The Joy of Christmas Present: Sweet Regency Romance (A Dickens of a Christmas Book 2)

by L G Rollins

  Removing his mother and sisters to the country was clearly the best move. They’d be away from matchmaking matrons, meddling family, and all of it. In the country, Fredrick felt certain they would all find the peace they needed to grieve properly. There was nothing else for it; he would see them all out of London and on their way before sunset tomorrow.

  He could only hope that Alice had spoken truthfully. When it came to Uncle and his crazed idea, Fredrick sincerely hoped that no one would ever know the match had even been considered.

  Chapter Two

  Seven months later

  Everyone knew.

  Miss Helena Spencer could feel it. In the way the servants had glanced at her as they’d hurried to bring her trunks upstairs. In the way her hostess’s eyes had widened when Lady Emma Shakerley, a lifelong friend, had introduced her. In the way all the other house guests had stilled at the sound of her name and stopped to stare.

  Everyone knew.

  They knew she’d been engaged, or nearly. They knew the gentleman—one Lord Chapman—had fled to the country rather than marry her. They had read all the papers, seen the mortifying caricatures depicting her being cast aside. Sometimes the gossip columns had hinted that she was too ugly, other times that she was a horrid singer; still others and insinuated far more vulgar falsehoods.

  If either of her parents were still alive, they would have been appalled at the happenings of last Season. Helena herself could hardly face her own reflection in the mirror. She’d gone to Town as Emma’s guest, both as a means of meeting people and to distract herself from her loss, but also to ensure she ate more than a bit of bread a day as all her father’s estate had been entailed away. London had been full of joyful diversions and had gone a long way to help Helena feel more like herself.

  Then everything had come crashing down around her.

  She’d never felt so alone.

  The hollowed-out feeling the scandal brought hadn’t left since, even months later.

  “Perhaps,” Emma addressed their hostess, Lady Andrews, even while looping an arm through Helena’s, “you might have a maid show us to our rooms? We’ve had quite the trip and want to rest before dinner.”

  “Oh, yes.” Lady Andrews seemed to shake off the stupor that hearing Helena’s name had caused. “Certainly, you will want to freshen up.” Their hostess was a tall woman, a bit of gray along her temples, and appeared congenial. Would her good nature stretch so far as to see past the rumors and gossip that followed Helena everywhere she went? She could only hope . . . and wait . . . to find out.

  A maid was summoned and not five minutes later, Helena was sitting in the room prepared for Emma—her own room only next door—and relaxing against the settee.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Helena sighed, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. She’d known venturing out into society, even for a simple Christmas house party, was not without risks. But since she’d been living with the Shakerleys since her father’s passing over a year ago, she couldn’t have refused to come, not when Emma and both her parents had been so insistent that she do so.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Emma hedged.

  Helena’s head came back up, and she skewered Emma with her most pointed scowl.

  “All right.” Emma sighed. “But at least now you have the worst behind you. Mother assured me that Lady Andrews always keeps her house parties small and only invites the most honorable of individuals to Hedgewood Manor. To be numbered among the group will certainly be a boon to your reputation.”

  “My shattered reputation, you mean.”

  “Oh, come now,” Emma huffed.

  Helena turned in the chair and faced Emma directly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say, judging by the expression on Lady Andrews’s face when you introduced us, that she had no idea you were bringing me along.”

  Emma waggled her shoulders up and down. “I wrote to her and said I was bringing a dear friend.”

  “A dear friend? All the while conveniently forgetting to mention that I was that friend?”

  “Once the other guest have gotten a chance to know you, they will quickly see that the papers and the rumors got you all wrong. You’ll see.”

  Helena shook her head. “I hope you’re right. Otherwise this will be a most miserable month.”

  “Good!” Emma rushed suddenly to Helena’s side. “Then you’re not crying off?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I was certain the moment you found out what I’d done—or rather, what I’d not done—that you’d be packed and gone again.”

