'Tis the Season: Regency Yuletide Short Stories

by Christi Caldwell

  John lifted his chin. “I cannot believe you so flighty, Jane, that you could allow a man, who pretends to be a gentleman, change your thoughts so swiftly.”

  “He did not.” Jane shook her head, her heart squeezing. “I’ve had these thoughts a long time, even if I did not admit them to myself. But I did not want to hurt you, my dear old friend. I believe now that not speaking will do even more harm. What happens if, in a year or two, you meet a lady you truly love? One who could be your helpmeet, your friend, the mother of your children? And you were already betrothed or married to me? Let us prevent that tragedy here and now.”

  John scowled. “Or is it that you wish to fall in love with another and not be tied to me?”

  “Nonsense,” Jane said. “I have no intention of marrying anyone.”

  She flushed even as she spoke. Spencer tempted her, yes, but she barely knew him. She would not fly from an understanding with John to an elopement with Spencer in the space of a day.

  Would she?

  “I believe you,” John said in a hard voice. “Your nose held so high, your frosty demeanor in place. You’ve grown cold, Jane. If I haven’t spoken to you about sharing a stall for life, it is because you are quite disagreeable these days. Your letters to me are so formal, about what calves were born and who danced with whom at the village ball. Enthralling.”

  Jane’s coolness evaporated in a flash. “These in answer to the very few letters you have sent me. I’ve not heard from you since summer, in fact. Do not bother to use the excuse of battles, because your mother has had plenty of letters from you, as has my brother, and I know that the sister of a man in your regiment has heard plenty from him—the letters arrive in England on the same ship. But none from you to me.”

  John reddened. “Hardly seemly, is it, writing to a lady to whom I am not engaged?”

  “It did not stop you the first year you were gone, nor has it stopped you scolding me for not writing scintillating letters to you.”

  John attempted a lofty tone. “You are such a child, Jane.”

  “No, I am not. I am twenty, as I reminded you last night, older than several ladies of my acquaintance who are already married. Old enough to be on the shelf, as you know. But I will not tie us to a marriage neither of us wants to avoid that fate.”

  “Ah, so that is why you were always sweet to me, eh, Janie? So you’d never be an ape-leader?” John’s mouth pinched. “I’ll have you know that I planned to speak to you this week, my dear, but not to propose. To tell you there is the sister of an officer who has caught my eye, and as you have become so cool, and she is quite warm, that we should agree to part.”

  Jane’s heart stung, and she regarded him in remorse. She hadn’t wanted to anger John, but how could he not be angry? His stabs at her came from his bafflement and hurt, but Jane sensed that he was more insulted at her refusal than deeply wounded.

  John would return to his regiment and happily court the officer’s sister, and forget he ever had feelings for Jane. In fact, John had behaved, since his arrival, as though he’d forgotten those feelings already.

  Hopefully, in time, John would forgive her, and they’d continue as friends, as they had been all their lives. But friends with no obligation attached.

  “Good-bye, John,” Jane said, and quietly walked out of the room.

  Spencer did not see Jane the rest of the day. He walked through the gardens, the park, the woods, then took a horse and went on a long ride. It was snowing by the time he returned, and dark.

  He did not see Barnett either, which was a mercy. Spencer then realized he’d seen no one at all as he returned to his chamber. He washed and changed and descended in search of supper, but the residents of the house were elusive. Where had they all gone?

  “Hurry up, lad,” a voice with a Scottish lilt said to him. “You’re the last.”

  “The last for what, sir?” Spencer asked Lady Jane’s grandfather as the elderly man tottered to him.

  “The hunt, of course. Here’s your list. You’re with Thomas and my daughter. Off you go.”

  Spencer gazed down at a paper with a jumble of items written on it: A flat iron, a locket, a horseshoe, a thimble, and a dozen more bizarre things that did not match.

  “What is this?” he asked in bewilderment.

  “A scavenger hunt, slow-top. The first team to gather the things wins a prize. Go on with ye.”

  Spencer hesitated. “Where is Jane? Lady Jane, that is.”

