A Christmas to Remember

by Lisa Kleypas

  “Yes, my lord.”

  She left the room quickly, her emotions in chaos, feeling chilly and anxious and wanting to feel the comfort of Andrew’s arms around her.

  Chapter Four

  IT HAD BEEN two weeks since the Earl of Rochester had died, leaving Andrew the entirety of his fortune as well as the title and entailed properties. Two interminable weeks during which Caroline had received no word from Andrew. At first she had been patient, understanding that Andrew must be wading through a morass of funeral arrangements and business decisions. She knew that he would come to her as soon as possible. But as day followed day, and he did not send so much as a single written sentence, Caroline realized that something was very wrong. Consumed with worry, she considered writing to him, or even paying an unexpected visit to Rochester Hall, but it was unthinkable for any unmarried woman under the age of thirty to be so forward. She finally decided to send her brother Cade to find Andrew, bidding him to find out if Andrew was well, if he needed anything . . . if he was thinking of her.

  While Cade went on his mission to locate the new Lord Rochester, Caroline sat alone in her chilly winter garden, gazing forlornly at her clipped-back plants and the bare branches of her prized Japanese maples. There were only two weeks until Christmas, she thought dully. For her family’s sake, Caroline had decorated the house with boughs of evergreens and holly, and had adorned the doors with wreaths of fruit and ribbons. But she sensed that instead of a joyous holiday, she was about to experience heartbreak for the first time in her life, and the black misery that awaited her was too awful to contemplate.

  Something was indeed wrong, or Andrew would have come to her by now. And yet she could not imagine what was keeping him away. She knew that he needed her, just as she needed him, and that nothing stood in the way of their being together, if he so desired. Why, then, had he not come?

  Just as Caroline thought she would go insane from the unanswered questions that plagued her, Cade returned home. The expression on his face did not ease her worry.

  “Your hands are like ice,” he said, chafing her stiff fingers and guiding her into the parlor, where a warm fire blazed in the hearth. “You’ve been sitting outside too long—wait, I’ll send for some tea.”

  “I don’t want tea.” Caroline sat rigidly on the settee, while her brother’s large form lowered to the space beside her. “Cade, did you find him? How is he? Oh, tell me something or I’ll go mad!”

  “Yes, I found him.” Cade scowled and took her hands again, warming her tense fingers with his. He let out a slow sigh. “Drake . . . that is, Rochester . . . has been drinking again, quite a lot. I’m afraid he is back to his old ways.”

  She regarded him with numb disbelief. “But that’s not possible.”

  “That’s not all of it,” Cade said darkly. “To everyone’s surprise, Rochester has suddenly gotten himself engaged—to none other than our own dear cousin Julianne. Now that he’s got the family fortune in his possession, it seems that Julianne sees his charms in a new light. The banns will be read in church tomorrow. They’ll be married when the new year starts.”

  “Cade, don’t tease like this,” Caroline said in a raw whisper. “It’s not true . . . not true—” She stopped, suddenly unable to breathe, while flurries of brilliant sparks danced madly across her vision. She heard her brother’s exclamation as if from a great distance, and she felt the hard, urgent grip of his hands.

  “My God”—his voice was overlaid with a strange hum that filled her ears—“here, put your head down . . . Caro, what in the hell is wrong?”

  She struggled for air, for equilibrium, while her heart clattered in a painful broken measure. “He c-can’t marry her,” she said through chattering teeth.

  “Caroline.” Her brother was unexpectedly steady and strong, holding her against him in a tight grip. “Good Lord . . . I had no idea you felt this way. It was supposed to be a charade. Don’t tell me you had the bad sense to fall in love with Rochester, who has to be the worst choice a woman like you could make—”

  “Yes, I love him,” she choked out. Tears slid down her cheeks in scalding trails. “And he loves me, Cade, he does . . . Oh, this doesn’t make sense!”

  “Has he encouraged you to think that he would marry you?” her brother asked softly. “Did he ever say that he loved you?”

