Page 11 of Her Christmas White Knight

Chapter Six

Yesterday’s meal with Helena, Hal, and Julia had been almost equal in delight to the night Myall had spent with Julia on the beach. He’d claimed the seat opposite her initially, so that he could admire her—she’d looked resplendent in her borrowed dress, with her hair freshly washed and gleaming golden in the candlelight. Then he’d exchanged places with Hal so he could be next to her, where he had the full benefit of her smile, her conversation, and the tantalizing smell of the rose-scented soap with which she’d bathed.

He’d made an effort to enjoy the food, but its taste had been eclipsed by Julia’s presence—so impossible that she should be there at all, so miraculous that she was. The food, consisting of marrow stuffed with forcemeat, cheese, dried fruit, and a quaking pudding—was well-received by all. Unfortunately, the issue of the goose had still not been resolved by the end of the meal.

Hal had ceased to be Myall’s ally—he liked the bird and wanted it for a pet. Myall had pointed out that he had nowhere safe to put the thing. It couldn’t be kept in their room because it needed space, and somewhere outside to deposit its noxious, slimy turds. But if it was housed in their yard, it would vanish in the blink of an eye. One could not keep a goose in an open yard in the East End of London, where so many people went hungry—and expect it to still be there when one returned from the day’s toil.

Then, the conversation had taken a darker turn. Julia had asked after their father.

He had no wish for her to know what had passed between him and Father. She didn’t need to know he’d been courting someone before his accident, even though his heart hadn’t been in it. The marriage would have united two prosperous woolen cloth businesses, but the girl, Bess Middleton, had been so disgusted by Myall’s changed appearance, she’d refused the match point-blank. Of course, this had proved his father right in saying that Myall was now a monster, and no woman worth her salt would want him.

Yet Julia seemed not to mind looking at him. She never winced or looked away—nor did she stare in horrified fascination at his scars. This, he appreciated. He had not, however, appreciated her opinion that he should make peace with his father.

“What if you were never to see him again?” she’d asked. “What if, secretly, he regretted what he’d done to you, but was too proud to act upon it, or knew his efforts to make peace with you would be in vain?”

He’d known then that she was thinking of her own father. Though he had yet to discover what had happened between them, he sensed she still hoped for some manner of reconciliation, even if she had no idea how to go about it.

He’d tried to change the subject, but Helena and Julia had been in agreement. It was the season of goodwill—he must make a final attempt to bridge the chasm between him and Father.

Like a waterfall grinding away at the rock beneath, they’d worn him down until, eventually, he’d agreed to visit his father on Christmas Eve or, at least, try to do so. But he’d insisted on one condition being met. Julia must accompany him.

So now, here they were on Christmas Eve morning, walking through the chilly London streets to pay a call upon his estranged father. Myall wanted to prove that there was at least one woman in the world who could bear to look at his ruined face.

Despite her borrowed shoes and gown, he saw Julia as a goddess and his heart wanted to sing with elation that she was there beside him. Yet, the fear that he was going to have to face rejection from his father once again overshadowed his joy.

“He won’t let me set foot over the threshold, you know,” he announced, glancing down at her.

“Myall—you don’t know that. You can but try. I wish I had tried harder to make my father see reason—but then, my trespass was far greater than yours. You had an accident and got burned while saving a child’s life. I became pregnant, then lost the child.”

He slowed his step, placing a hand on her arm. Was she going to trust him with her story now? His heart sped up in anticipation.

“I don’t wish to pry. But it must have been terrible.”

Tears glittered on her dark lashes. He wanted to kiss them away.

“I was a fool. I wasn’t married, although I fully expected to be. But it’s the same old tale, as old as the hills. Only in my case, to add insult to injury, the man who begot my child embroiled me in a murder plot. Luckily, the victim survived, but ’tis little wonder Father never wanted to see my face again.”

Anger surged through him. “Tell me the name of the villain who abandoned you, and I’ll give him a taste of my blade.”

“Nay, Myall—he has already met his end, at the hands of the authorities. I helped them catch him, but I still know not if I did the right thing. Did I condemn a man to death to save my own skin? Did I act out of vengeance? I’m so ashamed of all I’ve done, but I have been duly punished.”

“Don’t blame yourself! You were manipulated by a vile seducer, who used you for his wicked ends.”

She gave him a sad, little smile that almost broke his heart. “How sweet you are, Myall, casting me in the role of guileless innocent. But I was selfish, immature, and stupid. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“You were never any of those things. You were bright, passionate, and full of joy. If only things had been different—I would never have treated you as he did.”

He still gripped her arm, but she made no effort to pull away. Feeling bolder, he entwined his arm with hers as they continued along the road heading toward the northern edge of London.

“You never came to see me. After that night, I never saw you again.”

The catch in her voice sent a chill down his spine. “What do you mean, I never came? I came to the house the very next day to ask your father’s permission to court you, but your uncle’s steward told me that you’d instructed him to turn me away. I came by your uncle’s house every day for a fortnight in the hope that you and your father were still staying in Suffolk. I prayed I might catch you walking in the garden, or spy you at one of the windows so I could speak with you. Did your father say nothing to you? Did your uncle not mention my visit? Did you never chance to look out the window and see me?”

She pulled him to a halt, and her blue eyes scanned his face, frowning.

“He said nothing. I stayed abed that first day after the ship discharged its cargo of liquor—I’d never supped such strong wine before, and had a pounding head. The day after that, Father took me back to Milforde, claiming he thought the sea air disagreed with me. I begged to be allowed to stay longer, so that I might see you again, though I didn’t tell them that. Father wouldn’t hear of it.”

So, that was why this bright jewel had vanished from his life. Her father had not been interested in the suit of a youngster. Especially not one who’s father’s fortune came from trade.