Page 27 of The Duke’s Festive Proposal (Christmas Matches of Worth #5)

Rosalyn looked out of the coach. The snow was falling heavily. It had fallen heavily all day and through the night. They had stayed at a wayside inn, and she had advised her father that they should not continue on their journey, but he had insisted. The snow had not abated all morning, and, by afternoon, it was falling too thickly to see.

“Papa,” Rosalyn said tightly, as the coach slowed to a walk. “We need to stop.”

Her father blinked and nodded. “You are right, daughter,” he said softly. He sounded tired. He banged on the roof of the coach with a walking cane. The driver stopped and Papa opened the window, letting in a flurry of cold snow. Georgina and Isabel, who were sitting closest to the window, screamed as the snow fell in on their uncovered faces. Rosalyn gazed out at the whirling flakes.

“Mr Simmons? Please stop at the first inn that you see.”

“Very good, my lord!” The coachman called back. He sounded pleased.

Rosalyn leaned back, shutting her eyes. The coach trip had been exhausting. Sebastian and her sisters were the only reason that she was still sane—the former for his cheerful support, and the latter for their irrepressible spirit. Without them, she was sure that she would be stark mad. She could not understand how Sebastian found the strength that he did to comfort her—he himself was suffering as much as she was. But she was grateful, and she did not question it.

The coach rolled on.

“Papa?” Rosalyn whispered as they slowed again. “Will we manage to reach the closest inn?”

That was the thought that terrified her. If they were forced to stop, the horses might die of cold—to say nothing of Mr Simmons, on the roof, and themselves in the cold interior. The padded coach walls did something to keep out the cold—and it was dry inside—but it was still almost as freezing inside as it was without, her breath visible vapour if she exhaled hard.

Her father gazed at her. “We will have to be brave, daughter, and pray,” he said tightly.

Rosalyn swallowed hard. He was as worried as she was. Her fingers laced through each other. Her heart skipped with elation as Mr Simmons got the coach going again. Every yard ahead was a yard closer to an inn and safety.

They rolled on.

As it was starting to become dark, her prayers were answered. The coach turned and rolled slowly into an inn yard. Her sisters let out a cry of joy.

“Papa! Look!” Georgina yelled. “It’s an inn! A real inn!”

“The horses can dry off. And we can get warm!” Isabel announced with delight.

“You’d think we were traversing the frozen North,” Sebastian joked though the relief was evident on his face as well. Rosalyn squeezed his hand, and he smiled back at her.

The coach came to a halt.

“Here we are,” Papa murmured, helping Rosalyn down, and then her two sisters, who shrieked as the thick snow fell on them. They ran under the shelter of the overhanging roof. Rosalyn walked up the steps to join them. Her gaze followed her father as he directed the coachman to the yard, handing him coins to pay for the horses’ lodging and his own.

They bundled into the inn hallway.

“Two bedchambers, please,” Papa requested of the innkeeper. “One for my daughters, and one for myself and my son.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“And we would like to take a hot meal in the parlour,” Papa added. Georgina nodded vigorously. She had been terribly hungry during the coach-trip, since they were entirely unprepared and had not brought any food with them.

“Well, look at that,” Sebastian murmured as they bundled into the inn parlour—an upstairs room overlooking a small garden, with wood panelling to keep it warm and a small fireplace. It was a room set aside for the gentry to dine in, while the local folks would use the taproom downstairs. “It’s snowing and it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Mm.” Rosalyn’s heart ached. She did not want to remember. At the very least, she wished it to be an ordinary day. It was worse than an ordinary day.

“We’ve nothing prepared, my lord,” the innkeeper’s wife told Papa as she came into the inn parlour, wringing her apron in her hands. “It’s too early for supper and too late for dinner. What may we prepare to feed you?”

Rosalyn took a breath. She had no appetite. She would have been perfectly happy to retire to bed without eating anything. Georgina looked hopefully at Papa and Isabel did likewise. Papa frowned.

“Whatever you have that is warm and filling, good lady. Please prepare that,” he said politely.

“Well! My lord! We’ve nothing but dumplings and stew. I can hardly serve such humble fare to persons of your station...” she stammered, looking away.

“Please, prepare that,” Papa repeated gently. “We would be most pleased with a hot meal.”

“Of course, my lord. Of course.”

Rosalyn leaned back and tried to focus on the snow. It was falling heavily outside the window, big, heavy flakes fluttering down. She listened to the conversation around the table sporadically. Sebastian was trying to keep up cheerful banter with Georgina, who was becoming positively poetic about the stew and dumplings. If guilt about Georgina’s hunger had not been one more weight of pain on Rosalyn’s shoulders, she would have laughed.

