An Icy Christmas Engagement (Christmas Matches of Worth #1)

Chapter One

Heavy fog and a deep chill in the air meant that Caroline should have been in her bed, curled up with a good novel, and sipping warm milk until she inevitably fell asleep.

Not bundled up with too many layers trying to traverse the London streets on foot. Yet here she was, her hands tucked into her underarm, her coat billowing behind her, and her eyes squinting to see a few paces ahead of her.

The carriage that had taken her to this side of London was lingering a few blocks away, ready to take her back to the comfort of her own home. It was not too late yet. Dusk had only just descended, which meant that many people were preparing their supper or heading home from their long days drinking their sorrows away at the tavern.

Caroline didn’t mind being out this late. She didn’t mind the quiet. What she minded was the cold, the bitter chill that seemed to be seeping through her boots. It was a wonder snow hadn’t begun falling tonight even though it was already early December.

She let out a breath into her coat and savored the few seconds of warmth it gave her as she delved down another street. Relief flooded her when she spotted the building at the end of the street still lit, which meant that they hadn’t closed for the night. She’d taken a chance coming out here so late.

One year ago, this time, she would have been in the countryside, enjoying the last vestiges of warmth England had to offer during the winter months. Curling up in front of a fire with three blankets draped over her legs while the crackling wood served as soothing music while she read. Pure bliss. How things had changed. No one would expect the Viscountess of Winterbourne to be in these parts of London.

Dowager Viscountess now, sadly.

She drew to a halt in front of the cold door, pulling her hands free from the warmth of her armpits. The heavy knocker was cold to the touch and Caroline sucked in a breath, already uncomfortable. She knocked three times then waited. Rocked back and forth on her heels to keep her blood rushing through her veins and waited a bit more.

Just when her impatience had worn thin, the door opened, revealing a burly man with heavy scowl on his face. He looked her up and down. Caroline could only imagine what he was thinking. Not every day did one open the door of their establishment to see a woman bundled up from head to toe with only her eyes visible.

“Pardon me, sir,” she said. “But if I remain out here any longer, I may lose a few of my appendages.”

He grunted and stepped aside. Caroline murmured her thanks as she slipped into the warm space. She spied the lit fireplace on the other side of the room and made a beeline for it, sinking into the chair closest to it to absorb its warmth.

“It’s late.”

Caroline glanced over her shoulder at the man, then returned her attention to the fire. In hindsight, it might not have been a good idea coming here alone, even if she was no longer expected to have a chaperone at all times. She was still a lady, after all. And she did not know this man well.

Sure, she knew his name—Mr. Edwin Holloway, her publisher. She knew he was a lover of literature, like she was, and took his position in the literary world very seriously. Right now, that felt like all she needed to know.

He didn't know she was the Dowager Viscountess of Winterbourne. He didn’t even know that she was a lady. All Edwin knew about her was that she’d once provided a riveting romance novel that had been well received by the public, which she hoped gave her the potential for future publications.

“I know it’s late,” she responded. “And perhaps I should have chosen a more appropriate time to see you.”

“It’s fine. I work late, as you can see.” Edwin lumbered over to the only other armchair by the fireplace. “I assume it’s about your book?”

“Not entirely.” She shifted to face him. “You told me that it has grown in popularity since it was first published. And because of that, I am seeking the chance to publish another with you again. ”

Edwin tilted his head to the side, the balding spot on the top of his head shining under the glow of the fire. “Do you already have a manuscript?”

“I have an idea,” she confessed.

“An idea?” Edwin scoffed in disbelief. “Books are only half ideas and half execution. Your ideas are nothing to me if you do not have anything to show for it.”

“Oh, Heavens, and here I thought you had a little more faith in me.” She rolled her eyes dramatically, pulling free the bundle of pages she’d tucked into her coat before leaving the house. She hadn’t wanted to show him but… “I already have a few chapters finished. Pray, share your thoughts.”

Edwin’s scowl seemed to deepen at the pages she held out to him. But he reached forward with a grunt and took it from her anyway. Caroline studied him for a few moments as he began to read then, feeling anxious suddenly, she turned her attention back to the fire.

Others reading her work had always excited her. When her first book began being sold in the shops, and she heard of the reviews, she felt an exhilaration unlike anything else before. She’d finally found her true purpose in life, bringing titillating and heartwarming romances to life for others to enjoy. Writing was the only thing that brought her joy lately and it certainly helped that she could earn a pretty pence from it.

