The Winter Wish

The Winter Wish
is a work of fiction

All of the characters, organizations,
and

events portrayed in this novel are
either products

 of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously.

Copyright © by Jillian Eaton 2012

http://www.jillianeatonbooks.blogspot.com

All Rights Reserved.

Except for use in any review, the

reproduction or utilization of this
work in whole

or in part in any form is strictly
forbidden.

Other Titles by Jillian Eaton

A Brooding Beauty

A Ravishing Redhead

A Lascivious Lady

For lovers old and new.

CHAPTER ONE

“Sarah,
you are doing it again.”

Glancing
sideways at her best friend, Sarah made a face and sighed. “I know,” she
admitted, twisting her hands anxiously on her lap. “But I simply cannot help
it. He is so very
handsome
, Lily. Do you not think he is handsome?” With
another little sigh, this one dreamier than the last, Sarah returned to staring
unabashedly at Lord Devlin Heathcliff as he waltzed across the ballroom floor.

Strikingly
tall with a well muscled physique to match, the Viscount of Winswood had been
blessed with glossy brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and two matching dimples.
His jaw line was strong, his nose straight. From the top of his head to the
tips of his boots he was sheer perfection in every way, shape, and form. It was
a fact he knew very well and used to his full advantage at every opportunity,
especially where women were concerned.  

As
Sarah watched, her face all but green with envy, the slender brunette in his
arms threw back her head and tittered. The Viscount drew her close to whisper
something in her ear and she laughed again, this time loudly enough to cause a
few heads to swivel. Fearing she could be caught gaping Sarah turned in the
uncomfortable wooden chair she had been sitting on since the ball began some
hours before and exchanged a rueful smile with Lily.

“I
think Lady Roland has big ears and an absolutely vile temper,” her friend said
loyally, referring to the brunette upon whose neck Devlin’s lips were currently
resting. “Not to worry, Sarah. She will be nothing more than yet another
passing fancy. You know how he is with them, like a child with a shiny new toy.
At the last ball it was Lady Awning, remember? And before that Lady Newmore
caught his eye for all of five minutes.” Leaning forward, Lily took Sarah’s
hand and squeezed it tight. “You will have your chance, not to worry. Although—”
her dark eyebrows lifted knowingly “—your chance would come a lot more quickly
if you ever actually got up the nerve to
speak
to him.”

Every
fiber of Sarah’s body rebelled at the idea of talking to the man who she had
been in love with since her sixteenth birthday when she first saw him from
across a crowded room. That had been seven years ago when she was a young
debutante with stars in her eyes and hope in her heart. Now those stars were
long ago extinguished, and the hope… Her shoulders slumped. The hope was all
but gone as well.

“You
know I could never do that,” she said in a whisper, less the other unfortunate
wallflowers who hovered around them overhear. Fretting with a long blond curl
that had come undone from her coiffure, she peeked sideways at Devlin one more
time before looking away with a little gasp. Had
he
been staring at
her
?
Surely not. The very idea was inconceivable. Impossible, even. And yet…

Holding
her breath, she dared one more glance. For an instant her heart slammed against
her ribcage as she saw he truly
was
facing her, but his gaze… Oh, drats.
His gaze was focused on Lily.

“He
is looking at you,” she said glumly.

“Who
is?”

“Lord
Heathcliff.”

Her
friend snorted in unladylike disbelief. “He is not. He is merely – oh, well I
never.
Sarah
,” she hissed, her violet eyes widening with ill disguised
excitement, “he is walking over here, right now! What do you want me to do?”

It
was of no surprise to any of the wallflowers, least of all Sarah, that it was
Lily, amidst all of the women that spent every ball sequestered away in a
corner of the room, who would manage to attract attention of the masculine
variety. After all, she was not
truly
a wallflower. No, she was much too
pretty to be one of them with her long flowing black hair, heart shaped face,
and eyes the color of amethysts. She sat with them out of loyalty, and because
she and Sarah had been the best of friends since childhood.

“Dance
with him,” Sarah said, giving Lily a little push. “Quickly, before he changes
his mind and goes somewhere else.”

In
a flurry of yellow skirts Lily rose to her feet, but she paused to look back at
Sarah, a troubled frown pulling her lips downwards. “Are you certain? I would
never want to—”

“Go,”
Sarah said firmly. “If I cannot dance with him, the next best thing is having
you do it for me.”

