The Girl is Not For Christmas: A Christmas Regency Romance Novel

by Emma V. Leech

  Well, there was more than one man in the world, not that she’d ever met more than a handful of them. Society was thin on the ground here, and she’d been too busy with Charlie’s brood to meet the few there were very often. There were plenty of gentlemen farmers about who would snap her up but that would not help the children. She needed a wealthy man, wealthy enough to see Harry and George through school and university and give the girls their come out. A man like that would not be found in Bude or anywhere near here.

  Great Aunt Agatha!

  The idea hit her like a lightning strike. Her aunt was a daunting, mysterious figure, and one she only knew from the occasional letter that came their way and usually left Charlie in towering rage. Not that he ever let her read them. He said Aunt Agatha was a wicked creature, and Livvy must have nothing to do with her. It was one of the few things Charlie and their grandfather had ever agreed upon. Apparently, she had a reputation. She was also a very wealthy widow, and always gave a lavish New Year’s Ball at her home in Bath.

  Bath was not so very far away. Perhaps if Livvy could get there, her aunt might take pity on her, might lend her a gown and introduce her to some eligible men. Might give her a chance… might wave her magic wand and give her glass slippers and turn a pumpkin into a carriage. Livvy swallowed down a wave of misery. Yet it was her only chance, a straw to cling to against the torrent that seemed to be swirling around her, threatening to sweep her off her feet and tow her under.

  “Miss Penrose?”

  Oh, how bloody perfect. Livvy cursed the man to Hades. She must look a fright, soaked to the bone, her eyes burning from weeping too hard, and no doubt her nose was as red as a beacon from spending too long standing on the beach while the wind buffeted her back and forth. So, naturally, her nemesis had come to speak to her.

  “Good heavens,” Kingston said, his eyes widening as he took in the picture she made. She could only imagine how unattractive she must look. “You’re soaked to the skin. Come inside at once.”

  Livvy balked, having had quite enough of men telling her what to do for one day.

  “I am more than capable of looking after myself, I th-thank you, my l-lord,” she retorted through chattering teeth, and then ruined it with a disgusting sneeze.

  “There, you’ve caught a chill, you idiotic creature. What the devil were you thinking, wandering about in such weather with your skirts wet through? Don’t you have the sense you were born with?”

  He took her arm, no doubt some chivalrous instinct raising its head that had not quite been drowned in brandy, but Livvy felt a burst of alarm. Why, she could not have said, except that it felt as if another man were taking charge of her life, and she simply snapped.

  “No!” she yelled, pulling herself free. “No, I won’t go with you! I’ll look after myself, I always look after myself, no… no one else… n-no one else….”

  To her horror, the words stuck in her throat and her eyes burned hotter still. Though she’d believed she had no tears left to cry she broke down, sobbing in the middle of the garden with the Earl of Kingston staring at her in utter horror. Good lord, she’d be sent to a madhouse if he had anything to do with it. No doubt it would amuse him greatly. Yet she could not stop. The heavens opened once more and the rain hammered down, but Livvy could not move. Some dam inside her had burst, and all the misery and sadness she’d forced down for so many years exploded out in a disgusting show of emotion that would send any sane man running for the hills.

  Except Kingston did not run.

  Livvy gasped as he swept her up, strong arms holding her as though she weighed nothing at all, which she knew was not the case. She was too miserable to protest, too worn down to fight. For all she knew, he was going to take her to some dark place and murder her. She couldn’t find the will to care. Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  Somewhat to her surprise, he did nothing reprehensible, but carried her to the stables, out of the rain. The horses whickered a greeting, and the scent of hay and leather soothed her jagged edges a little. Kingston set her down on a bench and then sat beside her. He said nothing, only handed her a large white handkerchief.

  Livvy took it from him and wiped her face, blew her nose, and took a shuddering breath, trying to find some semblance of calm.