  “Not in those words,” she said in a sob. “But the way he was with me . . . he made me believe . . .” She buried her head in her arms, weeping violently. “Why would he marry Julianne, of all people? She is evil . . . oh, there are things about her that you don’t know . . . things that Father told me about her before he died. She will ruin Andrew!”

  “She’s already made a good start of it, from all appearances,” Cade said grimly. He found a handkerchief in his pocket and swabbed her sodden face with it. “Rochester is as miserable as I’ve ever seen him. He won’t explain anything, other than to say that Julianne is a fit mate for him, and everyone is better off this way. And, Caro . . .” His voice turned very gentle. “Perhaps he is right. You and Andrew . . . it is not a good match.”

  “Leave me alone,” Caroline whispered. Gently she extricated herself from his arms and made her way out of the parlor. She hobbled like an old woman as she sought the privacy of her bedroom, ignoring Cade’s worried questions. She needed to be alone, to crawl into her bed and hide like a wounded animal. Perhaps there she would find some way to heal the terrible wounds inside.

  FOR TWO DAYS Caroline remained in her room, too devastated to cry or talk. She could not eat or sleep, as her tired mind combed relentlessly over every memory of Andrew. He had made no promises, had offered no pledge of love, had given her no token to indicate his feelings. She could not accuse him of betrayal. Still, her anguish was evolving into wounded rage. She wanted to confront him, to force him to admit his feelings, or at least to tell her what had been a lie and what had been the truth. Surely it was her right to have an explanation. But Andrew had abandoned her without a word, leaving her to wonder desperately what had gone wrong between them.

  This had been his plan all along, she thought with increasing despair. He had only wanted her companionship until his father died and left him the Rochester fortune. Now that Andrew had gotten what he wanted, she was of no further consequence to him. But hadn’t he come to care for her just a little? She knew she had not imagined the tenderness in his voice when he had said, I can’t ever be without you . . .

  Why would he have said that, if he had not meant it?

  To Caroline’s weary amusement, her mother, Fanny, had received the news of Andrew’s impending nuptials with a great display of hysterics. She had taken to her bed at once, loudly insisting that the servants wait on her hand and foot until she recovered. The household centered around Fanny and her delicate nerves, mercifully leaving Caroline in peace.

  The only person Caroline spoke to was Cade, who had become a surprisingly steady source of support.

  “What can I do?” he asked softly, approaching Caroline as she sat before the window and stared blankly out at the garden. “There must be something that would make you feel better.”

  She turned toward her brother with a dismal smile. “I suspect I will feel better as time goes by, although right now I doubt that I will ever feel happy again.”

  “That bastard Rochester,” Cade muttered, sinking to his haunches beside her. “Shall I go thrash him for you?”

  A wan chuckle escaped her. “No, Cade. That would not satisfy me in the least. And I suspect Andrew has quite enough suffering in store, if he truly intends to go through with his plans to marry Julianne.”

  “True.” Cade considered her thoughtfully. “There is something I should tell you, Caro, although you will probably disapprove. Rochester sent me a message yesterday, informing me that he has settled all my debts. I suppose I should return all the money to him—but I don’t want to.”

  “Do as you like.” Listlessly she leaned forward until her forehead was pressed against the cold,
hard pane of the window.

  “Well, now that I’m out of debt, and you are indirectly responsible for my good fortune . . . I want to do something for you. It’s almost Christmas, after all. Let me buy you a pretty necklace, or a new gown . . . just tell me what you want.”

  “Cade,” she returned dully, without opening her eyes, “the only thing I would like to have is Rochester trussed up like a yuletide goose, completely at my mercy. Since you cannot make that happen, I wish for nothing.”

  An extended silence greeted her statement, and then she felt a gentle pat on her shoulder. “All right, sweet sister.”

  THE NEXT DAY Caroline made a genuine effort to shake herself from her cloud of melancholy. She took a long, steaming bath and washed her hair, and donned a comfortable gown that was sadly out of style but had always been her favorite. The folds of frayed dull green velvet draped gently over her body as she sat by the fire to dry her hair. It was cold and blustery outside, and she shivered as she caught a glimpse of the icy gray sky through the window of her bedroom.

