Page 7 of The Dare Before Christmas

“I know,” he said, turning away from the hurt in her eyes and looking out at the gardens, bathed in eerie silver moonlight. “I panicked.”

“What?”

He glanced back at her, aware of her incredulous expression.

“It’s no good,” he said in frustration. “What is the point of me spending time with you, dancing with you, when everyone knows you’ll marry a duke or a marquess or an earl, or at least some fellow with money to burn? I’m a younger son, I’ve no fortune, no vast estate, and I’ll not put myself through all that only for you to realise what I knew from the start, once it’s too late. Your estimation of my character is too generous, and thoroughly undeserved, but I am honoured by your regard for me, more than I can say. But I shall not act the fool, my lady, not when all the world knows it would be a shocking mesalliance. Not again.”

“Not again?” she repeated, staring at him in confusion. Suddenly, her expression cleared. “You mean like Lady Millicent. You think I’d treat you so poorly?”

“It was not her fault, but my own. I ought not to have pursued her. In the end, she had no choice,” Barnaby said, not wanting the lady maligned for circumstances beyond her control.

“Perhaps,” she admitted, her voice softer. “But she knew of her father’s plans to marry her to that man months ago. I know because the earl spoke to my father about it recently, about how she had accepted his decision earlier in the year, knowing she was gaining title and wealth in return for what she would lose. They did not make the engagement public because she asked to be allowed to enjoy one final season before she married. I do not wish to speak ill of her, for I cannot know what was in her heart, but at the very least it was unkind of her to lead you on when she knew it would come to nothing.”

Barnaby stiffened, the words cutting deep. He shook his head. “That’s… She wouldn’t. I know she….”

But as he saw the compassionate look in the lady’s eyes, he knew she was telling the truth.

“I’m sorry, Mr Godwin, but I did not tell you to cause you pain, but only to illustrate the difference in our situations. My father only wishes for his children to be happy. Obviously, he would be delighted if we married well, but he knows what it is to be trapped in a marriage that makes you miserable, and he would never do that to any of us. We shall all marry for love, or not at all. So, you see, your fears are baseless.”

Barnaby sucked in a breath, letting that information sink in. Millicent had known it was going nowhere, but she had still led him about by the nose, let him believe there was hope. She knew he had been in earnest and she… she had been toying with him. Why? Why had she done it?

As if he had spoken the words aloud, Lady Victoria answered his question.

“I promise you, I did not know it then or I would have found a way to warn you. I can only imagine she wanted to spend as much time with the man who would have been her choice if things were different, while she still could. I suppose I cannot blame her for wanting that, though I would not have hurt you for the world, if the choice were mine to make.”

He nodded, seeing sincerity in her eyes, though humiliation seethed beneath his skin that she should know this—that others had known this, perhaps even at the time—and they had seen him making a cake of himself.

“You have nothing to feel embarrassed about,” she said, her voice surprisingly firm. “It is Lady Millicent who should bear any shame for behaving so thoughtlessly. You were… you are honourable and good, Mr Godwin. If I were lucky enough to be in Lady Millicent’s position, I should consider myself fortunate indeed.”

Barnaby stared at her, startled by the uncompromising words. A faint blush stained the lady’s cheeks but, other than that, she looked utterly composed, as if she had not just laid her heart bare before him. Words crowded his mouth, but he could find nothing to say. His heart felt bruised, his confidence shaken by what she had told him. How could he have so misjudged Lady Millicent? To have been so taken in by her, by her smiles and confidences and flirtation, made his stomach churn with mortification.

“Victoria?”

They both jumped as a deep voice cut through the silence.

“I’m sorry, Papa. I wasn’t feeling very well,” she said, shrugging Barnaby’s coat off her shoulders and handing it back to him.

She hurried over to her father, who gave Barnaby a hard look.

“Really? And are you well now?”

“Yes, quite well now. I just needed some air. Mr Godwin was worried about me when I left the dinner so suddenly, and was good enough to look after me, but I’m feeling much better. Have I missed the dessert?”

“Not yet,” the duke said, taking his daughter’s arm. “Come along, then. It’s bound to be something extravagant, if Evie has had a hand in it.”

They left the terrace, the duke sending Barnaby one last dark look before the door closed behind them.

Barnaby put his coat back on, wishing the lavish perfume of otto of roses didn’t linger upon the fabric, wrapping itself around him and invading his senses. The scent served as a forceful reminder of why the woman was out of his reach, no matter her words. It reputedly took one hundred roses to make just one drop, which was why it was shockingly expensive. The lady would have to give up such extravagances, would have to resign herself to not having every luxury, the finest gowns and jewels, the best carriages, houses teeming with servants and… and what was the point? He did not want that for her. He did not want to take from her in order to make her his own. She thought she wanted him, and though that was a difficult enough concept to wrestle with, it was nothing more than a young woman’s romantic dream. The truth would be a terrible disappointment to her, for it was neither sensible nor realistic. She had got some daft notion into her head about him from heaven alone knew where, but soon enough she’d realise she’d made a mistake. Well, Barnaby would not go out on a limb only to find himself set aside again, or left at the altar, or worse still, married to a woman who grew to resent him for everything he had taken from her.

No. Lady Victoria was far above his touch. The sooner she accepted that, the better. Yet the vision of her standing bathed in the moonlight lingered in his mind, and a burst of longing made his chest ache. Pack it in, you bloody fool, he told himself. Forget it. Forget her.

It was the only way.

Chapter 2

Dearest Emmeline,

I said goodbye to Oliver Cootes today. I am torn between sobbing my heart out and such relief that I feel horribly guilty. He was my dearest friend, but I know now that I have only ever regarded him that way, or as a brother, and it would have been cruel of me to allow him to believe otherwise. It was foolish of us to get engaged so young and I thank heaven that we never made the news public. I have spared us both that humiliation, at least.