Page 145 of Snowbound Surrender
“Parliament will not resume until March, my lord, is that correct?” Spicer asked, and Hunter simply narrowed his eyes at him in response.
“Pardon me, my lord,” his valet said, brushing an invisible piece of lint off of Hunter’s jacket. “I simply like to be prepared, that is all.”
Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Very well,” he said. “A couple of days it will be, however, for I have business to attend to, lords I must meet, and …” he couldn’t think of anything else. He had been so desperate to return to London, but really, many of hispeers would remain in the country. He had to meet with Lord Falconer, true, but that could easily be arranged or rearranged. Why was he defending his decision to his valet, anyway? Because he was leaving his wife and he was suffering from guilt as a result.
It was her own fault. She was more than free to come with him. And with that thought on his mind, he dressed and went down for breakfast.
Scarlett greetedHunter as he strode into the breakfast room. She was actually slightly surprised he hadn’t come to her last night, though relieved he didn’t, for she had no idea how she would have responded to him. Her body desperately called to him, but even thinking of it made her heart pound. For she was afraid. Afraid that if she truly gave herself to him, he wouldn’t just break through her walls but would shatter them completely and she would be a ghost of her mother, spending the rest of her days trailing around Wintervale, waiting for her husband to come home and bestow upon her the slightest bit of attention.
She shook off the melancholy thoughts, determined to enjoy this one day, a day that her mother, despite her own hardships, had always been adamant Scarlett celebrate to its fullest.
“Happy Christmas,” she said, and his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Ah, yes,” he responded. “Happy Christmas.”
“What would you like to do this Christmas Day?”
“Do?” he asked, his eyebrows rising near to his hairline.
“Yes!” she said with a laugh. “I know the church service is later, but I thought perhaps we could go for a ride this morning,then maybe read for a while this afternoon. I know it’s not much of a tradition, but it’s what my mother and I always used to do.”
“And your father?” Hunter asked. “Where was he within the merriment?”
Scarlett’s grin faded. “He wasn’t around,” she said, not wanting to speak of it on this day that was to be of joy, and she idly fingered her locket. “Well,” she said, placing her napkin on the table. “I’ll be in the stables if you?—”
“Won’t you let me eat my bacon first?” The pleading look he constructed was so earnest that she had to laugh, and so she sat and kept him company while he ate. She had to admit that he was more than amiable when he didn’t have anything distracting him. With correspondence undeliverable and his work suspended for a moment, she had his full attention, and it was lovely to be appreciated.
“There is one other thing,” she said as he drank the last of his coffee. He looked at her with question. “You had mentioned that you may be interested in supporting some of my charitable work.”
“Ah, yes!” he said, his eyes brightening, and she knew that while he maintained the same enthusiasm, he had completely forgotten. “Of course. What do you require?”
“I’d like my own account, completely for charity where I see fit,” she began, listing one of her ideas. “There are villagers and tenants who sometimes need an extra hand. I know of Stone’s concern regarding favoritism, but that is not the case, Hunter. They know when someone needs help and would, in fact, help one another if they could. The tenants will wish no ill will upon one another, I’m sure of it.”
“Very well,” he said, nodding, and then beckoned her to follow him into his study. She sat across from him on the other side of his large mahogany desk as he began to make a list on the tabletop in front of him. “Account,” he said, taking the quillpen from his desk, dipping it in ink and beginning to scratch on the parchment. “Next!” he said, sitting up tall, his curls flopping over his forehead. Scarlett hid a laugh behind her hand at his animation.
She cleared her throat. “There is a charity in London, run by a friend of mine and her husband. It benefits women and children who have nowhere else to go. I’d like to direct funds to them as well.”
“Very good,” he said, writing it down with the particulars.
“And the hospital,” she added eagerly. “They certainly need whatever can be given.”
“I’ve heard many enjoy volunteering there as well,” he said, and she looked at him suspiciously but said nothing. Was he trying to encourage her to come to London as a volunteer?
“Many do,” she said cryptically, but after a pause, she added warmly, “Thank you, Hunter. This truly is a wonderful Christmas gift.”
“A gift?” he looked up at her with confusion knotting his eyebrows together.
“Of course. And I have something for you in return.”
“You needn’t have done that.”
“Oh, it’s nothing much at all,” she said, reaching into her pocket. “Here.”
“You shouldn’t have gotten anything for me.”
“I wanted to,” she said, her cheeks warming. Hopefully he didn’t read anything into this or assume it was more than what she had meant. It was a Christmas gift, that was all. She had prepared gifts for the tenants and the staff — she figured she should have something for her husband.
“I, ah, I don’t have anything for you,” he said with a grimace. “I’ve never celebrated Christmas before, and so I didn’t … I just didn’t know.”
