“The winter carnival.” He reached up and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on the soft skin of her cheek. “In the village square. Are you going?”
“I usually take the children.” She was distracted now. His nearness always scrambled her thoughts in a way that pleased him immensely. “Why?”
“I will meet you there.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Wear something pretty.”
“What are you planning?” She reached for his lapels, her brow furrowing.
“Nothing.” He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “I just want to see you.”
“You are seeing me now.” She pointed out, her breath hitching.
“I want to see you more.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, a light and teasing touch. “I want to see you under the lanterns. Dancing.”
Her composure fractured. He felt it, the tiny vibration in her chest.
“What did you say to my children?” She asked, though her resolve was clearly melting.
“Things.” He grinned, stepping back toward the door.
“Dominic!” She called after him.
He kissed her properly this time. It was quick but thorough, enough to make her forget what she’d been asking, for when he pulled back, her eyes were slightly glazed.
“Tonight.” He stepped away before she could recover. “The carnival. Do come please.”
Then he was gone, out the door and into the morning sun. He left her standing in her bakery with flour on her hands and confusion on her face. From the kitchen, he heard the sound of muffled giggling.
Nell closed her eyes and drew a long breath. He was definitely up to something.
Twenty-Four
The first frost had come early this year, and the village had dressed itself accordingly. Braziers glowed at every corner, their coals spitting orange sparks into the black November sky. Evergreen boughs had been strung between the shopfronts, tied with red ribbon that snapped in the bitter wind. A bonfire crackled at the centre of the square, tall enough that the heat reached the far stalls, where vendors sold roasted chestnuts from iron drums and ladled mulled wine into tin cups that steamed in the cold. Children chased each other between the legs of adults, their cheeks raw and bright, their laughter sharp as glass in the frozen air. A fiddler played somewhere near the bakery, the notes thin and sweet against the crack and hiss of burning wood.
Nell arrived with the children as the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. She’d worn her green silk dress, the one she almost never wore, though she’d kept it hidden in the back of her wardrobe like a secret. It was perhaps a bit too fine for a village carnival, but Dominic had asked her to wear something pretty, and she’d found herself wanting to please him.
That alone should have told her something.
“Mama, you look so pretty.” Lily had said it three times already, each time with the same breathless awe. She tugged on Nell’s hand as they walked through the crowds. “Like a real princess. I adore this dress.”
“It’s just a dress.” Nell adjusted her shawl, suddenly feeling quite self-conscious under the glow of the lanterns.
“It’s the most beautiful dress ever!” Lily grinned, her expression far too knowing. “Can I have it when I am older?”
“Of course, my love.” Nell smiled at her daughter, lovingly.
Oliver walked on her other side with his hands shoved in his pockets. He wore an expression of studied casualness that didn’t fool her for a second, while he kept glancing at his sister, and Lily kept glancing back. They were both terrible at hiding things.
“All right.” Nell stopped walking and turned to face them both. “What is going on?”
“Going on?” Lily’s eyes went wide and innocent as she looked at a nearby stall. “Nothing is going on. Why would anything be going on?”
“You’ve been acting strange all day.” Nell crossed her arms.
“We have not.” Oliver muttered, looking at his boots.
“You helped me pick out this dress.” Nell reminded them.
“Because you looked pretty in it.” Lily bounced on her toes, gesturing to the silk. “Is it a crime to want your Mama to look pretty?”
