Page 123 of Snowbound Surrender
And then there was Nia. A smile lifted Scarlett’s lips as she returned to Wintervale. Hunter’s sister, Lavinia, had shown up on the doorstep a day after Hunter had returned to London. She had married the neighbor, she told her, and was but a short ride away. Would she mind if she visited Scarlett now and again? At first, Scarlett had resisted. Did she really want the company, day in and day out, of a woman she had met but once — and the sister of her unwanted husband, no less?
But Lavinia had surprised her. She proved intelligent and humorous, and Scarlett began to enjoy her visits more and more. Lavinia abhorred the outdoors and therefore never chose to join Scarlett in a ride or even working in the beautiful grotto within the gardens, but they saw just enough of one another to not become bored with the other’s presence. And it was rather nice to have a friend nearby.
Now, as Scarlett shook off her boots, she heard Lavinia round the corner and come into the foyer.
“Scarlett!” she said as she pushed her spectacles back up her slim nose. “Heavens, I was worried about you. I have been herefor hours already! Where have you been for so long on such a cold afternoon?”
“Nothing to worry about, Nia,” she said, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder as she walked through the foyer, passing the waiting footman her cloak. Lavinia knew the house well, of course, having spent much of her youth there, and made herself perfectly at home. “I was just visiting some tenants, is all.”
“That is lovely of you, Scarlett, but I know my brother wouldn’t expect you to do that,” Lavinia said, biting her lip.
And that was the one and only reason Scarlett sometimes wished Lavinia didn’t visit so often — the continual praise of her brother. Scarlett knew she did it on purpose, but she wasn’t going to fall for Lavinia’s ploys. She had resolved, however, not to speak ill of the man Lavinia loved so much in her presence.
“Of course he wouldn’t,” she said simply, leading Lavinia into the back drawing room, the one she favored with its bright, cheery striped satin walls and furniture of a yellow that was somewhat between lemon and amber. The best part was the windows overlooking the grotto. “I choose to do so myself.”
“That is kind of you,” Lavinia said with a smile as she took a seat on the ornately carved rosewood sofa. “Do you know if my brother is returning for Christmastide?”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Scarlett, sitting across from her on the matching smaller piece. “As you well know, Nia, he and I do not correspond. You would be more inclined to know the answer to that.”
“Well, I suggested he come, but really, that is up to you to request, as his wife. Oh, Scarlett, if only you would get to know him. He really is the nicest man, and I am not simply saying that because he is my brother. He is kind and generous, and yes, he can get caught up in his work, but only because he is so passionate about it! And once he loves something, he gives it his all.”
“Clearly this marriage isnotsomething that he particularly cares for,” Scarlett said bitterly.
“You certainly haven’t given him any reason to,” said Lavinia, leaning forward, her arm on the sofa’s Grecian-urn cresting. “All he needs from you, Scarlett, is a word of welcome. Why are you so cold?”
Scarlett sighed. It wasn’t the first time Lavinia had brought this up, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last, not until she understood where Scarlett was coming from.
Scarlett stood, cup of tea in hand, and walked over to the window, looking out into the black of the fallen night.
“Let me tell you a story, Nia,” she said, as a log cracked in the hearth. “When my mother married my father, she was hopelessly in love with him. He had courted her, and she quickly became infatuated with him. After a typical period of courtship that went entirely as one would expect, they were married in St. George’s Cathedral. They consummated the marriage that night, and the day after he was back in the bed of his mistress. My mother didn’t learn of this until much later, and when she did, her heart was completely broken.”
She had heard Lavinia gasp behind her at her mention of a mistress, and Scarlett turned around to face her, intent with her need for Lavinia to understand.
“My mother loved my father with all of her heart, and he wanted only her dowry. She has lived her life in love with a man who wants nothing from her but to produce heirs, and even in that she failed him, having only me. I will never fall into that trap. I may be married, but as long as I live separate from your brother, I have my freedom. I can do as I please and never have to worry about becoming trapped by my own fickle emotions.”
As Lavinia looked at her in shock, Scarlett felt almost guilty for sharing such morbid thoughts with her, but at least now she knew.
“That is the saddest story I have ever heard,” Lavinia said, dropping her eyes, so like her brother’s but behind spectacles, to her lap. “But you must know that it doesn’t have to be like that, Scarlett. My brother is not that kind of man.”
Scarlett shrugged, her gaze wandering over the gilt Chippendale carvings that stood out prominently on the walls. “So you may think. My father is also a wonderful man to most that he meets. He is charming, he is kind, he provides for others. Despite the fact he wanted a son so badly, he loves me and has done all he can to provide for me. But my mother is nothing to him. Simply a woman who dresses up and accompanies him to balls. That is not the life for me, Nia, not at all.”
“I wish you didn’t think like that,” Lavinia said sorrowfully, and Scarlett returned to her seat and reached across the small table between them to take Lavinia’s hands in her own.
“That doesn’t change how happy I am to have you as a sister,” she said softly. “I am so glad we became friends.”
“Well, on that, Scarlett, we are agreed.”
CHAPTER 2
Scarlett eyedthe candle that sat atop the small yet elegant mahogany table next to her. The wick was burning dangerously low. Would she have enough to finish this last chapter and still be able to return to her room? She could get up and find another, true, but she was rather comfortable at the moment with the huge quilt thrown over her as she snuggled deeper into the depths of the navy bergère chair in the corner of the library.
She tried to make out the time on the mantel clock overtop one of the room’s three fireplaces, in which just the embers burned low in the grate, the marble chimney stretching far above it. As hard as she squinted, however, she couldn’t quite read it in the dark, though if she had to guess, she would assume it was just past midnight. A time when the rest of the house was asleep, of course. Lavinia had departed for home after dinner, and the servants were now all abed. Scarlett always prepared for sleep early so that Marion, her maid, didn’t have to wait up for her, but then she would sneak back down to the library. She had never been one to sleep early or even overly much. If she did go to bed at what others would consider a proper time, she would spend the night tossing and turning, and so she usually read until her eyes felt heavy enough to promise sleep.
One thing she did have to commend her husband on was the depths of his bookshelves. They were filled with tomes of every sort, from gothic novels to histories to children’s books. Lavinia told her that all of the books from their London home and her parents’ second country estate were sent here when her mother decided to redecorate. They were supposed to have been collected and returned, but her mother decided to instead buy books that “looked like they belonged.” Whatever that meant, thought Scarlett with an eye roll.
She was currently reading a hidden treasure she had found the other day, a history of Wintervale. The first stone had been laid in March of 1650, a fact that had apparently been gleaned from a diary. That, she would have to find as well. Why she was so interested in the family of a man from whom she was doing all she could to distance herself, she had no idea, but she would love to know more of the people who graced the paintings on the walls and who had walked the very floorboards she now haunted herself.
She was reading about the third earl. It was a romantic story. He was originally rejected as a suitor by his initial prospective father-in-law, as the earl was in rather ill health. His friends arranged another marriage for him, and when he met this woman on his wedding day, he instantly fell in love with her; they had two sons and a wonderful life together.
