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

by Emma V. Leech

  King set to work, enjoying the hum of conversation as Gelly and Livvy and Ceci chattered. The children came and went, fetching and carrying, and Spargo with a tray full of wine glasses. He shot Livvy an apologetic glance.

  “Forgot,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “Oh,” King looked up, realising they’d be forgoing wine on his account. “No, don’t… You ought not have to…”

  “We don’t have to,” Livvy said firmly. It was her obey or suffer the consequences voice and he knew better than to argue with her. “We are choosing to. None of us are great drinkers so it is no vast sacrifice, I assure you. We will be far happier knowing you are comfortable than making you restless for the sake of a few sips of wine.”

  “I… Thank you.” King held her gaze, not knowing quite what to say. He’d never felt so entirely at home, so very welcomed as he had in this rather unconventional household. For a moment he imagined his father’s reaction if he’d ever come across him peeling sprouts in the kitchen. Good God, he’d have an apoplexy on the spot. Yet King was happy. True, he would not wish to do it every day, nor did he imagine Gelly would welcome him. As it was, she kept giving him sceptical glances and inspecting the sprouts to see if he was making a mess of it. But today was Christmas, and it seemed truly to be full of gladness in a way he had never experienced it before. The holiday had meant nothing to him other than a day of suffering through his parent’s company and trying his best to be visibly grateful for a lavish gift that he never seemed to be grateful enough for. Not enough to please his father, at least.

  Once preparations were well advanced and the increasingly over excited children were on the point of bursting, they ate a hurried breakfast and then it was declared to be time for presents. Everyone gathered in the parlour and Charlie began distributing gifts to the children.

  “They were already bought,” he whispered to his sister, an apologetic glimmer in his eyes.

  Livvy only gave a slightly exasperated laugh and shook her head, kissing Charlie’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Charlie.”

  Everything was unwrapped and exclaimed over, and Charlie thoroughly scolded for having bought George a drum.

  “Look, Ing,” George said, proudly striding up and down with the drum on a string about his neck. He hit it with great enthusiasm until all the girls were holding their ears.

  “Marvellous,” King said, relieved he was no longer drinking. That would have been a hellish noise for a man with a hangover. It was quite trying enough sober. “I tell you what though, George. I have a little something for you too, but… you must put the drum down to unwrap it.”

  George pursed his lips, considering this, before casting the drum to one side. Everyone let out a breath of relief.

  “Present, Ing?” George said, bouncing eagerly on his toes.

  “Only a very little present,” King warned him, anxious now in case he’d over egged the pudding and the child was disappointed. After all, it wasn’t an exciting gift for a small boy.

  King handed it over to him, watching nervously as George unwrapped it with surprising care.

  “Oh!” George said, staring at it. “Argos?”

  King nodded, pleased he’d made the connection. “Yes. I’m no great artist, but I think it’s a fair likeness.”

  “Look! Look, Libby. Argos.” He ran to his aunt, waving the little pencil drawing.

  Livvy looked at it and King’s heart ached at the look she sent him, so very happy and proud. “Why, how modest you are, my lord. It’s beautiful. He looks a very fine fellow indeed, doesn’t he, George?”

  George nodded and sat staring at the picture for a moment before remembering his drum. “Take Argos for me, Lib Lib,” he said, thrusting the picture at her and rushing off to commence bursting everyone’s eardrums again.

  “Oh, George, do take it into the hallway,” Ceci wailed, clutching at her ears.

  Thankfully he did, and the sound muted somewhat as he strode up and down the length of the house. Everyone laughed with relief.

  “Right, er… Susan, Lydia and Rebecca, Jane and Birdie.” King handed over small parcels containing a variety of colourful ribbons that Mrs Cardy in the haberdasher’s had assured him would find favour with the girls. He was relieved to discover she was correct. Ceci exclaimed happily over Birdie’s pink ribbon and insisted on making a bow on top of the baby’s head with her little golden curls. She looked so adorably silly that everyone had to kiss her, which made Birdie giggle and coo. The largest parcel King gave to Harry, who exclaimed with delight to discover five of King’s best cravats.

