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

by L G Rollins

  Finally feeling presentable and thrilled for another chance to play the harp, Helena hurried down the stairs and toward the music room.

  Music came from down the hall, but Fredrick was fairly certain it wasn't a harp he was hearing. Pity that. Or perhaps it was just as well.

  These days, he could hardly tell up from down, let alone what he wished or didn't wish to hear. Still, his feet carried him down the corridor in the general direction of the music room. After all, if some of the ladies were playing, there was a greater chance that Helena would be present as well. Though he was still determined to avoid her as much as possible, he didn't want to miss out on hearing her play.

  He turned the corner and pulled to a stop. Helena stood in the corridor before him, facing the music room door. She didn't seem to have noticed him but remained motionless where she stood.

  Should he announce himself? He was trying to avoid her. Silently, Fredrick took a step backward. If he could just round the corner before she turned and saw him, before she turned and smiled at him—

  Except, she wasn't smiling. Not in the least. He froze, studying her closely. Though he could only see her profile, her jaw was taut, and her lips were pursed in a most unhappy manner. Whatever could be so wrong? Fredrick strode down the corridor toward her.

  Voices from inside the music room slipped out the closed door. Though someone continued to play the pianoforte—he thought he recognized the song as one Christina had been practicing lately—there were clearly two other women inside conversing as well.

  "Frankly, I think it a blessing someone is taking such interest in Miss Spencer."

  Fredrick would know that condescending tone anywhere: Miss Wynn. The second woman gave a reply, one to soft for Fredrick to make out.

  "I don't." Miss Wynn spoke over whomever else was in the room with her. "I know it's Christian to speak as though that little mess up with Lord Chapman is all in the past. Certainly, I pretend as much whenever she is around. But we are grown, and facts must be faced. This holiday house party only illustrates that most gentlemen see her as unfit for proper society."

  "How do you figure?" Fredrick still couldn't place the other woman's voice.

  "Why, if not for her reputation, someone would surely have offered for her by now."

  Her reputation? What utter rot. Reaching Helena, Fredrick placed a hand against her arm.

  She pulled away, her brow set low.

  He hadn’t expected that. She’d seemed quite willing, wanting even, to find comfort in him at the ball. Why, then, was she pulling back now?

  “I thought you were avoiding me,” she whispered softly enough that no one in the music room would hear.

  Yes, he had been. Only, how did he explain why? I realized I was in love with you about the same time Baker showed up, at your request, as a solution to all your problems. A bit awkward, I must say.

  “So,” the other woman’s tone was sharp and traveled to them easily, “if a woman is not offered for within four weeks of meeting a man, he sees her as beneath him? What, then, does that say about you, Miss Wynn?”

  Bravo. It wasn't Christina or Eleanor standing up for Helena. It must be Lady Emma. She rose quite a bit in his estimation at hearing her defend her friend.

  Helena’s gaze left him and moved toward the music room doors. "She's right, you know."

  "Of course your friend is right. Just because—"

  "No." The word was firm. With her auburn hair cascading down the side of her face, Fredrick was struck again by how much he wanted to be near her and never have to part. "Miss Wynn. We've all been fooling ourselves, thinking I could make a match." She shook her head. "Miss Wynn is correct. My tarnished reputation is far too much for most gentlemen to overlook, especially since I have no large dowry to tempt them with."

  It wouldn't matter to him if she had no dowry at all; he'd always find her plenty tempting. "Miss Wynn is simply jealous." He moved up closer to her once more. "She is not nearly so witty nor enjoyable to be around”—he lifted his hand, aching to cup her cheek as he had the night of the holiday ball—“and she knows—"

  She winced at his touch and Fredrick pulled his hand away. An angry red line cut down her cheek from just below her forehead toward her jaw. A protective heat surged through him.

  "What the blazes happened?" His gaze moved to his own glove, which had come away with a bit of powder on it. The cut was probably even deeper than it appeared.