  Just as she contemplated the idea of sending for a tray of toast and tea, the closed door was attacked by an energetic fist. “Caro,” came her brother’s voice. “Caro, may I come in? I must speak with you.” His fist pounded the wood panels again, as if he were about some urgent matter.

  A faint quizzical smile came to her face. “Yes, come in,” she said, “before you break the door down.”

  Cade burst into the room, wearing the strangest expression . . . his face tense and triumphant, while an air of wildness clung to him. His dark brown hair was disheveled, and his black silk cravat hung limply on either side of his neck.

  “Cade,” Caroline said in concern, “what in heaven’s name has happened? Have you been fighting? What is the matter?”

  A mixture of jubilation and defiance crossed his face, making him appear more boyish than his twenty-four years. When he spoke, he sounded slightly out of breath. “I’ve been rather busy today.”

  “Doing what?” she asked warily.

  “I’ve gotten you a Christmas present. It required a bit of effort, let me tell you. I had to get a couple of the fellows to help me, and . . . Well, we shouldn’t waste time talking. Get your traveling cloak.”

  Caroline stared at him in complete bewilderment. “Cade, is my present outside? Must I fetch it myself, and on such a chilly day? I would prefer to wait. You of all people know what I have been through recently, and—”

  “This present won’t keep for long,” he replied, straight-faced. Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a very small key, with a frivolous red bow attached. “Here, take this.” He pressed the key into her palm. “And never say that I don’t go to trouble for you.”

  Stupefied, she stared at the key in her hand. “I’ve never seen a key like this. What does it belong to?”

  Her brother responded with a maddening smile. “Get your cloak and go find out.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “I am not in the mood for one of your pranks,” she said pertly. “And I don’t wish to go outside. But I will oblige you. Only heed my words: if this present is anything less than a queen’s ransom in jewels, I shall be very put out with you. Now, may I at least be granted a few minutes to pin up my hair?”

  “Very well,” he said impatiently. “But hurry.”

  Caroline could not help being amused by her brother’s suppressed exuberance. He fairly danced around her like some puckish sprite as she followed him down the stairs a minute later. No doubt he thought that his mysterious gift would serve to distract her from her broken heart . . . and though his ploy was transparent, she appreciated the caring thoughts behind it.

  Opening the door with a flourish, Cade gestured to the family carriage and a team of two chestnuts stamping and blowing impatiently as the wind gusted around them. The family footman and driver also awaited, wearing heavy overcoats and large hats to shield them from the cold. “Oh, Cade,” Caroline said in a groan, turning back into the house, “I am not going anywhere in that carriage. I am tired, and hungry, and I want to have a peaceful evening at home.”

  Cade startled her by taking her small face in his hands, and staring down at her with dark, entreating eyes. “Please, Caro,” he muttered. “For once, don’t argue or cause problems. Just do as I ask. Get into that carriage, and take the deuced key with you.”

  She returned his steady gaze with a perplexed one of her own, shaking her head within the frame of his hands. A dark, strange suspicion blossomed inside her. “Cade,” she whispered, “what have you done?”

  He did not reply, only guided her to the carriage and helped her inside, while the footman gave her a lap blanket and moved the porcelain foot warmer directly beneath her soles.

  “Where will the carriage take me?” Caroline asked, and Cade shrugged casually.

  “A friend of mine, Sambrooke, has a family cottage right at the outskirts of London that he uses to meet his . . . Well, that doesn’t matter. For today, the place is unoccupied, and at your disposal.”

  “Why couldn’t you have brought my gift here?” She pinned him with a doubtful glare.

  For some reason the question made him laugh shortly. “Because you need to view it in privacy.” Leaning into the carriage, he brushed her cold cheek with a kiss. “Good luck,” he murmured, and withdrew.

  She stared blankly through the carriage window as the door closed with a firm snap. Panic shuffled her thoughts, turning them into an incoherent jumble. Good luck? What in God’s name had he meant by that? Did this by chance have anything to do with Andrew? Oh, she would cheerfully murder her brother if it did!

