A Seasonal Pursuit (Regency Christmas Brides #1)

Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER 18

W ebb was going to tear Fairview apart if he went another day without speaking a word with Rose.

It had been four full days since their kiss at Downing, and she had not appeared at supper that night. She had not been exploring the house the next morning, nor any morning since. She’d not been in the library anytime he had checked, and all of his notes had gone unanswered. The only time he had seen her had been supper the last two nights, where she had sat to Lady Standhope’s left and never appeared at the evening entertainment.

What excuses she was giving their hostess, he could not say, and he did not dare ask. Looking too eager would raise questions, and he did not want word of Rose’s nonparticipation to reach her aunt Edith. If he had not seen her at those meals, he would have thought she had left Fairview entirely. It was a great relief to him that she had not. There was still a chance if she was still here.

There was so much Webb wanted to tell Rose. So much he wanted to ask. And if she continued to be absent, those questions would only grow. And change. And become more desperate.

If she bothered to look at any of the notes he had sent, Rose would know that he was not going to ask her any intimidating questions. Nothing too life-altering or noteworthy. He simply wanted to know if she had felt the same way as he did about their kiss. If she wanted to come with him to Downing for New Year’s. If she would be his partner for whatever pairings were required on Twelfth Night.

Simple things, really.

The more terrifying question that lurked in the back of his mind—and it did lurk there—would hinge on how those questions were answered and how those occasions played out.

He would not presume anything. He knew better in general, and he certainly knew much better with Rose.

Rose was unlike any other woman he had ever met. She knew her mind with a startling clarity. She expressed her opinions with blistering honesty. She did exactly as she liked with frightening certainty.

So why was she avoiding him?

He’d given up searching for her during the day today and had gone back home to Downing for recuperation and a taste of some happiness. The children had been an able distraction for him, creating all sorts of imaginary games with the greenery still hung about the house. And when it was time for them all to rest in the nursery, Webb had sat with Emily for a time, saying nothing.

It was she, as it happened, who brought up the subject of Rose. And then he had started to talk. And talk. And talk. Unable to stop, it seemed, and saying far more than he should have and somehow never quite reaching a point. He unburdened his entire soul to his sister, which was likely not what she had intended, but it was highly overdue on his part.

How meeting Rose had been an accident in and of itself. How it had begun as a lark and an excuse to avoid anyone else. How it had become more and more entertaining every passing hour. How Rose had awakened something in him that he hadn’t even known was dormant. How much brighter life appeared because of her. How he seemed to laugh more and wish to live more. There just seemed to be so much more of life because of and when he was with Rose.

He had known all of that since St. Stephen’s Day, at the very least. He had been helpless against kissing her, all of the gloriousness of her person and her essence overwhelming him until he finally gave in to what he had been dreaming about for days. It had surpassed everything he had anticipated, and he’d been without words.

Which, ironically, was why he had insisted that Rose say nothing either. Words would have changed the moment, and he could not bear for it to alter a jot.

Except now he had no other moments, romantic or entertaining, to add to it, so there were no words at all for what had happened.

No laughter, no shared looks, no anything.

It could not end that way.

Emily had not given him much by way of advice, but she did relay something she had told Rose during their ride.

“I told her you love everything fiercely,” Emily had admitted. “Whatever you love, you love it with everything you are.”

He couldn’t argue the point. He had always felt his emotions intensely, and he did not know any other way to live his life. Surely that hadn’t been what Rose was hiding from. He hadn’t told her he loved her, after all.

Granted, he did love her, and he’d finally admitted that to himself as he’d ridden gloomily back to Fairview. It was such a different love from what he’d felt for Mary. Not more intense or deeper or in any way better or worse—just different. The relationship they’d had was so longstanding and the feelings had grown so naturally and progressively that it had simply become part of who he was.

With Rose, everything was full of surprises. It rolled and shifted and changed, rather like the landscape of Yorkshire itself. It was wild and captivating and regularly left him breathless. Falling in love with Rose was like a whirlwind he’d been caught up in, and now he felt the silence and the calm in such a hollow, lifeless manner.

He needed her in his life. He needed the brightness she brought and the laughter she’d restored. But if she wouldn’t see him, how could any of that come about?

What had frightened her? Or disgusted her? What had he done that meant she could not face him? Or be his friend, at least. Whatever else they might have been, or were becoming, they were friends, were they not? Allies? If she had decided something about him and about them, perhaps in favor of the list and her aunt’s plan, he would still try to help her. It might kill him, but he was a man of his word, and above all else, he wanted Rose to be happy with the life that was before her.

