O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,29

that fell onto his forehead in a manner that suggested he cared little for his appearance, chiseled features and kind eyes, he was certainly remarkable. And just beyond his broad shoulder, her spirit was grinning like a fool. He was all but jumping up and down in glee. He’d told her in the carriage on the way over that his purpose was to lead her to her destiny. Staring at the handsome, charming and very charismatic man before her, Elizabeth couldn’t quite fathom that destiny could be so kind after so many long years of cruelty.

The spirit was gesturing wildly as if fluttering a fan. Then he was winking at her and batting his eyelashes. He was telling her to flirt. More concerning was the fact that he clearly had little understanding of flirtation. Rather than look like a madwoman, she brought her hand up to her hair as if to pat it in place while, in actuality, she was waving him away. He continued his rapid gesturing. Trying her best to ignore what she could only assume was his enthusiasm that he’d managed to lead her down the path of utter ruin, as if a thirty-something woman with a grown, illegitimate daughter weren’t ruined enough, Elizabeth smiled. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

Oliver chuckled softly. “Have I bored you so much already that you’ve stopped listening to me entirely?”

“No,” she denied hotly. “I’m just… I’m a bit distracted. The holidays are a trying time of year. Lots of parties and people who aren’t really my friends or even friendly acquaintances, and yet we all smile and nod at one another with false goodwill. I’m afraid it’s been a difficult night.”

“I’m sorry for that. It is beyond question their loss. But what I asked was what you wanted,” he replied.

“Tell him you want to find a perfect romance,” Burney offered in a stage whisper as he stepped closer.

Elizabeth ignored him, and focused on Oliver who was glancing over his shoulder, almost as if he’d heard her spirit. “I want my daughter to be happy. And I’d like to find a bit of happiness for myself, far away from judgmental people.”

“That’s not the right answer!” Burney insisted. “Tell him you want to find romance, to fall in love, to be swept off your feet!”

Again, Elizabeth ignored him. Again, Oliver frowned and glanced in Burney’s direction.

“Your daughter?” Oliver asked. “Are you married, then?”

“No,” she replied.

“Widowed, then?” he asked.

“Say yes,” Burney interrupted. He was all but screaming in her ear.

Elizabeth tuned him out entirely. “No. One might say, I am not simple, but I am certainly scandalous.”

“You’ve ruined it,” Burney said, his expression utterly forlorn. “Men do not marry women who’ve had children out of wedlock. Not when they’re lords!”

“Lords!” Elizabeth echoed dismissively.

Oliver blinked at her. “Pardon?”

“Lord,” Elizabeth said, setting her drink down on the table and brushing her skirt with enough force that she was also brushing her hand directly through what should have been Burney’s thigh if he’d had actual physical form.

“Oh, that tickles”! Burney said and giggled like a child.

“Lord of what,” Elizabeth clarified. “You told me about your estates, but not your title.”

“Ah… Marquess of Whittendon. It even sounds dull, doesn’t it?”

Elizabeth’s movements halted. “Whittendon? So your estate in Derbyshire is neighbor to the Burkhart and Marchebanks families?”

“Yes,” he replied. “You know them?”

“I did,” Elizabeth admitted. “Long ago. Forgive me, Lord Whittendon, I fear coming here was a mistake. I must go.”

Elizabeth rose and made for the door.

“Wait!” Whittendon cried out from behind her. “You never told me your family name… or where to find you.”

“No,” she agreed. “I did not. It was lovely to meet you, but if I do not return, I will be missed.”

“Return where?” he demanded.

Elizabeth knew that if she didn’t make her escape, it would be too late. He was handsome. He was charming. And she felt from him an incredible kindness. He was also handsome to tempt a saint and she was not a saint. But his proximity to her family, the very idea of ever having to face their censure again, was more than she could bear. He could be the most perfect man on earth—and he very well could be—and it would not be worth it. Facing her mother and her father after so many years would destroy whatever small bit of pride she could still cling to.

Once outside, Elizabeth climbed into a waiting hack. “Number Ten South Audley Street,” she instructed the driver. “And hurry!”

“What are you doing?” Burney demanded,