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He took the wrapped bread, and for a moment Leah wondered if Mr. Hawthorne had been up to an even worse trick.

What if it wasn’t even gingerbread?

He could have wrapped anything in that paper. Leah calmed her nerves. He wouldn’t have known about her bargain with enough notice to plan such a thing.

She chewed her lip nervously as Mr. Markham unwrapped the bread and immediately took a large bite. A crumb escaped his mouth, sticking to the short stubble on his chin. “This is delicious! I am impressed that you refrained from eating the entire thing, Miss Sterling. I lack your level of restraint.”

She threw a quick glance at Mr. Hawthorne, expecting to find him smiling. But instead, he was staring at the ground, his jaw tight.

By the time she looked at Mr. Markham again, all that remained of the gingerbread was the crumb on his chin. She nearly pointed it out but thought better of it.

“Come, Miss Sterling, I should like to challenge you to the ring toss next!” He gestured at the horns that were nailed into a log, where several guests from Bellthorne Hall were gathered.

Leah hardly had time to wonder what had made Mr. Hawthorne so serious before she was swept away on Mr. Markham’s arm.

Seventeen

Leah had not expected to come face to face with Lady Dalmeer as she exited the library. The countess wore a red gown with tulip sleeves, with white lace overlaying the skirts. The apples of her cheeks were smudged with a hint of rouge, her blonde curls high on her head, as usual. “Miss Sterling, what a pile you have there!”

Leah shifted the weight in her arms. She had borrowed an armful of books to take to her room that evening. Snow had begun falling outside, and nothing sounded more peaceful than reading by her window with the curtains open. For a moment, she wondered if she was breaking some sort of rule, but Lady Dalmeer changed the subject to her favorite one.

“I assume that it would be in your best interest if I invite Mr. Markham to dine with us again tomorrow evening?” Her eyebrow arched, and she leaned closer with a mischievous smile. “I have been observing the two of you. I disagree with Miss Benson. You are not for Mr. Pritchard. And Mr. Hawthorne is already quite obviously in pursuit of Miss Benson himself. Let us hope Mr. Markham continues his pursuit of you.”

Leah’s heart leaped. She had not seen Mr. Markham since the village fete the day before. He had hinted about calling upon her, but with the snowstorm that had begun that afternoon, she doubted he would make the journey. Most of the guests at Bellthorne Hall had been keeping indoors. The library was a popular place, and that was why Leah had taken the books with her. She wanted to be alone.

Her mind had been racing far too quickly, and each time she spoke to Katherine, all she did was encourage her toward Mr. Markham. Leah tried to think of Switzerland, to allow the dream to encourage her just as strongly, but the charming cottages and mountains could not erase a lifetime of being married to a man she didn’t love.

She wondered what was worse: returning home from Bellthorne Hall to her monotonous life or remaining in Yorkshire at Mr. Markham’s estate, dining with Lady Dalmeer on occasion and listening to Mr. Tomlinson’s sermons every Sunday. Of course, she was getting ahead of herself. Mr. Markham hadn’t indicated anything about his intentions. But she was now certain that he was her last hope. If she was to be trapped in a marriage for the rest of her life, at least she would have her adventure with Katherine and Tom in Switzerland first.

She clung to that thought as she made her way toward her bedchamber. She paused before starting up the stairs, deciding to see if the music room was occupied first. It was far more festive. The greenery combined with the snow falling outside the windows would be the perfect setting for her afternoon reading.

As she turned a corner, she nearly ran over a dark-haired woman. “I’m sorry,” Leah said amid a laugh. “I can hardly see over my books.” She stole a peek at the woman she had nearly ran over, and it was Lady Weymouth. Leah’s embarrassment doubled.

“Not to worry,” the viscountess said in a kind voice. “There are enough people in this house to promise a near collision every so often.” Her eyes danced with amusement.

Leah recalled their conversation in the drawing room her first night at Bellthorne Hall. She had wondered then if Lady Weymouth’s hasty marriage had been a love match or not. The woman seemed happy, but how could Leah judge by her public observations of the viscountess and her husband? Leah was desperate to know if love could grow from such a rushed courtship, but she didn’t know how to ask.

“May I help you carry your books?” Lady Weymouth offered.

“That is very kind of you.” Leah allowed her to take the top half of the stack as they walked down the corridor. “Are you enjoying the house party?”

Lady Weymouth nodded with a smile. “It has been unexpectedly delightful. And you?”

Leah paused. She couldn’t say for certain if she was enjoying the party, or if it was causing her a great deal of confusion. “I agree. It has been…unexpected, at least.”

That was the most honest answer she could give. When she thought of her time at Bellthorne Hall thus far, all she could think of was Mr. Hawthorne. He was at the center of it, the piece that all her thoughts and decisions revolved around. How could she rid her mind of him? She hadn’t forgotten the solemn look on his face after he had given her the gingerbread the day before. And they hadn’t spoken since.

“Unexpected?” Lady Weymouth’s eyes were kind enough to give Leah far more liberty than she should have taken with someone she had been so shortly acquainted with. But she had already been refraining from speaking to Clara, Grace, or Katherine about her wayward thoughts and feelings.

“May I ask you something?” Leah said in a quiet voice.

Lady Weymouth nodded.

“Do you think it is better to marry for love or advantage?”

Lady Weymouth exhaled slowly, a furrow appearing between her brows. “One will certainly leave you happier than the other.”

“Which one?” Leah prodded.