Page 5 of The Dare Before Christmas

“Of course I do,” he said, getting to his feet and taking her hands, pulling her from the stool before the dressing table and into his arms. “I believe the lady is in love with him, and we must do all in our power to throw them together as much as possible.”

“But how can we, if—” Evie broke off, staring at him. “She’s here!”

Louis’ eyes widened in mock surprise. “I never said that. However did you surmise such a thing?”

“Oh!” Evie squealed, kissing him hard. “She is! She’s here. Well, in that case, it's Victoria or Emmeline. They are the only marriageable women here, and my sister would surely have mentioned something, at least dropped a hint, and…. It must be Torie,” she said, beaming at him.

Louis returned his most guileless expression and shrugged. “I could not possibly comment.”

Evie snorted and shook her head. “Wretch,” she said fondly. “But now I know, I can help. We shall sit them together at dinner, and send them off together when we gather the greenery to decorate, and—”

“Have a care, Evie,” Louis said, reaching out to caress her cheek. “A man does not like to be forced into things against his will. Barnaby has his pride. If we try too hard, he might dig his heels in.”

Evie pursed her lips. “Perhaps, but Torie needs the chance to make him see he’s being an idiot, and she can’t do that if she’s not in his company.”

“Also true,” Louis replied. “Well, let us see what we can do, for I have every intention that Barnaby shall be as happy as we are.”

“Oh, yes. He deserves it, for being such a good friend to you.”

Louis smiled and nodded. “I owe him a good deal, but he is not the only one I wish to see settled. His aunt also needs a husband, I think. She has been alone for far too long. Such a remarkable woman needs a companion, for I believe she is lonely. Not that she would ever admit such a thing.”

“Lady Balderston? You’re not serious, Louis? But who…?”

Louis shook his head and guided Evie to the door. “All will be revealed, amour de ma vie. Just wait and see.”

Torie felt her heart sink as she sat down at the dinner table that night, to discover Mr Godwin beside her. Across the table Emmeline, who knew of her predicament, sent her a look of deep sympathy but there was nothing to be done but endure.

“Good evening, Lady Victoria.”

“Good evening, Mr Godwin,” Torie replied, not looking at him. Instead, she turned towards the Duke of Axton on her left. “How did you find the journey, your grace?”

Torie let Axton’s words wash over her, only listening with half an ear, too aware of Mr Godwin sitting so close beside her as she stirred her soup around with little enthusiasm. She had no appetite tonight, her stomach tied in a tight little knot. How she was supposed to do justice to what she had no doubt would be a splendid dinner, she did not know.

The arrival of Henry and Florence Stanhope—Evie and Emmeline’s older sister—midway through the meal sent everyone into a flurry. They turned up late, exhausted after a difficult journey beset with a broken carriage wheel, with a wailing baby and Henry carrying his three-year-old son asleep on his shoulder. With apologies for disrupting everyone, they disappeared up to their room with promises to do better tomorrow.

Afterwards, everyone settled back down to their meal, and several courses came and went. Torie did her best to do justice to them, but anxiety made every bite stick in her throat and she could only wish the evening would end quickly. She toyed with the idea of feigning a headache, but that seemed a rotten thing to do to Evie when she had worked so hard to make everything lovely for her guests. It was lovely, too. The room was large and elegant, a fire burning in a huge ornate fireplace, and the table was beautifully arranged, silver and crystal glittering in the candlelight. Sweetest of all was the happiness shining in Evie and Louis’ eyes. That this was a match made in heaven was perfectly obvious to all, and Torie had to fight to squash a little sliver of envy. Evie deserved everything that was good, and she was so happy for her, but… well, no matter. She dared a glance at Mr Godwin. He was turning his wineglass in his hand and frowning at the elegant table setting of Christmas roses in the middle of the table. He didn’t appear to have eaten much more than she had.

Perhaps sensing her gaze upon him, he turned his head, and their eyes met. Torie felt a fierce blush rise to her cheeks and looked hurriedly away. Her breath caught as she experienced the same wash of humiliation as she had when he’d walked away from her at the ball, and she cursed under her breath. She might as well paint a sign on her head that read I love you, Mr Godwin if she was going to be as obvious as that. The indignity of it burned. If only she could just pretend he wasn’t there, but every nerve ending seemed unwillingly oriented towards him.

Axton was now deep in conversation with Louis César and Emmeline was talking to Jules, so she could do nothing more than turn her attention back to her plate and do her utmost to pretend everything was fine. Determinedly, she speared a tiny, perfectly golden roast potato and stared at it. Her throat was so tight she felt certain it would choke her.

“Are you well, my lady?”

Mr Godwin’s voice was quiet, filled with concern.

“Quite well,” she replied, aware she sounded stiff and cold and unable to do a thing about it.

Torie raised the little bite-sized potato and put it in her mouth. She chewed, relieved this would put an end to any expectation of a fuller reply. She chewed and chewed, too anxious to swallow.

Oh, do stop acting like such a ninny. He’s just a man. He doesn’t have to like you and you don’t need to get in such a tizzy about the fact he doesn’t. For heaven’s sake, pull yourself together.

Torie swallowed. A mistake. The potato lodged in her throat and her stomach churned. She sat very still, breathing hard. No. No, this was… not good.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, and fled the table.

Barnaby accepted another glass of wine, knowing that he had better eat a bit more or he would have the devil of a head in the morning. Why he couldn’t eat was something he did not wish to consider, but there was no escaping the guilt that sat in his guts like a lump of lead, cold and heavy and dashed uncomfortable.

Lady Victoria had clearly got the message he had delivered so cruelly at her mother’s ball. She had barely spoken to him above the merest civility and refused to look his way. Except for a moment ago. Her lovely skin had been pale—too pale, he’d thought—until the moment their eyes met, when her cheeks blazed scarlet, and she had looked hurriedly away.