Page 2 of An Icy Christmas Engagement
“No, no, several months would be altogether too protracted. Kindly ensure it reaches me by Twelfth Night.”
“The Twelfth Night?” she echoed in surprise. “But that is less than three weeks away from now. I couldn’t possibly finish everything by then.” Not to mention the fact that she’d intended to visit her mother’s country estate for Christmas. She couldn’t possibly do that and publish a book in London at the same time.
“The publishing world does not wait for anyone. If you cannot handle the pressure then there is no reason for us to further this conversation.”
Edwin stood. Caroline shot out of the chair.
“Wait!” she called desperately. “I shall ensure it reaches you by that time.”
The look he gave her was one of doubt and it only served to strengthen her own uncertainty. Finishing a novel she’d barely started in less than three weeks felt like an insurmountable task. She didn’t know if she could do it. But she couldn’t let this opportunity slip through her fingers. Putting her writing out into the world was one of the only few things that brought her joy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this fulfilled.
“I will,” she stated firmly. “I assure you of that.”
For a moment, Edwin just studied her. Then he nodded, “Very well then. I’ll expect you at that time then. If there is nothing else…”
That was her cue to leave. Caroline nodded and headed to the door, feeling both invigorated and weighed down by the heavy pressure she’d just placed on herself. She’d never committed such a feat before. Could she manage it?
There was no time to second-guess herself now. Edwin’s eyes remained on her as if he was waiting for her to admit that she couldn’t manage the task. She kept her head high and her eyes focused as she said her goodbye, not letting out the sigh building in her chest until he’d closed the door.
Only then did the weight of her task come crashing down around her. It was one thing to write for pleasure. Another thing towrite for publication. And something else entirely to attempt to do both in the span of three weeks.
But when her book was out into the world, Lady Caroline Winterbourne was no longer. It was Robert Winters, her pseudonym, that would be praised. And she was free to sit back and watch as her readers fell in love with the characters she’d created.
Honestly, that was all the reward she needed.
***
She would have walked home if it hadn’t been so cold. Thankfully, she had the good sense to take a carriage half of the way there. But judging by the half grunt the coachman gave her when she arrived, Caroline had a feeling he wasn’t too pleased at having to wait out in the cold for her.
She couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t his mistress after all. He was employed to Miss Louisa Tilbury, the veritable spinster of London, not the dowager viscountess. Even though Caroline was Louisa’s best friend, it didn’t save her from the discontentment of his task.
Caroline didn’t mind half as much right now. She snuggled into the enclosed carriage and tried to seek as much warmth as she could as she considered the task she’d just undertaken. Doing this meant that she wouldn’t be able to see her mother this Christmas, after she’d already sent word that she would be visiting. Would it be possible for her to do both?
Doubtful. It would take a week to get to her mother’s country estate. Which meant she would have to do her writing in even less time to meet Edwin’s deadline. No, it was impossible.
The thought plagued her all the way back to Louisa’s townhouse. Caroline helped herself out of the carriage, already used to handling such simple tasks herself. During her marriage to the late Viscount of Winterbourne, the wealthy and prestigious man that he was, she didn’t have to lift a finger. Her every whim was catered to and her every wish fulfilled. But three years as the viscountess, as comfortable as it was, left her discontented. It was not a marriage of love, barely one of friendship, and though theywere comfortable in each other’s presence, Caroline did not enjoy her time as viscountess.
As the dowager, however, she was free. It felt odd thinking that way. The rush of relief and grief that came from her husband’s sudden death still plagued her six months later. But now she was free to do as she wished. It hardly mattered that the small inheritance she’d been left with after his death barely allowed her a place to live, which was why she resided with her best friend. She didn’t care that the distant relative who had assumed the title of viscount didn’t seem inclined to take care of her. Now she could take care of herself since her first book was such a success. More than that, she felt like there was finally purpose to her life. She couldn’t lose it now.
She sighed in relief the moment she entered the warm house and immediately made way to the drawing room. There she found Louisa sitting by the window sipping a glass of wine. Louisa looked over at her as she approached, raising a blond brow.
“I’d wondered where you disappeared to,” she said by way of greeting. “Sherry?”
“Please,” Caroline sighed. She said nothing, waiting as Louisa poured her a glass. She downed it in one go.
Louisa smiled, pushing her spectacles up her nose. Her eyesight was deplorable and so she wore them almost constantly. It only added to her image as a bluestocking, a lovely one at that. With silky blond hair and a heartshaped face, Louisa could have easily secured a husband if she wished for it. But she didn’t want it. She chose the life of a spinster and now, at four-and-twenty, there weren’t many gentlemen in London who would ask for her hand.
Louisa wouldn’t want that anyway, nor did she need it. She was wealthy enough on her own and had no need for a man.
“I'd be more than happy to pour you another,” Louisa drawled. “But I have a feeling you are in the mood to drown your sorrows, and that is never good.”
“Unfortunately,” Caroline sighed. “There is not enough wine in the world that will cure the problem I’m facing right now. It is likely to make it worse actually. Have you already had dinner?”
“Yes, right before I came in here. I could not wait on you, you see, since you did not feel inclined to tell me you were leaving.”
“Forgive me. I thought I would tell you when I got back.”
Louisa waved a dismissive hand, clearly not as upset as her words made her seem. “Think nothing of it. I assume you were meeting with your publisher?”