  "Apparently, Starfire was not in the mood for a ride this morning," she said. "He kept trying to unseat me by riding close to trees with low branches."

  "Idiot horse," Fredrick muttered. He pushed her hair out of the way and inspected the cut further. He understood now why her hair had been left hanging over her shoulder. It covered the worst part of the cut which was higher on her face. "I don't think it will need stitches."

  "Starfire will be disappointed to hear that."

  Fredrick's gaze dropped to hers. There were tears lining the bottom of her lashes, yet she smiled in spite of them. Someday he would really have to ask her how she managed to do that.

  His thumb, almost of its own accord, stroked her cheek, below the cut where it would not irritate. "I have half a mind to march out there and unseat Starfire. See how he likes it."

  She laughed softly. "You'd have to let him ride you first, and then the neighborhood doctor would certainly be needed."

  Her gaze met his. Her green eyes seemed to search his own, looking for something. Was it reassurance? Or simply hope that she needed? Then her brow dropped, and she pulled away again.

  What had happened?

  Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Not in the least.

  The music room door opened, and he became suddenly aware his hand was still midair, left there when Helena had pulled away. He dropped it quickly and took a small step back. As he suspected, Lady Emma moved out of the room. She took one look at Helena and opened her arms.

  "How much of that did you hear?" she asked, wrapping Helena in a hug.

  "Enough." Helena took a shuddering breath and pulled away from Lady Emma. "Please don't lie to me and say she's wrong. I know she speaks the truth."

  Fredrick looked to Lady Emma—surely he could depend on her to help him talk sense into Helena.

  Instead, however, Lady Emma only shrugged. "But on the bright side, you do seem to have Mr. Baker's full attention."

  That was the bright side? Fredrick nearly groaned aloud in frustration.

  "At least I don't have to worry he'll consider me bitter. I've always wanted to be known as having a sweet disposition."

  Lady Emma laughed at Helena's painful joke, but even she couldn't get it to sound authentic. "Moreover," she hurried on, clearly trying to cover for her lack of sincere amusement at Helena's situation, "we have a witness right here who can testify that Mr. Baker will treat you well. Is that not so, Lord Chapman?"

  The tightness around Lady Emma's last few words made it clear she was not asking him to speak fondly of his uncle, but rather demanding he did.

  But, oh, the look in Helena's eyes. She needed comforting now more than any other time he'd ever known her. It was possible to lie and say his uncle was a fraud and worse, but he couldn't. Because, truth was, his uncle, while a little silly at times, was an upstanding man.

  "I have never known him to be unkind to anyone," he answered honestly. "Be they gentleman, lady, or servant. Baker has always proved himself considerate and thoughtful." Sometimes to a fault, like the time he had tried to arrange Fredrick and Helena’s marriage without their knowledge.

  What a fool Fredrick had been not to simply go along with the whole thing. To think, he and Helena could have been husband and wife by now.

  Helena's lips tipped up on one side. The smile wasn't exactly forced, but neither was it vibrant. "Thank you both. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go lie down before dinner. I have some things to think through—and to come to terms with."

  With another half-smile, she walked away. Fre
drick wished he could go with her. Walk with her, wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her close once more.

  “What of that did you hear?” Lady Emma asked.

  “Enough to confirm my suspicions that Miss Wynn is a determined gossip.” And not one he cared to ever share a Christmas with again.

  “So,” Lady Emma drew the word out, “you heard what she said about you?”

  Him? Lord Chapman’s gaze snapped back to Lady Emma. “No.” Dare he ask?

  Lady Emma’s gaze turned hard. “She claimed your mother brought Baker here for you.”

  “For me?” That made no sense. “How does she figure?”

  Lady Emma glanced back toward the music room, then motioned down the corridor, the opposite direction Helena had fled. He still wanted to go after Helena, but he felt she was sincere in her desire to be alone just now. Moreover, if Lady Emma could enlighten him as to why Helena was suddenly pulling away, he needed to know.

