Chapter 8

8

With only four days left until Christmas—and only three until the ball—Mariah wasn’t the only one in Castleton with a spring in her step as she exited the prettily arched stone doorway of St. Edmund’s church on Sunday morning. Everywhere she looked were smiling faces, excited promises to see her soon, and excited chatter over the play of the week before. At least, at first. Then she caught the looks of disappointment the villagers sent her parents, when they talked of the play that their lord and lady had missed.

Mariah kept her smile in place as she made her way back to the family carriages, pushing down the sorrow at those long looks. Papa and Mama had always made a point of being part of the community, of supporting and encouraging them. But that only made it more disappointing when they didn’t show up for something. It was a small rift, a trifling slight ... but still a rift, still a slight, and she hated to see it. Hated to realize that something had already tarnished the Christmas season for her neighbors. Hated the discomfort Papa fought as he tried to assure them that he’d not miss the next children’s play.

She sighed. It was a small thing. It would soon be forgotten. And even as she longed to somehow set it to rights, she knew that it was silly of her. She would focus instead on bringing new cheer, wherever she could. Reminding everyone of what joy still waited this Christmas.

Nearing the two carriages they’d had to bring to fit them all, she waited to see which one Louise entered before choosing the second instead.

Granted, if anyone needed some holiday cheer, it was Louise. But her sister stoutly refused to feel it, and there was only so much a girl could do. To put a new spin on an old adage, one could lead a widow to a party, but one couldn’t make her dance.

Perhaps Lord Gyldenkrone had been hanging back with similar calculation, because he climbed in right behind Mariah. Mama and Cyril followed, leaving Papa and Fred to join Louise. Not that the greve seemed to mind her sister’s company or conversation, but he was nothing if not resolute. She had to give him that. He’d declared his intention to pursue Mariah, and he’d been at her side every moment he could manage it since he arrived.

His nearness made her chest go tight. It was flattering. And the prospect of so handsome a man seeking her hand and then whisking her away to another kingdom, into the very court of its royalty ... it was fit for any of the fairy tales she’d devoured as a girl.

And yet she couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t measure up to his expectations—or at least his desires. He’d made it so clear that her view of the world was something to be tolerated and corrected, not indulged or embraced.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to put aside the last vestiges of those “childish things.” Maybe it was time to admit that while a girl could dream of toys coming to life and princes sweeping her away, a woman must focus on needful things. Bread instead of candy. Scarves instead of stories.

Maybe it was time to be more like Louise. Less like ... herself.

Heaviness settled on her shoulders.

Mama made small talk with Gyldenkrone about the differences between their own church services and the Lutheran ones he was accustomed to attending in Copenhagen, but his answers were brief. Too brief, apparently, because after giving them, he turned his face to Mariah, where she sat beside her mother, his focus sharp and unswerving.

“My lady,” he said in that crisp voice of his, “I was hoping you would join me on a promenade after we’ve got back to the house. Before luncheon.”

He didn’t, she noticed, phrase it as a question. Her throat went dry. “Oh. Ah...”

“She would be delighted.” Mama reached over, twining their gloved fingers together and giving Mariah’s a squeeze that felt more like warning than support.

“Delighted,” Mariah mumbled, praying her smile looked more confident than it felt on her lips.

Soon they were pulling round the circle at the top of the drive—and Mama was resolutely gripping her arm. “Mariah will be down directly,” she said to the greve, her smile sugary and her eyes like steel. “After she changes into more suitable clothes for the outing, my lord.”

“I shall await her most eagerly.”

Mariah didn’t know exactly why her mother had gone so determined, but she didn’t even attempt to exchange a fortifying glance with Cyril. Given his feelings for the greve, he likely wouldn’t have any encouragement to silently send her way. No, she would have to find the strength to face his intimidating fa?ade within herself.

Her mother waited only until Mariah’s bedroom door had closed behind them before turning on her with drawn brows and a low, chiding voice. “What is wrong with you, dearest? You act as though his attention is unwelcome.”

“Not unwelcome. Just ... terrifying.” Mariah sank onto the side of her mattress while Mama bustled over to her armoire and pulled out a warm woolen walking dress. “Have you not noticed how he dislikes me?”

“Nonsense.” Mama tossed the green dress onto her bed and sat beside her. “He made his intentions quite clear to your papa. Why would he do that if he disliked you?”

