Page 110 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
“Let’s go.” Dinah lay her hand on Oliver’s arm. “To Sittingbourne. Let’s go and fetch Penelope’s pineapples.”
Oliver stared at her for a moment, then his lips curved in a wide, breath-stealing, heart-stopping smile. “Are you sure?”
Dinah paused to take in his distracting dimples before she raised her gaze to his warm blue eyes. “I’m sure.”
And she was. She’d never been surer of anything in her life.
CHAPTER9
SITTINGBOURNE, ENGLAND, DECEMBER 29TH
It was a pity Shakespeare wasn’t still alive to pen the tale of Oliver’s courtship, because it would have made a wonderful play. It had been a comedy of errors from the start, and now it looked as if the final act would be as farcical as the first two.
Without the joyous wedding, that is.
Their journey to Cliff’s Edge was nearly over, and all he had to show for this courtship so far was a pocketful of dark blue sapphires to match the eyes of the lady who’d refused to become his wife.
Perhaps it wasn’t a comedy, after all. Perhaps it had been destined to be a tragedy from the start, and the only one who hadn’t realized it was him.
“Is this Lord Horace’s property?” Dinah asked, trying to hide the chattering of her teeth.
“Yes, since the turn half a mile back.” Despite Oliver’s entreaties, Dinah had remained beside him on the box for the entire journey, even when it dragged on into the early morning hours. Bad roads, uncertain weather, and the occasional equine rebellion had complicated the drive.
There wasn’t enough time for Oliver to take Dinah to an inn. Lord Horace’s estate, while itwasin Sittingbourne was so remote as to be an hour’s drive from the town proper, and Lord Horace, who wasn’t a gentleman who troubled himself much about fashionable calling hours had set an early morning appointment.
So, Oliver had a half-frozen, bedraggled lady on his hands, and not the faintest idea what to do with her.
He should have put her back inside the coach hours ago, despite her protests. Her cloak was damp through, and she was shivering in her wet boots. A more generous man—a gentleman—would have taken better care of her, but Oliver hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with her. He was greedy when it came to Dinah Bishop—greedy for her conversation, her smile, her laugh—even her scowls and scolds.
Weren’t all gentlemen in love the same?
“I don’t suppose we can arrive at Lord Horace’s door looking like this.” Dinah waved a hand at her crumpled skirts, then turned to take in Oliver’s appearance. “I believe your hat is ruined, my lord.”
“My hat, my coat, my breeches, and very likely my boots,” Oliver agreed. “William’s pup is the only one of the three of us who’s presentable. I’d send him in to fetch Penelope’s pineapple if I wasn’t certain he’d chew it to bits.”
Dinah tried to tuck a few straggling dark locks of her hair under her hat, but soon gave it up with a sigh. “Perhaps I’ll wait in the coach.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow at that. He didn’t fancy the idea of greeting Lord Horace looking like a half-drowned street urchin any more than she did, but Dinah couldn’t remain in the coach. She needed a comfortable seat beside a roaring fire and a nip or two of brandy, followed by a pot of hot tea. “No, I can’t allow you to…”
His voice trailed off as he caught a glimpse of a building through the thick rows of trees lining the drive. He slowed the coach as they drew closer. The building was long and narrow, with a peaked roof and tall, arched windows arranged neatly across the south facing wall. The few beams of moonlight peeking through the clouds gleamed dully on pale, gray stone.
They were some distance from the main estate, and it was too big to be a folly. It looked like…yes, it was.
One of Lord Horace’s famed greenhouses.
William had made Oliver look at dozens of different plans for Penelope’s greenhouse—so many Oliver could build one himself by now. This one was in a slightly older style and lacked the fashionable glass roof, but if Lord Horace was wintering his exotic plants and fruits here, the building must be heated by a system of stoves beneath the floor.
They might tidy and warm themselves inside, and perhaps snatch a few moments of rest before they met with Lord Horace. It would be dreadful indeed if they were caught out, but it was early yet, and none of Lord Horace’s gardeners seemed to be about. Oliver glanced at Dinah, and the blue tinge to her lips made up his mind.
She turned to him in surprise when he pointed the horses’ heads toward the building. “Where are we going? Don’t say you mean to break into Lord Horace’s greenhouse.”
“I mean to get inside, yes, but I’m hoping we don’t have to break anything.” Oliver brought the coach to a halt and jumped down off the box, wincing a bit as the blood rushed back into his stiff legs. Dinah offered him her hand to help her alight, but he ignored it and grasped her around the waist.
“Oliver! What are you—”
“Making certain you don’t fall.” He swung her down from the coach. “Your limbs will be numb by now.” He waited until he was certain she was steady on her feet, then he reluctantly released her and retrieved the puppy and the carriage rugs from the coach. He led Dinah toward the greenhouse door, and offered her an extravagant bow. “After you, Miss Bishop.”
Dinah hesitated. “Perhaps this isn’t a good idea. I daresay the door is locked, in any case.”