  “Oh, King, I… but you won’t have anything left to wear,” Harry protested.

  King laughed and shook his head. “Walsh always packs far too many, and I’ve plenty more at home. Do not trouble yourself on that count.”

  “Well, that… that’s marvellous. Thank you so much.” Harry had gone a bright pink and was staring down at the cravats with something akin to awe. King smiled, a little dazed to discover that Walsh had been correct. They had been more than pleased with his gifts.

  As it was the tradition of the house that only the children got gifts on Christmas day, King was a little stunned to discover they all had something for him. There were drawings from the younger children, a carefully written letter from Harry thanking him earnestly for his cravat tying lessons, a colourful scribble from George which the boy presented alongside a big wet kiss, and a handkerchief from Susan with a large, slightly askew K embroidered in one corner. By the time they were done, King was thoroughly overwhelmed. He stammered his thanks, gathered up his gifts and made a hurried excuse, disappearing out of the door. He most certainly needed a moment to compose himself.

  Chapter Twenty One

  25th December 1818.

  The most marvellous Brussels sprouts, and a change of heart.

  Livvy watched King escape with a sigh. She wished she could make a home for him where he could get used to being treated with such love and affection without the need to run away when it all got too much.

  “Is he all right?”

  Livvy turned to her brother, who looked puzzled over King’s hurried exit.

  “Do you know much about his parents, Charlie?” she asked.

  Her brother pulled a face. “Ugh, the Marquess of Eynsham and his lady. More than I need to, I assure you. Very high in the instep.”

  Livvy nodded, unsurprised. “Can you imagine being an only child with them at Christmas?”

  Charlie’s eyes grew wide. “The poor devil. I… I never considered.”

  Livvy nodded sadly as Charlie confirmed what she had guessed to be true. “He’s not used to being so welcomed, not by a family of our peculiar variety anyway,” she amended wryly. They both knew he’d been welcomed with open arms by a certain section of society, but that was not an appropriate topic of conversation.

  “You told me once that King didn’t have friends,” she said, her voice low. “Is that true?”

  “Yes, I believe it probably is,” Charlie said, thoughtful now. “He was always a popular boy at school. Idolised actually, but… but I don’t remember him ever having close friends. Nothing changed since either. He’s always seen out carousing with the same old faces but I… No. I can’t imagine him being friends with them exactly.”

  Livvy frowned, wondering what he would do next. Surely, he could not mean to return to those fair-weather friends. It would a terrible strain on him to return to that life and not begin drinking again.

  “Will he be all right?” she asked, unable to still the fear in her heart for him. “When he leaves us, I mean.”

  Charlie gave her a searching look. “You are in love with him, Livvy.”

  Livvy shrugged, unable to deny it. “I… Oh, Charlie, I worry for him so.”

  Her brother sighed and took her hand. “I’ve let you down, Livvy. I know I have. If I hadn’t made such a blasted mull of things, you might have married him and…”

  “Don’t,” she said, shaking her head, understanding now
why King had stopped her from saying what she wanted. It was too raw to speak of.

  “Whatever happens, I shall stay in touch with him, Livvy. I shall make certain he is well, and he will always be welcome with us, no matter where we end up.”

  Livvy nodded, her throat tight, and clung to her brother’s hand.

  By the time dinner was ready, King had composed himself and Livvy had buried her heartbreak convincingly enough to make merry with the rest of the family.

  Gelly had made them a splendid feast and there was a large roasted goose and a dozen other dishes from roasted potatoes to glazed carrots and peas and, to Charlie’s delight, not a single dish of cabbage. Everyone exclaimed that the Brussels sprouts were the finest they had ever eaten and made King laugh with their increasingly ridiculous compliments. All except for George, who had taken one look at the sprout on his plate and handed it back to King.

  “Ugh,” he said, screwing up his little face.

  Everyone dissolved.