“Because of Papa! Because of Fred. Not because of me.” Her head sank down toward her chest, and she felt an even heavier burden when Mama’s arm slipped around her back.

“Sweetling, you don’t know your own charms. He is infatuated.”

A snort slipped out. “And you accuse me of an overactive imagination.”

She oughtn’t to have said it. Even without looking up, she could hear her mother’s accusatory breath, feel it in her arm. “Mariah. He is a fine man, and he would not have stated his intention if he didn’t mean it.”

“I have no doubt he meant it. It’s only...” She drew in a long breath, focusing her gaze on the wall opposite her instead of her mother. “He is here because of what I am, not because of who I am. It wouldn’t matter what I was like, so long as I’m Fred’s sister and Papa’s stepdaughter. He’d still be just as interested.”

“Nonsense,” Mama said again. “If one’s circumstances were all he cared about, he would have proposed to Lady Pearl already.”

Was that supposed to help? Mariah picked up the wool dress but just held it in her lap. “No doubt he would have, had she not made it clear she preferred Cyril. My working theory, anyway.”

“Is that what this is about? Jealousy of Pearl Kingeland?”

Was it? Perhaps, in a way. But more, it was disappointment that no man seemed to see through Pearl’s beautiful face. Was that the same thing as jealousy? Just as petty?

She took another deep breath and stood. “Perhaps it is. Perhaps I need to move past that. Or ask him outright what he feels for her.” Though even if he claimed not to have had a stitch of affection for Pearl, that didn’t mean he had any more for Mariah. Her shoulders sagged again. “Is it so big an ask, that my future husband would prefer me to others? For who I am?”

Mama stood too and turned Mariah gently around so she could work on the buttons up her back. “My sweet girl. Whoever you end up marrying will love you beyond measure. How could they not?”

Or what if they only would if she changed? If she put aside the things Louise called ridiculous, if she stopped saying the things that made Lord Gyldenkrone frown? What if that was what it would take to make him like her?

Was it worth it?

“I will not tell you that you must marry him,” Mama said, having reached the end of the buttons but holding Mariah in place with hands on her shoulders. “That is up to you. But hear him out. Give it due consideration. Pause to think about what it would mean, dearest. Not just the life he could give you, but the promise for your children. One of them could be a prince or princess—think about that. Your child or grandchild could sit on one of Europe’s thrones. Does that not appeal to your romantic notions? Does it not ignite those dreams you dream so well?”

It certainly had appeal ... but what did crowns and wealth and connections matter if you didn’t have love?

But Mama would only point out that her first marriage had been made for the usual reasons, as had Louise’s, but that both had turned out well enough. She’d remind her that love had come with Mariah’s father, as it had between Louise and Swann. And then Mariah would get that odd little squiggle in her chest that always pounced whenever her mother talked of the father she didn’t even remember, of arrangements and alliances and the blessing that followed when one did the right thing instead of the selfish thing.

Was she selfish? She let herself be prodded toward the dressing screen and changed mechanically from her church dress into the walking dress.

“There now.” Mama clapped her hands to Mariah’s wool-clad arms when she emerged again and beamed. “You look beautiful. Lord Gyldenkrone cannot help but be enchanted by you, sweetling. So let’s go down there, and you take that walk with him—and you will give him a fair chance. Do you understand me?”

Mariah nodded. She knew her parents had only her good in mind. And she knew that the greve was as fine a man as Mama said. She couldn’t deny the allure of all he stood for, all he offered ... but still her hands shook with nerves.

Maybe ... surely ... if she got to know Gyldenkrone, if he got to know her, then ... something. Something would change. Either she’d realize he wasn’t so cold and unfeeling, that he did have warm feelings for her buried under that perfect veneer of ice, or he would realize that her whimsy was part of who she was. Or both. They could meet somewhere in the middle, perhaps.

Somehow as she lectured herself thus, Mama had propelled her out of her room and down the stairs and directly to the greve. He smiled and held out an arm, and really, what cause did she have to think both gestures were only playacting? She ought to focus on the positive.

He was handsome—very handsome. Well-chiseled features, that arctic blond hair, and the arm she rested her hand on was solid, muscled. His figure hinted at more of the same beneath his well-tailored clothes.

Solid and muscled like a wolf.

Silliness. She fought it off with a smile as he led her outside and toward the garden path.

