An Heiress for All Seasons (The Debutante Files #1.5)(7)

Turning, he stopped to face her. “Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Howard?”

She stopped and eyed him warily. Several feet separated them. Snow fell softly over them, lightly dusting their clothes. “Quite so.” She nodded at the wintry landscape. “It’s beautiful here. You must love it.”

“I do. This place has been in my family for generations.”

She nodded slowly, her expression serene, thoughtful as her eyes skimmed the countryside. In the distance, down the slope at the base of the hill, Merlton Hall nestled, stretched out like a sleeping beast.

He gestured widely. “My blood is in this land. In the people, the tenants here whose roots go as far back as my own.” Hopefully his investments would bear fruit, but just in case, he must do right by his family and tenants.

“It must be nice to have roots like that. Papa built our house five years ago. It’s a huge, ostentatious monstrosity just outside the city. Without heart. Mama wanted it to look like a castle. Versailles, I think she told the builder.” Her lips twisted in a self-deprecating manner. “How can one replicate Versailles?”

“That would be a challenge,” he agreed.

She released a breathy laugh. “Imagine living in such a place.” Her gaze lifted to his. “The reason I’m here at all is because my mother is still reaching for something she hasn’t found in America. She thinks she can find it here. Through me.”

A mother living vicariously through her daughter. It wouldn’t be the first time. But what did the daughter want?

Motioning to the sled, she asked in brusque tones, “Have we not gathered enough holly?”

“It’s a contest. I intend to win.” He looked her over as he uttered this, a slow grin curving his lips, and he realized he was only partially talking about this holly gathering expedition.

Her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold. Cloaked head to toe, her hands buried in a thick ermine muff, the rest of her face was a pale smudge. Pale brown wisps floated untidily around her cheeks. Wide eyes stared out at him, reminding him of a forest in spring, all greens and golds and browns. She looked young. Fresh and vibrant.

And she could be his.

The thought whispered over his flesh, leaving a trail of goose bumps. She could be his and help him save his family from debt. Suddenly, the future looked bright indeed.

“What?” she asked, a telling tremor in her voice. “What are you looking at?” She slipped her hand from her muff and brushed at her face self-consciously with slim fingers.

“I’m looking at you, Miss Howard.”

She dropped her hand back into the protection of her muff, but not before he noted the quiver of her fingers.

Her lips worked for a moment before arriving at the single word: “Why?”

“I enjoy it.” I enjoy you.

“You enjoy looking at me?” She sniffed, her gaze darting nervously over the expanse of white around them before looking back at him. “I am so extraordinary then?” The utterance fell softly, with such skepticism. As though she doubted her own worth. Which was remarkable. She was attractive. Wealthy beyond reason. She had every nobleman in England sniffing about her skirts and she did not appear to especially hold herself in value.

Yes, he thought but held silent. She was extraordinary. She wouldn’t believe him if he said that aloud. He could see that at once in the stiff set to her shoulders. She didn’t consider herself different. Or special. And that only made her all the more appealing.

He tore his gaze off her, afraid he was revealing too much, too soon. Last week, he’d shared his bed with not one but two different women and had been plotting to woo a particular opera singer he’d seen perform. Now he had suddenly made up his mind to marry. That opera singer was forgotten. The only woman he could even focus on was the one before him now.

His cousin had uttered something months ago, following his marriage to Rosalie. When you find the right woman, spending the rest of your life with her will be a simple decision because it’s the only decision. The only thing that matters.

He mentally shook himself for such fanciful thoughts. Of course Dec was in love with Rosalie, and Will had only just met Violet Howard. He didn’t love her. He didn’t know if he ever would. He didn’t know whether the kind of love Dec and Rosalie shared was even possible for him.

But choosing to marry Violet Howard? That had been easy. Just as Dec had said. She was the right woman.

She was the first debutante to hold his interest and not make him want to walk a hard line in the opposite direction. That accounted for something. It accounted for a great deal.

He nodded in the direction of a thicket ahead. “I know one more place where the holly grows dense. You’re not growing weary, are you, Miss Howard? Is such activity too rigorous for you? We could rest.”

That chin of hers lifted as he suspected it would. “I am not in the least wearied. I am accustomed to walking. At home, it is a frequent habit of mine.”

His mouth quirked. “Better, I take it, than staying within the walls of your miniature Versailles?”

“Very astute, Lord Merlton . . . and true.” She strode past him, lifting her skirts and stepping high over the snow-laden ground.

He fell in behind her, pulling the sled. It slid with a soft swoosh over the snow. Still grinning, he cast her an assessing look. “Are you not enjoying my company?”