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

by Emma V. Leech

  “I can be practical too, Livvy,” Ceci said with dignity, and Livvy could only smile.

  King looked up from the piano keys to find Walsh watching him.

  “Calmed down now, have you?” Walsh enquired.

  “No,” King replied, glowering at the keys. “This is a bloody madhouse.”

  Walsh snorted. “Must be why you like it so much.”

  There was a tap, tap, tap, on the window and King jumped, turning to glare at the crow. It tilted its head, regarding King sideways through the glass, one obsidian eye glinting.

  “That damned bird,” he muttered wrathfully. “I swear it’s an omen of doom.”

  “Or it just wants to come in,” Walsh pointed out. He moved to the window.

  “No! Walsh, don’t you dare—”

  But it was too late. The bird flew in with a flurry of black feathers and skidded to a halt on top of the piano. Its big black beak opened and emitted a discordant caw.

  “Stay away from me, demon spawn,” King said, glaring at it.

  It glared back, unblinking.

  “Caw!”

  At that moment Livvy entered the room, smiling to discover her crow.

  “Mr Moon,” she said with obvious delight. The crow flew to her, landed on her finger, and allowed her to pet him for a moment before flying back to the top of the piano to bother King.

  “Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish!” King cursed it.

  “Oh, here we go,” Walsh muttered, while Livvy looked on with interest.

  “Caw!”

  “Away, you three-inch fool!”

  “King, really,” Livvy protested.

  “Caw!”

  “I am sick when I do look on thee,” King said, getting into his stride now.

  Mr Moon cocked his head to one side and took a step closer to him. “Caw!”

  “I scorn you, scurvy companion!”

  “Caw!”

  “Oh,” Livvy said, realisation dawning. “That was Henry IV.”

  “Thou art a boil, a plague sore!”

  “Oh, oh, King Lear!” Livvy said, putting up her hand. She was getting the hang of it now.

  “Caw,” said Mr Moon, unimpressed.

  “Thou art unfit for any place but hell!”

  Livvy hesitated and then yelled, “Richard III!”

  King chuckled, amused despite himself. He looked back at the crow and shuddered. “Oh, Livvy, make it go away. It gives me the pip.”

  Livvy rolled her eyes at him, clearly thinking him quite ridiculous.

  “Come here, my handsome fellow,” she said to Mr Moon, obviously seeking to irritate King all the more.

  Sadly, it worked, but it was a relief to see her back to her usual self after the morning’s upset, so King let it go.

  “I’m going for a walk,” she said, turning back to King with Mr Moon perched on her shoulder like a parrot. “I should like to show you… something.”

  She made an odd jerking motion with her head in the direction of the garden, making it clear she had an ulterior motive.

  Walsh cleared his throat and made himself scarce, clearly interpreting her words in the same way King had.

  “Now, Livvy,” he scolded, even as his body tightened with anticipation. “If I won’t debauch you in the comfort of a bed, you can’t think I’m so bloody mad as to do it in this filthy weather. We’d catch our deaths, and frankly—”

  “No!” Livvy said, interrupting and tutting at him. “Honestly, is that all you can think of?”

  “Me?” King retorted, stung. “Well, I like that!”

  Livvy folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. “Do you want to see what I’ve been doing with Ross Moyles, or do you not?”

  King’s eyes widened.

  “Oh,” he said, surprised.

  “Yes, oh,” Livvy repeated, adding a sarcastic tone. “I shall be in the garden in ten minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “I shouldn’t dream of it,” King murmured, and watched her hurry away.

  King slanted Livvy a look as they walked in silence through the wet garden. The rain had cleared, the sky a bright white, but everything was sodden, and moisture hung in the air. It clung to Livvy’s hair, giving her a rather ethereal appearance. God, but she was lovely.

  “Stop looking at me like that or I shall drag you into a bush and ravish you,” she said tartly, though her beautiful lips twitched with amusement.

  King snorted. “You would too.”

  Livvy nodded. “So, don’t tempt me.”

