Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Now that the kissing ball was up, Nell was dying to kiss Sir Rupert—although not under the kissing ball itself, but in a rather more private setting. She loved him, and she wanted to let him know—but it would have to be today, her last day here. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, she would leave. Her feet didn’t hurt anymore, and with luck, she would arrive in Oxford by early afternoon.

She sighed sadly; she liked Mr. Albert Dilson, Papa’s dear friend and man of business, but the pain of leaving Sir Rupert loomed large.

Mr. Dilson was a reasonable, trustworthy sort of man. He and Papa had been somewhat estranged after he’d married Stepmother. Mr. Dilson disliked her and made no bones about showing it. However, Papa had still allowed Mr. Dilson to handle his affairs and trusted him with everything, including herself.

Mr. Dilson knew the ring was hers. It had once belonged to her mother. Papa had given it to her on his deathbed and recommended that she place it in Mr. Dilson’s care, for with him it would be safe. Fool that she was, she’d hidden it where others couldn’t find it, yet where she could take it out and treasure it from time to time.

But what if Stepmother had indeed found it? It was hard to believe—for if so, Stepmother would surely have taken it, not put it back—and yet, what else could be her horrid plan?

It didn’t matter. With Mr. Dilson, she would be safe.

In the meantime, she absolutely must kiss Sir Rupert—just once, to remember him by. What had he said? That there was mistletoe in the orchard.

She dried her hands on one of the kitchen rags, pulled a shawl around her shoulders, and hurried out the door, saying, “I’ll be back in a moment.” She couldn’t take long, for they needed her there, with so much work to do.

She hastened through the garden, past the stables, and opened a gate that led to the orchard. The apple trees were bare but for clumps of mistletoe here and there…just out of reach.

Well! She’d climbed trees as a child; she’d even climbed them as a young woman, when nobody was there to see her tie her skirts up out of the way.

She glanced about and saw no one. Worth the risk, she thought, and hitched up her skirts. She pulled herself onto the lowest branch and reached for the second.

“My dear Nell, whatever are you doing?”

Dear God, she must surely be blushing from her head to her toes!

“Harvesting some mistletoe?” Sir Rupert chuckled. “Isn’t there enough in the kissing ball?”

“No,” she said gruffly, perched there like a child, calves bare to the wind, unable to lower her skirts.

Gently, he put his arms around her and lifted her down. “I agree,” he said, “which is why I saved a little for a more private kiss. It’s at the house, alas.”

Hurriedly, she untied her skirts. A private kiss with whom? One of the evening’s guests, perhaps. There must be an eligible woman in the vicinity.

“Fortunately, there’s plenty to choose from out here in the orchard,” he said. “The one you were planning to take, for example. It’s right over our heads.”

“Oh,” she breathed, and looked up. He took her chin in his hands, smiled down at her, and kissed her.

It was a dream of a kiss. It began as a soft touch of the lips, and then his arms went around her, and she couldn’t help but wrap hers around his neck, and their lips met and joined and feasted on one another.

At last, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers. “Oh, Nell.”

She had imagined being kissed, but nothing like this. She was hot all over, flushed and breathless.

“Oh, Nell,” he said again. “I love you so much.”

“You do?” It came out as an astonished squeak.

“Since the moment we met.” He paused. “No, that’s not quite accurate. I liked you then, but it was when I first saw you in the candlelight in the kitchen. It was love at first sight.” He smiled gently. “Do you love me?”

Oh, dear. She couldn’t lie, not to him, and especially not about something so important. “Yes, I love you, Sir Rupert, but…”

“Just Rupert,” he said. “Call me by my name.”

She did, and he said, “Nell, my love, please don’t go. Can’t you see? I love you and you love me. You must marry me and stay with me here forever.”

She drew away, trembling now. “I cannot.” Sooner or later, Stepmother would find out and accuse her, and because Stepmother was wealthy and respected, she would be believed. Instead of loving Nell, Sir Rupert would feel that he had been a fool and would quickly come to hate her.

His smile was rueful. “Sweetheart, you can’t kiss a fellow like that and then refuse to marry him. It’s just not done.”

“I know, and I apologize, but I can’t help loving you, and kissing is a part of love.”

“Indeed,” he said, with his endearing grin.

“But I swear I’ll never do it again,” she said.

“Nonsense,” he said, and kissed her soundly. “We’ll do it every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Oh, how I wish we could, but we cannot. Sir, I mean Rupert, I really must get back to the kitchen now. They need me there.”

He sighed. “You won’t tell me why you can’t stay here with me, will you? Fine, but you must tell me where you are going and to whom.”

