Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  He shivered with the memory…

  * * *

  A long wail pierced the bushes straggling alongside the stream. On the rocky bank opposite a girl, a skinny thing, stared down at a place where the water pooled. Something silky and blue floated there.

  A bright flash of yellow crashed into the pool with a colossal splash.

  “What the—”

  She’d jumped.

  He wiped the drenching from his eyes. Yellow ballooned all about her. In the clear water, bare legs thrashed in time with her arms.

  He laughed. “You look just like a duck.”

  Her head whipped around. “What have you done with her?”

  “Who?”

  She threw back her head, sucked in a long breath, and rolled forward, until her grimy bare feet stuck out.

  A girl. He’d never seen anything like it.

  Oh, he’d seen Evan plunge into water, but he was a boy. He’d never seen a girl in a great bulky dress try to—

  Her head crested. She spluttered and splashed, churning water and bobbing like a sea monster had hold of her skirts and was…

  Her skirts. She was in the bloody middle of the stream and couldn’t touch the bottom.

  “Nodcock girl.”

  Hell, she’d soaked him already anyway. He yanked off his hat, boots and coat, and jumped in.

  Cold sliced him, freezing his breath.

  Her head slipped under. With a great kick he reached her and yanked her up.

  She gulped air and went under again, pulling him with her, down and down. In the clear water, the stark look of fear made his heart race.

  His foot touched the bottom. He shot up, still gripping her, kicking like mad, towing her. He found purchase not five feet from where she’d been drowning and half dragged her into a patch of weeds.

  Her lips were purple, her skin a pale shade of gray, but she was breathing.

  She’d scared the wits out of him. He wanted to smack her.

  “Do you have stones in your pockets?” A tiny thing, she was younger than him, with no titties yet. “What the devil were you doing, brat? You might have drowned.”

  She pinched up her mouth and said “Shut up.”

  “I just saved your life. That is beyond rude.”

  With her dark hair plastered all over her cheeks she looked ridiculous.

  “Thank you.” Her teeth chattered all over the words.

  “Did that hurt? No. And now I’ll get a beating for going home soaked.”

  * * *

  He laughed out loud. That girl had pluck, whoever she was.

  Much good it had done him saving her. Late for dinner, and him sopping wet, he’d taken an equal punishment with Evan. Perhaps Ramsey had somehow heard of his heroics because that night there’d been butter on his own ration of bread.

  He’d never seen the duck again. Never wanted to. He hoped the little nodcock had suffered her own punishment for almost drowning the both of them.

  His mount picked its way over snow-covered trails before reaching the side road that led west, into the rolling hills that fronted the Cairngorms. Gad, Marlowe had the right of it. The land was magnificent and the castle was lovely, at least from a distance.

  Years ago, there’d been a cottage near this burn belonging to the butler’s kin. He and Evan had stumbled across the dwelling and been welcomed and well-treated. He’d start his search for Forbes there.

  As he neared a small path that veered off toward the water, he heard voices among the trees, a woman’s warm laugh, and a man’s heartier one.

  The tones rang with a familiarity that lifted his spirits. He dismounted again and went to investigate.

  The silhouette of a bothy appeared through the thicket. He searched his memory—he and Evan had walked every inch of Kinmarty along this burn, and he didn’t remember this structure. The tidy stone-walled building with its thatched roof looked new.

  Just short of the small clearing, his breath caught. Smoke puffed from the bothy’s chimney. An old man, his face sparkling with good humor, sat perched on a downed log, pouring a drink into the tin cup held by the woman beside him.

  “A wee drop more will warm you straight to your toes,” Forbes said.

  The gravelly voice brought a wash of memories. To two fatherless boys, Forbes had been as much a force as Mrs. Ramsey. And he’d often covered for them, understanding a boy’s need to break free and roam now and again.

  “Aye,” the woman said. “The last sip only reached as far as my knees.” She laughed, tipped back the cup, and wiped the back of her gloved hand across her mouth. “’Tis a good brew, Mr. Forbes.”

  Andrew’s pulse pounded. She might be ayeing and ’tising, but that was most certainly Filomena Marlowe, his housekeeper, drinking whisky, and—he glanced at the sky through the trees—it not yet noon.

  Chapter 9

  He cleared his throat and both heads swiveled his way.