She watched the snow and tried to ignore everything else around her.

“Rosalyn? Rosalyn?” Isabel nudged her gently on the shoulder.

“Mm?” Rosalyn asked softly.

“Papa says that we shall have to stop here the night and depart tomorrow—mayhap only by the afternoon. He says that he will not attempt to go forward while it still snows so heavily.”

“Mm. Good,” Rosalyn replied distantly. Nothing seemed to make sense. Nothing touched her. Besides the fear that they would all freeze in the snow, no emotion seemed to get close to her, as if she was surrounded by an invisible wall that turned away joy and anger alike.

“Look, Georgie!” Papa declared as the food arrived. “Now, isn’t that fine?”

Georgina nodded, and even through the strange, cold wall around her, Rosalyn couldn’t help but smile at the joy on her sister’s face as a steaming plate of dumplings and meat stew was placed before her. The innkeeper’s wife blushed.

“Bless my stars! To think that fine gentlefolk like yourselves would be eating the humble fare I prepare.” She grinned.

“You have done a good thing this night,” Papa said warmly. “We all thank you.”

“I thought I would starve!” Georgina said dramatically. Even the innkeeper’s wife laughed.

Rosalyn focused on her food and tried not to think about anything.

As she retired to bed in the big room that she shared with her sisters, Rosalyn tried to forget that it was Christmas Eve. Her sisters chatted to one another and Rosalyn tried to shut out their banter.

“...and we should do something special for tomorrow!” Georgina said with a smile.

“I cannot help but wish we were spending Christmas Day at home,” Isabel said softly, her voice tinged with longing.

“Let’s make it special anyway!” Georgina said playfully, her good humour restored with the warm food.

Rosalyn looked away as her sisters continued to talk about the holiday plans. The reminder of home was too painful, and the pathos of the conversation deepened her grief. She rolled over in bed and tried to sleep.

The next morning, Rosalyn awoke to sounds of arguing coming from the inn yard. She blinked, opening her eyes. It was daylight. She had slept much longer than usual. Church bells were ringing loudly. Her sisters shot upright at the sound of the bells and the raised voices.

“What is...” Georgina began.

“Who are...” Isabel asked.

Rosalyn held up a hand and they fell silent. They all listened to the words that drifted up from the yard. They were loud enough to hear in the crisp, clear air now that the bells had stopped ringing.

“...and the cheek!” The innkeeper’s wife was saying.

“It’s all well, Judy. Don’t go fretting about it. It’s Christmas.” That was a male voice and Rosalyn guessed it must belong to the innkeeper.

“I’m not fretting, Albert. I just cannot abide rudeness,” she said, sounding put out.

“It’s not rude to stable your horse, dear,” the innkeeper said gently.

“I know, Albert. But it was still rudely done. When there’s barely enough room, too! And them upstairs are such fine gentlefolk. Not a rude bone in their bodies, that lot.”

Rosalyn smiled to herself, the compliment to her family bringing a vestige of warmth to her heart.

“I wonder what happened?” Georgina was saying as she tugged on her white velvet dress. “She sounds so angry. And it’s Christmas Day.”

“Some customer was rude, I suppose,” Isabel said quietly, donning a green velvet gown. “I suppose it must happen all the time.”

Rosalyn tugged on her dark red gown. As she tied her hair back in a ribbon, an urgent knocking on the door made her frown.

“Daughter? Daughter! Are you awake?”

It was Papa.

Rosalyn’s frown deepened as she hurried to the door. She opened it a crack. Georgina, who was still arranging her hair, shrieked. Rosalyn stuck her head around the door.

“Papa? What is the matter?”

“You’re awake. Good. There is...um...there is a visitor downstairs.” Papa’s expression was pained, his brow lined with worry.

“Whatever is the matter?” Rosalyn’s heart thudded. “Whoever is it?” A horrible thought occurred to her. It was Lord Winbrook. It must be. Only that could make Papa look so worried. Or mayhap an emissary from the duchess herself, come to stir up trouble.

Her father wet his lips. “Best if you come down, my dear,” he said carefully.

“Tell her to stay put,” Sebastian yelled from the stairwell. “I’ll break this scoundrel’s head if he tries to...”