  “Then why did you not tell Lady Andrews?” Helena held up a hand. “Wait, don’t answer that.” Helena knew full well why Emma hadn’t felt like she could tell their hostess who her dear friend was.

  Emma took hold of Helena’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m so glad you’re staying.” Then she stood and hurried over to her bed and flung herself down on it. “We’re going to have the most diverting Christmastide ever; I can feel it.”

  Emma was forever feeling things; the woman’s premonitions were never-ending, if not completely infallible.

  No matter what Lady Andrews’s thoughts upon seeing a scandal-laden lady at her own house party, Emma wasn’t the only person who hadn’t been fully open and honest.

  Though she hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone, Helena had agreed to come for reasons far more important than claiming inclusion at one of Lady Andrews’s enviable house parties.

  “You know,” Emma said with a yawn, “that was truly an exhausting trip.”

  Helena stood. “How about you get that rest you told Lady Andrews we needed?”

  “Where are you going?” Emma asked, lifting no more than her head off the pillows below her.

  “Just to my own room. Don’t worry; I have little desire to wander about the estate alone.” Helena was far less confident that the other guests would grow to accept her than Emma was.

  “Very well. We can go down to dinner together.”

  “Sounds lovely.” Helena slipped from the room and opened the door to her own bedchamber. Jane, her abigail, was hurrying about, unpacking and putting everything into place. The young woman was a marvel. Helena didn’t know how she managed to make Helena feel like she’d brought a little bit of home no matter where they traveled. Since Helena was at the disposal of Lady Emma Shakerley, they traveled quite a bit.

  “Almost finished, miss,” Jane said with a curtsy. “Do you wish me to finish now or leave you with some peace?”

  Was it horribly selfish insisting her abigail stop what she was doing when it would only require she come back later to finish? But Helena desperately needed some solitude at the moment. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be putting Jane out too much.

  “I think I would like a nap,” Helena said.

  Jane curtsied once more and then slipped from the room. The stillness which enveloped Helena was both welcomed and sad. After all that had happened to her nearly seven months ago, Helena had never wanted for family so badly.

  She’d never known her mother since she’d died giving birth to Helena. But she and Father had made a family of just the two of them. They’d rarely been apart for any length of time. Then he’d grown ill. Doctor after doctor had been called, but none had been able to help. He’d passed away in his sleep, leaving Helena quite alone in the world.

  Yes, she had Emma and Lord and Lady Shakerley. But they weren’t family. They weren’t bound to care for her. Though she sincerely appreciated all they’d done, Helena couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t fully belong with them. They would always be dear friends, but they’d only ever be friends.

  Helena moved to her unpacked trunk and pushed a few items of clothing aside. Near the bottom was the letter she’d written three weeks ago when Emma had first told her they would be staying with Lord and Lady Andrews over the holidays.

  She’d never sent it though, for fear that Lady Andrews would turn her away the moment she arrived.

&
nbsp; Lady Andrews had certainly been surprised at learning Helena had come, but she hadn't seemed on the verge of sending her away. That might still change, but for now, Helena was staying closer to the small town of Dunwell than she ever had before. There was a very good chance she would never be this close again. If ever she was going to act, now was the time.

  Helena turned the letter over but didn’t open it. She knew the contents too well. She’d written and rewritten the missive countless times. She’d simply been too scared that she might say the wrong thing.

  How did one go about introducing oneself to an estranged uncle? Helena’s father had been an only child, but her mother had been one of two. She’d had a brother—one Helena had never met and who her father had only mentioned twice in all her life. When he’d passed, Helena had found the uncle’s name and address among her father’s possessions.

  This uncle was her only living relative. Her only family.

  Did he ever think of her? Know that her father had passed and that she was without family besides him? After the funeral, Helena had rather expected some kind of a message from him. Surely he realized that she was alone in the world now.

  Did he even know she existed?