  He fell into step beside Lady Emma and after a few paces, she started speaking once more.

  “Miss Wynn intimated that the attentions you’ve paid Helena have all been because you felt guilty over last summer. That you were simply trying to make amends. But being Helena’s friend has become too much of a strain, and so Baker has been brought in to save you.”

  Of all the nasty, mean-hearted things . . .

  “It’s rubbish. Complete rubbish.” Helena would know as much. She of all people would see through Miss Wynn’s idle tongue.

  “Is it?” Lady Emma pulled to a stop and faced him fully. “The only reason you first spoke to Helena is because we guilted you into it.”

  Well, that was true. He’d been intent on ignoring her up until that night in the orangery.

  “Your attentions since have been largely focused on finding her a husband.”

  That had not been his idea but was still true.

  “Now that Mr. Baker has arrived, you’ve all but acted as though Helena doesn’t even exist.”

  That point caused a sharp twinge to tighten across his stomach. Lord Chapman opened his mouth to argue back. “That doesn’t mean—”

  “She’s confused, beaten on all sides. Between the gossip she overhears constantly and the uncertainty of her future, is it any wonder she doesn’t know what to believe right now?” Spinning on her heel, Lady Emma stalked off, leaving Fredrick standing in the middle of the corridor alone and feeling quite like a mule.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Tell me, Miss Spencer, how have you enjoyed the house party thus far?” Lord Forbes asked.

  Oh, dear, how did one answer a question like that? With her hand on his arm, Helena glanced about the back lawn, using the time to gather her thoughts. There was the malicious gossip which she’d hoped to prove herself above but hadn’t. There was Fredrick whom she’d grown close to, only to have him suddenly turn away. There was Mr. Baker in whom she was determined to see the best yet couldn’t find in herself a willingness to accept. There was Uncle Scrooge who still refused to consider her as family.

  But one could not say any of that in polite conversation. “It has been most enjoyable,” she said. It wasn’t exactly a lie; she had enjoyed a lot of things this Christmas. Times with Emma, Christina, and Eleanor. The ball a couple of weeks ago. Fredrick.

  “I am pleased to hear it. I must confess, I was uncertain when I first arrived and found the gathering so small. But I have found the company pleasing.”

  His statement was nearly as superficial as her own. What were the chances he was hiding as much in his socially polite statement as she had been in hers? She’d probably never know.

  “I am happy to hear it,” Helena replied. Their conversation slipped into an easy silence as they passed the snow-covered roses and continued across the path. If Lord Forbes had been hiding troubles in his polite statement, what kind of troubles would they be? The line of thought was irrational at best, foolish at worse. But it was more agreeable than mulling over her own issues yet again.

  Suppose Lord Forbes had had the grave misfortune of falling in love this Christmas? She glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. It certainly could not have been with anyone at the house party. He never paid any of the ladies any special attention. A lady in Dunwell, perhaps? Perhaps someone his family would never approve of?

  The notion was completely imagined, but it did bring a mischievous smile to her face. Even now, as they walked, she fancied him thinking of his doomed love, wishing she were on his arm instead of Helena.

  Since Helena’s father had passed and she’d nearly become engaged to Fredrick, only to be branded as tainted when he had refused, she’d set aside thoughts of marrying for love. And yet . . .

  What would it be like to walk with someone who made her heart flutter? Or whose touch heated her skin?

  Fredrick had, at one point.

  She tamped down that train of thought immediately. His actions as of late had made it clear that he only wished for friendship with her. Yes, he was willing to comfort, even hold her, when she was upset. But that didn’t mean he cared more for her than he did for his sisters.

  The realization was demoralizing in the extreme.

  They took a small turn in the garden path and the hedge maze loomed up on their left. Walking above it, Helena was sorely tempted to stop and study the maze, memorize the easiest way in and out. Perhaps then the nightmares would cease. Last night she’d had another one. She’d been awake since well before dawn, having not been able to sleep afterward.

