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He offered a bow, his eyes never leaving her face. “Until this evening. Merry Christmas, Miss Sterling.”

“Merry Christmas.”

He backed away with a broad smile before turning around.

Katherine, who had been lurking nearby, hurried back to Leah’s side. “Who was he? You must tell me everything,” she hissed.

Leah relayed as much as she could remember about their conversation and his situation. All the while, Katherine’s face lit up like the Yule log.

“He didn’t witness what happened at the parlor game,” she whispered excitedly. “He might very well be your only chance.”

Leah nodded, but anxiousness simmered in her chest. Mr. Markham’s distance from Bellthorne Hall might afford her the opportunity to avoid being sabotaged by Mr. Hawthorne. Why did that frighten her so much? The thought of actually succeeding promised Switzerland, but it also promised a husband—one she hardly knew and whom she doubted she would fall in love with.

Mr. Hawthorne’s sabotage had given her a way to avoid responsibility for her failure and the fears associated with her success. She foolishly wanted their battle to continue, but her kissing him the night before felt like a grand finale of sorts, an awkward mutual surrender.

She wanted to speak with him, to clear the discomfort she felt, but she didn’t know how. Was it even necessary? Or could they continue on with the rest of the party and interact as little as possible? That was what she had wanted at the beginning, but now she dreaded the idea. What had changed?

She pushed away her thoughts of Mr. Hawthorne as she followed Katherine and the rest of the guests back to the carriages that would convey them to Bellthorne Hall. She would have to prepare herself for the busy evening ahead, especially now that Mr. Markham would be in attendance.

She would be on her very best behavior, and Mr. Hawthorne, she hoped, would be too.

Fifteen

Leah settled on her favorite red gown for the Christmas feast, pairing it with her pearl pendant necklace and matching earrings. They had belonged to her grandmother, whose elegance and grace she had heard many tales of. Perhaps she could call upon her grandmother that evening and manage not to volunteer herself again for public ridicule.

If she could just avoid Mr. Hawthorne altogether—or better yet, forget he existed, then she might actually have a chance at securing Mr. Markham’s favor.

Her opportunity wouldn’t begin at dinner, that much was certain. Mr. Markham was seated far away from her at the long dining table, though she did catch his eye once or twice. There was no avoiding Mr. Hawthorne, with his assigned seat being directly across from hers. He and Miss Benson seemed to have made amends, at least enough to have a polite conversation. Leah didn’t try to overhear any of it, conversing instead with Mr. Newton when he allowed it—which wasn’t often.

The Christmas feast was just as Leah had expected. She could hardly count the variety of dishes at the table, which ranged from roast goose, pies, puddings, and all sorts of desserts. She tried not to stuff herself too much, though it required a great deal of restraint. She had to have her wits about her if she was to speak with Mr. Markham later and not be moaning about a sore stomach.

She ended the meal satisfied without feeling unwell, but her restraint might have been in vain. The moment the men rejoined the women in the drawing room, Lady Dalmeer directed them all to the Long Gallery where she had prepared another activity.

They would be tracing silhouettes.

Like a herd of sheep, the entire party made their way up the stairs. Leah tried to keep her eyes on Mr. Markham, but a tall gentleman blocked her view. The Long Gallery was a wide corridor lined in framed paintings and tall windows, with peach wallpaper covering the length of both walls. It was grand and spacious, but dim, lit only by the evenly spaced candles resting on tall pedestals.

It didn’t come as any surprise that Katherine chose Tom as her partner. They gathered their supplies, leaving Leah standing alone near a portrait of an old woman and her pug. She scanned the gallery for Mr. Markham, spotting him standing with two gentlemen. He was searching the room, too. Was he looking for her?

He caught her gaze, turning toward her with a smile. His mouth moved as he muttered something to his companions and started in her direction. He had only taken one step forward when her view was blocked by something large and solid.

Her heart leaped when she realized it was Mr. Hawthorne who had intercepted Mr. Markham’s path.

“Miss Sterling.” He bowed, and when his eyes met hers, a spiral of nerves shot through her insides.

“Mr. Hawthorne.”

His brown hair shone in the candlelight, a twinkle of curiosity entering his brown eyes. “Would you be my partner?”

Leah had been entirely wrong. Her forfeit the night before had not been a finale of mutual surrender. Surely Mr. Hawthorne had intercepted Mr. Markham’s path intentionally. She had been anticipating her next interaction with Mr. Hawthorne even more than she had her next one with Mr. Markham.

Her palms perspired in her gloves, her pulse elevating. “I suppose.”

“Oh? Were you awaiting a better offer?” His eyes glinted teasingly, but she sensed something genuine about the question.

“I was, actually.” She paused, noting the flicker of surprise in his brow. “I have heard you don’t possess any artistic skill.”

A relieved smile flickered across his lips. “I wonder…did you hear that from the same source who attested to my cloud reading abilities?”