Warming Winter's Heart: An Historical Romance Novella

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  The only person not actively occupied at that moment was Aunt Harriet. She sat a little apart from the rest of the room and her thinned lips as she looked at Julian told him she was not well pleased. She adjusted her shawl to make it obvious the seat beside her was free. He might as well address whatever the issue was now as later. In fact, it was preferable – he knew Harriet wouldn’t make too great a scene while in company.

  He took the seat beside her and asked discreetly what was wrong.

  “I’m surprised you need to ask,” she admonished. “You invite us to London and offer to help the girls with their Season, then we hardly get to see you. Hardly the behavior of a good host, Julian. Your father would be most disappointed in you.”

  Any guilt he might have felt about being a neglectful host evaporated at the mention of his father. He spoke through gritted teeth to keep his voice low.

  “I’ve provided you a quality address to stay at, a generous allowance to purchase what fripperies are required, and afforded you an introduction to the one of the most well-connected women in London and everything that goes with it. What more do you expect of me, Aunt?”

  Harriet straightened and shook herself, giving every appearance of a hen whose feathers were ruffled. “There’s no need to get yourself into a huff, Julian,” she hissed at him. She glanced about to ensure she had not attracted attention before continuing in a breathless whisper. “There is a most suitable young lady who has been more than patient waiting for you to do the right thing by her.”

  So that was it.

  “It should be more than clear by now, Aunt, that I owe Lydia Stonely nothing.”

  “You’ve led her on. She expects—”

  “Then she’s bound to be disappointed. Any claim Lydia has is only a product of her imagination which you keep indulging, Aunt.”

  “I see only too clearly why your father despairs of you, as now do I. It’s scandalous, mooning after a woman like Lady Lavene while she parades around with a bast—”

  Julian’s glare was enough to make the woman swallow the rest of the word.

  “Pick your next words carefully, Madam,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You are dancing on the fine edge of my forbearance and it will take very little to arrange for the three of you to be on the next coach back to Yorkshire.”

  A silent battle of wills was waged. In the past, Julian had relented out of deference to Harriet’s age and sex. But this time, he would not be moved. In the end it was his aunt who lowered her gaze first.

  “If that is the way you truly feel,” she sniffed, “then there is nothing I can do but to remind you of your honor as a gentleman and reputation as a Winter…”

  Oh, no, he wouldn’t be falling for those appeals.

  “That is the way it shall be, Aunt Harriet. I do not intend to ever have this discussion with you again.”

  Chapter Eight

  “How big is a lion?” Lucas asked, holding up a carved wooden one from his Noah’s Ark.

  Caroline smiled as she laced her son’s boots. Beside her, Mrs. Stewart struggled to fit the little boy’s arm down the sleeve of his coat while he still held the toy.

  “Well, you’ll find out today, Master Lucas,” Mrs. Stewart said. “But not if we can’t put your coat on. We’ll not having you freezing to death.”

  “Nanny is quite right, Lucas. Let me hold Leo a moment,” said Caroline, coaxing the toy from the little boy’s grasp.

  “I should like to take Leo with me. He would like to see lions, too.”

  This was not the first time they’d had this conversation this morning. She’d hoped he’d forget about bringing his companion, but here they were, the clock striking nine. Julian would arrive soon to take them on their excursion.

  “Are you sure that’s a wise idea? What if Leo likes it so much there, he decides to stay? Won’t his lioness get lonely all by herself?”

  It was an off-hand remark, a piece of fiction to try to persuade a little boy to leave an easily lost toy at home, but Lucas stopped what he was doing and looked directly at her.

  “Lonely like you, Mama? Do you need a lion?”

  Did he know his childish, artless words touched the deepest part of her soul, the one that still ached from time-to-time?

  Caroline pulled him into her arms before he could see her tears welling. “Why would I need a lion, my darling, when I have you?”

  The boy accepted the embrace a moment before fidgeting and pushing away. “Don’t be silly, I’m not a lion. I’m a cub.”

  A short time later, Julian arrived in a closed carriage in deference to the weather which appeared to be changeable.

  Caroline sat next to Mrs. Stewart and watched as, opposite, a lively Lucas told Julian everything he knew about the animals they might encounter at the Tower Menagerie.

  Was the child being a bother?

  It certainly didn’t seem so. Quite the contrary, Julian was participating equally in the animated conversation.

  How different Lucas was in the company of a man than in the mostly feminine company at home.

  A boy needs a father.

  She hid that observation deep in her breast, pushing it down, down, before it could tug at her heart once more.

  Encouraged by Julian, Lucas made animal calls – a lion’s roar, an elephant’s trumpeting, a monkey filling the carriage with raucous sounds. Mrs. Stewart put a finger to her temple and closed her eyes.

  It was beginning to be too much. Did Julian know what he had unleashed in the boy?

  “Lucas,” she called over the noise. “What sound does a kangaroo make?”

  At least the question brought an end to the high-pitched squealing her son imagined monkeys to make.

  He frowned. “I don’t know, Mama. I don’t think they make a noise at all. I think all they do is jump about like rabbits.”

