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Mariah waited with bated breath for his
answer.

Please God let him say he cares,
she
prayed fervently.

"And if there was, what good would it do? You
don't know her, Mother. She is young, vivacious, and full of life.
She deserves more than a broken man, half living."

"Just tell me one thing," said his mother
softly. "Do you love her?"

Mariah's heart galloped and she closed her
eyes hoping against hope.

His derisive laugh was like a dagger to her
bruised heart. "Of course not."

As quietly as she could, tears threatening
more every second, Mariah turned and fled.

"Mariah, do hurry up
for goodness' sake. The whole village will be there already."

Mariah bit her tongue, something she hadn't
had to do for weeks now.

"I am coming, Mama" she answered as sweetly
as she could though her teeth were clenched. The woman never
stopped scolding.

It had been four days since she had snuck
from the manor house. She had some pangs of regret for sneaking
from the house like a thief in the night, especially since his
mother had been so lovely to her. But she couldn't face a goodbye,
couldn't look at him again after what she'd heard. She'd been too
cowardly to risk being in his company for fear that she would
either cry and beg him to love her or rage at him for being unable
or unwilling to do so.

Returning home hadn't made the heartache go
away, but at least her mother was a good distraction from it.

As soon as she ascertained that Mariah wasn't
utterly ruined or mortally wounded, she launched into a lecture so
lengthy that even Mariah's father intervened.

Escape had been made only when her mother
rounded on her father.

Mariah had refused absolutely to answer any
and all questions about Brandon Haverton, save to say that she had
completed her work in the library and she no longer had any reason
to be at the house.

"But your gowns," her mother had argued, a
glint of suspicion in her eye.

"He has promised to send them along," Mariah
lied smoothly refusing to explain why she'd left them all there in
the first place.

Now, it was the day of the fete and though
Mariah had tried every excuse and reason under the sun not to
attend, she was going.

Her only consolation was that Brandon
Haverton was extremely unlikely to go voluntarily and his mother
seemed far too sad to insist upon it.

The family left to walk to the square outside
the church where the festivities would take place. As soon as they
arrived they were greeted by friends and acquaintances and Mariah
used the ensuing chaos to slip away to a hidden bench behind the
church.

Relief filled her at finding it empty.

She sat and allowed the serenity to wash over
her and heal her wounded heart. This place had always been one of
solace and peace in times of trouble but today her misery would not
be silenced.

Sitting there, she looked toward the heavens,
seeing the North Star twinkling bright and felt a tear run silently
down her cheek.

Mariah wished then, wished with all her heart
that Brandon and his family would one day be happy. She wanted more
than anything to be the one to bring love and joy back into his
life, but as much as she loved him, she could not make him return
the feeling. Yet she still wanted it for him.

Wanted him to find someone that he did love,
someone who could bring him back to life. So she wished it for him.
Wished it with every fibre of her being.

"Please," she whispered to the night sky,
"please just let him find happiness. Let him find peace."

Mariah sat for a moment or two longer then,
with a heavy heart, she stood to go and find her family.

The village square was resplendent as it
always was, festooned with holly and ivy and paper lanterns that
the children in the schoolhouse had spent painstaking hours putting
together.

Everywhere she turned, Mariah was greeted
warmly, and usually she would return the greetings with equal
cheer. But she could not.

She tried her best to go through the motions,
but her heart wasn't in it.

Her heart was firmly stuck at Greywood Manor
with a man who didn't deserve it.

As the day turned to evening, the hastily
prepared dance floor started to fill. It was far too cold to be
dancing outside but this had been a village tradition since before
Mariah's birth. Usually she didn't feel the cold, since she danced
every dance. This evening, however, she refused to dance even
one.

Mariah stood back and watched as children and
adults alike danced and sang and had a marvellous time. She tried
not to be bitter, but she envied them their cheerfulness. She
wondered if she would ever feel happy again.

"I believe you promised me a dance."

Mariah gasped at the feel of a hand on her
waist.

She knew it was him, of course.

Nobody else's voice set her pulse racing.
Nobody else's scent set her heart hammering.

She turned and looked up into his eyes.

He looked so good she wanted to weep. There
were circles under his eyes, as though he had been sleeping as
badly as she, and he looked miserable, but she could only assume
that this time of year was hard for him.

And in spite of what he'd said, her heart
still ached for him, and she wanted to make it better.

"Where are your mother and Lottie?" she
asked, hearing the wobble in her voice.

"They're ensconced with Mrs. Yates, meeting
the villagers and hearing the list of Mrs. Callahan's
maladies."

She tried to smile at his joke, she really
did. But her mouth couldn't form a smile.

"Please dance with me," he whispered.

Mariah looked about and saw that they were
drawing attention.

Soon people would come falling over
themselves to be introduced to the new man in town.

So, nodding her consent, she allowed him to
escort her onto the dance floor, all the while praying that she
would have the strength not to cry.

The strains of a quadrille started and Mariah
shivered as his hand snaked about her, gathering her close.

"You look beautiful," he said as they began
to move.

Mariah held herself as stiffly as she could
because she wanted more than anything to sink into him, to beg him
to love her even half as much as she loved him. But her pride
wouldn't allow it and her pride was the only thing she had
left.

"You left," he said now, though there was no
accusation in his tone, merely sadness.

"I did," was all she said.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them as
they swept round the other couples. Mariah had never felt so alone
in a crowd of people.

"Lottie told me what she said to you. What
she heard. Mariah, I – please believe me when I say I did not—"

His words were cut off when Bobby Thornton,
who had had far too much to drink, came stumbling into them trying
his best to dance alone.

