her companion.”
“Miss Drake? Hell, I think we’ve all fallen a little bit in love with that one.”
And again, doubt assaulted him. Anthony apparently wasn’t the only man to notice her.
Was it possible she might not love him back?
Was it possible he’d find her, make his offer and then be refused? But no. He couldn’t believe that. Her gaze last night had held nothing but love. Of course, she’d marry him!
Wouldn’t she?
The few miles they needed to cover passed slowly but Lord Mapleton, Earl and Peer, failed to appreciate the picturesque winter scenery. Instead he began rehearsing the speech he’d make when he saw her again.
He’d damn well have to nail this proposal.
Chapter 12
The Proposal
Anthony was jolted out of his mental preparations when the coach drew to a halt at the tidy little vicarage. He sat up straight, tugged at the collar beneath his greatcoat, and then took a deep breath. “Wish me luck?”
John laughed beside him. “I doubt you’ll be needing any of that. You’re Mapleton, after all. What servant girl wouldn’t jump at the chance at becoming a lady?”
But Anthony knew what servant girl might not jump: Miss Charlotte Drake. Given, she hadn’t taken to performing the duties of a companion, but she hadn’t been willing to become a kept woman in order to be free of them.
She’d said she had forgiven him for the insult, but what if she had not?
He jumped off the driver’s box and landed easily on an area of packed snow. In the same instant, the front door opened, and Miss Frye peaked outside.
“Why, Lord Mapleton, to what do we owe the pleasure of a visit on Christmas day? My brother’s finishing up the notes for his Christmas sermon right now but I’m certain he’ll be willing to take a break to meet with you. Come in, my lord. You must be chilled to the bone.”
Anthony cleared his throat. “Is Miss Drake here?”
The vicar’s sister paused and then raised her brows to the very top of her forehead. “Why yes, as a matter of fact, she came to us this morning.” And then she studied him with narrowed eyes. “My brother was well acquainted with the young lady’s father. God rest his soul.”
Yes. Yes. He’d known that. Perhaps… “Would it be possible to have a word with the vicar?” He could not speak with her father, and he had no idea how to contact her brother. Was it possible that the vicar would be willing to give him permission to offer for the young lady?
Circumstances were less than ideal; he’d be the first to admit. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do his best to bring some level of propriety to this affair.
“Most certainly, my lord.” She took his coat and scarf and then led him into a nearby parlor, notably unoccupied, before disappearing to find her brother.
Charlotte was here.
Had she sat in this same parlor this morning? The vicar’s sister hadn’t held back in her Christmas decorations. Holly, ribbons, and mistletoe dressings happily declared the joy of the holiday. He hoped he’d have something to celebrate as well.
Would Miss Fryge be informing her of his arrival? Anthony went to tug at his cravat and realized he’d already loosened it considerably. His life, his happiness, hung in the balance today.
If she said no, he’d be devastated. He’d be ruined for all other women. At some point he’d go on to find a bride––not Miss Fairchild––but some other debutante. He’d always know that the woman who was his other half had gotten away, but he would go on to find some sort of peace and contentment.
Eventually.
He hoped he didn’t have to find out.
“Mapleton.” Dressed all in black, wearing his cleric’s collar, the vicar Anthony had known for as long as he could remember, strode into the room, hand outstretched. “Merry Christmas, my lord. What brings you to the vicarage today?”
Anthony cleared his throat. He’d been doing an awful lot of that this week. “I understand Miss Drake is here.” He’d not beat around the proverbial bush. “I’m here to ask for her hand and thought, without her father to go to, that you might be willing to stand in his place?”
The serious-minded man nodded sagely. “Sit down, my boy.”
Without warning, the words pierced something in Anthony’s heart. He’d not been called a boy by anyone, anyone at all, since his father’s passing.
Anthony lowered himself onto the worn settee.
“I’ll not condescend to ask if you’ve given the notion a good deal of thought. Is this the