  THE CARRIAGE BROUGHT her past Hyde Park to an area west of London where there were still large tracts of sparsely developed land. As the vehicle came to a stop, Caroline fought to contain her agitation. She wondered wildly what her brother had arranged, and why she had been such an idiot as to fall in with his plans. The footman opened the carriage door and placed a step on the ground. Caroline did not move, however. She remained inside the vehicle and stared at the modest white roughcast house, with its steeply pitched slate roof and gravel-covered courtyard in front.

  “Peter,” she said to the footman, an old and trusted family servant, “do you have any idea what this is about? You must tell me if you do.”

  He shook his head. “No, miss, I know nothing. Do you wish to return home?”

  Caroline considered the idea and abandoned it almost immediately. She had ventured too far to turn back now. “No, I’ll go inside,” she said reluctantly. “Shall you wait for me here?”

  “If you wish, miss. But Lord Hargreaves’s instructions were to leave you here and return in precisely two hours.”

  “I have a few choice words for my brother.” Straightening her shoulders, she gathered her cloak tightly about herself and hopped down from the carriage. Silently she began to plan a list of the ways in which she would punish Cade. “Very well, Peter. You and the driver will leave, as my brother instructed. One would hate to thwart his wishes, as he seems to have decided exactly what must be done.”

  Peter opened the door for her, and helped her off with her cloak before returning outside to the carriage. The vehicle rolled gently away, its heavy wheels crunching the ice-covered gravel of the front courtyard.

  Cautiously Caroline gripped the key and ventured inside the cottage. The place was simply furnished, with some oak paneling, a few family portraits, a set of ladder-back chairs, a library corner filled with old leather-bound books. The air was cold, but a cheerful little fire had been lit in the main room. Had it been lit for her comfort, or for someone else’s?

  “Hello?” she called out hesitantly. “If anyone is here, I bid you answer. Hello?”

  She heard a muffled shout from some distant corner of the house. The sound gave her an unpleasant start, producing a stinging sensation along the nerves of her shoulders and spine. Her breath issued in flat bursts, and she gripped the key until its ridges dug deeply into her sweating palm. She force
d herself to move. One step, then another, until she was running through the cottage, searching for whomever had shouted.

  “Hello, where are you?” she called repeatedly, making her way toward the back of the house. “Where—”

  The flickering of hearth light issued from one of the rooms at the end of the hall. Grabbing up handfuls of her velvet skirts, Caroline rushed toward the room. She crossed the threshold in a flurry and stopped so suddenly that her hastily arranged hair pitched forward. Impatiently she pushed it back and stared in astonishment at the scene before her. It was a bedroom, so small that it allowed for only three pieces of furniture: a washstand, a night table, and a large carved rosewood bed. However, the other guest at this romantic rendezvous had not come as willingly as herself.

  . . . the only thing I would like to have is Rochester trussed up like a yuletide goose, completely at my mercy, she had unthinkingly told her witless brother. And Cade, the insane ass, had somehow managed to accomplish it.

  Andrew, the seventh Earl of Rochester, was stretched full-length on the bed, his arms tethered above his head with what seemed to be a pair of metal cuffs linked by a chain and lock. The chain had been passed through a pair of carved openings in the solid rosewood headboard, securely holding Andrew prisoner.

  His dark head lifted from the pillow, and his eyes gleamed an unholy shade of blue in his flushed face. He yanked at the cuffs with a force that surely bruised his imprisoned wrists. “Get these the hell off of me,” he said in a growl, his voice containing a level of ferocity that made her flinch. He was like some magnificent feral animal, the powerful muscles of his arms bulging against his shirtsleeves, his taut body arching from the bed.

  “I am so sorry,” she said with a gasp, instinctively rushing forward to help him. “My God . . . it was Cade . . . I don’t know what got into his head—”

  “I’m going to kill him,” Andrew muttered, continuing to tug savagely at his tethered wrists.