A Seasonal Pursuit (Regency Christmas Brides #1)

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER 11

D ancing was one of the rare forms of entertainment that was almost always acceptable to ladies of station, whether they truly enjoyed it or not.

Rose hated idle chitchat, so she usually unnerved her dance partners with more pressing questions and conversation, and the response from them usually determined if they were worthy of her attention. Years and years of this practice had perfected her way of things, and it was proving rather efficient in her dancing activities this evening.

Everyone was agreeable, she could say that much. But agreeableness was not her primary concern. She had anticipated agreeable guests from the first moment she had met Lady Standhope, and she had yet to be disappointed. Agreeable people, however, were not always intelligent or witty people, let alone ones to whom a marriage might be desirable.

After yet another mediocre dance with a candidate she’d had mild hopes for, Rose made her way to Webb, chatting with Emily and Bertram against one side of the room. They all watched her approach, each expression slightly different from the others.

“No?” Webb asked when she was close enough .

Rose shook her head very firmly. “Mr. Campion seemed to believe that any woman who speaks Latin has extended her brain too far and will likely succumb to insanity before she reaches the age of thirty.”

“Not much time for you,” Emily replied with a wrinkle of her nose. “What did you tell him?”

Rose smiled very slightly. “ Et ego insaniam , of course. He was not entirely certain what I meant by it, so perhaps I should offer to tutor him.”

They laughed and Webb shook his head, scanning the room further. “Well, he was one of the favorites on our list. How disappointing. How many dances was that, Rose? Six? Seven?”

“Six,” she said on a sigh. “I am feeling less and less festive by the moment.”

“Take a dance with Bash, then,” Emily suggested with a flick of her fingers towards their youngest brother. “He’s always worth a laugh or two.”

“I’ll dance with you, unless you wish for a reprieve,” Webb offered with a light shrug before Rose could even look towards Bash. “I’m a better conversationalist, and I actually know about your scheme, so…”

Rose laughed once. “Did this just become a competition?”

“It is always a competition with the Rixton brothers,” Emily assured her, rolling her eyes. “Webb is probably a better dancer. But don’t feel like you have to. Like he said, if you want a reprieve…”

She didn’t actually want a reprieve. If she only had to dance with tiresome men, perhaps she might. But her energy was up and the night was young. Webb looked remarkably handsome in his festive ensemble and she had yet to see anyone more pleasing to the eye. Sometimes, it simply suited to dance with a handsome man for no other reason than because he was handsome.

Was that so dreadful a motivation? Besides, he was her friend. And a handsome friend must be useful for something, mustn’t he?

Appreciated for it, at least.

“A dance with you would be most welcome, Webb,” Rose told him on an exhale, hoping she looked relieved and not necessarily delighted.

Of course she was delighted, but she did not want him to think more of the delight than he ought. She did not want herself to think more of the delight than there was. It was just a dance with a handsome friend, and someone she could truly converse with. No pretense, no testing questions and interrogations for her ends.

Just her and just him, and that was going to be a relief in and of itself.

Webb was holding his hand out, and Rose belatedly wondered how long he had been doing so, and if her sudden rambling in the mind had distracted her from seeing it. But she took his hand with a warm smile and allowed him to lead her to the floor.

It was another country dance, as seemed to be the theme of the evening, and it was something she was usually grateful for. Plenty of motion and energy, and not an excessive amount of time with only one person’s undivided attention.

But she found herself wishing it were something a little slower and more sedate, something that would allow her to talk to him without anyone else listening.

“You’re not enjoying yourself,” Webb said when they first joined in the dance, taking hands and turning about.

“False,” Rose countered, though her tone held a hesitation she knew he would pick up on.

He gave her a hard look, and she only shrugged. “You are not enjoying yourself as much as you would like, then.”

She nodded at that as she backed up with the ladies. “True enough. But constant dancing for a singular purpose isn’t something I enjoy.”

They stood waiting for the couples on either side of them to move through the motions of the dance.

“Are you constantly thinking about the M word as you are dancing?” Webb inquired.

She found herself nodding again, stepping to her left while he stepped to his right, allowing the couples to take their new places. “How can I not? That is the end goal, is it not?”

Webb heaved an audible sigh and came to her in line with the other gentlemen, taking her hands and slowly turning about again. “That is too much pressure for any one dance. You’ve got to ask yourself if this is someone you wish to know better, not if this is someone you wish to bind yourself to for the rest of your life. We have several days, Rose. You don’t have to get a proposal tonight.”