“Rosalyn!” A voice shouted. It was a voice that made Rosalyn’s heart stop. Middle-register, soft and melting. She would have known it anywhere. Her soul soared; her throat tight with sudden emotion. “Rosalyn! Wait! Let me speak.” Callum shouted.

“I’ll tell this dastardly fool to return to the hole he crawled from,” Sebastian said from the hallway. His face appeared in the gap as he marched up the stairs, two spots of anger flushing his pale cheeks. His dark eyes blazed with fury. “Just let me handle him, sister.”

“No.” Rosalyn shook her head. “No. I shall go down.”

“Rosalyn...” Sebastian gaped at her. “Why would you?”

Rosalyn shook her head, reaching for her coat, which was hanging on the back of the door to dry.

“I shall only be a moment,” she assured her sisters and hurried downstairs. They rushed after her, then she heard the sound of their feet stop on the stairs.

Rosalyn carried on, running to the bottom of the stairs. Hope flared in her heart. Her soul was soaring above her. She ran to the door and cried out as the duke, Callum, grabbed her. He lifted her up, crushing her against his chest in an embrace so strong, so urgent, that it knocked the breath from her.

“Rosalyn!” he cried. His voice was rough with emotion. “Rosalyn.”

“Callum,” she croaked. “Callum. You’re here.”

“I travelled all day. And all of the next day. I had to find you. I had to. You’re here. Oh, God be praised!”

He set her down gently on her feet and his arms tightened around her, drawing her close. Rosalyn leaned against him, her heart melting as he held her in his tight embrace. He stroked her hair and she leaned against him. She held him close, the scent of him warm in her nostrils, his closeness a balm that dissolved the walls of pain around her. She hugged him tightly.

“How did you come to be here? Why did you follow us?” she asked, leaning back and looking up at him.

“I had to,” Callum said softly. “I am blessed with a sister who overhears things,” he added with a faint smile. At that moment, the front door creaked open, and a woman’s face appeared, her hair hidden beneath a white fur-lined hood.

“Callum? Brother? Oh! Miss Rothwell! You’re here!” Lady Harriet’s pale face flushed delicately pink. “I am so grateful you’re here!”

Callum gazed at Rosalyn. She gazed back. His grey eyes were wide and unclouded, their depths honest and true.

“Rosalyn,” he said softly. “I was a fool. I have been such a fool. Can you forgive me?” He took her hand. His gaze moved to her fingers. He lifted them, kissing the knuckles. She closed her eyes. His kiss seemed to spiral down her nerves, lighting them with incandescent warmth. She gazed at him, heart thudding.

“I can forgive you,” she said, just a little playfully. “But you have to tell me what happened. How did you come to be here? How did you find us?” Her eyes widened with surprise.

“That was easy enough,” Callum said gently. “Though I was sick with worry. You should not have travelled so far. I never expected you to venture so far on the road, especially in this weather. I cannot quite forgive my mother. She should never have let you go in these conditions.” His face darkened with a mix of anger and concern, but then his expression softened. “As to the former, I came here because Harriet told me the truth. I cannot believe I ever thought otherwise. I was a fool. I should never have believed him. I truly hope you can forgive me.”

Rosalyn looked into his eyes. Her heart was melting, the pain and sorrow and disbelief melting like the snow under the bright sunshine. Joy flared up inside her, pure, wonderful joy like the cry of an eagle who soars for the sheer pleasure of it. She gazed up at him and for a moment, their gazes held. Then she looked away, swallowing hard.

“Of course, I can forgive you,” she said softly. “I, too, believed the worst of you. I thought...” She laughed, almost in disbelief, at her own thoughts. “I believed that you had decided to wed someone else instead of me.”

“What?” Callum stared at her, his eyes wide and his face a picture of disbelief. “How in Perdition’s name did you come to such a notion?” he demanded. “I must know! If my mother was behind this, I swear that I shall not forgive her.”

“It was not your mother,” Rosalyn interrupted gently. “I think perhaps it was a misunderstanding. Did you ever say that you intended to wed another? You were in the conservatory. With your mother,” she added, hoping that he might remember and contradict it.

Callum gazed at her in disbelief. “No! No! I said the exact opposite. I said that I wished to marry you. Beyond all others. That I would never choose another. I never would.” His tone was intense.

“No?” Rosalyn gaped at him. Though they had been betrothed for a month and a half, he had never said that. He had never actually told her, without withholding, that he would have chosen her for herself. Not for status, or horses, but for herself and her alone.