  Alarm turned Marlowe’s cheeks pink. She broke into a tense smile and stood. “We’ve been caught out, Mr. Forbes.”

  Under her bravado was a smidgeon of embarrassment.

  “A good day to you, sir.” Forbes rose, smiling. Deep lines crinkled the corners of the old butler’s mouth, and his blue eyes sparkled.

  Jealousy niggled at him. Forbes looked like a man relaxed and happy with his lot and the day’s surprises. Was his good mood from seeing Andrew, or did his interlude with Marlowe have him glowing?

  Marlowe had married an old man once before, and Forbes, despite all the gray hair and wrinkles, was still a hardy and fit specimen.

  “Mr. Forbes,” Marlowe said, “Allow me to introduce Mr. Andrews, the new duke’s factor. You can see, he’s a difficult taskmaster, having tracked me all the way to your...er…enterprise. Mr. Andrews, this is Mr. Forbes, the late duke’s butler, and the best whisky-maker in all of Scotland, I’m told.”

  Forbes preened under the compliment and gave her a little bow. God help him, Marlowe was flirting with the old codger.

  “I’ll leave you gentlemen now, as I have another call to make, but please do send a barrel up to the Castle, Mr. Forbes. If the new duke cannot appreciate your elixir, the staff surely will.”

  She flounced off through the trees like a lady heading off to the shops on Oxford Street. Andrew watched her go, speechless.

  “Mr. Andrews is it?”

  Relief flooded him. It had been a good dozen years, but Forbes had known him on sight.

  “What the devil are you up to Master Andrew?”

  “I couldn’t fool you, could I?”

  “Aye, and I’ve heard a tale or two about you since the last time we met. What are you aboot, laddie, pretending to be someone else?”

  He picked up the cup she’d left. “May I have a wee dram?”

  “’Tis a fine woman you’ve hired in Mrs. Marlowe. I would that you’d treat her well.” Forbes picked up the pitcher and poured without spilling a drop.

  The honeyed scent warmed his nose as he sniffed it. It wasn’t a fashionable drink in town, but he was growing fond of the local brew. “I’m aboot nothing nefarious. I merely had a mad moment of…of…”

  Why had he done it? He couldn’t seem to remember what he’d been thinking two days ago.

  “Fear?”

  Always perceptive, was Forbes.

  “Wheest, boy. That’s a fine woman, is Mrs. Marlowe.”

  “You’ve said that already.”

  He was destined to be chastised. He might as well sit back and take it like his eight-year-old self had learned to do.

  At least he had whisky to help him cope now. Tipping the cup, he let the liquid pool on his tongue as he savored the rich notes and, finally, swallowed.

  The smooth burn didn’t quite reach his toes, but it was brilliant. “Is this truly your brew, Forbes?”

  “Aye.” The old man crossed his arms on his chest. “I heard of yer brother’s death. I am sorry. Life doesn’a always seem fair, but it’s time to stop feeling sorry for yourself and fac
e up to who ye are now.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Beg my pardon all ye wish. Since ye were a wee lad, all ye did was dash about after yer fool brother. Ye were always the steadier fellow until he left and ye fell all apart. What were the chances Master Evan would die in that godforsaken land leavin’ ye to inherit? Damn good, I said, and so did Ramsey. She pressed the duke to bring ye home and train ye. And when he finally came ’round to it, ye didn’a wish it. Refused to lift a finger to help. As stubborn and prideful as the old man, ye were.”

  Andrew’s chest squeezed and his tongue froze along with his heart. He’d prefer the lash to this. Forbes had never spoken so boldly. Retirement had loosened his tongue.

  Not that he didn’a deserve it. He had gone to pieces when Evan left. He’d had enough income to plunge into a bachelor life in the ton, enough wit not to gamble all his money away, and enough charm to access both ballrooms and bedchambers. And when ennui sat in as it always did, he made sure he got himself roaring drunk. He’d been a man with no redeeming purpose. Now and then he’d thought about heading north to Kinmarty, but once he’d refused the duke’s summons, the old man had cut ties with him.

  Forbes’s grim look told him there was more. He steeled himself.

  “’Tis a pity yer brother didn’a want the title either, rushing off to India as he did. The old duke woulda come around to his marriage. He might’ve brought his bride to Kinmarty and learned a thing or two. Better yet, he might’ve brought ye, Master Andrew. Might’ve spared us the reign of that devil Haskill.”