Lily’s
entire face lit up. “I will return as soon as it is over to tell you all about
it,” she vowed.

“I
want to hear every single detail, so do not forget anything. Now go!” As Sarah
watched Lily flounce away, she could not help but smile, and her happiness was
truly genuine. She wished only good things for her friend, and what could be
better than spending even a moment in Devlin’s arms?

He
approached Lily with a panther like grace, his long legged gait more a prowl
than a saunter, and Sarah nearly tipped out of her chair as she strained
forward in vain to hear what words were being exchanged as he murmured
something to Lily and she smiled in reply.

Then
they were dancing, and when Devlin curved his arm around the slim hollow of
Lily’s back Sarah felt as though he were holding
her
. And when Lily
laughed at something amusing he whispered in her ear Sarah felt as though
she
were laughing too. It was as wonderful as it was gut wrenchingly horrible,
for in that moment Sarah was forced to acknowledge that this was the closest
she would ever come to being wrapped in the arms of the man she so desperately
– and foolishly – loved.

When
the waltz ended Devlin bowed and Lily curtsied. They parted ways, and Sarah
waited in white knuckled anticipation to hear everything. Unable to sit still,
she met Lily halfway across the ballroom floor, sucking in her belly to squeeze
between dancers and ducking low under a silver tray heavy with refreshments.

“Not
here,” she said when she finally reached Lily and her friend’s mouth opened.
“Come with me.” Hand in hand the two women darted out a side door and, laughing
like children, ran down the long, candlelit hallway until they reached an empty
room.

Like
the rest of the Harcourt Estate upon which the ball was being held, the study
they had stumbled upon was immaculately decorated with gilded framed paintings,
matching love seats in deep burgundy, and an impressive mahogany desk that
boasted neatly piled stacks of parchment and a half dozen leather bound books.

Flames
smoldered in the floor to ceiling fireplace and Sarah jolted the embers awake
with a poker while Lily launched into a lively retelling of every second that
had transpired between her and the Viscount.

“…and
then,” she said, rather breathless from the excitement of it all, “he touched
my hand. Well, all of my fingers, except for the thumb. And he said…”

“Yes?”
Sarah gave the fire an extra hard poke. “What did he say?”

“He
said ‘
You are a lovely dancer
’. Can you believe it?”

“You
are
a lovely dancer,” Sarah pointed out reasonably.

“But
to hear it from him, it truly meant—oh dear, I am sorry.” Her lower lip jutting
out, Lily crossed the room in three quick strides and looped her arm around
Sarah’s shoulders, which were undeniably slumped. “It should have been you,”
she murmured softly. “It should have been you, and here I have been blathering
on about it like a shrew. Forgive me, dearest.”

Sarah
shrugged. “I wanted to know.”

Turning
to face the fire, both women held out their hands to warm them as they fell
into reflective silence. Outside the windows the wind howled, a reminder that
beyond the toasty confines of the study Winter was unleashing her wrath. It was
the second week of December, and the Season had just begun.

For
Sarah it would be her seventh, for Lily her fifth. A decade of failed Seasons
between them, and this one was not looking any more promising than the last. It
did not help that Sarah possessed all the temerity of a field mouse and Lily,
while much more confidant around men, refused to accept the attentions of
anyone less Sarah be courted as well. Since that had yet to happen, they were
both very much ‘on the shelf’ which was not a place any woman under the age of
sixty desired to be.

“I
wish…” Sarah began, but she stopped herself short, unable to give voice to the
secret desire that burned within her.

“You
wish what?” Lily prompted.

Sarah
nibbled on her bottom lip before she said, “I wish Devlin would simply notice
me. I wish he would look up and see me, as he sees those other women. As he saw
you. As I see him.” Sighing, she shook her head. “I know it is folly, but there
it is.”

Drawing
back her shoulders so that she stood at her full height of five feet, three
inches Lily pinned her hands to her hips and drew her eyebrows together over
the bridge of her nose. “I think that is a fine wish, Sarah Emily Dawson, and
you should not think otherwise, do you hear me?”

“Perhaps,”
Sarah allowed softly. “But it will never come true.”

“You
never know,” Lily said, smiling mysteriously. “’Tis the season for miracles…
And I think we are both due for a little magic.”   

CHAPTER TWO