The air was cold but the wind calm today, and the bite in the air made her turn her face toward the sky. No clouds—not yet. But she had a hope that they would come before Christmas and give them a new blanket of snow. The world always looked so beautiful when it was covered with a few inches of fluffy white.

She turned to her companion, figuring that was always a safe topic of conversation. “You get more snow in Denmark than we do here, isn’t that right?”

He glanced down at her, no expression on his face to give her a clue as to his thoughts. “Quite. We average over a hundred and fifty inches of snow a year, usually coming in storms that leave half a foot at a time. Do you like the snow?”

“I love it.” The dusting they’d gotten last Wednesday still clung here and there in the garden, though it had lost its initial luster. “As long as it lets up. I do like being able to get out.”

“Then you will love Denmark.” Will , he said, not would . “We are not too cold, not like some of the other Scandinavian countries. Our winter temperatures usually hover just around the freezing point.”

There, see? Weather was a perfectly pleasant topic of conversation between them. She was about to ask him what the summers were like, but he spoke again before she could.

“I trust your parents have relayed to you my intentions?”

Her mouth went as parched as a desert. Or perhaps the tundra, given the chill. “They ... hinted.”

“Well, allow me to remove any need for speculation.” He paused, turning to face her. The safety of the house directly behind her, the promise of freedom in the wood beyond him. He took both her hands in his, and though two layers of gloves separated their skin, she would have sworn she felt an extra chill seeping through. “It is my goal to take you with me back to Copenhagen in the new year as my bride-to-be.”

Take her ... as his...

The world swam. Mariah had to blink it back into focus, but his determined, emotionless face still hovered there before her. Yes, she’d known his intentions were serious, but ... she’d expected him to ask for permission to court her, not inform her then and there that she was the one he’d chosen. That he meant to take her away not in a half year but now . In two short weeks.

“I don’t understand.” Her words came out halting, uncertain. “Why? Why would you set your sights on me?”

His scowl was a bit of an improvement over his usual impassive mask—at least it showed a bit of emotion. “Your family is beyond compare, which you must know. The list of appropriate ladies is short, and I have decided you best suit my needs.”

“Suit your needs?” Now her voice was faint enough to be embarrassing.

“And I can offer you what no one else can, connections beyond your wildest dreams. Which is saying something, is it not? If you want to dine with princesses and live in fairy-tale castles, I can give you that. We can travel the world, meet the royalty of Europe—or if benevolence is your preference, I would grant a generous stipend for such worthy work.”

She had to shake her head a bit to dislodge his pretty words. Pretty, but horribly incomplete. “What about love? Or at least affection?”

“Love?” He didn’t exactly scoff—but he didn’t exactly not. “The romantic sort you likely have in mind is too flimsy a foundation for something as serious as marriage. Marriage ought to be founded on respect, trust, and mutual benefit.”

She tugged her fingers free of his. “And do you have that for me? Respect? Trust?”

“Of course.” He had the decency, at least, to pause after the quick response. Tilt his head. “Or at least I’m certain I shall. Once we know each other better.”

“So then instead of declaring your intention of marrying me here and now, perhaps we ought to do that—get to know each other better.” She lifted her chin. “You’d granted that much to Lady Pearl, hadn’t you?”

Cool amusement glinted in his eyes. “I did—and found her lacking. But it was caution on my part that made me tread slowly with her, given that I saw her nature in an instant. I do not see the same cause for alarm in you, my lady. And I am afraid my time is running short. I have business I must attend to in Denmark, and I would like to have my fiancée with me when I go, so that introductions can be made.”

In one second she was mollified that at least he had seen through Pearl, even if Cyril hadn’t. In the next, trepidation struck anew. “But ... that is so soon. I realize society matches are often made quickly, but, honestly, my lord, until two days ago, I didn’t think you’d given me more than a passing thought, for me to have con sidered you in any seriousness. And what you offer represents a monumental change for me. I cannot make a decision so hastily. I need time to consider, and to get to know you. To be assured that love could, at least, come in time.”

His glower slammed back into place. “I am already thirty-one years old, my lady, and my prince is wed and having children. I have no more time to waste on placating feminine dreams of romance. I need a wife, and I need one now. Your stepfather has already agreed to the match if you consent, as has your brother. The only thing lacking is your agreement.”