  “We’ll go back inside once you feel able to face it. I know you don’t wish me to interfere, but you’ll catch your death if you don’t change out of those wet things.”

  She nodded meekly, hardly able to dispute it whilst her limbs trembled so hard.

  “Is he such an appalling prospect?”

  Livvy blinked and turned her head to regard him in outrage. Curiosity glinted in his dark eyes, but he showed no sign of impatience or condemnation. The earl shrugged.

  “Hard to keep a secret when the servants chatter. Walsh heard about it. So… is he? Appalling I mean.”

  “Y-Yes,” she managed, wrapping her arms about herself.

  He nodded and got to his feet, took off his coat and settled it about her shoulders. The warmth from his body still lingering in the fabric only made her shiver harder, but it was lovely.

  “Th-Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. We shall call it quits. You’ve seen me at my worst and now I’ve seen you. We’re both human. Who would have thought it?”

  Livvy snorted. “A passionate crying fit hardly equates to a lifetime of drink and debauchery, my lord.”

  He returned a grave nod. “True. You need a deal more practise. Perhaps you should try hitting me, or throwing things about?”

  A sideways glance in his direction showed her a placid expression, but there was laughter in his eyes.

  “Are you offering to present yourself as a target? I would be more than willing to try that, believe me.”

  He grinned at her then. “There you are. You feel better now you can be unkind to me, don’t you?”

  “Hmph. I do. How strange.”

  Kingston shook his head and stretched his long legs out before him. “Not strange at all. Like most young ladies, you’ve likely spent much of your life fighting back your feelings and smothering all the things you wish to say when things go awry, but you hold me in contempt, so you need not watch that sharp tongue of yours. You can vilify me to your heart’s content and never feel a moment’s guilt for having done so. Liberating, I should imagine.”

  Livvy pursed her lips. “That’s not entirely accurate. Yes, I do enjoy scolding you. It is most satisfying, but the truth is I have always been a deal too free with my opinions. Though that’s only because my brother is—”

  She clamped her mouth shut against her words. Charlie might have betrayed her trust, but Kingston was a stranger. She’d not discuss her brother’s shortcomings with him.

  “Your brother is a good-hearted fool until he gets himself into deep water, and then he can be a selfish prick.”

  Livvy gasped and opened her mouth to remonstrate before thinking better of it.

  “Yes,” she said. “Precisely that.”

  “I know how you feel.”

  “I sincerely doubt it,” Livvy replied, somewhat scathing at the idea they should have the least thing in common.

  “My father cut me off because I won’t marry to please him.”

  Livvy gaped at Kingston as he turned to face her.

  “There see, I have shocked you.”

  “And is she appalling?” she asked.

  Kingston shook his head. “No, but I should be if I married her. She’s sixteen.”

  “Good God!”

  “Oh, you think that’s the worst of it,” he said, bitterness lacing each word. “I assure you it is not. Her parents agreed to the match three years ago. Three years I have denied him, and made him so furious he set out to ruin me. I tried to make my own way, you see. Nearly succeeded, too, until my father—he’s the Marquess of Eynsham—and the Duke of Olney got their heads together. The duke is the girl’s father, of course. A splendid match, is it not?”

&n
bsp; Livvy could hardly speak from considering a match between this big, dissolute fellow and a child of sixteen,… thirteen when the match was proposed. Good God, and she’d thought her brother a monster for treating her so, and she was a grown woman. She considered her oldest niece, Susan, thirteen years old and still playing with dolls and reading fairy stories, and her stomach lurched. Yet Kingston had denied them, despite losing what must have been a lavish lifestyle, when he could have married the chit and gone about his way… he’d stood firm.

  Livvy took a breath. She respected his actions, and he ought to know that. “You did right, my lord. Though it sticks in my throat to admit it, I… I admire you for doing the right thing.”

  Kingston snorted and narrowed his eyes at her. “My, that must have stung.”

  “A bit,” she admitted.

