“We should leave this dreadful place,” the prince suggested. “It’s awfully dull. We could go to Newcastle.”
“Newcastle is days away.”
“What else do we have to do?”
“Not be stuck in a small, moving carriage.”
The prince heaved a sigh, then grinned. “Or we could go to Gretna Green and watch all the people elope.”
“Watch strangers marry? Nonsense. That would be tiresome.”
“Marriage is romantic,” the prince said. “It can’t be that dull.”
Titus tilted his head. “Are you fond of your intended?”
The prince gave a beatific smile, more suited to portraits of angels in museums, and his eyelashes fluttered. “She’s a goddess.”
“How nice.” Titus smiled, but disappointment for his own future still wrapped around his chest.
Titus was quiet the rest of the way home.
She hadn’t come.
He’d been humiliated instead. He returned to the castle and slunk up to his room, relieved when he didn’t see Miss Howard.
He stared at his writing desk. Normally, the sight of his ink bottle, plume, blotting paper, and vellum brought him pleasure. Now he sat at the table tentatively. His hands shook.
Still, he opened the ink bottle and dipped his plume inside.
Dear Miss Keen Decoder,
I visited the tea room, but you were not there.
HE SWALLOWED HARD, but continued to write, forcing each curve of the plume to have its customary forcefulness.
Then he stopped. Miss Howard’s expression remained in his mind. He’d behaved terribly. He should apologize.
THE NEXT DAY, HAZEL could hear chatter drifting from the drawing room, and she left her room to join the others. Lord Aston was there with his cousin, and Beatrice and Cassandra chatted with them. The men stood when Hazel entered.
“Miss Howard! Miss Carmichael and I were just saying we should have a ball!” Lord Aston’s cousin exclaimed.
“A ball?”
“It will be New Year’s Eve soon,” the viscount’s cousin said. “Don’t tell me the English don’t celebrate it.”
“Mr. Hailsham is a very English sounding surname for someone unfamiliar with the country,” Beatrice observed.
The young man’s face reddened, and he glanced at Lord Aston.
Lord Aston cleared his throat. “My—er—uncle spent time abroad.”
“Which country?”
Mr. Hailsham opened his mouth, but Lord Aston said hastily, “it’s not important.”
“The English do celebrate New Year’s,” Hazel said, and Lord Aston shot her a grateful look.
The young man beamed. “I thought so, given the English supposed fondness for queuing.”
“But I don’t think we want to have a ball,” Hazel said.
“No, we certainly do not.” Lord Aston gave his cousin a stern look.
“I think it’s a splendid idea,” Cassandra purred. “I do so enjoy dancing!”
“Brilliant!” The viscount’s cousin jumped up and down. “Then we’ll get it sorted.”
“I have no intention of organizing a ball,” Beatrice said.
“We just need a list.” Mr. Hailsham smiled. “Miss Howard—perhaps you can assist us?”
“O-of course.” Hazel was relieved to be useful and she sat at the writing table. “What do we need?”
“Mistletoe,” Mr. Hailsham said. “Ribbons. Bells. Mince pie.”
Hazel wrote them all down.
Cassandra frowned. “Those seem like a very curious assortment.”
Mr. Hailsham shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant manner. “Perhaps you can help me, Miss Carmichael.”
Cassandra’s eyes glimmered. “I would be delighted.”
“It’s not our house,” Hazel whispered to Cassandra.
Cassandra fluttered her hand. “Nonsense. No one is going to smash any vases .”
“No one will smash any vases,” Mr. Hailsham assured them. He glanced at Cassandra.
“Perhaps we should discuss a color scheme.”
Cassandra nodded rapidly, evidently eager to distance herself from any argument. “Splendid idea!”
Hazel put down her quill, relieved to let Cassandra and the viscount’s cousin plan the event.
Mr. Hailsham leaped from his chair. “Green and red is a classic, but perhaps we could do a pale blue instead.”
“Blue?” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “Intriguing. But what do you say to silver?”
Beatrice plopped down in front of the piano and began to play, while Cassandra and Lord Rafael continued chatting together about the ball.
Lord Aston wandered over to Hazel. “My cousin will be occupied for a while.”
“He is a such a holiday enthusiast?”
“Perhaps.” Lord Aston shrugged. “I don’t know him so well.”
Hazel widened her eyes. “But he told us he was your dearest cousin and that you couldn’t imagine spending a Christmas without him.”
Lord Aston’s laugh was awkward. “Did he?” He cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable, before levelling his gaze at her. “Miss Howard, I must speak to you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I must apologize for how I acted yesterday,” Titus said. “It was inexcusable. I was rude.”
“You were waiting for someone you wanted to see,” Miss Howard said. “And my presence was unwanted. I understand.”
Titus sighed. “You’re very kind.”
Her cheeks pinkened, as if she were not entirely comfortable with the compliment.
Titus glanced at the others. “They seem very occupied.”
“Cassandra can speak about planning a party for an extensive period of time. I imagine there is much to consider.”
“Then we can leave them be,” Titus said, uncertain what precisely could take so long about planning an event. “Why don’t we go on a walk?”
“A walk?” Miss Howard blinked.
He smiled. “You do go on walks, don’t you? You did go into the village, and I don’t see a carriage here.”
“No,” she admitted. “We can go on a walk.”
“Good. Since Concord isn’t here to show me, I’m rather eager to see what he’s been doing to build up the militia.”
Miss Howard gave him a wobbly smile.
“My cousin is betrothed and is utterly devoted to his betrothed. I suspect your friend will be in perfectly good hands. Besides, Miss Dalton is around. She strikes me as the vigilant type.”
Miss Howard’s lips twitched. “Very well. Let’s go to see the tower that the militia were working on.”
They went outside, and Titus inhaled the crisp air mingled with the slightly salty smell of the ocean. He could hear the waves, though he couldn’t from this position at least, see them.
Miss Howard’s eyes softened. “I’ll show you the view first.”
“Splendid idea,” Titus said, happy that Miss Howard had seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.
They rounded the corner of the castle, striding past the grey stone that must have been there for centuries. Then the ocean was before them.