  Once the thought occurred to him, Lucas started bouncing up and down. Julian must have seen her dismayed expression because he swiftly settled the boy on his knee and distracted him by pointing out the Tower which was now coming into view.

  After paying a shilling apiece, the four were admitted into the Tower enclosure where the menagerie was kept. A watchman conducted the tour and Lucas was determined to be at the front with Mrs. Stewart. The woman kept a tight hold on his hand to prevent him from venturing too close to the bars that were all that stood between them and the panthers and leopards in the big cat enclosure.

  Caroline accepted Julian’s arm as they walked behind the group.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Lucas is enjoying himself tremendously… as am I.”

  Those few words put a smile on Julian’s face that made her heart double in beat. And why would it not? What woman alive would not blush when such a smile was turned on her?

  “And I am glad of it,” he told her. “Lucas is a fine boy.”

  Some who made such an observation used it to disguise a question about his origins. Coming from Julian, she took the statement at face value and, in his case, decided to tell him the story.

  *

  Julian nodded, wondering whether Caroline suspected he was prying. He’d had no such intention. But now she had laid the matter out in the open…

  “If I might be frank, why did you not say as much to Baroness Thornley in Hyde Park the other day?”

  “I am the only mother Lucas has ever known. As far as he knows, I am his mother. But he is now getting to an age where he is curious about everything. How would it benefit him to know the woman who gave him birth rejected him? And to learn of this before a stranger?”

  Julian had to confess he had no ready answer for that, only that gossip would no doubt spread. Caroline had to be aware of it.

  “I hadn’t appreciated how alone and isolated I’d become in the five years since my husband died,” Caroline continued. “Raising Lucas has given my life purpose again. It’s only been in the past little while that I’ve given thought to the future.”

  “I hope you would consider me a part of it,
too.”

  The words were out of his mouth before he could catch himself.

  Caroline stopped; her sweet, brown eyes wide. The menagerie tour continued on, leaving them alone with only leopards for company.

  “I couldn’t impose, that is to say…”

  Julian disengaged his arm but took both of her hands in his.

  “Over the past week, fate has been determined to throw us together,” he said softly to stop his voice echoing down the vaulted ceiling of the wild cat exhibit.

  “Just as Lucas came unexpectedly into your life at a time you needed someone, is it outside the realm of belief that such a thing may happen again?”

  She looked away, but not before he saw color on her cheeks. She had not taken her hands away from his, and he considered this a good sign.

  “Or perhaps it is me to whom Fate is showing favor,” he whispered. “I’ve desired a family of my own for the longest time. Thank you for letting me be a part of yours these past few days.”

  A silence stretched on between them. Julian desperately needed to see her face. His heart had been frozen for so long, seeking a woman who did not care for a title or wealth, but who loved her family and who would one day love him and make him a part of hers.

  “Oh, Julian.” Caroline’s tremulous voice caused him to hold his breath and brace for a rejection. She raised her face to his. Her expression told him she had not misunderstood his intention. “There is so much we do not know about each other.”

  “There are a thousand reasons why we should not pursue an attachment, Caroline,” he answered. “But I’m looking for the reason we should. Allow me to pay court and win your love – and that of Lucas.”

  Her smile was the sun out from behind the clouds on a cold day and Julian felt more of his heart thaw at the sight of it.

  “You have already won his favor by everything you’ve done already.”

  “Then let me win yours.”

  Caroline tucked her arm in his. “I would say you are already off to a very good start.”

  They continued through the passageway to catch up with their group.

  “There’s a ball to be held on the twenty-third–” he started.

  “Viscount Carmarthan’s Midwinter Ball?”

  He nodded.

  “I received my invitation from Lady Abigail the day before yesterday,” she told him.

  Julian smiled. “There you are, Lady Lavene, the Fates are at work again.”

  *

  The fabric merchants of Cheapside had not yet closed their shops for the evening. As Caroline’s carriage made its way slowly through the streets towards St. Luke’s Mission, she could see through a window into a shop where a mother and daughter examined a bolt of sky-blue satin.

  It seemed bright colors were all the mode at the moment, Caroline observed. Behind the two women was a bolt in a shade of apple red. Such a shade would go well with a collar of garnets she owned…

  I wonder what the fashionable form of headdress is these days?

  The carriage jolted on the uneven cobblestones breaking her from her reverie and there was a shout as two drivers ahead of them argued about the right of way.

  How strange that she should be as thrilled as she was over a piece of white card and printed words. It was an invitation to a ball, that’s all it was.

  But no matter how many times she told herself that on the trip to St. Luke’s, she couldn’t quite make herself believe it.

  After spending a wonderful day with Julian today, she knew this was the beginning of a new life if she was brave enough to take it.

  And that was her dilemma – she wasn’t sure she was.

  It was comfortable hiding behind the guise of the grieving widow. People let her be; they had no expectations of her. She could make her own decisions and, in truth, once the period of deep mourning had ended, although she bitterly missed Tristan, she relished the freedom she had.

  A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance…

  She was ready to share her life with someone else; Lucas was proof of that. But as much as she adored the child, it was not the same as being held in a man’s powerful embrace, to be a lover as well as a wife and mother.