Did he love her enough to let her marry someone else because she chose to?

Possibly, but he would not be able to attend the ceremony.

He could not endure the rest of the house party like this, that much was plain. He needed to see her again and encourage her to be as frank and honest as she had ever been. Tell him exactly what she felt and what she wanted and how she wanted them to proceed. There was nothing worse than a one-sided romance, he was certain, but a one-sided romance because one was ignorant of the other side was pure torment.

Hope was a torment. If he knew there was no hope, at least he could move on and try to pick up the pieces of his life and his heart.

At least he would know that he had a heart once more .

Webb closed the book he had been pretending to read in the library with a sharp snap, rising from his chair and replacing it on the shelf he’d plucked it from. He did not acknowledge any of the others in the room, though there were only three, and instead left entirely, moving down the corridor without a specific destination in mind. Perhaps he would go outside. A ride would be just the thing to make time pass in an enjoyable way and perhaps give him enough of a change to create some decent ideas.

But he would need to change for the sort of ride he wanted to take. This was no time for polite trotting and caution. He wanted to go for a hard, reckless ride as he would have done at Downing. He’d never have done so with a horse that was not his own, so he was grateful his personal horse was currently at the Fairview stables. By the time he returned, it would be time to change for the evening anyway.

And it would be another day without talking to or spending time with Rose.

Shaking his head, Webb crossed the marble hall, heading for the stairs that would take him to the bedchambers when a commotion at the front doors caught his attention.

An older woman he had never seen was entering, escorted by a Fairview footman she leaned heavily upon, despite her colorful walking stick. Her hair was silvery-white and piled high, her turban doing nothing to cover the coif. Her lips were pursed, but her eyes darted here and there, seeming to catch every single detail they saw.

Who in the world would arrive this late to a holiday house party? Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve, for pity’s sake. And with a woman this frail…

Well, she wouldn’t be dancing, that was for certain.

“Edith!” Lady Standhope’s voice called with utter joy moments before she appeared in the hall, her arms outstretched. “I am so delighted you could spare a moment to stop by. ”

Webb stopped before the stairs and turned to blatantly watch this scene, wondering if the newcomer could possibly be the infamous Aunt Edith he had heard so much about.

Edith’s pursed lips pursed further still as Lady Standhope approached. “Laurentia, my dear. Fairview is just as striking as I recall. A touch drafty, but in a house this size, it is to be expected.” She leaned in to kiss cheeks with Lady Standhope, who only hummed at the comment.

“How long can you stay?” she asked with just as much enthusiasm as before.

Edith looked around the marble hall with a heavy sigh. “One night, perhaps two. It all depends on my niece. I am on my way to Scotland to check on dear Alden’s progress, and only the good Lord knows what I will find there.”

Lady Standhope patted her hand consolingly. “Have you spoken with the others?”

“Colin and Richard? Yes, yes, and I cannot speak of it yet. Believe me, I will write with the details when I can.” She giggled in an almost menacing manner, which made Webb rather curious, but also a little fond of the woman.

After all, without that mischievous streak, he would never have met Rose.

“Let me show you to your room, dear,” Lady Standhope insisted, flanking her friend on the other side. “I know how fastidious you are about your beds. I must have you comfortable or I shall not rest at all myself. Now, are you able to manage stairs? If not, I can make up one of the family rooms for you, it would be no trouble at all.”

“I am not entirely an invalid, Laurentia,” Edith snapped with a faint stomp of her walking stick. “Merely stiff from that blasted carriage. Stairs will do just fine.”

Webb stepped back from the stairs to allow them full access without his involvement or intrusion .

“Ah, Lord Downing,” Lady Standhope practically cooed as they reached him. “May I present Lady Edith Walker? She is our dear Miss Portman’s great-aunt, you know. We are great friends, and she is going to be with us a day or two.”

“A pleasure, my lady.” Webb bowed respectfully, making sure to smile for effect.

Edith eyed him up and down. “You know my niece, sir?”

“I do,” he confirmed, clasping his hands behind his back. “A fine woman. Quick witted and refreshingly original. She does you credit.”

Edith raised one faint brow at that. “Wit and originality are not always to be praised or credited, my lord. I reserve my judgment of you until further notice.” She continued up the stairs with the footman and Lady Standhope without much difficulty, her age and apparently impending death notwithstanding.

Webb was willing to bet a very great deal that Rose had no idea her great-aunt had arrived, or possibly that she would have been coming, and it seemed unfair that she should be unprepared for such a thing.