She’d rather not say a word, but if he loved her—which seemed impossible, and yet she had fallen in love with him at first sight, too—or perhaps even earlier, at the first sound of his kind, warm voice. So even though they couldn’t wed, he deserved to know that she was going somewhere safe. “Very well—as long as you promise not to prevent me from leaving.”

“No, I shan’t prevent you. In fact, I insist on escorting you.”

That made sense. If she told him where she was going, why not accept his escort? It would be far safer. She wouldn’t have to dash into the hedgerow whenever someone appeared on the road, for fear she would be recognized. “Can I trust you to tell no one where I am—absolutely no one, no matter who they are, no matter what horrid things they say about me?”

“My darling Nell—” He took a breath. “I shan’t tell anyone, but if I learn that you are in danger, I shall protect you with my life. Will that do?”

“You’re so very kind, Rupert. I am truly honored to have known you.” She paused. “Very well. I’m going to Oxford, to my father’s dear friend, Mr. Albert Dilson.”

“Mr. Dilson, the solicitor?”

“Yes, are you acquainted with him?”

“He was my man of business for many years,” Rupert said. “But I’m afraid it’s not possible for you to go to him.”

“It’s necessary ,” Nell retorted. “Just before he died, Papa told me that if ever I needed help, I should go to Mr. Dilson. He’s a most trustworthy man.”

“Indeed—an excellent solicitor with a kind, charitable heart. Your father was correct. However?—”

“However, what ?”

“Mr. Dilson died a week ago. When I found you the other day, I was returning from his funeral.”

Nell paled, and for a second, Rupert feared she would faint. He put out a hand to catch her, but she took hold of herself. “Then I have nowhere to go.”

“Therefore, you shan’t go. You’ll stay here with me.”

As if she hadn’t heard him, she said, “There’s no one who knows the truth. No one who will believe me.”

“If you tell me the truth, I shall believe it,” Rupert said.

She shook her head. “I can’t take that risk.”

“Running away with nowhere to go is less of a risk?” he demanded, taking her hands. “I’ll take care of you, and I won’t believe anyone who tells me lies about you.”

“You haven’t met my Ste—” As usual, she halted mid-word. Those kissable and thoroughly-kissed lips trembled. Stepfather? Stepmother? Stepsister or brother?

“What have you done, that you are so afraid? Something truly dreadful?”

“No, I’ve done nothing wrong!” she said, and then, “That is, apart from speaking my thoughts aloud. And telling the truth when no one wants to hear it.”

He laughed at that. “All too often, people find the truth impossible to bear. Fear not, my sweet Nell. I like hearing your thoughts, and I shan’t let anything happen to you.”

“If only that were true,” she sighed.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he demanded.

“No, no, of course not!” She put up a hand. “It’s just that you don’t know …”

“Only because you won’t tell me. You’re mine, and you shall stay with me.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You trusted Mr. Dilson. Why can’t you trust me?”

“He was my father’s solicitor,” she said. “A man of the law. He knew…” She paused, then murmured, “Although maybe not enough to save me, if they accuse me of attem…” She firmed her lips.

Damnation, she’d stopped mid-sentence even when she was talking to herself. Accuse her of attem …? She was quite a mystery, his Nell, but incapable, he was sure, of doing any harm.

“And now you must trust me, my dear,” he said. “It’s the only way.”

He was right—trusting him was her only hope now. Nell hurried back to the kitchen and threw herself into the preparations for the evening’s festivities. Despite his assurances, she felt as if this were her last chance to prove herself worthwhile. As if she must make the best of it, for any day now she might be swept off to a dungeon.

Which was absurd—there weren’t any dungeons nearby, and in any event, he had told her to trust him. She wanted to; she l onged to trust him. He was a baronet, a wealthy man, not a nobody, so perhaps…just perhaps, all would be well.

Dusk fell, and to her astonishment, Mrs. Overton presented her with a green silk gown to wear. “It belonged to Lady Wonderly, Sir Rupert’s aunt. Such a sainted lady—and fortunate to pass to her reward before her husband let the estate go to rack and ruin.”

“I cannot wear that,” Nell protested. “It’s far too fine. I’ll be doing last minute work in the kitchen, and serving food to the guests, and?—”

“It is perfectly proper for a lady to serve the lamb’s wool,” Mrs. O said with a smile. “Lady Wonderly always did. And here’s a shawl—it’s made of cashmere and will keep you warm.” When Nell hesitated, the housekeeper said, “Lady Wonderly loved Sir Rupert dearly. She would have wanted you to have it.”

