Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

T he festivities for the Twelve Days of Christmastide were exciting and enjoyable—until they wore a person to near exhaustion. Eleanor would have given her right foot to stay home in front of the fire, but Montefeltro wanted to attend a night of games, and he didn’t want to go without her. If there were ever a night she wished to avoid, it was the Coulter card party.

Tradition held that the third night was for the youth and unmarried individuals in the village. They would spend the evening at what was supposed to be a card party, but that portion of the party would digress near midnight when the attendees would sneak off to the church yard in the light of the moon to play a rousing game of Blind Man’s Bluff.

Wrapped in layers of clothing, scarves, a wool muff, and mittens, Eleanor followed the group out in the snowy night to begin the game. Their parents were in their respective homes, sitting in their parlors next to a warm fire, turning a blind eye to this tradition. They’d each participated during their youth, which meant the elderly members of the community knew exactly what to expect.

Standing between Montefeltro and David, Eleanor waited as Miss Coulter drew the short straw and a blindfold was placed over her eyes. Poor Miss Coulter was rotated counterclockwise five times until she was dizzy enough to have lost track of her own position.

The game wasn’t one of Eleanor’s favorites, but she did enjoy laughing, and this game brought out a far more jovial spirit than a card party ever could. In the past when Eleanor had been the one in the middle, she’d convinced David to save her the impropriety of finding anyone other than himself or another lady. But she hadn’t found time to speak with him before the game had begun. It was up to her to stay out of the direct line of attack, otherwise she would end up in the middle.

Each round went as expected. Mostly ladies found other females within the group, the men easily escaping. She laughed along, until her eyes fell upon a curious téte-a-tête on the edge of the party, nearly out of sight of the group.

Montefeltro stood with Miss Hartwell in what at first seemed an amusing conversation and then progressed into something far more intimate. Eleanor ignored the laughter and cries of those escaping capture as she slowly moved one foot in front of the other, inching toward the captivating scene.

The only times Montefeltro had spent in Miss Hartwell’s company had been at the first ball, when he’d asked her to dance, and the previous day while delivering the Christmas boxes, of that Eleanor was certain. Had they developed a connection? It hardly seemed possible. One dance and a bit of conversation was not enough for feelings to form.

Her eyes must be playing a trick on her. This conversation between Montefeltro and Miss Hartwell was hardly worthy of notice—at least no one else in their party seemed to pay an ounce of attention to the scene.

She was ready to turn away and rejoin the festivities when Miss Hartwell placed her hand upon Montefeltro’s arm, gazing at him with a sappy smile that could only be perceived as a flirtation. A loud ringing pierced Eleanor’s ears. She quickened her step but was suddenly prohibited from moving forward as she was pulled back toward the group. Miss Moore’s hand gripped the sleeve of her wool pelisse, pulling her into an embrace as tight as a rope.

“I have found our next blind man,” Miss Moore called out.

Eleanor shook her head as she pulled out of Miss Moore’s grasp. “I need but a moment. Can not my brother take my spot?”

Miss Moore took hold of her hand and pulled her toward the center of the circle where the snow had been stomped down and hardened making it slippery. “You cannot escape your fate, Miss Dove.”

Before she had the opportunity to argue further, the blindfold was tied around her eyes, and Eleanor felt multiple hands on her arms as she was spun around until her head swirled and she was certain she would cast up her accounts. She stumbled forward as the ladies squealed and the men laughed, thumps of footfalls drawing her attention in different directions.

There was nothing she could do about Montefeltro and Miss Hartwell. Not now, since she was blindfolded and dizzy. With her arms stretched out, Eleanor took little steps searching for a coat or a muff. The hardened snow, now turned to ice, plagued each step, slowing her chances of catching one of the other players. With the sound of laughter behind her, Eleanor turned on her heel, causing her foot to slip on the ice.