But Edwin’s scrutiny was unlike anything else she’d endured. Her first draft of the first few chapters was not going to be her best work but she hoped it was good enough for him to decide to work with her again.

“Requires refinement,” he said at last, thrusting the pages back at her.

Caroline’s heart sank. “Does that mean you do not intend to publish my work again?”

He only stared at her for a long, tense moment before he said, “It is in need of improvement, but it has potential. The tone is rather contrived, and the male protagonist exhibits a certain lack of vitality. Amend these aspects in the finished manuscript and return it to me at your earliest convenience. ”

Caroline grinned. This went far better than she’d expected it to. “It shall take me a few months but I will be able to—”

“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 to write 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 they were 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?”

No one knew of Caroline’s secret life writing romance novels under the name Robert Winters. No one except Louisa who was her biggest supporter.

Caroline nodded. “He tells me I have to provide the finished manuscript of the novel I am working on by the Twelfth Night.”

“That is less than three weeks away from now,” Louisa hummed in thought.

“So you see my predicament. I had intended to visit my mother but now I will have to tell her that I won’t be able to make it.” Caroline sighed, pouring herself another glass. “She will be quite upset with me. You know how overbearing Mother can get. I shan’t hear the end of it.”

“I’m sure if you give her a good reason for your absence—or perhaps your delay—this Christmas, she won’t have much to say.”

“And what excuse could that be? That I have decided to pursue my love for writing rather than come to see her?”

“Oh, so dramatic,” Louisa laughed. “Simply tell her that you will be delayed due to charity work you’d already agreed to.”

Caroline straightened. Why hadn’t she thought of that? It wouldn’t be a complete lie since she had planned to volunteer at an orphanage. Her mother didn’t need to know when that volunteer work was expected to come to an end before she was meant to leave for the countryside and not after.

“Louisa, you brilliant lady,” Caroline said with a grin.

Louisa shrugged nonchalantly, a smile playing around her lips. “I’m not sure what you would do without me.”

“Neither am I. Granted, I will feel a little guilty but it may keep Mother from pestering me about why I have not gone to see her. Perhaps I will be able to meet Mr. Holloway’s deadline after all. I should start right now, actually, if I want to get a head start! ”

Caroline shot out of the chair but Louisa’s hand shot out to grab her wrist. “Oh, sit down, you. It’s already late at night and you haven’t even had dinner yet. Have a few more drinks with me.”

Laughter curled up Caroline’s throat. “Am I to drink and not eat then?”

“You do not seem to care about the latter so why not?” With a cheeky smile, Louisa poured them both a glass. “We ought to express our gratitude for the liberty we possess to act according to our own desires. To partake of our repast as we please. To arrive and depart at our convenience. To indulge in refreshment whenever we so desire. This evening, we may choose to overindulge, and there is not a single soul who would dare to reproach us for it.”

“Perhaps I should be the one holding the bottle,” Caroline said, carefully putting the bottle of sherry on her side of her table as she eyed her friend cautiously. “I have witnessed you after a night of drinking and I think it would be best for us both if it never happens again.”

Louisa laughed heartily, the sound like music echoing through the empty townhouse. “You do not grasp the essence of it, Caroline! As a widow and an unwed lady, we are bestowed certain privileges that those who are wed or fully engaged in society in London could scarcely envision. You would find it impossible to pursue your aspirations as a writer, were it not for our unique circumstances. Even should you choose to write under the guise of a pseudonym.”

Caroline couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Her late husband, Harold, was a traditional man who would have shuddered at the thought of a lady writing for any purpose other than letters. He didn’t even like the fact that she was fond of reading.

The thought brought a mixture of pride and guilt, but it was easy to ignore the latter. “And you would not have been free to continue your study in botany,” Caroline said. “All that’s left is for you to open your own apothecary.”

“Once my inheritance runs dry, I just might. For now, I shall simply enjoy my days with my plants and my best friend. ”

Louisa raised her glass in a toast and Caroline was all too happy to join in.

“I don’t know what I would do without you, Louisa,” Caroline sighed.

Louisa reached out to take her hand. “Be grateful you never have to find out.”

They both laughed at that. And drank until the bottle went empty and they went to get another. By the time they made it to the bottom of that bottle, Caroline completely forgot that she hadn’t eaten any dinner. Not that it mattered when drunken sleep blissfully claimed her.