Had Sir Rupert told Mrs. Overton of his plan to marry Nell? She felt an overpowering urge to run, to flee before she disappointed them all. Her greatest longing was to please others—Sir Rupert, Mrs. O, the maids and menservants, Mr. Hicks, the villagers…

And Stepmother, which was impossible and always would be.

“As for the kitchen,” Mrs. O went on, “you may wear an apron until the guests arrive, and later only when necessary. The maids will dress in their best, too, for everyone in the household and in the village is invited to partake of the feast—great and small alike.”

“How lovely,” Nell said. “How perfectly lovely.”

“And here are some evening slippers,” Mrs. O said. “I believe they will fit you well enough.”

“They’re embroidered with gold thread!” Nell protested. “And sparkling glass beads!”

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Mrs. O said with an amused smile. “More of Lady Wonderly’s. Once Christmas is over, you may go through her trunks and take whatever you like.”

If only , Nell thought. Perhaps all would be well…

What nonsense. If she married Sir Rupert, word would get out, and Stepmother would accuse her, and he would be mortified—not to mention the fact that Nell would be imprisoned, or worse.

Perhaps…perhaps she should tell him the truth. Tell him what she feared. Tell him why she couldn’t marry him.

Very well, she would do so—but not yet. She refused to spoil the Christmas festivities. First thing tomorrow, she would tell him—and if he turned from her in revulsion, she would leave.

That wouldn’t be worse than last time she’d left home…would it?

The celebration couldn’t have been more perfect. The guests really did represent high and low—everyone from the Squire, the vicar and his wife, to shopkeepers, the blacksmith, laborers, and the ancient inhabitants of an almshouse.

The Christmas pies were utterly delicious, if Nell said so herself (which she didn’t, or only very softly, somehow managing not to extol her skill aloud). The roast goose was sublime. Cook’s Christmas puddings were fabulously, mouthwateringly full of fruit—Nell had never tasted better—and fortunately, her hard sauce complemented the puddings well.

As for the lamb’s wool…well! Everyone loved it. Nell only took half a glassful, as she couldn’t risk losing control of her unruly tongue, even slightly. But it was a wonderful half glassful; no better Christmas libation existed than lamb’s wool.

The Yule log burned with such heat that the heavy wooden doors were propped open to let in the cold night air.

“Sing for us, girls,” Sir Rupert said. “The same lovely carol you treated us to in the kitchen yesterday.”

Millie and Peg went into fits of giggles—they’d had a little too much lamb’s wool—but Nell managed to sort them out and start the song, and the whole village joined in the chorus, verse after verse.

A carriage pulled up before the open front doors. “Latecomers!” Sir Rupert cried. “I hope we haven’t eaten quite all the food, and perhaps there’s a drop or two of lamb’s wool left. Carry on, everyone—welcome them with one last chorus.”

“O the rising of the sun, and the running of the deer!”

He started out the door to welcome the guests, and greeted the man who stepped down from the coach. “Nate Smith, here at last!”

Sir Nathaniel Smith, the Justice of the Peace! Nell froze, but the villagers sang on.

“The playing of the merry organ, sweet singing of the choir!”

Everyone clapped and cheered. Sir Rupert shook Sir Nathaniel’s hand. “Come in, come in. I have something of importance to tell you.”

He’d been expecting Sir Nathaniel. To tell him…what? Who was that lady getting out of his coach?

“Sorry we’re so late,” Sir Nathaniel was saying. “One of the horses went lame, and?—”

Nell had to leave, she had to go quickly, before they saw?—

Her stepsister Pauletta got down from the coach, looked straight at Nell, and yelped. “There she is! The thief!”

Nell ran.

So…this was what Nell had feared, Rupert realized. She’d stolen a trumpery ring to support herself as she fled an unhappy home, and dreaded the consequences if she were caught.

On the other hand, she’d been fleeing to a solicitor—hardly the place for a thief to seek refuge. Not only that, she had sworn she’d done nothing wrong, and he would stake his life she’d told him the truth.

Rupert beckoned to Joey Jenkins and murmured, “Follow her, find her, and keep her somewhere safe. Mrs. O will help. Tell her not to fear, for I won’t let them harm her.”

He turned to the now unwelcome guests. “What the devil is going on?” he asked Sir Nathaniel.

“Confound it,” his friend said, as another young lady descended from the coach, followed by a woman who was obviously their mother. “If I’d had the slightest inkling of what might happen when I let that ghastly woman and her tedious daughters come with me tonight, I would have told them all to go to the devil. It never occurred to me that Nell might be here . I assumed she’d run to a friend.”