Her heart thudded, but it wasn’t with excitement. Was this really her first proposal? Not a question, but a statement of fact? One in which he not only made no promises of love but deemed the expectation ridiculous?

Her eyes felt disastrously hot, but she blinked back any impending tears before they could disgrace her and lifted her chin. “I grant that you haven’t years more to waste. But a few days to let me consider your offer is certainly not asking too much.”

His face smoothed again, the icy mask unmelted by the smile he pasted onto his lips. “A few days’ consideration is perfectly reasonable. This is a big decision, you’re right, but I know that when you take the time to think about it, you will see the wisdom in accepting my proposal. I will be a good husband to you, Lady Mariah. Never will you have to doubt my fidelity or loyalty. You will never want for a thing. You will have a friend eager to welcome you to her side in Princess Alexandrine. She will usher you immediately into her inner court, guaranteeing other friends who will look up to you and admire you.”

Perhaps the thought of instant popularity would have made Pearl or even Louise preen, but it made her shrink away another step. Lovely as it sounded on paper, the truth was that she didn’t want a royal court in some foreign land—or even her own. She didn’t want fawning flatterers or state-sanctioned friendships or a marriage built on nothing but political maneuvering.

She wanted home. She wanted family. She wanted the security of knowing that she was loved for who she was. “You don’t even like me. You think me ridiculous.” As she said the words, she wasn’t sure if they were an argument or a plea for him to reassure her.

His release of breath wasn’t quite a sigh. But it wasn’t quite not either. “Silly, perhaps. But you are very young—it’s to be expected. I don’t hold it against you.”

Blessed heat burned her cheeks. “I rather hope I never lose the ability to focus on joy, nor the desire to bring it to others. And I rather hope to be appreciated for it and not despite it.” She forced her lips up a few degrees. “But perhaps that is silly.”

He sighed. “I mean no insult, my lady. Please, be assured that I have considered all the young ladies I have met since my arrival with the utmost care, and you have proven yourself the best possible candidate. Much as the Kingeland family had its advantages, Lady Pearl would have ruined them with her dishonest, faithless ways. You, on the other hand, I could tell within a single exchange ... are completely innocuous.”

Perhaps he meant it as a compliment, but it needled like an insult, pulling sarcasm to her lips before she could bite it back. “Innocuous. Oh please, my lord, stop with these sweet nothings. You’ll turn my head.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I hope it’s to my credit that I’m not trying to. I’m presenting no flattery or lies to win your favor. Only simple facts.”

She folded her arms over her chest, though it did little to make her warmer—not given that the cold came from within even more than without. She didn’t want flattery or lies, but a bit of trying to win her favor wouldn’t go awry. Wasn’t there a way to do that and be truthful?

Apparently not. Her shoulders sagged. Maybe Louise and Fred and Mama were right. Maybe it was time to put aside the Mariah she had always been. Maybe to refuse would be to deny herself any future worth having. And even Papa thought Gyldenkrone a good match for her. He’d agreed to the greve’s request for a blessing, hadn’t he? And Papa was an excellent judge of character.

“There. I see you’re genuinely considering it.” Gyldenkrone reached out, hesitated a moment, and then touched a hand lightly to her elbow. “Do so for the next few days. Let us say that you shall give me your answer on Christmas Eve, hmm? It will be a most felicitous thing to announce at your family’s ball.”

He didn’t lack for confidence, clearly. It didn’t even occur to him that she would say no.

She nodded, hoping the emotions churning inside her—emotions he didn’t fall prey to—wouldn’t come weeping out here and now.

“Good.” He smiled another cold, joyless smile and gave her elbow a little squeeze. “I will await your answer.”

He strode away, back toward the house, leaving her alone in the winter garden with her bleak choices and cold fingers. He could have at least asked properly—couldn’t he have? He could have found something to praise other than her family and the fact that she was innocuous.

“Innocuous.” The word boiled up out of her, warming her enough to stir her into action. Ignoring the house and its promise of fire and food, she stalked out of the gardens, past the professor’s workshop, and into the wood.

The entrance she’d chosen wasn’t near the two curving branches that she and Cyril had dubbed Almond Gate, but the same creek ran along this side of the property. She found a rock at its edge, brushed the last remains of snow from its top, and sank to a chilly seat on its hard surface.

Tears stung her eyes anew, and this time she let them come.