Brandon muttered a soft oath, dropping her
hand and stepping away. "For God's sake, I cannot talk to you here.
Will you come back to the manor house with me? Please?"

It was the plea that did it. In his words, in
his voice, in his eyes. Mariah knew that she could not deny him
anything.

Without waiting for her to answer, he
clutched her arm and practically dragged her to his carriage which
was, thankfully, the last in a long line surrounding the
church.

Once inside, he placed a carriage run on her
knees and then sat at the other side.

The silence was suffocating but Mariah made
no attempt to break it.

What was she to say in any case?

She could rail at him for not loving her
back, but that wasn't his fault.

She could beg him to consider her as a wife,
but her pride wouldn't allow it.

She could pretend that everything was fine
but her heart wouldn't allow
that.

So, she said nothing and neither did he.

The carriage ride seemed interminable, but at
last they rolled to a stop outside the manor.

The front of the house was ablaze with
candles and it looked so welcoming, no longer unloved, that Mariah
felt herself smile for the first time in days.

Brandon stepped out of the carriage then held
out a hand to assist. But after she alighted, he held onto her
hand, not letting her pull away. It was an exquisite type of
torture.

As they stepped into the entrance hall,
Brandon divested her of her cloak, gloves, and bonnet, explaining
that the servants were all at the fete.

They were alone.

A thrill chased along Mariah's spine before
she ruthlessly quashed it. What difference did it make?

"Would you care for a drink?" he asked, his
voice echoing in the cavernous room.

"No, thank you," she squeaked, fairly shaking
with nerves.

"I want to show you something," he said
before taking her gently by the arm and leading her toward the
library.

Mariah frowned. There was nothing he could
show her in there that she hadn't already seen. She'd practically
lived in the room for weeks.

He opened the door and allowed her to step in
before him.

The first thing she noticed was the fire
blazing in the hearth. Surely it was folly to have left it as such
if everyone had planned to be away for the evening.

But then, as her eyes adjusted she noticed
that it had been decorated for Christmas. Every available surface
was covered in boughs of holly and ivy, with cheerful red candles
dotted everywhere.

It was beautiful, and she turned to tell him
as much.

Where was he? He had disappeared! Mariah
frowned in confusion before her eyes travelled down and she gasped.
He hadn't disappeared, merely knelt. He was on one knee before
her.

"Brandon, what—"

"Mariah Bolton. I realise that since I have
met you, I have been the most idiotic, ill-mannered brute that
you'd likely ever met. I let you see the absolute worst of me. I
have told you my darkest secrets, bared the blackest part of my
soul. I do not deserve you and I likely never will. I don't deserve
your loving heart, your generosity of spirit, your pure and
innocent soul. But none of that stops me from wanting them. Perhaps
it's selfish. Perhaps it's just madness. But the truth is that you
stole my heart, a heart that I didn't even know could beat any
longer. You stole it the day you patted me on the head, and I
haven't wanted it back since. It's yours, battered and bruised as
it is."

Mariah couldn't speak, couldn't believe what
was right before her eyes. She shook her head in wonder, the tears
flowing freely from her eyes.

She watched as a look of pure, raw pain
sprang into his eyes, before they turned almost black with a sudden
determination.

"You shake your head," he said misconstruing
what she meant, but before she could speak he had leapt to his feet
and clasped her by the shoulders, "I do not blame you. Lord knows I
have given you no reason to trust me, to love me. But I love you,
Mariah. So much I can barely stand it. And I know I've handled
things badly but please understand, it took me by surprise, and
when my mother was asking me those things I – I was trying to
protect you, dammit." Suddenly, he was yelling at her and it was so
familiar that she almost laughed. "I know you deserve better than
me. I tried to tell her as much. That's why I denied my feelings
for you, why I refused to consider marriage. Because I wasn't ready
for how I felt and I didn't want you to have to spend your days
with someone as dark as I."

He stopped shouting and his tone lowered,
become gentler and more tender than she had ever heard it.

"But that hasn't stopped me from loving you
until I can't breathe. I don't expect you to love me back, but if
you'll let me, I will spend every day for the rest of my life
loving you so much you won't ever have to. Please, please, my
darling, say you'll be my wife."

As he drew to a halt, his breathing laboured
as though he had run for miles, Mariah finally had the chance to
speak.

"Brandon, do — do you mean it?" She took a
tentative step closer to him, hardly daring to believe this was
real. "Do you really want to marry me?"

"Of course I do," he said fiercely. "I adore
you. But, it is selfish of me to ask. To tie yourself to such a
man, to such a family. If people knew what happened, what Lottie
was."

"What is she? Only a well-loved and beautiful
niece and granddaughter! And I would never allow anyone to say
anything different."

"I know you wouldn't, my little tigress.
That's one of the things I love the most about you."

He pulled her close and she went
willingly.

"Please," he whispered, "please put me out of
my misery. Please be my wife."

Mariah gazed up at him, hoping he could see
what she felt for him in her tear-washed eyes.

"I will. Of course I will. I love you so
much, Brandon. So very much."

The look of joy on his face was one she would
never forget.

She was sure she heard him mutter "thank God"
before his lips found hers and she was utterly, completely
lost.

One Year Later

"Merry Christmas, Lottie"
Mariah
bent to hand the child a giant parcel containing a
much sought-after doll's house and doll. She couldn't wait to see
her reaction.

Standing back up, she pressed a hand to her
abdomen. These blasted pains were becoming worse and they didn't
seem to be disappearing as quickly.

Brandon was at her side, quick as an
arrow.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he demanded.

Mariah smiled and shook her head. "I told you
five minutes ago, darling. I am fine. Truly. Now, come walk me to
my library. I have your gift there."