  The Christmas pudding was served with thick cream and whilst a little less indulgent than usual, having been fed with plum juice instead of brandy over the past weeks, was no less delicious.

  Once dinner was done, parlour games ensued and Livvy wondered at how she was falling ever deeper in love with King as he happily made a fool of himself with the silly games everyone insisted he take part in.

  Too soon the day was over, and the children were reluctantly put to bed, all except for George, who had fallen asleep in King’s lap an hour earlier than usual, utterly exhausted.

  Finally the house was silent, and Livvy met Walsh’s eye as they passed in the corridor. “Got a deal of clearing up to do in the kitchens,” he said awkwardly. “Then I told Spargo I’d play cards, as it’s our day off tomorrow. Don’t need to get up early see, so…”

  Livvy moved closer and kissed Walsh’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I shall be leaving early in the morning. It will take two or three days to get to Bath and my brother wishes to go to my aunt’s before the party begins to ensure, well… that we are not thrown into the gutter in front of all her guests, I think. I believe they are rather at outs.”

  Walsh nodded his understanding.

  Livvy turned away and then thought better of it. “Don’t… don’t wake him tomorrow, then. You should both enjoy a lie in. I shall say everything I wish to tonight and… I don’t think I could bear to say goodbye to him. Not in front of everyone. You do understand?”

  Walsh nodded, and she was surprised to see his eyes glitter with emotion. “I do, Miss, and… I wish things were different.”

  Livvy nodded. “So do I. Merry Christmas, Walsh. Take good care of him for me.”

  “I’ll do my best, Miss Penrose. Merry Christmas to you too.”

  Livvy hurried away, returning to her room before she gave into the urge to weep. She would not cry tonight. No matter what, she would not have King’s last memory of her to be one of a weeping female. Besides, that would hardly persuade him to give her the night of passion she was hoping to get from him. For she had made up her mind, and this time, she would not be thwarted.

  King sat in his room, staring down at the gifts the children had given him. George’s colourful scribble was crumpled up where the child had got a little over excited and almost ripped the paper. King smoothed it out carefully and allowed himself to imagine a child of his own, a child that Livvy had given him. His heart felt like it would burst free of his chest, it was so filled with longing at the image in his mind. He drew in a deep breath. How could he bear it? How could he let her go? Compared to losing Livvy, giving up drinking had been a mere trifle. Living without drink was a choice he could make and force himself to stick to. Living without Livvy… It seemed like choosing to live without air, without water or salt. She was necessary. She was everything.

  The door handle snicked quietly as it opened. King got to his feet as it closed again, and he heard the key turn. He’d known she would come. Of course he’d known. No doubt she’d conspired with Walsh, who would have been only too happy to help her stake her claim on his heart. Not that there was anything left of him to tie down. He was entirely hers, had been from the beginning.

  “Ah, Miss Penrose, I’m glad you’ve come.”

  “You are?” she said softly, her surprise apparent.

  “Why yes, for I have not had the chance to give you your Christmas present.”

  Pleasure lit her eyes, and he wished he had something else to give her. He wanted to lavish her with gifts, not that she would ever wish for such extravagant things he knew. Livvy had taught him what was truly of value, and he knew his gift would please her more than jewels or pretty fripperies.

  “Here,” he said, reaching for the roll of paper he had tied with a red silk ribbon, one he’d bought especially for her.

  She took it from his hand and sat down on the bed, carefully tugging the ribbon free.

  King watched as she looked at the sheet music he had written himself, and at the title. Dreams of Olivia.

  “This is the music you were playing,” she said, looking up at him.

  King nodded, moving to stand before her. “I wrote that piece a long time ago, Livvy,” he said, his voice low. “I was far younger and less cynical then and it was filled with hope, with dreams for my future, for the possibility of a happier life. It was filled with you, love, though I didn’t know it then. It was you I have always dreamed of. I’d come to believe nothing so lovely and perfect could exist in real life, only in foolish dreams. I was wrong. You’re flesh and blood and as real as I am and… I love you, Livvy. I always shall.”