  “With the older cousins and a friend from down the lane. Why are you still standing here?”

  “The thing is, sir, I … I’m not sure who to speak to …”

  The old Scotsman waved him away, his plaids swinging. “Aye, I know all about it. Give the lass time to settle, and she’ll come ’round. She only gave Major Barnett the elbow a few hours ago.”

  Spencer’s heart leapt. “She did?”

  “Yes. Thank the Lord. Now, hurry away. Enjoy yourself while you’re still young.”

  Spencer grinned in sudden hope. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

  As he dashed away, he heard Grandfather MacDonald muttering behind him. “In my day, I’d have already put the girl over my shoulder and run off with her. Otherwise, she’d not think I was sincere.”

  Jane handed her spoils—a blue beaded slipper, a quizzing glass, and a small rolling pin—to her cousin Digby, and slipped into the chamber she’d spied her grandfather ducking into. The small anteroom was covered with paintings her father’s father had collected. A strange place for Grandfather MacDonald to hide—he believed Van Dyke and Rubens over-praised. Only Scottish painters like Allan Ramsay and Henry Raeburn had ever been any good.

  “Grandfather.”

  Grandfather looked up from a settee, where he’d been nodding off, but his eyes were bright, alert. He came to his feet.

  “Yes, my dear? Are you well?”

  “No.” Jane sank down to a painted silk chair. “Everything is turned upside-down, Grandfather. I need your advice.”

  “Do you?” Grandfather plopped back onto the settee, smile in place. “Why come to me, lass? Not your mum?”

  “Because when things are topsy-turvy, you seem to know what to do.”

  “True. But so do you.”

  Jane shivered. “No, I do not. I was perfectly happy with my life as it was. Then John began to change, and Captain Ingram—”

  “A fine young man is Ingram,” Grandfather said brightly. “My advice is to run off with him. You like kissing him well enough.”

  Jane’s face flamed. “Grandfather!”

  “I do not know why you are so ashamed. I saw you kissing him in the garden, and young Thomas says you kissed him at the bonfire.” Grandfather shook his head in impatience. “Latch on to him, Janie, and kiss him for life.”

  Jane’s face grew hotter, her mortification complete. “You ought to have made yourself known instead of lurking in the shrubbery.”

  “Tut, girl. I was out for a walk, a good stride through the yew hedges. Not lurking anywhere. You were standing plain as day by those ridiculous statues. Which is why I don’t understand your shame. You did not kick Ingram in the dangles and run away. You embraced him. With enthusiasm.”

  “Even so.” Jane’s embarrassment warred with elation as she thought of the kiss. “I cannot disappoint my family and uproot my life on a whim.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because …” Jane waved her hands. “What a fool I’d be. I barely know Captain Ingram. He might be the basest scoundrel on land, ready to abandon me at a moment’s notice. The real world is not a fairy tale, Grandfather.”

  “Thank heavens for that. Fairy tales are horrible—the fae ain’t the nice little people painted in books for maiden ladies. Trust me. I’m descended from witches, and I know all about the fae.”

  “Of course, Grandfather.” If not stopped, Grandfather could go on for some time about how Shakespeare based Macbeth’s witches on the women in his mother’s family. “What I mean is I can’t simply cha
nge everything because a handsome gentleman kissed me,” she said.

  “You can, you know. This is why you came to me for advice, young lady, and not your mum. Isobel is my pride and joy, she is, but she’s the practical sort. The airiness of your grandmother and the wickedness of my side of the family didn’t manifest in her. Isobel’s more like me dad, a stolid Scotsman who never put a foot wrong in his life. Didn’t stop the Hanoverians taking all he had.” Grandfather’s gaze held the remote rage of long ago, then he shook his head and refocused on the present.

  “Janie, you are unhappy because you believe life should be simple. You long for it to be. You fancied yourself willing to marry Barnett because it was the easy choice. He’s familiar to your family, you know what to expect from him, and you’d congratulated yourself for not having to chase down a husband to look after you the rest of your life. But you’d be disappointed in him. He might be the simplest choice for a husband, but you’d end up looking after him, and you know it.”