  “There, there, Miss Penrose. Never fear, I shall say something shocking any moment now and the feeling will wear off.”

  Despite everything, she laughed. “I never doubted it.”

  They sat in silence for a while, which was surprisingly comfortable… or would have been if she wasn’t freezing. Yet she was not ready to go indoors.

  “What will you do?”

  He shrugged. “Damned if I know. I made my way gambling until now, which I do well enough to get by, but… but it seems I have a bit of a… a problem.”

  “You cannot let yourself drink again, because next time you won’t stop until you’re dead in a ditch.”

  He sighed. “You don’t mince your words, do you? I suppose I should say I find it refreshing, but it’s rather like being scoured with a scrubbing brush.”

  “Invigorating,” Livvy said, nodding, though she knew he meant nothing of the sort.

  “Painful,” he amended.

  Livvy dared another glance at him and noted the troubled look in his eyes. “You can do it, you know. I recognise a stubborn individual when I see one, and yes, before you fling it in my face, it takes one to know one. I am stubborn, and so are you. You have the fortitude to resist your demons, my lord. Perhaps all you need is something else to focus your attention on.”

  He nodded, surprising her with the crooked smile that touched his mouth. Goodness, but he had a lovely mouth. Livvy tore her gaze away, horrified at having noticed such a thing. He might not be the monster she had believed him to be, but he was still a man with the morals of an alley cat. She ought not be alone with him, let alone notice his lovely, lush, sensuous mouth.

  Oh, damnation.

  “Yes, I have thought the same, the trouble being I cannot turn my attention to earning an honest living, for one because I am a nobleman, and it is not the done thing—”

  “Which you don’t give two hoots about,” Livvy put in.

  He gave her the benefit of another lopsided grin which was far too endearing. “I do not.” His smile faded and he reached out, tugging a straw free from a nearby bale and twisting it between his long fingers. “But whatever I do, my father will ruin it. I’ve tried several times now and it isn’t only me who suffers when he destroys whatever I try to build. I don’t have the heart to try again, to make something work only to watch him reduce it all to rubble and dust. I certainly can’t drag anyone else into it and now… now I haven’t a farthing to my name.”

  “What if your father didn’t know?”

  Kingston shook his head. “He has an uncanny knack for finding things out. So, if earning my keep is not an option, that leaves me with gambling and dallying with the ladies… and we have gone full circle, I believe.”

  Livvy rolled her eyes at him. “I did not take you for a man who lacked imagination, my lord. Not with the vivid and horrible visions your mind created for you when you were out of your senses. Surely you can think of more to find in life than that?”

  Suddenly she was the focus of his intense, dark gaze and her skin, which had been chilled and clammy, warmed until her cheeks burned. “Perhaps someone needs to teach me what else there is, for I can think of nothing.”

  “Perhaps,” Livvy said, irritated to find her voice had gone all thready and breathless. Sensing danger, she got to her feet. “Thank you for your kindness, Lord Kingston. I am quite calm now, so I had best return to the house.”

  He stood too, reminding her just how big he was, how broad and powerful, even after having sunk so low. Livvy remembered how he had lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all, and her heart—irrational organ that it was—skipped to double time.

  “I am at your service, Miss Penrose. If you feel yourself falling into a fit of the dismals, do feel free to come and remind me what a disgusting excuse for a man I am. I feel certain listing all my shortcomings will make you feel much more the thing.”

  He said it with such sincerity, with such a straight face that Livvy could not hold back a peal of laughter.

  “You are quite the most baffling creature I have ever come across,” she said.

  Kingston bowed. “The feeling is entirely mutual.”

  Livvy shook her head in bewilderment and turned to walk back to the house. It wasn’t until she closed the kitchen door behind her she realised she was still smiling. Somehow, Lord Kingston had pulled her out of the depths of misery and made her laugh. He’d lightened her heart when it had been at its most heavy and despondent.

  Goodness, but what a strange and dangerous fellow he was.

