Page 106 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
“Yes, just off the coast.”
Dinah’s breath left her lungs in a rush. “Why, what a happy coincidence! Lord Oliver and Gr—that is, my brother, Mr. Bishop and I are headed north as well, to Brightlingsea. We’d be pleased to take you to Canvey Island in our carriage. Wouldn’t we, my lord?”
Oliver quirked an eyebrow at her. “We’d agreed on a southern route, I believe, Miss Bishop, toward Sittingbourne.”
“Didwe agree? The way I remember it, I reminded you we promised Lady Archer we’d arrive at Cliff’s Edge this evening, and you said your errand in Sittingbourne could wait for another day.”
Oliver shook his head, but one corner of his lip was twitching. “Is that how you remember it? How curious.”
Dinah ignored this and turned a bright smile on Mrs. Claridge. “Really, you must allow us to take you. I can’t bear to think of you here in Rochester alone when your daughter must yearn to have you with her. Why, I can’t think of anything more heartbreaking. Can you, my lord?”
Oliver glanced from Dinah to Mrs. Claridge, who’s hands were clasped against her chest, her eyes shining with hope. “Certainly not. It would be our pleasure to take you to Canvey Island, Mrs. Claridge.”
“That’s wonderful, my lord!” Dinah gushed, offering him her brightest smile. Oh, she was a wicked, sneaky thing to take such shameless advantage of Oliver’s good nature, but it was better this way. There was no sense in prolonging a doomed courtship.
Oliver snorted out a laugh. “Wonderful, yes. Howcleveryou are, Miss Bishop. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”
* * *
By the timethey rejoined Grim and Ferris the horses had been seen to and the puppy had exhausted his mischievous tendencies with a romp in the snow. Dinah was well pleased with her triumph, and Mrs. Claridge was nearly bursting with joy.
Oliver, who cared only for seeing a smile on Dinah’s face was reconciled to their change of plans and as cheerful as he could be, given his heart was as battered as his face.
Battered, but not broken, and not despairing.
He hadn’t enjoyed hearing words of rejection from Dinah any more than any gentleman would from the lips of the lady he loved, but he hadn’t expected he’d have her for the asking.
He was, however, still hopeful she’d be his in the end. He’d seen the glimmer of raw emotion in her face when he told her he loved her, the anguish in her blue eyes when she’d refused his suit. He’d felt the desire shivering through her when he kissed her, the tenderness of her fingers stroking his cheek.
Dinah was far from indifferent to him.
So, Oliver was as easy as a man wildly in love could be as they set out for Canvey Island. He settled himself comfortably in his seat and stroked the pup’s head, listening with half an ear to Dinah and Mrs. Claridge’s chatter.
Dinah washis. She simply hadn’t realized it yet.
* * *
“Ye’d best keepyer wits about ye when you get near Canvey Island, Mr. Grimsley. Why, I’d just as soon be dead as go anywhere near that place.”
Dead?Grim gulped.
“I go wherever Lord Oliver bids me to go,” Grim declared, mustering every bit of bravado he could, but a tremor rolled through him at Ferris’s forbidding tone.
Ferris sniffed. “Well, he shouldn’t tell ye to gothere. The place is haunted, right enough. Can’t stir a step in Canvey Island without stumbling over some ghost or other.”
“Haunted?” A feeble whimper escaped from Grim’s throat. “Ghost? What sort of ghost?”
“The haunted sort, and not just one of them, neither. Canvey Island’s filthy with poor, undead souls, and anyone who knows a thing about ghosts knows it.”
“Mayhap they’ll keep to themselves, it being nearly Twelfth Night?” They were thirty miles or more from Canvey Island, but Grim wasn’t keen on disembodied spirits, and his teeth were already chattering.
“I doubt it,” Ferris replied unhelpfully. “Can’t see what use ghosts have for Twelfth Night. I don’t mind saying I’ll be right relieved to part ways with ye at Plumstead.”
Grim made another noise—a squeak or a sniffle, perhaps—and it dawned on Mr. Ferris his companion was frightened out of his wits. “Not but what I wish ye the best, Mr. Grimsley. I’ll say a prayer for ye, if it makes ye feel better.”
“I—I th-thank you for that, Mr. Ferris. You’re very kind,” Grim managed, his voice faint. “You won’t forget the prayer?”
“No, not a bit of it. Cheer up, lad. I’m sure all will be well.” This short speech might have reassured Grim if Ferris hadn’t added, “Still, ye’ll want to stay clear of the Viking ghost. He’s a big one, with a bushy beard. Wears a horned helmet, he does, and carries a sword. It’s said he drowned, and he’s none too happy about it, neither.”