  He sighed and wondered why life was such a damned bitch. Why now? Why had fate thrown her into his path now and lit her up like a beacon, screaming love and salvation this way, if he wasn’t allowed to have her. It was too bloody cruel.

  “It’s this way,” she said, taking his hand now they were out of sight of the house and pulling him across an open field.

  “Will Mr Moyles be there?” King asked, curious what this was about.

  Livvy shook her head.

  “No, he has a farm to run.” She glanced up at the sky overhead and sighed. “If only there were more sunshine. Still, it’s mild enough, that’s a blessing. A hard frost is the big concern.”

  “Is it?” King said, perplexed.

  Livvy noted his bemused expression and laughed. “Yes, it is.”

  She dragged him behind a large, tumble-down barn. Brambles grew thickly here and snagged at their clothes. It looked as if no one had been here for years… until you moved farther around the back. There was a neat path cut through the overgrowth and a well-trodden track. They walked single file now with Livvy leading the way, still holding King’s hand as though she were afraid he’d run away. More buildings appeared, decrepit, with holes in their roofs and ivy tangling through broken windows, or the toothy gaps where windows had been.

  “Where are we going?” King asked, wondering what on earth she’d been up to.

  “Not long now,” she called over her shoulder.

  They turned a corner and…

  “Here!”

  King looked about him.

  “Well?” Livvy said.

  He frowned. “Er…”

  She tsked at him and tugged his hand. “Here,” she said, pointing down at the remains of what looked to be a storeroom on the side of another small brick building. The walls had been knocked down, leaving perhaps three feet of wall backing onto the barn, which was still intact. Sitting on top of what remained were large windows, clearly salvaged from the other crumbling buildings, fitted to make a kind of cold frame. King moved closer, peering through the glass.

  “Good heavens,” he said, straightening to stare at Livvy. “Is… is that…?”

  “Yes!” Livvy said, beaming at him, clearly proud of herself and enjoying his flummoxed expression. “Isn’t it marvellous?”

  “But… But how?” King demanded, wondering how they had managed it.

  “Well, they’re in a bed of manure and oak bark. Both create heat around the roots, you see. Then, in the little building behind, we’ve piled tons more manure, which also heats the air through those holes in the wall. So, the plants are nice and snug. They do take a lot of tending, but Ross comes every night to cover the frames with blankets and put straw bales around the walls in case of frost.”

  King gaped at her, so astonished by her resourcefulness he was lost for words.

  “Pineapples,” he said in wonder, shaking his head. “You’re growing pineapples. Good heavens. I would never have guessed that was what you were up to. Not in a million years.”

  Livvy laughed, clapping her hands together and looking thoroughly smug. He wanted to kiss her.

  “When?” he said once he had his wits about him again. “How?”

  Livvy leaned back against the wall of the barn, looking fondly down at the pineapple plants.

  “A few years ago, Charlie and Ceci came back from a grand party and they brought the top off a pineapple. Charlie asked if he could tak
e it to show the children, and his friend agreed. Well, our old gardener, Mr Trethewey, retired years ago, but I often visit him and so I took the top to show him too. He was so excited,” she said, grinning now. “He showed me how to peel off the outer spikes and put the top into water. After a few weeks, it had begun forming roots. Oh, King, it was so marvellous. Like magic!”

  She laughed, and King moved closer to her, drawn like a magnet, like a man too long in the cold seeking the warmth of a cosy hearth.

  “Then what?” he asked, hypnotised by the light in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks from the pleasure of sharing her story with him.

  “Well, Mr Trethewey had a friend that worked in the Duke of Hartington’s hothouses, and so he wrote to his friend and asked how one might go about growing a pineapple. We assumed he might not wish to tell us, gardeners often keep their secrets close you see, but the fellow had been Mr Trethewey’s apprentice as a young man and remembered him fondly, so he sent clear instructions and said to contact him again if ever we needed to.”

  “And so you roped in your old friend Ross to help you?” King said, wondering at this astonishing woman who had seen an opportunity and grasped at it, made it happen.