  Lonely like you, Mama? Do you need a lion?

  If a child of four could see it, how obvious must it be to others?

  And there were other considerations, more private, intimate ones.

  Although she had not long passed the age of thirty, she thought the time for carnal pleasure had passed her by. And she might have even been content with that, channeling her passion instead to more noble pursuits. But ever since Julian had come into her life, she wondered whether there might be more…

  Perhaps it was Fate.

  The hatch between cabin and driver opened, bringing in a swirl of cold air mixed with smoke.

  “We’re here, my lady,” he said. “Shall I call for ye at the usual time?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The Mission was ablaze with light and the aroma of a hearty stew being prepared filled the air. That wasn’t all; there was an expectancy in the air.

  St. Luke’s itself was lit so Caroline went in there first. She entered to see a group of men and women cleaning the church, which was busier than usual during the advent season – a time for preparation and reflection.

  The hand-painted wooden nativity figures were now in place beside the altar. Mrs. Camp was putting the final touches on the display, bringing the statue of the Virgin Mary closer to the manger, closer to the son who was hers and yet was to be so much more.

  “How did Lucas enjoy the visit to the Menagerie?” the vicar’s wife asked.

  Caroline smiled “He has spoken of nothing else since. His nanny and I had to put him to bed surrounded by all his animal toys.”

  “It was very kind of your young man to suggest it.”

  “I think it might be too much to describe him as my young man.”

  “I shouldn’t be too sure about that. My husband has already put him to work over at the Mission.”

  Caroline shook her head, unsure whether she’d heard right. “Julian is here?”

  Mrs. Camp nodded. “He told the reverend that he wanted to meet The Nightingale.”

  Caroline sank down onto the front pew. “He knows I’ve written the articles for The Argus?”

  “He’s a clever fellow and made an educated guess.”

  She let out a long breath. Her flight of fancy was becoming all too real.

  “Today, Julian said he wants to consider a future with me and Lucas,” she whispered.

  Mrs. Camp patted her arm and drew her attention to the nativity. Mary stood close to the Christ Child while Joseph watched over them both.

  “Your Mr. Winter would not be the first man to willingly adopt the son of the woman he loves.”

  Chapter Nine

  Julian sat playing draughts with an old Irish sailor called O’Toole.

  He arrived at St. Luke’s a couple of hours ago on a whim. In fact, the truth be known, the idea had only come to him after he had seen Caroline and Lucas home after their excursion to the Menagerie today.

  Lucas… St. Luke’s.

  Hyde Park.

  The choir.

  The pamphlets.

  The Nightingale…

  How had he missed something so obvious? And once the idea had rattled around in his mind, it was just one small leap to make a guess at the identity of the writer of the stories that had the city abuzz.

  When he arrived, he asked who was in charge and was told it was Reverend Camp who could be found at that moment in the kitchen. Julian went in there and asked a working man scrubbing a pot clean where the reverend was.

  “I am he,” replied the man. “How can I help you?”

  Julian was taken aback. The reverend didn’t wear his robes of office, just every day working men’s clothes, and here he was with sleeves rolled up doing the work of a scullery maid. He instantly liked the man.

 
“No, I am here to help you,” Julian had told the man. “I am at your service for the night.”

  Julian was told, to his surprise, to simply sit and talk with those who came in.

  “These folks don’t want pity,” the reverend said, “just a bit of dignity, a warm feed and a reminder that the good Lord sees everyone the same. Just spend time with them, then let me know I’m right.”

  So, he did.

  The longer he spoke to them, the more he realized he knew these stories, knew these men and women – he’d read their tales in The Argus.

  Caroline was The Nightingale.

  Confirming that made him fall in love with her just a little bit more. What a remarkable woman.

  A chuckle forced him to concentrate on his game. O’Toole looked at him then took up one of his white counters and, with a clip-clip-clip-clip-clop, Julian found himself on the losing end of the game.

  “Ye’re lucky the reverend don’t allow gamblin’ in here. Ye’d have owed me a quid,” the man chuckled.

  Julian laughed and shook the man’s hand. “So, tell me, what’s an Irishman doing in London?”

  “Most would say I’m up to no good.”

  Yes, Julian was aware of the suspicion held of the Irish. Many of them had Jacobin sympathies and others openly supported Napoleon.

  “But what do you say?”

  “I says I’m just bidin’ my time until I’m well quit of the grog. It’s been three weeks since a drop of liquor touched my lips.”

  “Are you feeling better for it?”

  “Aye, that I am.”

  “Is it hard?”

  “It’s bloody hard. Hardest thing I done in my life. But harder still if I can’t keep a job. The reverend says he’ll find me a position if I keeps meself clean for three months and show up here regular.”

  “How about another game?” Julian suggested. “You might let me salvage some of my pride and at least try for the best out of seven.”

  O’Toole got to his feet.

  “No offendin’ yer lordship, but I reckon old Ned over there will give me a better game.”

  Julian chuckled, not in the least bit offended. He stood and shook O’Toole’s hand just as Caroline came through the door.