Thinking quickly, he raced towards the back of the house. He knew there was another set of stairs that led to the bedchambers there, and if he was fortunate, he would get there before the ladies would. More fortunate, even, if Edith’s room were closer to the main stairs than either his room or Rose’s.

These stairs came up towards the back of the corridor of rooms, where Webb was situated, but not Rose. Still, he was not hearing Lady Standhope or Lady Edith, so that was encouraging. He started down the corridor, trying to find the watercolor art of dogs at a pond that was on one side of her door. He could never remember how far down it was, and it was never more urgent than when he had something important to tell her.

He growled in frustration, tsking a little and shaking his head as he looked down the corridor. Then he stopped in his tracks.

Rose was walking towards him even now. Well, she was walking in his direction. Her eyes were lowered, her fingers were toying with a wildflower, and she did not seem to be in any way aware of where she was. And, if he was correct, she had already passed her bedchamber. Had she intended that or was she simply so distracted by whatever was going on in her mind and heart that she had missed it entirely?

He dared not hope she had been coming to seek him out. That would have been too much.

She had not seen him yet, and if she did not look up in a moment, she was going to walk right into him. That would be far too embarrassing for her, if avoiding him was the goal, and he was determined to keep her discomfort to a minimum where possible.

Webb cleared his throat very softly.

It worked. Rose looked up at once and stopped just as suddenly, her fair eyes going wide. She was pale, he noted, and a little drawn. She was lovely and exquisite even so, but it was plain to see that she was not herself. And oh, how that hurt!

“Webb,” she murmured, her lips barely moving.

At least she was still calling him by his name.

He smiled as warmly as he dared. “Rose. Lost in thought?”

She nodded quickly and looked around them, her lips forming the slightest frown. “I seem to have missed my room. How embarrassing.”

There was no laughter in her voice, and that frightened him most of all. She was always a little self-deprecating, and always with an air of laughing at herself, which put everyone at ease rather swiftly.

To hear her without that laughter… Well, it wasn’t Rose, and Webb wasn’t sure who that left.

“I’ve just met your aunt,” he said in a light tone .

Rose’s head whipped around to face him, going paler still, if it were possible. “My aunt?”

He nodded. “Great-aunt, I suppose. Lady Edith. She asked me if I knew you.” He chuckled a little at the memory.

Rose did not laugh. “What did you say?” she demanded.

“The truth,” he replied. When Rose stiffened, he went on. “I said you were a fine woman. Quick witted and refreshingly original. I said you were a credit to her.”

If he hadn’t seen it, he would not have believed it possible, but Rose’s entire frame softened, seeming to sag without actually moving. “Oh, Webb…”

He’d have taken her in his arms if his legs had any power in them. As it was, he lost all feeling below his knees.

“What can I do, Rosie?” he begged her, unsure if he was asking specifically or generally, but knowing he had to ask.

A smile stretched across Rose’s lips then, rather like a sunrise breaking through clouds, and he felt as though he could breathe for the first time in four days. “Rosie?” she repeated.

“Sorry,” he mumbled through his own smile. “It just came out.”

She tilted her head ever so slightly, a glimpse of the old Rose appearing there. “I don’t mind it. From you.” Then she cleared her throat and shook her head. “What can you do? Well, what did Aunt Edith say to you when you said what you did?”

Webb snorted once. “Something about wit and originality not always being praised or credited, and that she would reserve judgment on me.”

Rose barked a hard laugh. “Sounds like her.” She sniffled once, which was his first indication that there might have been tears somewhere. “There is nothing for you to do yet. I need to talk with her. If she has just arrived, she might not join us for supper, but I cannot say what else she may want to say or do. I must be entirely at her disposal. ”

“Has she come to see your progress?” Webb inquired in surprise. “I thought you were given until Twelfth Night.”

“I am,” Rose replied on a quick nod. “So she likely does want to know how things are going, and perhaps advise me on my task.”

Webb wanted to laugh again, but he was more afraid of the task Lady Edith had put to Rose than anything else. “What will you tell her?”

Rose’s mouth formed a small, wry smile, her earlier sadness returning. “I haven’t the faintest idea. But…perhaps we might talk tomorrow. You and I, that is. Would that be agreeable?”

It was all Webb could do to not fall to his knees in gratitude. “Yes,” he managed with all the earnestness of his soul. “Yes, tomorrow will be perfect. Is it terrible to wish you good luck?” He tried for a teasing smile.

Her wry one remained. “No, not terrible. I have a feeling I am going to need it.”