Page 17 of A Merry Christmas
Her stomach churned. She thought of Barnaby’s careless kiss, of his evasions, of the weight of the bracelet on her wrist. She thought of his easy laughter at the tavern, a woman in his lap while he lost his father’s coin. Was this truly the life she wanted? To look away while her husband gambled and strayed, while she smiled through the shame?
She longed to defend herself, to protest that Barnaby was different, that he would change, but the words stuck in her throat. She no longer believed them.
Humiliation pressed down like a heavy cloak. She kept her chin high, but inside she felt small, foolish, and raw. What was she to do?
The women carried on their chatter, arranging plates and trimming pies, but Merry heard only the pounding of her own heart. She wished suddenly, fiercely, that she were back in her childhood, when all she had to fear was being scolded for climbing a tree or throwing a snowball at Joshua Fielding. Life had seemed so much simpler then…and now she did not know which way to turn.
Merry slipped away after the meal was cleared, claiming shewished for air. No one stopped her. She wrapped her cloak close and stepped into the cold. The park stretched white and silent, the snow crisp beneath her boots, the bare trees etched against a pewter sky.
She walked without aim at first, only glad to be away from curious eyes and sharp tongues. The stillness of the park steadied her. Yet the words spoken would not leave her: ‘If she wants to marry into a higher station, she must be willing to look the other way.’
Was that truly the choice? To be a lady, but receive no respect? To smile in company while her husband laughed elsewhere with women who were not her? Could she endure that humiliation? Her pride recoiled, but another voice whispered of what she might gain. She would no longer be the cit’s daughter who had never been to London. She would sit at the head of a table in a great house. She would be secure, respectable, a mother.
She paused beneath an oak, the branches of which held pockets of snow, and considered the other path. To refuse Barnaby was to risk spinsterhood. What then? She would remain in the Cotswolds, unmarried, dependent upon her family’s kindness. She would be ‘poor Merry’ to the neighbours, pitied in whispers. She would watch her sisters’ children grow, and smile as though it were enough.
Would it be enough?
She drew her cloak tighter and walked on. To marry without love was bitter, but to have no marriage at all seemed colder still. There was safety in a husband’s name, however careless. There was honour in being wife to a man of rank. Was not that what every girl was taught to want?
Yet her heart rebelled. She thought of that kiss under the mistletoe. It had promised nothing. It had felt like nothing. How could she bind herself to a man who stirred no spark in her, whose gaze sought jewels more than her face, whose laughter was loudest in gaming rooms? Would he grow worse in time and shame their children? Lose her fortune?
The snow crunched softly as she walked, the silence around her broken only by the distant cry of a rook. She weighed one life against another and found no comfort in either scale.
A spinster’s life meant loneliness, yet it meant freedom. No husband to shame her, no vows twisted into mockery. She might never be envied, but neither would she be despised.
A marriage of convenience meant security, yet it also seemed to mean betrayal.
Merry stopped at the edge of the frozen pond and stared at her blurred reflection in the ice. “Which is worse?” she whispered. “To be alone, or to be bound to a man who does not care?”
The reflection offered no answer.
Merry turned back toward the house, her steps heavy. She had always thought herself to be practical, ready to face the world as it was, but now that the choice lay before her, she found no certainty at all.
CHAPTER 7
Joshua had come to know two kinds of quiet. The first was the uneasy hush that fell before a volley, when men held their breath and horses rolled their eyes at dangers still hidden. The second was the honest stillness of a winter morning in the country, when frost had laid its fine hand over every hedge and the air tasted of ice and wood smoke. He had known far too much of the former. The latter he found at Wychwood, and he craved it.
He rose before the household had shaken off its slumber. In his chamber, the embers still glowed faintly in the grate, but the air was sharp and bracing. He dressed swiftly, carried his boots in his hand to spare the corridor any noise, and descended the stair. The hall smelled of evergreen and spice, still lingering from the day before. Outside, the park gleamed, a skin of white stretched unbroken across the lawn.
Joshua had meant to exercise Brutus, his black gelding. The horse had aged as he had, though his steady temper pleased him better than youthful exuberance ever had. Yet when he reached the stable-yard, he found he was not the first to rise.
Merry stood beside a bay mare with a star upon her brow, testing the girth with quick, capable hands. Her cloak was thrown back, her hair tucked beneath a modest felt hat, and her cheeks bore the colourof the morning cold. She looked up at him, as though she had guessed it would be he who intruded, and had not quite decided whether or not to be pleased.
“Miss Roxton,” Joshua greeted her, bowing with old habit even at a stable door. “You will rob the sun of his earliest glory.”
“That would be a crime in Gloucestershire,” she returned with a smile. “He has so few glories in December, one ought to leave him the ones he can contrive.”
“Where are you off to so early?”
“To Roxton House. We have ewes lambing in the fold below the north copse, and I would see how they fare.”
“Do you not have a shepherd to tend to such matters?”
“Of course,” she said, fastening the strap another notch, “but I would not have my own peace of mind if I did not go.”
Brutus was brought forward, tossing his head as though he, too, relished the frosty air. The groom grinned. “He’ll be away like a thought if you let him, Captain.”
“I shall not let him,” Joshua answered, patting the strong black neck. He knew Brutus would go nowhere without him.