“What did you say, Pauletta? Who? Where?” the older lady cried.

“Nell, it was Nell!” Pauletta cried. “Catch her, Sir Nathaniel! Catch her before she gets away!”

“I shall do no such thing, young lady,” Sir Nathaniel said. “As I told your mother already, I shall not interfere in what is clearly a family matter.”

The older lady caught sight of Rupert and rushed forward. “Then you must help us, Sir Rupert,” she begged, grabbing his hand. “Nell is my stepdaughter, and I am chagrined to say that she is a thief. She has a measure of charm, but it is always for her own benefit, never for others. She took a precious locket, and?—”

Rupert extricated himself from her clawlike grip. “A locket?”

“Yes, yes, a golden locket containing a miniature of my dearly departed mother.”

Not a ring . “Nell came here with nothing but the clothes on her back and a few coins,” Rupert said.

“She must have sold it already!” The lady wailed and wiped a nonexistent tear from her eye. “What shall I do?”

“You’ll accuse her of worse,” Pauletta said. “Remember how I was ill with the stomachache, and you said we could say that?—”

The other daughter, who so far had done nothing but sneer, now rolled her eyes.

“Hush, Pauletta,” their mother said. “Thievery in the family is bad enough—think of the scandal—but attempted murder will spell utter ruin. However dastardly was Nell’s behavior, the soup she poisoned must be kept secret forever.” She gave an unconvincing shudder.

The other daughter huffed and passed her mother a handkerchief.

Sir Nathaniel tsked. “Sir Rupert, I have the misfortune to introduce Mrs. Walmsley and her daughters, Pauletta and Clorinda. Mrs. Walmsley is the widow of John Walmsley, who was my friend and the father of Nell—who, I am beginning to think, has been sorely mistreated since his death.”

“That’s untrue,” Mrs. Walmsley moaned, “and utterly unfair. I did my utmost to bring her up as her dear father would have wished. It wasn’t my fault if the child spent all her time in the kitchen and refused to learn the accomplishments of a lady.”

“Nell is wonderful,” Millie piped up. “She’s a good, kind lady, and she cooks like an angel!”

“And she’s going to marry Sir Rupert!” Peg said with a smirk.

“No!” Pauletta cried. “She can’t. Mama, you said I could have him!”

Clorinda rolled her eyes again. “I told you it was an absurd notion. You’re too stupid, and I’m impolite and lazy.”

“I said you or Clorinda,” Mrs. Walmsley said. “And that is not true, Clorinda. If you would but bestir yourself to be more agreeable, suitors would flock to your side.”

Clorinda made a rude noise. The second her mother wasn’t looking, she stuck out her tongue.

“God help us,” Sir Nate said. “Is it true, Rupert—you’re going to marry little Nell?”

“It is,” Rupert said, and went to find his love.

Nell scurried through the house and out the kitchen door, followed by the yapping Fairy, knowing she could never escape. Even if she managed to leave the house and grounds, she would be caught on the road, caught anywhere she sheltered, dragged off to prison, hanged.

Still, she had to try. “Hush, Fairy!” she pleaded, and kept on going.

“Miss Nell, wait!” That was Joe Jenkins’s voice. She liked Joe, but he was Rupert’s man and would obey him. The question was, what had he told Joe to do? She kept on running, out of the kitchen, through the garden, dithering from path to path in the dark.

Fairy nudged her, took the silk gown in her mouth, and pulled. “Don’t! You’ll ruin the gown,” she whispered, which was utterly stupid, for what did a gown matter? She followed the dog nonetheless, and suddenly saw her salvation.

The scaffolding! “Thank you!” she whispered. She knotted the shawl around her neck, hurriedly bunched her skirts, and began to climb. Halfway up, one foot lost purchase and a slipper fell off. One side of her skirt came loose. Dangling by one hand, she stuffed the hem between her teeth and kept going.

She climbed in the broken window just as Joe Jenkins came into the garden, calling her name. Then Mrs. O emerged. “Nell, where are you? Please come back.”

“Sir Rupert told us to find you,” Joey said. “He told us to keep you safe.”

Safe—or safely held, to be handed over to the law?

Sir Rupert was an honorable man. He had promised to protect her. She longed to believe him. Drat, she did believe him, but now he might have changed his mind. If only she’d had the courage to tell him the whole truth!

For the moment, she was trapped. She had promised to stay until Christmas Day, which she would do. In the morning, she would learn for sure whether he had kept his promise, too.

In the meantime, she sank to the floor and wept.