  Livvy nodded. “I didn’t dare tell Charlie. He’s so enthusiastic about schemes to get rich, I was worried he’d start spending on the strength of it or get his hopes up too high. We had our first fruit off the original plant the year before last, but the summer was poor, and it was small and green. We got a little for it, enough to keep going, but the plant produced lots of baby plants. Last year we had one, magnificent pineapple. We sold it for two guineas,” she said, her pride apparent. “I believe we could have achieved a far greater price if we had the contacts, but as I couldn’t tell Charlie or sell it myself, Ross had to, and…. Well, we were pleased enough. And look now.”

  King looked back at the plants, and at the three healthy looking pineapples.

  “I know it’s not a fortune, not in the grand scheme of things, but it’s been such a blessing for Ross with another baby on the way, and these plants will produce yet more plants after they’ve fruited. Ross will build another frame next to this one to house them.”

  “Walsh,” King said at once, a flicker of hope stirring in his chest.

  “What?”

  “Walsh is the fellow you need.” King gave a huff of laughter. “Lord knows I don’t understand it myself, but being my valet has a certain… cachet. Everyone knows him and he knows everyone. Indeed, his bosom pal is valet to the Duke of Sandon. You want contacts with the ear of the rich and powerful, Walsh is your man. He’ll get you the best price. I swear the fellow could sell dirt, given strong enough motivation.”

  “Oh,” Livvy said, staring at him in wonder. “Oh, thank you, King. Oh, that’s… that’s wonderful!”

  King shook his head.

  “The very least I can do for everything you’ve given me, Livvy. Though in truth, I am not lifting a finger. It is Walsh who will be of service to you. I am of neither use nor ornament, as ever,” he said with a bitter laugh.

  “Don’t say that!” she said, her anger startling him. “Don’t say it and don’t ever think it. King… my goodness. Don’t you have any idea of the kind of man you are?”

  He stared at her for a moment, perplexed by her outburst, but his lips quirked in a wry grin. “Sadly, yes,” he replied.

  “No.” She folded her arms, glaring at him. “No, you don’t. You don’t have the least clue, you great numbskull. Honestly, if only I could make you see—”

  “You’ve made me see so much,” King said, smiling. “You’ve made me realise what is important, and I can never thank you enough for that. My God, Livvy. You are the most astonishing creature. Truly remarkable. To think of everything you have achieved here. I am so proud of you.”

  She flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “Oh, well, it was hardly just me. Mr Trethewey had the idea to grow it, and then the information from his friend, and without Ross…”

  King stepped closer, unable to stop himself, and pressed his finger to his lips.

  “You made it happen, Livvy. You’ve kept this family together, been mother and father when you’ve had to be; you are the strongest person I have ever met and you make me feel ashamed for having buckled and given in when you kept going under far harder circumstances.”

  Livvy shook her head, tears in her eyes now.

  “Oh, no. Not harder, for I had my family. I was surrounded by the people I loved and who loved me. They lifted me up when I was utterly blue devilled. You were all alone, King, and that is the hardest thing in the world, and I am so, so proud of you. Whatever happens after Christmas, don’t be alone anymore. Find someone to care for, someone who cares for you. Please, my love….”

  Her voice quavered and King could not bear it. He took her in his arms and held her tight.

  “Don’t be alone anymore,” she whispered.

  King buried his face in her hair and squeezed his eyes shut. The idea of not being alone if Livvy was not with him…

  He could not bear the thought of anyone taking her place, for no one could. She had snuck into his heart despite his best efforts, and now she’d gotten a hold of him. It was only now he realised how weak he’d been in the past, for his loneliness and despair was nothing to pain of knowing he must give her up. Yet he would bear it, for her. He would not let her down, not let her faith in him be proven hollow. He would survive, he would watch from a distance, cheering her on as she married another and saved her family, and no doubt grew a bloody pineapple empire. God only knew she could do it. She could do it, and he would be glad for her, even as he died a little more for every day that she was not in his life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  16th December 1818.

