The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

Within minutes she’d set Toby Davenport off on a conversational trail upon which he told her all about his expensive lifestyle, his luxury holidays, and his yacht. Which left Etta free to add the occasional comment of encouragement whilst she savoured the rich flavours of the venison broth, appreciated the authentic tang of cloves and mace from the medieval recipe, and did her best to ignore her body’s hum of awareness at the warmth and sheer presence of Gabriel on her other side.

Until his well-modulated tones broke into the Davenport drone. ‘Sounds amazing, Toby. Etta, here, is about to go on holiday. Tell me, Etta—I’m intrigued. As a historian, do you choose your holiday destinations based on historical interest? You mentioned a cruise... Where are you going?’

Etta opened her mouth and realisation dawned—she had no idea of the answer. Her mind was a resounding example of the clichéd blank state. When she’d booked the cruise its destination had been the least of her criteria—availability had been her priority, because the idea of a ship surrounded by sea had felt safe. That was why it had been worth the remortgaging of her flat and the ransacking of her savings to pay for it. Cathy would be safe from her father.

Because visceral fear had flared inside her—a fear that had been dormant for sixteen years but that had been reignited the instant Tommy had swaggered back into her life days before.

Focus, Etta. Gabe had raised his eyebrows, and his eyes were shadowed with concern.

‘Sorry,’ she managed. ‘Senior moment. I can’t remember.’

‘You’re too young to qualify.’

‘Clearly not. I’ll let you know if it comes back to me.’

Come on, Etta. Change the conversation. Unfortunately her brain was still tuned in to Planet Blank.

Desperation loosened her vocal cords as she saw the challenge in his eyes. ‘In the meantime, what about you? Have you got any holiday plans for Christmas?’

‘No. I’ll be based at Derwent Manor. My parents are away in France, so my father can convalesce, and I need to ensure that various traditions are upheld. Including the annual Christmas Fair at the manor. This year I’ve decided to introduce a Victorian theme—hopefully whoever I get to do the family tree can lend me some advice on that at the same time.’

Etta blinked. She loved to help with events such as this, and she’d bet Gabriel knew that. However innocent those blue-grey eyes looked as they calmly met her gaze.

‘That sounds like a pretty full-on few weeks.’ And a far cry from the playboy-style Christmas festivities she had imagined he would indulge in.

‘It will be. In truth, running Derwent Manor is a full-time job in itself—my parents’ whole life revolves around it.’

‘And yours too?’

‘Not my whole life, no.’

‘But one day it will?’

‘Yes.’ The syllable was clipped, and she’d swear his knuckles had whitened around the crystal water tumbler he lifted to his lips.

‘That must be strange. To always have known what your job will be one day. For most children the perennial question is, What do you want to be when you grow up? For royalty or aristocracy that isn’t a question—you’ve always known what you will be when you grow up.’

‘Yes.’

It was impossible to read anything from the single word—yet she sensed a depth of emotion in the sheer rigidity of his jaw. Did Gabriel Derwent relish or resent his destiny? Speaking of which...

‘You said earlier that you believed in the power of choice over the power of fate, but that’s not true, is it? Fate has decreed that you will become Duke of Fairfax.’

‘Yes.’ As if this time he’d realised the curtness of his response he curved his lips into the famous Derwent smile. ‘But I do have the choice to renounce the title.’

Etta placed her spoon down into the empty bowl. ‘Fair enough.’ Even if she didn’t believe he’d do that in a million years. ‘But not everyone has that sort of choice. Think of all the princesses in history who were forced to marry. They had no choice.’

‘You don’t know that. You could argue that they simply chose to do their duty. And some of them could have elected to give their life up to religion. Sometimes none of the choices we have are palatable, but they exist.’

Etta opened her mouth but he raised a hand to forestall her.

‘I know that there are examples of people who have no choice. Innocent people caught up in a chain of events they can’t control. But I’m not sure fate comes into it—perhaps they are casualties of sheer bad luck.’

‘Fate versus chance?’ Even as she said the words Etta wondered how they had ended up in this discussion. It was almost as if they were in their own bubble amidst the glitz and buzz of their glamorous surroundings, complete with fairy-tale elements.

The warning bells that had clamoured earlier renewed their alarm. But there was no need for worry. Two more courses and she’d be on her way. She’d never meet Gabriel again. This conversation was nothing more than a welcome distraction from her thoughts of Tommy. That was all. A distraction. If Toby Davenport hadn’t been bent on a drunken flirtation with his other neighbour she would no doubt have been distracted just as effectively by him.

Liar, liar, candy cane dress on fire.