This wasn’t what she’d imagined her first marriage proposal would be like—but was she a goose for being hung up on that? Who ever received the proposal of their dreams, anyway? And really, she didn’t need the magic of drifting snow crystals floating around her or the man to drop to one knee. She didn’t need a sparkling gemstone displayed then and there in his hands, or pretty words full of pledges of eternal, undying love.

She just needed to know that the man to whom she would promise her life would cherish her and at least come to love her.

The tears were hot on her cold cheeks. She couldn’t honestly imagine Lord Gyldenkrone giving her that sort of proposal. Could he come to care? He could . No matter how cool the exterior, she had to think him capable of love, certainly of devotion. If she had the leisure to get to know him, to learn those depths, perhaps it would be different. At the moment, though, it felt as though their desires were more at cross-purposes.

She wanted someone to love her for who she was. He wanted someone to trust him that the future would be everything he promised.

But if she were being completely honest, part of the reason she couldn’t imagine Gyldenkrone giving her that sort of proposal was because in her old imaginings, another man had always been the one down on his knee, snow swirling about him. She hadn’t known what he would look like, all grown up. She hadn’t known if he’d have turned into the man she’d hoped he would. She’d just known that, until Mama forced their letters to be so horribly proper, Cyril Lightbourne had been the only one in the world who truly seemed to know her. To understand her. And to like her anyway.

And yet Cyril Lightbourne wasn’t the man she’d hoped he’d become. He was exactly the sort she feared they all were—too taken in by a pretty face and melodic voice to spare a glance to what lay beneath. Too quick to become one of Lady Pearl’s minions.

It made so little sense, now that he was back and they’d picked up where they left off. He didn’t seem like he should be that sort. He still spoke of ideals and ideas, of novels and poetry, of sermons and histories. He was not shallow.

And yet it was Gyldenkrone who had seen through Pearl. Cyril who was still her devoted servant.

Mariah stared at the water trickling beneath the layer of ice, pushing its way up here and there and then tumbling down again. The longer she watched, the more it spoke of a truth far deeper than water and ice. The more it reminded her that these people around her were just the same. They only ever got glimpses of each other’s hearts, then they buried their feelings again under responsibilities and expectations, duties and obligations.

Cyril, who had let himself remain a mystery to protect his insecure heart, too wounded by his own father to trust the goodness of hers.

Lord Gyldenkrone, who didn’t dare to show his deepest heart to a collection of strangers not even from his country, who all waited to judge him for any misstep.

Mama, who worked so tirelessly for her children’s happiness that she too often forgot to take a moment and just be there in her own happily-ever-after.

Papa, who too often gave up trying to be the father her siblings needed for fear of being rebuffed again.

Fred, who had let the responsibilities of their father’s estate rob him of the joy of childhood and turn him into a terse, bitter man.

Louise, who had suffered such grief that she didn’t dare hope for brighter days.

She stared at the water, imagining that as she traced its course, she could trace the riverbeds of love and loss, hope and despair, that had carved each of them into the people they were. She imagined life as the water that cut its path through them.

And yet that water went only where the Lord directed it. He sent it from the heavens. He poured it into the oceans. He carved those rivers and streams with the tip of His finger.

That same finger had carved her into who she was, able to receive that same life. To let it flow or to stop it off.

As the sun shone on the ice, a new piece of it cracked, melted, and slipped away with that fast-flowing water fighting to be seen again.

Resolved, Mariah pushed from her seat, cast her eyes around the familiar scene of Christmas Wood, and smiled.

Perhaps life always left them covered in ice—but it didn’t have to stay that way. Sometimes one had to push through the hard things. Sometimes one had to bubble in joy. Sometimes one had to shift so that the sun could shine down, even on the coldest days.

Sometimes that bleak winter just needed the light of Christmas. And maybe, if she could remind them of that ... maybe, if she could help shine that light ... maybe, if she could show them that joy was more than whimsy, that it was a gift from God sent to earth for each of them ... well, then maybe this Christmas could be more than awkward guests and disappointing proposals. Maybe, just maybe, it could be a Christmas they’d remember as the one where they’d reclaimed that magic they hadn’t felt since childhood.

And maybe, if she helped them see it as she did ... maybe they’d stop trying to tell her she was looking at it wrong. Maybe, just maybe, they’d grant that one could be a reasonable adult and still see the world with imaginative eyes and with a heart ready to believe.