrifies me. I've no idea what to do with myself once I might actually be able to start a life there."
"Anything you like, I'd wager, with your wealth and status, your youth and health. Are you simply overwhelmed by choice?"