“No!” He shook his head. Rosalyn stared as she saw tears form in his eyes. “I love you, Rosalyn. I love you like no other. I admire you, I respect you, and I would choose you blindfolded. I would choose you for your spirit, for your compassion, for your wit. I would choose you for your kindness and your caring. I would choose you over anyone. I love you, Rosalyn. I love you with all my heart.”

Rosalyn’s eyes widened. She cleared her throat, trying to speak, but tears ran down her cheeks. She smiled at him, laughing at his bewildered expression as he saw her happy response.

“Callum. Your words move me deeply. They stir my heart in ways I cannot fully express. I love you. I think I fell in love with you that day in the snow, when you caught me. You were so cross!” she chuckled at the memory. “Or mayhap it was even before. I do not know. One cannot put a time on these things. All I know is that I love you like no other, and that I will love you always. I love you, Callum.”

She gazed up into his eyes and he looked back at her. Slowly, tenderly, he reached for her hands and held them in his. She stared into his eyes, his lips lifted at the corners in a half-smile. He gazed back at her. He leaned forward so gently, so carefully. Just as his lips were about to touch hers, two sets of feet sounded on the stairs.

“Gracious! Look at that!” Georgina’s voice said loudly.

“It’s Christmas!” Isabel yelled.

Rosalyn laughed wildly as Callum lifted her off her feet, spinning her around and setting her gently in the entranceway of the inn. She frowned, bewildered, but as her gaze moved upward, she realised why. A kissing bough hung above the entrance at the bottom of the stairs.

Callum’s face moved toward hers, and with a tender smile, he pressed a soft, heartfelt kiss to her cheek. Rosalyn shut her eyes, her heart swelling with warmth as his affection flooded her. It was a kiss that spoke of everything they had shared and everything yet to come, a promise of love and devotion.

***

Later, they sat at the table in the inn parlour. Harriet was there, sitting next to Sebastian, and Papa and Georgina and Isabel. The inn parlour seemed crowded, and when the innkeeper’s wife appeared, carrying a tray laden with pie and potatoes and buttery carrots, they all cheered aloud.

“What wholesome fare,” Callum said appreciatively as Papa carved up the enormous meat pie. Steam and savoury smells filled the space. Rosalyn’s mouth watered.

“It’s Christmas!” Georgina reminded them all, making everyone laugh.

“This is the best meal I have ever eaten,” Callum said with a sincere look in his eyes. Rosalyn smiled back.

It was true, she thought as she sampled the delicious pie and trimmings. The meal was humble but delicious. And the warm, cosy space of the inn parlour was simple and undecorated, but it was a veritable palace because love filled the space between its walls.

“It is a grand meal,” she murmured, staring at him.

“If we had a pudding, I wonder who would find the sixpence?” Callum mused.

“You, brother,” Harriet teased. “You always find it.”

“I do,” Callum said with a smile. “I am rich. I truly am. More than I ever thought possible.” He gazed at Rosalyn, his eyes gentle as he looked at her.

Rosalyn swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion, her heart warm with love.

“And so, do you see?” Georgina declared as they settled down to their meal. “Despite all the hardships and amidst the sorrow, we have been blessed, after all. We have received more than we could have ever imagined—Callum, Harriet, and the rest of us”

Everyone laughed. Rosalyn smiled; her heart so full of happiness that she could barely speak.

“I think there is truth in that,” Isabel said quietly. “Christmas, after all, is not about any single figure or tradition, but about the spirit that fills our hearts when we are surrounded by those we hold most dear. It is in the joy of giving, yes, but also in the quiet grace of receiving with an open heart.”

Rosalyn nodded, her heart swelling with a quiet, peaceful certainty. “That feels right,” she whispered. “It is the spirit of being together, of love shared, that truly makes Christmas.”

“Love is not a reward; it is a gift. It cannot be earned, it can only be received,” Harriet said, nodding at Callum.

Callum inclined his head. Rosalyn frowned. She did not know the significance of the interchange, but she felt the truth of the words deep in her heart. She took Callum’s hand and smiled.

He smiled back, and Rosalyn shut her eyes for a moment, the warmth and joy of the moment settling on her soul. She was surrounded by love and she opened her heart to it, receiving all the joy that drifted in to settle there. When she opened her eyes again, she glanced sideways and noticed Sebastian and Harriet sitting close together, their hands resting gently near each other, slightly touching, exchanging soft smiles. Georgina and Isabel were laughing with Papa, and even the innkeeper’s wife who dropped in with some fresh-baked bread for the gravy looked happy. The room was full of love and joy.

Callum leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers and they kissed.