“I know that,” she snapped as they returned to their positions. “I cannot help it if I am thinking about the long term as well as the short term. I have specific aims, and not much time to accomplish them.”

He raised a brow at her and looped about the man beside him, proceeding down to the third position while she mirrored the action with the ladies alongside her. Then they met in the center and joined hands to progress with a few other couples down the lines.

“Sorry,” Rose murmured, gripping his hands hard. “I shouldn’t take that tone with you, of all people. I simply don’t like this. Any of this. It is not in my nature, and I feel as though I have somehow returned to the awkward, frightened, hopeful girl of my first Season as well as my eager, determined, scheming mama at the same time. And neither of those creatures suit who I truly am now.”

“Forcing anything involving the heart is not natural,” Webb assured her, his hold on her hands tightening as well. “Which is why I’m trying to remind you that you don’t want that love match everyone else talks about. You only need someone companionable who will leave you alone, yes? I agree, we don’t want Mr. Campion and his views of you, but Mr. Prewitt could still be possible, in that sense.”

There was something a little distasteful about hearing Webb discuss the men she was considering and analyzing their suitability, but that might have just been the nature of the task to her own ears. Perhaps she hadn’t quite accepted what she truly needed to do in order to get what she wanted from her aunt. Marriage had never been Rose’s solution to any of her problems, but now it had to be.

“What if he wants children?” she whispered.

Webb jerked a little and they were forced to part in the dance, walking gracefully along the line of others until they were back into their places, then waiting for the other dancers to finish the lines. She could see Webb’s face as he stared at her, a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and concern wreathed in his features. She hadn’t meant to express that worry of hers at such an inopportune and relatively public moment, but it had just escaped, and now she could not take it back.

How was she going to answer his queries? She barely knew her own mind on the subject. But the door had been opened and she had to walk through it.

She met Webb in the center of the lines, taking his hands and turning yet again. “Do you want children, Rose?” he asked her urgently, his hold on her gentle now.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I used to, but as I have gotten older, I just don’t know anymore. I’d thought it lost to me, and if I want that quiet life alone…”

“Your aunt is cruel to make you consider these things in such contrast to her offer,” Webb ground out just before they parted and he had to move back to his line. He shook his head while they moved in their lines as part of the dance.

Was Aunt Edith to blame for all of this? Certainly, Rose wouldn’t have considered parenthood again without the prospect of marriage, and she hadn’t thought about marriage for several years now. She had been more than content with her father’s plan of a dowry at five and thirty that would allow her to live as she wished on her own. That had been the future she foresaw for herself, and one she was comfortable with.

The future she had once wanted was now the uncomfortable one, but only because it seemed foreign by comparison. In the most secret heart of her heart, she doubted anyone would want her to mother their children. To engage in the behavior that brought about children, about which she knew far more than other unmarried women in England, thanks to the lack of restricted speech among women of her age. She had never been considered a beauty, and perfectly presentable wasn’t exactly what a husband looked for in a bedfellow.

But children had been created without any such feelings time and time again, so it did not even warrant consideration on that score.

So why did she consider it? Why did she believe that it mattered? Why did she want to be seen that way if one did not preclude the other?

There were so many aspects to her doubts, and she had not been forced to face any of them in so many years, she had forgotten they existed.

Why were they making themselves known tonight? This ought to have been a delightful night of frivolity, and yet she was contemplating marriage and motherhood and if she wanted to go through with any of this anymore.

“Come here.” Webb took her hand and pulled her from the dance, away from all of the lines, movements, and music, away from the onlookers and potential suitors, and over to an unobtrusive corner that was fairly vacant of decorations and guests.

“And now we’ve made a scene,” Rose muttered, widening her eyes as she looked down at her fingertips, shaking her head.

Webb scoffed and leaned against the wall. “We have not. No one is looking over here. I am looking right now, and nobody cares that we have left. In fact, someone else just left the dance because he is weaving too much from drink to continue.”

That was hardly comforting, in Rose’s mind. To leave a dance for emotional reasons was not as understandable as inebriation reasons, but at least there were so many dancers in the assembly rooms that it would be difficult to miss many of them.

“Talk to me,” Webb urged in a low voice. “Is all of this too much for you? Are you regretting the scheme, or the party? What?”

“I just…” She exhaled heavily, losing her sight on surprise tears and turning her head away, fighting for control. She felt Webb’s hand take hers, but he said nothing, which showed a level of understanding that she was humbled by.