  “Are you disappointed you were unable to join us in the maze a few weeks ago?” Lord Forbes asked.

  Helena pulled her gaze away from the maze and over to the man beside her.

  “Not particularly,” she replied. “I find I prefer to be able to see where I am.”

  Lord Forbes nodded, his flat expression unchanging. “Then I am sure you would love the white cliffs of Dover.”

  “I do, indeed.”

  “You have been?”

  “More than once. My father enjoyed seeing all of England, and though I didn’t travel with him every time, I did once in a while.”

  “Dover in early summer,” Fredrick said as he walked over, with Miss Wynn on his arm, “is an adventure not to be missed.”

  So he was talking to her again? “No, it is not,” Helena said, turning away and ending the conversation. She shouldn’t be mad at Fredrick, not after he’d helped her so much this Christmas. But she was. Some friend he proved to be, deserting her the moment his uncle had shown up to take her off his hands.

  Lord Forbes asked Miss Wynn if she’d ever been to Dover, and as they spoke, Helena kept her gaze turned away, willing her mind to wander back to happier days gone by. Standing atop the white cliffs with her father, the breeze off the sea blowing her hair out of its pins; savoring fresh fish at every dinner; lazily strolling arm in arm with him . . . that was her favorite memory of all.

  An excited cry drew everyone’s attention to where Lord Ellis, astride a large black horse, came riding up.

  “Lord Forbes, Miss Wynn, Lord Chapman,” he said, even while dismounting. “I have found the most enormous fallen tree; it would make an excellent yule log.”

  Helena did not miss that she’d been excluded from the list of people Lord Ellis wished to speak to. Since their encounter in the stables, he’d ignored her more and more, save the one dance at the Adley’s ball. He must have been pressured into asking her then. It was a bit of a silver lining from that dreadful day. Still, she did wish to be done with always being excluded. She wished to be considered on equal footing with her acquaintances, as she’d once been. Would marrying Mr. Baker provide that for her? As the wife of a respected gentleman, it very well might.

  Lord Forbes, for his part, did not seem to have noticed Lord Ellis’s lack of inclusion. The smug look on Miss Wynn’s face clearly showed she had, however. But how came she to be walking with Fredrick? Helena knew he did not care for her company. Then again, Miss Wynn was not easily swayed once a
n idea entered her head.

  Fredrick, however, wasn’t appearing to pay attention to Lord Ellis, or any of them. He was looking down at the maze and scowling. Helena followed his gaze. Christina and Topper were walking, arm in arm, toward the entrance. That explained the scowl. With all that had happened as of late, and with how little she saw Fredrick, Helena hadn’t had the opportunity to tell him of hers and Christina’s conversation regarding Topper. Helena pulled her lips to the side; she needed to tell him and soon.

  When Miss Wynn expressed the desire to walk over and speak with Lord Ellis, Fredrick declined. Lord Forbes readily offered to walk with her, extending the arm that Helena was not holding on to.

  “You go ahead,” Helena said. “I think I shall enjoy the view from here a bit longer.”

  She waited until Lord Forbes and Miss Wynn were out of earshot. “I spoke with Christina a few days ago. She admitted to sincerely liking him.”

  Fredrick’s only response was to snort.

  “She actually asked for my permission to further their . . . connection.”

  “Why would she be asking you?”

  “Because she, Eleanor, and Emma all agreed to help me find a match. She was only being considerate.”

  “Well, then I’m sure you’re all thrilled my uncle has joined the party.”

  Helena placed her hands on her hips at the sound of his sarcastic, dry tone. She was glad he had joined them? Mr. Baker was an act of desperation—one she only had to consider thanks to Fredrick. But this conversation wasn’t about them and she didn’t care to make it so. “Fredrick, it is time you stop being such a bulldog. Topper has acted nothing less than honorable toward your sister thus far.”

  Fredrick slowly shook his head back and forth. “He may only be biding his time, tricking us all into trusting him.”