  She made a choked sound and got up, flinging her arms about his neck. “Oh, you wretched man. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry all over you tonight and n-now l-look. You’ve turned me into a p-perfect watering pot.”

  King laughed, holding her tight as she sobbed against his shirt. “I wouldn’t have you any other way. I am very fond of your red nose.”

  “Oh,” she wailed. “Don’t tell me my nose is red. I suppose my eyes match, do they? How very attractive. I imagine you can’t wait to get your hands on me.”

  “Ah, Livvy,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “I’ve never seen anything so perfect as you in my life. You make my heart sing, and I can hear music again when it had been lost to me for such a long time.”

  “Oh, King, do stop saying such wonderful things to me. My poor heart can’t take it. It’s so terribly in love with you too, you see.”

  King’s heart skipped at the words. He’d hoped, had wanted to believe it, but to hear it said out loud… “Is it, Livvy? Truly?”

  She made an odd snorting sound and buried her face in his shirt again. “Oh, you know it is. You knew I was in lust with you from the beginning. Then you made it so very enjoyable to scold you, honestly, you lured me in, you dreadful man.”

  “Did I?” he asked, grinning now.

  “You know very well no woman can help but fall in love with a man who cuddles babies and plays on the floor with small children. It was very bad of you, King, really it was.”

  “I know, love,” he said apologetically. “But I’m not the least bit sorry I’m afraid.”

  Livvy sighed and stared up at him, her eyes shining in the candlelight. “Me either, my lovely rogue. I should not have missed these past weeks for the world. You’ve made me so very happy.”

  “I don’t want it to end,” he said, wondering how he could bear to let her walk away.

  “Neither do I,” she said, her eyes still bright with tears. “But what choice do we have? It was just for the holidays, just for Christmas. A beautiful gift.”

  King bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. He couldn’t listen to those words, could not only keep her for Christmas and let her go. Her mouth was soft and warm and sweet, and desire was an ache beneath his skin. She pressed closer, her body warm beneath the thin cotton of her nightgown. King deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down her back to cup her lovely behind and pull he
r closer against him. Her breath hitched as she felt his arousal and King smiled against her mouth as she reached for his shirt, tugging it up so she could slide her hands beneath it.

  “Take it off,” she muttered, breathless.

  King obeyed, only too happy to oblige her.

  “The rest too,” she demanded, her heated gaze making his blood heat, surging through his veins like it was on fire.

  “You are dreadfully bossy,” he said mildly, throwing his shirt down and reaching for the buttons on the fall of his trousers.

  “I know, but I think you like it,” Livvy said, never taking her eyes from him. The desire he saw there, the need, was enough to make him move faster still, and he kicked the rest of his clothes off to stand naked before her.

  “I do,” he said, his body growing harder still as she stared at him in wonder. “I like that you know what you want, Livvy, that you speak your mind.”

  Her gaze travelled up, lingering on the place where his arousal was blatantly obvious, up his stomach and chest to his face. “I know what I want,” she agreed, moving closer to him. “I want you, King. All of you. Make me yours, even if it is only for tonight. I will manage whatever comes next. If I must sacrifice my heart to keep the children safe, I will do it, but let me have this. I feel like I might die if I never know how it feels to be with you.”

  “Livvy,” he said, his heart breaking. He felt the same way, but he didn’t think he could do it, didn’t think he could sacrifice her, or allow her to give up their future. The children must be safe, but… but surely he could find another way. He would strip the castle bear if he must, sell every painting, every stick of furniture, his soul if it came to it, but he could not give her up. “Livvy,” he said again, needing to tell her, but she pressed her mouth to his.

  “No. Stop talking,” she commanded. “Kiss me.”

  King laughed, unable to deny her anything, and there was time enough to talk, to convince her to take a chance on him. It would take some persuading, he didn’t doubt. She loved him, but to put the children’s future in his hands, a man with his reputation. Livvy would worry for them and rightfully so, worry he might start drinking again and let them down. For once, King was not afraid. He had something to fight for now, something to believe in, and he would not mess it up.