Governesses Under The Mistletoe. Liz Tyner

Children. Such a risk.

      But he didn’t love Isabel, so marriage could not destroy their lives. He would not allow her to love him either. He imagined himself standing beside Isabel as the vicar asked—

      He had forgotten a vicar. No one might be standing there to marry them.

      He’d been so concerned with getting the special licence, the town coach, and telling as many people as he could think of to expect the happy event, he’d forgotten someone to make the words official.

      Within moments, his boots were on and his shirt stuffed into his trousers. He tied his cravat as he rushed down the stairs and he had no idea of how to progress but he was certain the butler would know of someone who could perform a marriage.

      The butler chuckled as he gave William direction to a vicar’s home.

      * * *

      William had had a bit of difficulty finding the house in the darkness, but he banged on the door. He heard a voice grumble out, and then he waited, rubbing his chin, feeling the stubble.

      The vicar, a wisp of a man, finally appeared, his hair falling in snowy frazzles around his face and a scrap of a belt around his nightshirt covering. Without speaking, he waved William inside.

      ‘I have a special licence.’ William shot out the words. ‘I need to be married quickly.

      ‘Is the babe arriving now?’ the vicar asked, tugging the belt tight.

      ‘No,’ William said, taking a step back. ‘There’s no child.’

      ‘Well, then, what’s the rush?’ He squinted.

      ‘I’m marrying today and I didn’t remember I needed someone to speak the words.’

      ‘Are you going to battle?’ the man questioned. ‘Leaving soon?’

      ‘No.’ William shook his head. ‘I just need to be married.’

      ‘Ah.’ Again the man tugged on the tie at his waist and then stepped back, peering through squinted lids. ‘You might come back after breakfast and I’ll decide then.’

      The speck of a man was saying no? ‘It’s your job.’

      ‘A young man pounding on my door in the middle of the night when there is not a babe arriving before morning makes me concerned that he might not be considering the options.’

      William tightened his stance. ‘I cannot go into the details. Just tell me who might be able to say a few quick words to take care of this for me.’

      ‘I suppose you should prepare us a pot of tea and tell me about it.’

      ‘Tea?’ William gasped out. ‘I do not know how to make tea.’

      The man grunted. ‘And you expect to be able to handle a marriage?’

      ‘The servants will handle the tea.’

      ‘Would you like my advice?’ the vicar asked.

      ‘No. But if I stand here much longer I suppose I will be hearing it.’

      ‘Yes. And I know how to make tea, so I do have more knowledge than you on some things and I am not rushing about in the wee hours. So perhaps you should come in.’ He walked away as he talked. ‘You owe me that for waking me. And if your reason for pounding on my door has merit, then I can take care of the marriage for you.’

      William ducked his head, stepping into the scent of tallow candles and well-settled dust. A floorboard creaked under his foot.

      ‘Come into the kitchen with me and I’ll light a candle,’ the vicar said. ‘Don’t bother bolting the door. I always open it anyway, no matter what kind of person is pounding.’ He chuckled in William’s direction.

      After the kettle started, he whisked a glass and wine bottle from a shelf. After placing the glass in front of William, he poured without asking and then concerned himself with his own drink.

      ‘So,’ the older man asked after he finished preparations and settled to sip his tea, ‘what is all the rush about?’

      ‘A young woman and I need to be married. We do not wish for any tales about us to be spread.’

      ‘A compromising position?’

      ‘You could say that.’

      ‘Perhaps you’re overreacting. Tales can fade.’

      William snorted. ‘Not this one.’ He leaned forward. ‘I know what I am to do. We are to be married and we won’t cause interruption in each other’s lives.’

      ‘I have never heard of a marriage which does not cause some interruption in life.’

      ‘I have the funds to see that it happens,’ William said. He stopped. ‘I am very adept at dealing with such things. I can live separately if needed.’

      ‘Marriage. The specialness in part is that it cannot be walked away from. That is what makes it different than, say, not marriage. Love is fickle, though.’

      ‘We are not in love.’

      The vicar sputtered into his tea and set down his cup.

      William continued. ‘We are in agreement. She and I have discussed it. I told her what nonsense love is.’

      ‘Ah.’ The vicar nodded. ‘You shouldn’t have told the truth on that. Not even to me. But if she agreed with that, then I suppose she will have no one to blame but herself.’ He chuckled, and mumbled, ‘Do not expect that reprieve, however.’

      ‘Isabel is not like that.’

      ‘You’ve known her long?’

      ‘Long enough.’

      ‘A lifetime can be not long enough to know what a woman is like before you marry her—from what I’ve seen.’

      ‘The woman I am going to marry is...’ He paused. ‘She’s almost alone in the world, or that’s how she feels. I don’t want her to be alone. I may not be able to give her everything, but I can give her a home, safety and a haven. She’ll have servants. Children, perhaps.’

      In a flash of memory, he could see his parents laughing at the table and then his father throwing crockery about after her death, acting in the same manner as Rosalind when she’d been cross. Only he could not send his father to his room and tell him that the governess would not be reading him a bedtime story.

      His father had never even raised his voice before his wife died. Never acted anything but sensible and selfless. Then he’d become senseless—and selfish.

      William’s eyes flickered to the small man who stared into him. ‘I need to marry her—for my own purpose, but it is not an entirely bad thing for her. Without me, she will likely remain unmarried and not have children of her own.’

      ‘Why do you think she won’t find someone else? Is she unappealing?’

      ‘I wouldn’t say she is unappealing. In fact, she is too appealing—to be safe—alone in the world. It isn’t beauty, though I am not saying she isn’t.’ William smiled, staring at the empty glass. ‘She has this copper-coloured hair.’ He held out his hand, thumb touching forefinger, making the movement as if holding a strand. ‘The light shone on it and she had her bonnet off, and the other men saw it and they saw her eyes, and ten years from now, she could walk into a room and they will remember her.’

      ‘There are other ways to protect a woman besides marriage.’

      William let out a deep breath. ‘Not this one.’ He put the glass on the table and leaned back, stretching his legs. ‘Not this one. She’s been at a school in the country or she would have had suitors lining up. Even at the school, someone found her who wished to take advantage.’

      The minister stood. ‘You think to love her later.’

      ‘No.’