He took note of her use of the fellow’s given name. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Unless…” Her gaze turned speculative. “You wouldn’t rather I marry Matthew, would you?”
“Of course not.” It struck him that they were both uttering a lot of of courses, which could also mean the opposite. But Creath was the most honest, straightforward person he knew. And he couldn’t crush her by telling her anything but, “Of course I want to marry you, Creath. You’re my best friend, and I look forward to our wedding tomorrow.”
When God didn’t strike him with lightning for that lie, he figured He approved of that decision.
Which did nothing to alleviate the knot of pain that was twisting in his gut.
“Mercy, Joseph, look!” Creath was staring out the window at the distant road, barely visible even from their lofty height. “It couldn’t be…?”
He peered out. “It can’t be! It’s still two days till Saturday—”
“It’s him.” Creath had gone white as death. “He’s early.”
TWENTY
CHRYSTABEL PASSED the slipper beneath her skirts to Lord Trentingham, wondering what Creath was telling Joseph. She wished she were as confident in her plan as she’d led him to believe.
What if she were wrong? What if Matthew hadn’t quite fallen in love with Creath yet, or what if he had but was too cautious to tie the knot quickly? When she’d mentioned marriage yesterday, he’d dismissed the notion out of hand.
Or what if Matthew loved Creath, but she didn’t love him back? Chrystabel was fairly certain she’d seen signs of love, but this was her first matchmaking endeavor.
Or worst of all, what if Creath loved Joseph and wanted to marry him regardless of whether there was another alternative? What if she rejected Matthew’s proposal and held Joseph to his promise?
She was so preoccupied with her worries that it took her a moment to react when Joseph stumbled back into the great room, closely followed by Creath.
“Sir Leonard’s on his way!” he hollered. “Half a mile distant at most!”
Icy fear gripped Chrystabel’s heart. Doom approaching. It felt like the Dragoons all over again.
“Why aren’t you in the priest hole?” Joseph looked to Creath as if he’d just noticed she’d trailed him into the chamber. “Go get in the priest hole!”
She shook her head wildly. “I-I can’t,” she gasped, looking terrified. “It was so dark I couldn’t breathe, I just—”
“I’ll take a candle and go with her.” Matthew jumped up from the floor and grabbed Creath’s hand. “Let’s go!” As he pulled her from the room, he called over his shoulder, “Someone will need to follow us and close the false bottom over our heads.”
“We can’t let Sir Leonard see us celebrating Christmas!” Chrystabel rushed to the fireplace and began yanking down greenery. “Where can we hide all of this?”
“Mother, Father, stay here.” Joseph grabbed a couple of newsheets from a rack and tossed them to his parents. “When Sir Leonard shows up, he’ll find you passing an ordinary winter morning in your great room. Stall him as long as you can. Lady Arabel, Chrystabel, we’ll collect all the trimmings and hide them in the priest hole.”
Arabel rushed off. Chrystabel pulled the last of the decorations from the great room and ran through the small sitting room, down the corridor, and into the bedchamber with the priest hole. Craning her neck over her armful of greenery, she saw the wardrobe cabinet’s doors were still open, the false bottom raised and still leaning against the side.
“Watch out below!” she called and tossed it all down the hole, hoping the trimmings weren’t falling on Matthew and Creath.
All the while, she marveled at Joseph’s ability to take charge during an emergency. He would make her an excellent husband, if only everything could work out.
When she turned around, Arabel shoved more decorations into her hands. Then Joseph showed up with yet more. “I fear Sir Leonard must be here by now,” he said.
“I’ll go check,” Arabel said and ran off again.
When Chrystabel went to fling more wreaths and garlands into the priest hole, Joseph held her back. “They might land on the stairs and create a hazard. Let me take them down. It’s safer.”
“We need to gather the rest!”
“This is the last of it. And I doubt Sir Leonard is here to catch us celebrating Christmas, anyway. He wants his bride.”
Below, Creath whimpered.
“I’m on my way,” Joseph called to her. His arms full of greenery, he began backing down the steep wooden staircase, his gaze on Chrystabel above. “Wait till I’m down, then toss me your decorations and follow. Watch the third step—it’s broken.”
Chrystabel leaned into the wardrobe cabinet and glimpsed a room far below. The dim light of Matthew’s candle flickered on walls made of stone. The chamber was surprisingly large for something called a priest hole, and sparsely furnished with a small wooden table, two hard chairs, and a tall, narrow bookshelf against one wall. And a bed. Well, a pallet, really—it didn’t have any bedclothing. She guessed it had been decades since anyone had actually hidden down here.
Even with his arms full, Joseph descended the long staircase quickly. He disappeared for a moment before stepping back into her view. His hands were empty now. “I’m ready,” he called softly.
Chrystabel dropped the last of the decorations into the dimness and followed, avoiding the third step.
No sooner did she reach the bottom than Arabel arrived above. “He’s here! With an ancient priest-hunter, no less! He saw me, so I’m going back to pretend I’m passing the morning with Lord and Lady Trentingham.” With that, she slammed the false bottom into place over their heads.
Matthew’s candle blew out, leaving them in sudden darkness.
Creath whimpered again.
“Hush,” Chrystabel heard Matthew whisper. “It’s going to be all right. We will keep you safe.”
As Arabel banged the wardrobe doors closed above, Chrystabel imagined Matthew gathering Creath into his arms. She couldn’t see anything, so she didn’t know whether he’d done so. But she wished she could see Joseph’s reaction