  And the scales fall…

  Livvy padded through the darkened corridor, candle in hand until she got to King’s door. Silently, she turned the knob and pushed it open, about to step through when she came face to face with Mr Walsh.

  Livvy gave a little squeal as Walsh stepped hurriedly out into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss,” he said, looking wretched. “I’ve tried talking sense to him, but he won’t have it and… and I’m to sleep in his room until we leave.”

  Despite the darkness hiding the furious flush of colour that was scalding Livvy’s face, she did not doubt Walsh was aware of her heightened colour. The heat being given off her cheeks must be akin to standing before a crackling fire. Damn you, King!

  “I see,” she said, mortified that the bloody man had employed a… a bodyguard to defend his honour. Argh.

  “Please, Miss, you’ve got to understand, for all his wild ways, his lordship… he’s…”

  “Noble and generous and kind, and honourable to his bones,” she finished with a heavy sigh.

  Walsh’s lips turned up in a smile. “Ah, you have got him figured out then.”

  Livvy nodded. “I suspected when you came after him. You are obviously a very accomplished valet, Mr Walsh, and no doubt in some demand. Why you would stick to a man of the kind his reputation suggested he was made no sense at all… unless there were something about him that inspired a deep sense of loyalty.”

  “That’s, King, a regular conundrum he is. I don’t mind telling you I’ve been at my wit’s end these past few years. It’s been so good to see him here, to see him heal. He’s happy, or at least, he would be if it weren’t all about to end.”

  “Oh, Walsh,” Livvy snivelled. “Stop, for heaven’s sake. I have become the most dreadful watering pot of late.”

  Walsh silently handed her a handkerchief. Livvy snatched it from him and buried her face in it until she was calm again.

  “You love him,” Walsh observed.

  “Oh, of course I’m in love with him,” she said irritably, flapping the handkerchief at him. “Do stop stating the obvious. Not that it does anyone the least bit of good for I c-can’t have him, can I?”

  Walsh sig
hed, scowling, and looking remarkably fierce. “There must be a way. Bleedin’ hell! Beg pardon, excuse my French.”

  Livvy snorted. “Don’t mind me. Believe me, I’ve uttered a few choice words on the subject.”

  The valet gave her an approving smile. “Reckon you did an’ all, Miss. Oh, and I shall get to work on your little project tomorrow if I might borrow some writing materials. I’ve a good few people in mind who ought to come in handy.”

  “Thank you, Walsh. That… That is marvellous, and so kind, and I shall ensure you are compensated for your help too.”

  Walsh waved this off, shaking his head. “Tis a pleasure to help you, Miss. It is truly.”

  “Oh, don’t be nice,” Livvy begged, her throat thick. “You’ll start me off again.”

  “Sorry, Miss.”

  They stood in awkward silence for a moment until Livvy sighed. “So, he will not come out and face me then?” she said, putting her chin up.

  “Don’t reckon so, Miss, but don’t give up. Between us… surely we can think of something.”

  “If you have a way of turning pineapples into solid gold, I’m all ears,” Livvy remarked bitterly, and then turned on her heel and stalked back down the corridor.

  “Is she gone?” King asked as Walsh returned to his room.

  Walsh glowered at him but said nothing.

  “Oh, I see,” King said, folding his arms. “I’m the monster for keeping an innocent out of my bed. Good to know. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Nothing new there, I suppose.”

  “Keep your hair on,” Walsh said, tutting. “I know you’re doing the right thing it’s only… ah well. I wish you’d just marry the girl. You’ll never meet another like her, and you know it. Don’t let her get away, my lord.”

  “Tell me how,” King growled, frustration and longing making him angry now. “For the love of god, give me something solid, something real, not dreams and fairy tales and you’ll figure something out. Give me a plan, Walsh, something I can do.”

  Walsh stared back at him, shoulders hunched.

  “No, I didn’t think so,” King replied with a cynical twist to his lips. “Then keep your bloody mouth shut.”