Page 19 of Bedded Under The Christmastide Moon

“You are correct, my lady.”

Mellie dipped her head, in no way happy about being correct.

“I will bid you good night and see you when Christmastide morn is upon us.” Lilly nodded and followed Danvers inside as he carried a platter of cheese made by Mrs. Confee.

“Good night,” Mellie called after her.

No, she did not relish being correct about anything because that meant her suspicions regarding Brigham were correct. He’d created a life for himself in London, one that did not include Mellie, and he would return to town shortly. When next Christmastide season arrived, he’d fulfill his yearly obligation and venture to Hockcliffe for a few days’ time before departing once again.

Straightening her shoulders, Mellie started for her garden reprieve, confident she would survive the muddled mess she’d made of her life. However, if she could not give Brigham an heir, her only other option was to free him to wed and love another.

The images of him holding another woman close, that woman running her fingers through his soft, curly hair, their lips locked together as hers and Brigham’s had been only that very morning… Her knees shook as she walked, and she fought to banish the despondency that was already settling upon her.

She would not be reduced to tears—not over something she’d had a hand in creating.

The wind was a welcome balm to her overly warm face and neck, and she sucked in the frigid air, relishing the burn it caused within.

This was what she deserved—both for accepting Brigham’s offer of marriage and condemning him to a loveless marriage, and for her blatant attempt to fool him into caring for her when his heart obviously belonged elsewhere.

How she wished she could return to before she’d wantonly thrown herself at him, and he’d rejected her advances. She’d been utterly wrong to think that after all these years there was any affection remaining between them. Without a doubt, she loved him—had always loved him—but to delude herself into believing he felt the same was ridiculous and childish. Even if a spark had developed between them once again, it was not so easy to forget their past and fall into lustful abandon.

Mellie kept close to the house as she made her way down the unlit path, careful to watch her footing to avoid tripping on any rocks or holes. It would not be wise to lose focus and stumble, injuring her ankle. Most of the servants had been given a night’s leave to spend time with their families. No one would hear her calls for help, and she would likely perish from her death of cold before morning came.

It was not the servants’ fault they had homes and families to attend to during the holidays.

Once, not long ago, Mellie had her own family, but with her mother gone, she was utterly alone these last several months.

She removed her hand from her muff and placed it against the stone wall of the manor as she stepped over a tree limb that lay across her path. The moon overhead did its very best to light her way as she rounded the back of the house and slowly descended the cobblestone steps into the garden.

In its frozen, winterized state, the landscape paralleled her life.

Gone were the spring and summer blossoms of hope, and no promise of leaves to unfurl when the summer warmth once again returned were present as yet. With the Christmastide moon cascading over the garden, Mellie had the sense it would always remain thus: devoid of birds in the trees, shrubs that appeared more like a bunch of bundled sticks than a living plant, and the flower beds, abundant in the warmer months, nothing but frozen dirt.

It was as her life had been these last five years: barren, forlorn, and unmoving.

How had she not noticed the change as it had crept upon every aspect of her existence?

Even now, it was difficult to remember a time when she wasn’t burdened with familial responsibilities, a time when she’d been young, untroubled, and eager to see what her future held.

One was not always blessed with choosing their fate or path in life.

There was no sense in bemoaning her hardships or dwelling on what could have been or how she should have lived her wedded life with Brigham.

What if she’d accepted his offer to accompany him to London?

It was the thought she attempted to keep unexplored.

However, this night, it was only Mellie, the moon overhead, and her musings.

In that moment, standing as husband and wife in this very garden, Mellie could have said yes. Arrangements could have been made to secure her mother’s safe passage to town, Mellie and Brigham would have had more time to grow as one instead of establishing separate lives. Certainly, Brigham did not reside at his London townhouse every night, as he’d spoken at great length in the past about his many trips to grand estates all over England to discuss his reform bills with any and every influential lord who would lend an ear and backing.

Perhaps her mother would have been well enough for Mellie to accompany Brigham about the English countryside instead of remaining secluded at Hockcliffe.

She shook her head. There was little to be gained from dwelling on that which could not be changed.

Focusing on the garden around her, Mellie was surprised to see her feet had taken her to the exact spot where she and Brigham had become husband and wife. Viscount and Viscountess Whitmore.

Most days, she was still the pauper daughter of a lowly baron.