He only waited while she fought for the words.

Swallowing hard, Rose allowed herself to take another breath. “This has all brought back memories and ideas that I had thought long buried. Things I don’t even know if I want anymore, but I cannot remember making that decision. It all faded from my mind with every year that passed with no hint of accomplishing them. I became so comfortable with being alone that it became what I wanted. Now that my aunt has forced me to consider matrimony to get what I want, I no longer understand if what I thought I wanted is still what I want, or if what I once wanted is something I still want, and I don’t know who I am anymore if I don’t want what I want.”

She was beginning to panic, her breath coming in deeper and more rapidly, the crisis of her thoughts and feelings roaring to life even as her words began to make less and less sense as they tumbled out of her mouth. Her mind spun faster than her words, and her heart could not contain all of them. Her tears felt hot against her suddenly frozen cheeks, while her ribs felt too small for her lungs, her body too confining for her sensations.

Webb turned to her fully, taking the hand he held and pressing it against his heart. “Rose… Rose, listen to me. Feel my heart and let it steady you.”

She tried, pressing her palm harder against him, willing her skin to absorb each pulse and ground herself in it.

“Breathe with my breath.”

She obediently inhaled with him and attempted to keep pace, finding the edge of this terrifying chasm growing less and less defined and the ground beneath her feet more and more stable. Her fingertips almost gripped the skin beneath the layers of Webb’s clothing, willing his strength to pass into her in this confounding whirlpool of madness she was currently encased in.

“That’s it, Rose. There you are. It’s all right.” His warm fingers brushed at her cheeks quickly, then smoothed over them with a tenderness that grounded her as much as his steadying heart and calming breath.

Her vision came into better view, though she wasn’t certain when she had lost focus, and she locked her eyes on Webb.

His smile was impossibly gentle, bordering on tender, and his free hand cupped her cheek, his thumb still stroking against it. “There you are,” he said again, his voice barely a whisper.

Rose inhaled silently, then exhaled and swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“What in the world are you sorry for?” he asked, his palm pressing against her cheek. “I’m grateful you admitted your feelings to me, even if it made you panic. Your torment over all of this is not unfounded, and I have no intention of telling anyone about it, if that was your fear.”

“I know you won’t,” Rose assured him as she shook her head. “I didn’t know… Didn’t realize that I still cared so much. That any of this mattered. I still don’t know how much, but…”

Webb covered her hand, still on his chest, with his own, which effectively silenced her. “You don’t have to know,” he murmured, his dark eyes suddenly captivating her. “Not until you find yourself wanting to make a decision on a person. You may not even know your mind until that happens, and you have to allow yourself that freedom and opportunity.” He curled his fingers around her hand, almost cradling it against him. “Give yourself that grace, Rose.”

She found her throat clenching and tried to swallow and smile at the same time. “Perhaps you should be preaching from the pulpit instead of Mr. Alchurch.”

Soft laughter wafted over her. “I am all for giving the Almighty credit when it is due, but I am talking about you, Rose Portman, giving Rose Portman the grace to be uncertain and to change her mind about what matters to her. To find happiness wherever it lies for her, even if it is not comfortable.”

Rose could barely catch her breath with the passion in his voice, the meaning behind his words, the revelation they were to her ears, and how badly she wanted to do exactly as he said. And then there was the sudden sense that a fire was starting in the hand he held, and she wasn’t entirely certain what to do about it. If there was to be anything done about it.

Or if fire was exactly what she needed.

“I will try,” Rose whispered with a nod. “I am not sure I can promise more than that.”

Webb grinned, her stomach flipping quite dramatically as he did so. “Trying is perfect.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it rather gently, surprising her.

His eyes flicked upwards. “Mistletoe. Seemed suitable under the circumstances.”

She’d never hated a single word more than mistletoe in that moment.

And hating mistletoe, or any word, had never happened in her entire life.

Curious…

Webb lowered her hand, still holding it. “Still wish to dance?”

With him? Of course. But that would not suit for the moment, given her breathlessness and the dance they had just snuck away from.

“A reprieve from the current one,” Rose said in a stronger voice. “And then Bash. Then back to the hunt, but as you said, with less pressure on the thing, and some grace for myself.”

Webb nodded in approval, his smile going back to that small one that seemed to heat her from the inside out. “That’s my girl. Let’s go to it.”

His girl? It was on the tip of her tongue to spear him with some sharp words for that, but she hadn’t the heart for it.

She actually liked the way it sounded, which was even more curious.