A cry erupted from deep within her chest as she attempted to gain her footing. Her arms flailed about as she fell backward. Bracing herself for the hardened ground, she was suddenly caught by surprise as her head rested upon a man’s chest instead of packed snow.

Panic seized every inch of her body as her senses were overcome with the scent of citrus as arms embraced her, folding her into a chest so tenderly, as though she belonged against him. These thoughts sent her scrambling to free herself from the blindfold and the man beneath.

Eleanor rolled to the side, the chill of the snow instantly hitting as she ripped the blindfold from her eyes. To her absolute horror, James’s shocked face mirrored what she believed to be her own expression—a mixture of desire and restraint. Lying on her stomach, Eleanor pushed up from the ground onto her hands and knees, only to slide back down, flopping like a whale washed ashore.

Her lips parted. Words failed to leave them as her thoughts were slow to process a proper response to what had happened. She wanted to remark about his kindness. Thank him for the soft landing. But a slightly more wicked response bubbling up was focused upon the strength of his embrace. Since she could not properly say anything of the sort, she closed her gaping mouth and suppressed every word aching to be spoken between them.

“Eleanor!” David knelt beside her offering assistance as he pulled her off the ground. She tried to ignore the rapid beating of her heart, but it fluttered like a kaleidoscope of butterflies getting ready to take flight.

“Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Bailey.” Eleanor nodded to him once he finally found his footing.

“Your servant, Miss Dove.”

For a moment, everyone around them went silent. She wondered if they were all thinking about her broken courtship. The love that never should have been lost but was forever out of her reach. Misunderstandings were cruel acts of human nature that left people lost and alone fumbling for a reprieve from a mess of their own making and forever encouraged by bouts of pride.

Her eyes met his for only the briefest of moments before he turned away. His voice was strong, unphased by the heat radiating from her entire being. “The night is far spent, dear friends. Let us end with the knowledge that the only repercussions of this night are a few frozen noses.”

A few chuckles sounded around her, but she didn’t laugh. Her heart was beating with an intensity that made her wonder if it would ever go back to a normal slow rhythm. James nodded once in her direction, and then he left, his long strides taking him across the church yard to his sleigh, away from her.

Grabbing ahold of David’s arm, she turned away from the little groups still lingering. The conversations were far too jovial for the turmoil wreaking havoc on her sensibilities. Her hands shook, her knees threatening to buckle as they had the first night she’d seen James at Granville House. Her breathing was strained, and her head spun.

“Take me home, David.” Her words came out as a squeak barely above a whisper.

“Allow me to assist you to the sleigh. Montefeltro offered Miss Hartwell a ride to the castle. They are waiting for me to retrieve you.” David wrapped his arm around her. She wouldn’t have made it on her own, not in her altered condition.

Everything around her felt like a dream, part nightmare and part fantasy—the nightmare of experiencing James Bailey’s embrace once more, a euphoric and terrible reminder of everything her heart yearned to have but had failed to secure. In the history of all the women in England, Eleanor would be spoken of forevermore as the woman who’d had everything and lost it under the mistletoe.

The wonderful part of the dream was hoping beyond what her own heart allowed that there was still a spark of love for her within James Bailey. If she had understood his unspoken words, he’d wanted to wrap her in his embrace and soothe away the ugliness that had happened between them.

A loud giggle erupted across the sleigh. Miss Hartwell sat next to Montefeltro, her hand resting upon his arm once more as they continued whatever conversation they’d started in the churchyard. Eleanor turned to David, her befuddlement over the situation causing her to momentarily forget the blood that was slowly leaking out of her heart and into the pit of her stomach.

As she watched the interaction between Montefeltro and Miss Hartwell, Eleanor realized something of vast import. This development eased the heaviness of the burden she’d been carrying since her engagement. She didn’t know if she was interpreting the situation correctly, given the tumultuous emotions roiling around inside, but it seemed she and Montefeltro had much they needed to discuss before their engagement could continue.