It Happened One Christmas: Christmas Eve Proposal / The Viscount's Christmas Kiss / Wallflower, Widow...Wife!. Ann LethbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
for something as prosaic as a saunter to St Luke’s. She just knew it.
One thing she could certainly say for this navy man: whatever his years at sea, he had a fine instinct for how to treat a lady, if such she could call herself. He helped her into her overcoat, even while she wished, for the first time ever, that the utilitarian garment was more à la mode. He swung on his boat cloak with a certain flair, even though he had probably done just that for years. How else did one don a cloak without flinging it about? But the hat, oh, my. It made him look a foot taller than he already was and more than twice as capable. Did navy men have any idea what dashing figures they cut? Mandy doubted it, especially since Ben seemed so unconcerned.
As usual, the winter mist was in plentiful supply. Years of experience with salt air and mist had trained Mandy to negotiate even the slickest cobblestones. The sailing master had no idea of her ability, evidently. Without a word, he took her arm and tucked it close to his body, until she couldn’t fall down. She almost told him she didn’t require such solicitation, but discovered that she liked being close to him.
‘It gets icy on the blockade,’ he said. ‘You should see the lubbers slip across the deck.’
‘We haven’t seen snow in several years,’ she said, wondering when she had ever resorted to talking about the weather with anyone. Perhaps after the master left, she would have to broaden her acquaintance beyond the poulterer, the butcher and the dairyman. How, she wasn’t sure, but other females did and she could, too.
‘Is Mandy’s Rose open on Christmas Day?’ he asked, slowing down so she could match his stride, a nicety she enjoyed.
‘No, but we’ll fix you a fine dinner,’ she said, surprised at how breathless she felt. Before she realised what she was doing, Mandy leaned into his arm. Her footing was firm and she had no particular reason for her action, except that she wanted to lean. The experience was comforting and she liked it. He offered no objection, except she thought she heard him sigh. Hopefully, she wasn’t pressing on an old wound.
Maybe there was mist, but she thought it highly unfair of St Luke’s Church to loom so quickly out of the dark and fog. She slowed down and the sailing master slowed down, too.
‘Girding your loins for an entrance?’ he teased. ‘Is it that kind of choir?’
She could laugh and tease, but why? He was here three weeks, then gone. ‘The choir is good enough. I just like walking with you.’
He was silent for a long moment and Mandy wondered if she had offended him.
‘Amanda, you need to get out more.’
‘Happen you’re right,’ she replied, honest to the core.
The other choir members were already gathered in the chapel. To a person, they all turned to look at Mandy and her escort. She smiled—these were her friends—and wondered at their uniformly serious expressions.
‘We leave our coats here?’ Ben whispered.
‘Back here in the cloakroom,’ she said and led the way. The glances continued and she wondered about them.
The sailing master didn’t appear to wonder. He hung up his cloak and hat and helped her, then leaned close to whisper, ‘I think I know how the wind blows, Amanda.’
‘What do you mean?’ she whispered back, feeling surprisingly conspiratorial for St Luke’s, where nothing ever happened except boring sermons.
‘If I am not mistaken, those are the very people who ate in Mandy’s Rose yesterday evening.’
She looked at him, a frown on her face, then felt herself grow too warm, not so much because he was standing close, which was giving her stomach a funny feeling, but because she understood. ‘Oh, my,’ she whispered. ‘They are looking you over. Poor, poor Ben.’ She leaned closer until her lips almost touched his ear. ‘Should I just assure them that you’ll be gone after Christmas?’
By the Almighty, she wanted to kiss that ear. An ear? Did people do that? It was probably bad enough that she was breathing in it, because he started to blush. A girl had to breathe, so she backed away.
He surprised her. ‘Amanda, whether you know it or not, you have an entire village looking after your welfare. I’m not certain I would ever measure up. It’s a good thing I’ll be here only three weeks.’
‘Nineteen days now,’ she whispered and couldn’t help tears that welled in her eyes. Thank the Lord the cloakroom was dark.
‘Your coat?’ he asked.
Silent, she handed it over, wishing she had never heard of choir practice, or Venable, or the Royal Navy. Why hadn’t she been born the daughter of an Indian chief in Canada?
The humour of her situation saved her, because it surfaced and she started to breathe normally again. Three weeks, Royal Navy, her stupid half-brother, sailing masters and blue tattoos: beyond a smile or two over her silliness and a resolve to be smarter, she’d have forgotten the whole matter in a month or two.
‘Choir practice awaits,’ she told him, indicating the chapel. ‘We’re singing our choirmaster’s own version of “O Come All Ye Faithful”, and he does need another low tenor. But not necessarily in the worst way.’
There. That was the right touch. The sailing master chuckled and she knew he had no idea what she had wanted to do in that cloakroom.
Feeling brave, she introduced Benneit Muir to most of the people who had already met him yesterday at Mandy’s Rose. She was casual, she was friendly. It only remained to introduce him to Mr Cooper, the solicitor, when the practice was over.
As it turned out, that wasn’t even necessary. As men will, they had been chatting with each other while the choirmaster laboured with his sopranos on their descant, ‘O come let us adore him’, and the men had nothing to do. Out of the corner of her eye, she had watched Ben hand over that mysterious folded sheet of paper to the solicitor, who stood directly behind him in the bass section.
They walked home with other singers going in the same direction. Again, Ben was quick to take her arm firmly. She knew better than to lean against his arm this time. Something told her that was a gesture best reserved for someone hanging around longer than nineteen more days.
Nineteen days! The thought made her turn solemn and then grumpy, but not until she was upstairs and in her room. She pressed her face into her pillow and resolved to be sensible and sober and mind her manners. After he left, the room across the hall would get dusty and that would be the end of lodgers. Mandy knew she would never suggest the matter again to her aunt.
Good Lord, I wish you weren’t just across the hall, Ben thought.
Sleep did not come, but the idea of counting sheep just struck him as silly. He had slept through hurricanes and humid tropical nights. Once a battle was over and he had done all he could, he had no difficulty in closing his eyes and not waking until he was needed. The way things were shaping up tonight in this charming room, he was going to still be awake at two bells into the morning watch.
He lay on his side, staring at the door, wishing Amanda would open it. He knew she wouldn’t, not in a million years, but a man could hope. He lay there in utter misery, wondering how pleasant it would be to do nothing more than share a pillow with her. All the man-and-woman thing aside, how pleasant to chat with her in a dark room, talk over a day, plan for the next one. He felt his heart crack around the edges as he remembered the fun of bouncing into his parents’ room and snuggling between them. He wondered now if he had ever disturbed them and that made him chuckle.
Thank the Lord she had no inkling how badly he wanted to kiss her in that cloakroom. But, no, he had reminded her that he was only there for three weeks. She had murmured