Maid Under The Mistletoe (The Mapleton Family Saga #1) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,15

seek privacy in the nearly dormant but still lovely, garden.

Her breath caught as she listened for Lord Mapleton’s response. Of course, her mistress would be with Lord Mapleton. Who else would she give permission to kiss her?

But there was no response. Only silence.

That meant…

Apparently intent upon torturing herself, Charlotte pinched her eyes together as she imagined the handsome earl taking Miss Fairchild into his arms, his mouth claiming the other woman’s lips.

She swallowed around the suddenly large lump that had formed in her throat. Did this mean the two of them had finally become engaged?

“Shall we return to the others then? They’ll be missing us.” Yes, it was Lord Mapleton’s voice.

“Already? We just came outside.”

A growl? Or was Lord Mapleton clearing his throat? He didn’t sound as though he was overcome with passion for his fiancé. “I do not wish to offend your father.”

Feminine laughter. “Papa won’t mind. In fact, I think he rather expects–”

“I will not dishonor you, Miss Fairchild.” An edge in his voice this time, as though the lady had irritated him.

Charlotte could picture her mistress’ pout. Miss Fairchild was accustomed to getting everything she wanted.

“Will you be meeting with him tomorrow then? Christmas is the day after. Everyone expects an announcement at the ball.”

More clearing of the throat, an almost gurgling sound this time, as though he was choking.

“It is something that you wish, then?” If Charlotte was not mistaken, this was as good as a proposal, was it not?

“Yes, oh, yes, my lord! You will speak with Father then?”

Charlotte’s heart shattered into a million pieces and her knees nearly buckled beneath her. It was better this way. Better to not create any fantasies about a man she could never have. She’d been foolish to get caught up in his smoldering stares and kind smile.

“I will.”

And then more silence. Charlotte pinched her eyes together again.

“Come, Miss Fairchild, I’ll return you inside now.” His voice strained, almost as though he was experiencing breathing difficulties.

Charlotte waited until she knew they were gone and then dropped onto a nearby bench.

Miss Fairchild might be retiring to her chamber anytime now. Charlotte needed to return inside but her legs refused to obey. She was trapped. Trapped in her person. Trapped by circumstance. Trapped by fate.

How long she sat there, she couldn’t say. She only knew that she hated this new person she’d been forced to become. She should have married one of the gentlemen her father had chosen for her.

Lord Mapleton and Miss Fairchild were affianced to one another. It was no longer merely a possibility. Charlotte had heard it with her own ears.

And he’d kissed his betrothed. Perhaps twice.

“What are you doing out here? It’s not safe for a lady to sit along in the dark, you know.”

Miss Drake burst off the bench at his words. He reached out to steady her when she seemed to sway.

“I must go inside. Miss Fairchild will be needing me.”

If he’d not been grasping her arm, he was certain she would have bolted.

She’d taken his breath away when he first caught sight of her sitting alone. Without the ridiculous cap, she’d unwittingly revealed herself to be even more of a beauty.

Not a golden blond, but the color of white sand. It might be a trick of the moonlight, but he did not think so.

“Miss Fairchild seems quite content to remain downstairs for a while longer.” He reassured the woman who’d managed to take over most of his thoughts.

Miss Fairchild had entered the drawing room and immediately joined a few of her cousins for a rousing game of charades. Anthony had excused himself, informing her that he’d forgotten his cane outside. In truth, he hadn’t brought a cane with him tonight, let alone out into the garden. His fiancé had merely smiled agreeably and turned to hear something fascinating that Mr. Creighton was saying.

Anthony’s throat constricted at the thought that she’d tell any of them of his ‘proposal.’ And of her acceptance.

Dear God.

Asking her had not been his intention at all. One moment he’d been testing the waters and the next a noose had dropped around his neck.

He released Charlotte’s arm. Miss Drake’s arm. He had no right to think of her by her Christian name, let alone touch her with such familiarity. And yet she’d not chastised him for it. And she had not bolted inside as he’d feared she might.

But then the realization of her location struck him. “You have been outside for long?” Had she overheard what had become his proposal?

She nodded,