  Helena had no idea. She walked slowly toward a small, well-placed desk beneath a tall window. The view looked out over a pond with a fountain in the middle, a lovely rose garden to the side of that, and beyond them both, a tall and stately hedge maze. The Andrews were certainly not ones to hire incompetent gardeners. If nothing else, perhaps one of these days Helena would simply wander into the hedge maze and get lost forever. She could slip from existence in a blaze of gossip.

  Shaking the nonsense from her head, Helena sat and pulled out a quill pen. Blessedly, Jane had already unpacked her writing things and put the desk to rights.

  Glancing at the slip of paper she’d found among her father’s things, she turned the letter over and addressed it. She wouldn’t send it today. She wanted to make it through at least one dinner before assuring her uncle that she could meet with him at his earliest convenience. She could only hope it would be quite soon. Helena needed family—even estranged family—now, more than ever before.

  Careful to keep her pen steady, Helena added the gentleman’s name above the address:

  Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge.

  Chapter Three

  Emma knocked on Helena’s door just in time for dinner, as she’d promised. She truly was blessed to have such a dear friend in Emma.

  “I am ready,” Helena said.

  But Emma wouldn’t let her step out into the corridor; instead, she studied Helena’s hair and gown from her position in the doorway.

  “Is that what you’ve chosen to wear tonight?”

  Helena glanced down at her simple, cream-colored dress. The answer was rather obvious. “Is it not to your liking?”

  Emma placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back into her bedchamber.

  Helena laughed lightly. “I had not thought Jane did such a bad job as all that.”

  Emma pursed her lips, still eying Helena closely. “No, you look lovely.” The words came out as though Emma wasn’t sure of her own pronouncement.

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “Do you . . . perhaps . . . feel you look, um, too lovely?”

  What was that supposed to mean?

  Emma lifted both hands up. “Please don’t misunderstand. I know you to be of the highest moral standards.”

  Moral standards? Helena had been the subject of many such talks among her nosy neighbors, but she’d never expected it from her best friend.

  “Only understand,” Emma continued, “no one here knows you like I do.”

  “Your parents are here.”

  “Besides them.” Emma pushed Helena in front of a full-length mirror. “What do you see?”

  Helena wasn’t at all sure what her friend expected her to say. She looked herself over for a minute and then shrugged. “A woman in a nice dress with curly auburn hair.”

  “Yes, but imagine you had been told that the woman there,” Emma pointed to Helena’s reflection in the mirror, “was not the kind one should allow into polite society. Imagine that woman there had made her way into your house party without your knowledge, and you had no idea if she was going to soil your own good name or not.”

  “Emma, you’re being ridiculous.”

  “Oh, fine. I’ll say it this way. I love your dress and I love your hair. But if I’d heard unseemly things about you—and of course only if I didn’t already know you—I might wonder if your neckline wasn’t a bit too low, and if you hadn’t left more than an appropriate amount of your hair down around your shoulders.”

  “Emma,” Helena growled. “Your neckline is lower than mine. And I’ve seen plenty of other women wear their hair half-down at dinner.”

  “That may be true, but don’t you see how what may look innocent on another woman may give rise on you?”

  Helena folded her arms. “This is all so very unfair.” She’d been quite pleased with how she’d turned out this evening. Jane had taken extra care with her updo and Helena loved it. Her dress may not have been the most elegant thing she’d ever owned, but it was pretty and, more than that, she felt pretty when wearing it.

  “Let us tuck a fichu into your neckline and I’ll help you pin up a few of those lovely locks of yours and then you’ll be perfectly presentable.”

  “I was presentable before you walked in,” Helena huffed, but she sat at the dressing table anyway. As much as it galled her, Emma did have a point. Still, Helena didn’t look in the mirror as she felt her friend pull and tug at her hair.

  If only her father was still alive—he would have been able to stand up for her when Lord Chapman had walked out. More than that, he never would have considered the arrangement in the first place. He never would have agreed to meet with Lord Chapman’s uncle, no papers would have been drawn up, and no possible connection would have made its way to the gossip mill.