  Chapter Six

  9th December 1818.

  The bizarre nature of dreams, blackberry jam, and indelicate propositions.

  Livvy spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning, beset by strange dreams. It began with the horror of life as Mrs Skewes and a trapped panicky sensation that had her waking in the early hours, gasping for air. After giving herself a stern lecture not to be such an addle-brained twit, she had gone back to sleep only to fall into a nightmare of a different sort. This time she was Lord Kingston’s wife, and was sharing his house with any number of misshapen goblins and terrifying demons. The walls of the house were lined with shelves, and the shelves were lined with endless bottles of brandy. Every time Livvy emptied one down the drain, Kingston would simply laugh and snatch another off the shelf and pour it down his throat. By the time she awoke again, far too early to get up, she was quite out of sorts and bleary-eyed. She wasn’t entirely certain which dream had disturbed her the most, but having dreamed of Lord Kingston at all seemed so dreadfully inappropriate she could only wonder how she would look him in the eye at breakfast. After washing and dressing, Livvy decided she wouldn’t be hungry this morning and solved her dilemma.

  As the rest of the household was still abed, she enjoyed the peace of the early morning. She carried her candle down the stairs to the kitchens and stirred the fire back to life. Gelly would be here soon but, for now, she was free to sit in the warmth and allow her thoughts to wander. Somehow, she needed to think of a way to free herself from her brother’s plans, and his influence. The only solution was to put herself into someone else’s keeping, for she had no particular skills or contacts that would provide her a job as a governess. Her aunt might have pity and take her in, but Charlie would still be her legal guardian, and that was never again going to be a comfortable thought. Eventually, Charlie would land himself in debtor’s prison. It seemed inevitable now, and then what would happen to the children? If Livvy was comfortably settled, she could take them in and provide for them. If she married a wealthy man, she could send Harry to university and give the girls the season they needed. She might not be selfless enough to accept Mr Skewes’ tender mercies, but she was nothing if not practical. So she must marry.

  But how to marry a man who would not be controlling, or cruel, or curb her freedom? She had long given up on the notion of marrying for love. Having a husband who would treat her kindly, who would respect her wishes and support her endeavours was a lovely one, but far less likely to come to pass than either of the peculiar visions she’d had last night, goblins and all. She must waste no time on fairytales. This was the real world, and she had a probl
em with which she must get to grips. The only man she could hope to marry her would be one who needed her rather than wanted her. Perhaps someone older, or infirm, or unsightly, or with some personal habit that might be off-putting. So long as he was not a reprehensible character, surely they could learn to rub along well enough. She might even be content if he was kind and good-natured. After all, she did not expect Prince Charming. She was no diamond of the first water herself. How to get such a man’s attention and get him to the altar fast enough, though, that was the question. The one thing she knew about the marriage mart was that the competition was stiff. A man with a heartbeat and a fortune was in high demand, no matter his personal qualities. She on the other hand was too long in the tooth, had no dowry and was only passably pretty.

  If she got herself to her aunt’s in time for the party, she might have only days before Charlie came to fetch her back again. He would, too. She knew he was annoyed with her but, more than that, he did not like or trust their aunt. As selfish and idiotic as he was, Charlie did care for Livvy—in his own way—and would see it as his duty to rescue her from their aunt’s pernicious influence. So, she must find the right man, and make him so desperate to marry her that he would carry her off to Gretna Green, or invest in a special licence. It seemed an unlikely scenario, whichever way you looked at it. Yet, on the few occasions she had read the scandal sheets, she had discovered that many of the most successful high-flyers were not great beauties. So what was it they did? How was it they gained a man’s attention and made him so wild with desire that he’d pay huge sums just to be in their company? Not that she had pretensions to compete with them, or to become a Cyprian, but even a little of their skills—whatever they might be—could only help her get the desired outcome of a home of her own.

  But who on earth could she ask about such a thing…?