  “Why is such a thing so bad?” Jane asked, heart heavy. “Grandmother looked after you.”

  Grandfather shook his head. “She and I looked after each other. And we did not have a peaceful life at first—our families were furious with us, and we had to weather that, and find a way to live, and raise our children. It weren’t no easy matter, my girl, but that is the point. Life is complicated. It’s hard, hard work. So many try to find a path around that, but though that path might look clear, it can be full of misery. You sit helplessly while things happen around you instead of grabbing your life by the horns and shaking it about. Happiness is worth the trouble, the difficult choices, the path full of brambles. Do not sit and let things flow by you, Jane. You deserve much more than that. Take your happiness, my love. Do not let this moment pass.”

  Jane sat silently. She felt limp, drained—had since she’d told John they could never be married. She thought she’d feel freedom once she’d been truthful with John, as Spencer had told her she would, but at present, Jane only wanted to curl up and weep.

  “But I could misstep,” she said. “I could charge down the difficult path and take a brutal tumble.”

  “That you could. And then you rise up and try again. Or you could huddle by the wayside and let happiness slip past. If you don’t grab joy while you can, you might not have another chance.”

  Jane’s heart began to beat more strongly. “I am a woman. I must be prudent. A man who falls can be helped up by his friends. A woman who falls is ostracized by hers.”

  Grandfather shook his head. “Only if those friends are scoundrels. I imagine your family would stand by you no matter what happened. I know I would.” He raised his hands, palms facing her. “But you are worrying because you’ve been taught to worry. Do you truly believe Ingram is a hardened roué? With a string of broken hearts and ruined women behind him? We’d have heard about such things. Barnett would have told us—you know how much he loves to gossip. And he wouldn’t have brought Captain Ingram home to you and your mum and dad if he thought the man a bad ’un, would he?”

  Jane had to concede. “I suppose not …”

  “Your dad knows everyone in England, and he’s no fool. He’d have heard of Ingram’s reputation if the man had a foul one, and he’d have never let him inside. It’s harder than you’d think to be a secret rake in this country. Someone will know, and feel no remorse spreading the tale.”

  Jane didn’t answer. Everything Grandfather said was reasonable. Still, she’d seen what happened when a woman married badly—she found herself saddled with an insipid, feckless man who did nothing but disgrace his family and distress his friends.

  The man John could so easily become …

  “Spencer Ingram seems a fine enough lad to me,” Grandfather went on. “Family’s respectable too, from what I hear. Besides, Ingram is a good Scottish name.”

  “Of course.” Jane gave a shaky laugh. “That is why you like him.”

  “One of the reasons. There are many others.” Grandfather jumped to his feet. “What are you waiting for, Janie? Your happiness walked in the door last night. Go to it—go to him.”

  “I don’t regret telling John I will never marry him,” Jane said with conviction. “And I suppose you’re right. I won’t send Captain Ingram away, or push him aside because I’m mortified. He will be visiting a while longer. We can get to know each other, and perhaps …”

  Her words faded as Grandfather snorted. “Get to know each other? Perhaps? Have you heard nothing I’ve said?” His eyes flashed. “You are trying to make things comfortable again, which means pushing aside decisions, waiting for things to transpire instead of forcing them to.”

  He pointed imperiously at the door. “Out you go, Jane. Now. Find Captain Ingram. Tell him you will marry him. No thinking it over, or lying awake pondering choices, or waiting to see what happens. Go to him this instant.”

  Jane rose, her heart pounding. “I can’t tell him I’ll marry him, Grandfather. He hasn’t asked me.”

  “Then ask him. Your grandmother did me. She tired of me shillyshallying. So she stepped up and told me I either married her, or she walked away and looked for someone else.”

  Jane covered her fears with a laugh. She could picture Maggie MacDonald doing just that. “But I am not Grandmother.”

  Grandfather’s eyes softened. “Oh, yes, you are. You are so like her, Janie, you don’t realize. Her spitting image when she was young, and you have her spirit. She knew it too.” Tears beaded on his lashes. “I miss her so.”

