Change of Address by Kate Dolan

hasn’t seen since the Tudors died off.”
    She laughed. “That is very kind.” After a moment’s
hesitation, she held up one end of the blanket, an invitation to join her under
its warmth.
    He stepped toward her slowly, as if acknowledging the
importance of the intimacy she offered. Though he sat next to her and she could
feel heat radiating from his body, he made no effort to press against her and
she sat very straight, not wanting to lean on him. Together, they stared at the
flames in silence for several long minutes.
    “It must have been very difficult,” he said at last, “losing
your father, and then having to move.”
    “It was, but we’ve gotten on.” She spoke lightly, but then
decided she was not being entirely honest. “I was quite angry at first. My
cousin—the heir—had invited us to remain at Holingbroke for as long as we
wished and I did not understand why we needed to leave so suddenly.”
    “Perhaps it was some conflict between his wife and your
mother?”
    She shook her head. “He had no wife.”
    “Ah.” He stared into the fire for a moment. “Your mother
made a wise move, I think, though others might not agree.”
    “Whatever do you mean?”
    “The longer you stayed on, the more obliged she would be to
agree to accept his proposal.”
    “But Cousin John was the very soul of propriety. He would
never dream of proposing to a woman so lately in mourning.”
    “Oh, not a proposal of marriage for her, but for you.”
    “Me?” She sat back suddenly, her voice coming in a squeak
that pained even her own ears.
    “It is often the arrangement.”
    “But John Castling is so old, older than Mama, I believe.”
Revulsion coursed through her.
    “And heir to the estate and all its land and income?”
    “Yes. But I would never…Mama would never…” Marry an old man
who wore a powdered wig to dinner every night? The thought was repugnant.
    “No,” he agreed, “I do not believe she would. But you might
yourself feel obligated, if the offer were made. To provide for her and your
sister.”
    “Marry that old man just to provide Honoria with a dowry?
Never!”
    He just looked at her for a moment. “You would, I believe.
You have that sacrifice in you.”
    She shook her head. “To marry for money, Mama says, is the
key to misery. She would not allow it.”
    “You realize that attitude runs contrary to convention.”
    She laughed. “Yes, I’m sure it must. Mama takes great pride
in flouting convention.”
    “And I am most grateful for it.” He took her hand in his and
all at once his voice grew lower and his address more intimate. “I will always
remember this Christmas as the year I rescued new friends from a fire that did
not exist.”
    “And stopped a duel that no one will ever hear of,” she added.
“A Christmas worthy of remembering.” She nestled closer to him and laid her
head on his shoulder, feeling all at once as if she could finally rest at ease.
“Wake me when it’s time to dress for church.”
     
    A painful prickling sensation around his elbow warned
Charlie that he had lost circulation in his left arm, but he did not think that
was what had wakened him. Some abrupt sound intruded upon a dream in which he
waltzed with Miss Castling at the Eights Week Ball at Balliol, her grace and
ease inspiring him to appear with much more aplomb than usual and inciting all
manner of jealous murmurings from his college housemates.
    Charlie’s eyes snapped open when the sound intruded again on
his consciousness. The first light of the winter morning streamed wanly through
the windows as if reluctant to provide any real illumination. The lovely Miss
Castling lay nestled at his side, her legs curled up under her on the settee.
Warmth emanated from her though the air in the room was cold enough that he
could see the clouds of his breath. Overall, he was not inclined to move,
despite the insistent pounding on the door only a few feet away from where he
sat.
    He closed his eyes, pulled