Page 60 of It's a British Christmas

Once his mother acknowledged Eve as her future daughter-in-law, she would make sure Eve presented herself well. Her pride would allow no less. It was, indeed, an uphill battle he fought for himself, but the reward was Eve.

That was worth anything he had to overcome.

CHAPTER 8

Eve was stupid enough to begin to believe that Adam was serious, and really did want her to attend his mother’s Christmas Eve ball. As far as loving her, and wanting to marry her, well that was a bit too much for her to believe.

What if he is sincere?

She pushed that thought away. Perhaps he sincerely believed he meant it right now, but once he returned to his life, surely he would relegate her to a place in his memories called, ‘nice little village girl who saved my life’. Instead of arguing with him, she merely said, “I will consider the invitation.”

He touched her cheek, making her want to turn her face into his large, warm palm, and ask him never to leave.

“No. Not consider it. You must come.”

“Perhaps.”

“If you do not come, I will embarrass you by arriving here at your front door and kidnapping you.” With no further words, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her close. His head dipped and he took her lips in a kiss that repeated his words. Words that she found impossible to believe.

He stepped back, and touched her cheek lightly, turned on his heel and left. She watched with a heavy heart as he walked toward the carriage, never once turning back. After climbing in, and shutting the door, he signaled the driver, and the carriage rolled forward.

She had no polish, no noteworthy skills or experience. Of course, due to Papa’s insistence, she spoke three languages, was well-read, and could hold her own in a chess game. Somehow, she didn’t think they were the sort of talents the ton, or Adam’s mother, the Duchess, considered worthy of the title.

Eve had never met a true debutante, but she’d heard tales from Mrs. Caldwell, The Baron FitzWalter’s eldest daughter, who had spent some time in London during the Season two years ago. When she’d received no offers, her father arranged for her to marry Mr. Caldwell, a small landowner in the neighboring county.

Mrs. Caldwell had waxed eloquently about how the young ladies of the ton were well versed in playing musical instruments, could paint, sing, and were most fluid in their dance movements. They knew how to convey messages using their fans and flirted shamelessly with the young gentlemen when their chaperones were otherwise occupied.

She had held the girls of the village enthralled with stories of beautiful gowns and jewels, of rides in the park, and bouquets of flowers arriving at the young ladies’ homes the morning after a ball. It had all sounded romantic to so many of the girls, but to Eve, it seemed pretentious and silly.

With a final glance at the disappearing carriage, she turned and entered the house to return to her real life, where bread needed to be baked and clothes needed to be laundered.

It had been two weeks to the day after Adam’s departure, when the cream-colored vellum, folded in half, with a wax seal on it, arrived at the cottage. Eve accepted it from the messenger and studied it. Her hand shook as she continued to hold it, afraid to open it, and afraid not to.

She had not told Mama about Adam’s request that they spend Christmas with them at Manchester Park. Since she had some doubts that it would ever come to pass, she had no reason to bring it up. But the invitation—if that was what the message was—addressed The Reverend Joshua Allen, Mrs. Elizabeth Allen, and Miss Evelyn Allen.

Mama was in the kitchen, cutting vegetables for dinner. “Mama, where is Papa?”

“I believe he’s at the church meeting with a few of the congregants.” She looked at her hand. “What do you have there?”

“A message, with an official-looking seal on it.”

“How strange.” She wiped her hands on her apron and walked to where Eve stood. She glanced over her shoulder. “Is not that the seal of the Duke of Manchester?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Mama said nothing, but simply viewed Eve with raised brows. “I wonder what the duke wants?”

Eve shrugged, and her face heated, since she was not a good liar.

“Eve?”

“The duke might have mentioned that he would invite us all to attend a Christmas Eve ball at his home at Manchester Park. But, the reason I said nothing was because I thought once he left here, he would not remember that, or even remember us.”

Mama reached out and stroked her cheek. “Oh, my poor daughter. You have strong feelings for him. But, sweeting, he is not of our class. You would be wise to forget him and concentrate on making a wonderful life for yourself right here in the village with one of the lads who are always dancing attendance on you.”

Tears gathered so quickly Eve surprised herself. “I know that Mama. That is why I never brought up the subject to you.” She tapped the vellum. “If this is, indeed, the invitation, what will we do?”

“That is Papa’s decision. I suggest you wait until he returns and give him the message. He will decide what is best.”