  Lord Shakerley had meant well, of course. And Emma bore him no ill will, though she couldn’t quite say the same for the dubious Lord Chapman.

  “There,” Emma said after several minutes. “You still look quite beautiful.”

  Helena loved Emma, but she didn’t trust her friend well enough to go down to dinner without looking at herself in the mirror first, no matter how much she wished she didn’t have to.

  It was as she feared. The dress was the same, but with the fichu—sheer and beautiful though it was—wrapped about her collarbone and tucked into her neckline, she looked far more like an aging matron than a young woman. Her hair was the same color, but Emma had pulled back pieces harshly and the up-do was no longer flattering.

  “I certainly look staid,” Helena said with a sigh.

  “Which is exactly what we want,” Emma said with a firm shake of her head. Catching sight of Helena’s eyes, she reached out and took her hand. “It is only for tonight, and possibly tomorrow.”

  “And possibly the next day?”

  “Only until we can show everyone here that you are all that is lovely and modest.”

  Helena ran a hand over the lace which came up fully to her throat. “If modest is what you were going for, I think you achieved it.”

  Emma clapped her hands. “Excellent. Let us go down now.”

  Helena followed her out and down the stairs but couldn’t seem to muster the same enthusiasm as her friend. Emma had assured her that the stares and silence that had met Helena that afternoon, when they’d first arrived, would be the worst of it. But Helena wasn’t convinced.

  They entered the drawing room and found it comfortably full. It was not overly crowded, but there were plenty of people milling about.

  Hadn’t Emma said that Lady Andrews was known for hosting intimate house parties? This seemed a few too many individuals for such a thing, at least in Helena’s mind.

  Emma, bless her, did not leave Helena’s side. Instead, she took Helena’s hand and dragged her over
to three handsome gentlemen to strike up a conversation. Apparently, Emma had met two of them in London earlier that year and had heard of the third. She wasted no time in introducing Helena.

  There was Lord Ellis, tall and lean. He wore a black superfine over a dark green waistcoat. Simply put, he was a paragon. Helena could not remember ever meeting a man so beautiful. Nonetheless, while his smile was all things polite, his nose remained a bit lofty.

  Next to him was Lord Dowding, a man of light brown hair and brilliant blue eyes who insisted both ladies simply call him Topper.

  Lastly, was Lord Forbes. Shortest of the three men, his expression remained flat for the duration of their conversation and, though he carried a walking stick, Helena never once saw him put any weight on it.

  If these three gentlemen had been in London for the Season, Helena knew they must realize who she was and what had happened. Whether they knew and chose to politely ignore all they’d heard, or they simply didn’t care that they were keeping company with someone as tainted as she, Helena wasn’t sure. Either way, they asked about her and Emma’s trip; they showed interest in Emma’s story over their carriage being stopped for nearly a quarter of an hour by a stray cow which refused to move out of their way; they even asked after Helena and her family, going so far as to express sympathy when they learned that both of her parents had passed.

  All in all, Helena found herself relaxing. Perhaps Emma was right. Perhaps she’d allowed the scandal of before to box her in, to shut her away. Perhaps she should have reentered society before now. If these three gentlemen were any indication of what she should expect, then there was nothing truly to be afraid of.

  Then, quite suddenly, the room grew still.

  Helena glanced at Emma, but she only gave her a small shrug, a clear expression that she had no idea what was happening either.

  Together, they turned around—their backs had been to the room at large—and glanced around. Everyone was watching the family who’d just entered. There was a gentleman, tall and handsome, with an older woman—probably his mother—on his arm. She was dressed in bombazine black with black feathers in her hair; even the gloves she wore were black. Behind them were two young women most likely only a year or two younger than Helena herself. Not only were they beauties, they were clearly twins, for Helena could not tell one from the other at all. Their identical Pomona green dresses with white embroidered shawls draped over their arms did not help the matter.