  “Oh, Grandfather.” Janie launched herself at him, enfolding him into her arms. Grandfather rested his head on her shoulder, a fragile old man, his bones too light.

  After a time, they pushed away from each other, both trying to smile.

  “Go to him, Janie,” Grandfather said. “For her sake.”

  Jane kissed his faded cheek and spun for the door. As she turned to close it behind her, she saw Grandfather’s tears flow unchecked down his face, he wiping them away with a fold of his plaid.

  Chapter 6

  Spencer observed that Barnett did not seem too morose that Lady Jane had thrown him over. He watched Barnett fling himself into the hunt, crowing over the things he’d found for his group, all the while glancing raptly at the daughter of guests from Kent. His behavior was not so much of a man bereaved as one reprieved.

  Spencer knew that if Jane had given him the push, he’d be miserable, tearing at his hair and beating his breast like the best operatic hero.

  He feared Jane had dismissal in mind when she gazed down from the upper gallery and caught his eye. She gave him a long look before she skimmed down the stairs and disappeared into the library.

  Spencer, who’d found none of the items on his list, his heart not in the game, handed his paper to Thomas and told the lad to carry on.

  “Jane?” Spencer whispered as he entered the library. It was dark, a few candles burning for the sake of the gamers, the fire half-hearted against the cold. The chill was why no one lingered here—the room was quite empty.

  Spencer shut the door. “Jane?”

  She turned from the shadows beside the fireplace. Spencer approached her, one reluctant pace at a time.

  When he was a few strides away, Jane smiled at him. That smile blazed like sunshine, lighting the room to its darkest corners.

  “Captain Ingram,” Lady Jane said. “Will you marry me?”

  Spencer ceased breathing. He knew his heart continued to beat, because it pounded blood through him in hot washes. But he felt nothing, as though he’d been wound in bandages, like the time a French saber had pierced his shoulder and the surgeon had swaddled his upper body like a babe’s.

  That shoulder throbbed, the old pain resurfacing, and Spencer’s breath rushed back into his lungs.

  “Jane …”

  “I am sincere, I assure you,” Jane said, as though she supposed he’d argue with her. “I know I am doing this topsy-turvy, but—”

  Spencer laid shaking hand
s on her shoulders, the blue silk of her gown warmed by her body. “Which is the right way ’round for you, my beautiful, beautiful fae.”

  “Grandfather would faint if he heard you say so,” Jane said with merriment. “I believe he’s rather afraid of the fae. Even if he married one.”

  Spencer tightened his clasp on her. He never remembered how Jane ended up in his arms, but in the next instant he was kissing her, deeply, possessively, and she responded with the mad passion he’d seen in her eyes.

  That kiss ended, but they scarcely had time to draw a breath before the next kiss began. And the next.

  They ended up in the wing chair that reposed before the fire, placed so a reader might keep his or her feet warm. Spencer’s large frame took up most of it, but there was room for Jane on his lap.

  They kissed again, Spencer cradling her.

  How much time sped by, Spencer had no idea, but at last he drew Jane to rest on his shoulder.

  “Shall we adjourn to Gretna Green?” he asked in a low voice.

  Jane raised her head, her blue eyes bright in the darkened room. “No, indeed. I wish my family and friends to be present. But soon.”

  “How fortunate that my leave is for a month. Time enough to have the banns read in your parish church. And then what? Follow me and the drum? It can be a hard life.”

  Jane brushed his cheek. “I do want to go with you. I am willing to face the challenge, to forsake the safer path.” She spoke the words forcefully, as though waiting for Spencer to dissuade her.

  He had no intention of it. With Jane by his side, camp life would cease to be bleak. “I plan to sell my commission a few years from now, in any case. I do not see myself as a career army man, though I am fond of travel.”

  “I long to travel.”

  The words were adamant. With Jane’s restlessness and fire, Spencer believed her. “After that, I will have a house waiting for me,” he said. “One of my father’s minor estates.”

  Her smile beamed. “Excellent.”

  “Not really—it needs much work. Again, I am not promising you softness.”