  The old pain flared in him, and a gnawing started in his belly. Perhaps he might have warmed to the unsuitable Penelope Grant, if only Evan had stayed, and given him time to adjust.

  “Or ye might have come when the old man asked for ye.”

  Evan had left England in a cloud of anger, and he had proclaimed himself freed from what he’d painted as the shackles of family.

  God, but he missed his brother, and the old duke, as well. He’d managed without them, and been lonely as hell.

  Stubborn and prideful, he was. Forbes had the right of it.

  He took in a deep breath of the crisp air, tinged with the wood smoke from the still. He’d never be able to make things right with Evan or the old duke, but he could make things right for Evan’s children and the people of Kinmarty. If he’d been here, if he’d come, he might’ve learned of Evan’s girls, brought them here sooner. He would’ve nipped Haskill’s thieving before more people suffered.

  And how badly had their people suffered?

  “Tell me about Haskill, Forbes. Tell me what happened here.”

  “That I shall do. Come with me, if you will.”

  * * *

  The snug Forbes cottage still stood on a rise above the burn. All was quiet as they approached. The children who’d lived here had, like him, grown up.

  “Was it your wife and your children living here, Forbes?”

  “Never took a wife, not yet anyway. ’Twas my elder sister, gone this last year. Her daughter and her family live here now, but they’re oot and aboot this morn.”

  Forbes led him into the warm kitchen and stirred the red embers at the hearth, setting about preparing them tea.

  “When did Haskill begin stealing from Old Horace? Did he suppose he would never be caught?”

  “He was counting on yer brother making a slow voyage from India. Thought it might be a year, maybe two before he arrived. The old duke had set him over Kinmarty until then.”

  Andrew accepted the cup of tea. “A wee drop of the whisky wouldn’t go amiss, especially with this story.”

  Forbes obliged him, topping off his cup. “And a story it is. Since his arrival in Kinmarty, Haskill badgered the duke to clear out the tenants and bring in sheep.”

  “Like the Sutherlands.” Lady Sutherland had forced thousands of tenants away to clear the land for wool cultivation.

  “Aye. The old duke opposed it.”

  “Was that Mrs. Ramsey’s influence?”

  “Mayhap, it was. She and Haskill were at loggerheads much of the time. Tried to sully her name, he did. I’ll not hear any ill spoken of her.”

  He took a hearty drink. The rumors of the duke and Ramsey had taken root long before Haskill arrived, but no matter. “Don’t worry. Mrs. Ramsey was dear to me.”

  Forbes grunted, topped off his cup again, and told him about the tenants threatened with eviction, families that were kin to the dukes of Kinmarty going back generations, clansmen and clanswomen who owed fealty and service and should be able to expect loyalty in return.

  “I’d left before she passed on, though I went back to be with her and the old duke those last few days. After that, most of the old servants departed, and upon the old duke’s death, all but Haskill’s toadies were let go.” Forbes shoved his own cup away. “Have ye looked at the leases yet?”

  “No.”

  “I ought to have gone straight to ye the first day ye arrived.”

  “Whose leases did he cancel?”

  “None yet as I know about, but he’d threatened all the families.”

  The old duke’s will might have given Haskill the running of Kinmarty, but the duke’s solicitor seemed a competent man. Surely Old Horace’s will would’ve designated his heir as the one deciding the fate of the tenants and the future of the land. It was another matter to look into.

  “Forbes, I need you. Will you come up to the Castle for a time until I can hire a butler?” He rubbed at his jaw. “Though it’s nothing like the grand old days. You’ll have to manage without the silver, and china, and the best of the linens. Haskill stole all of that, and God knows I’ve no money for replacements.”

  Forbes drew in a deep breath. “About that, duke… Do me another kindness and follow me into my wee cellar. I’ve something else to show ye.”

  Less than an hour later, Andrew was humming a tune as he steered his mount to the village that had been Marlowe’s destination.

  He had a butler, albeit a temporary one, and Forbes had promised to contact an acquaintance, a man from Kinmarty in service in Glasgow who was eager to come home. Better, he’d promised to train the new staff Marlowe was hiring.

  Best of all, he’d led Andrew to the Kinmarty silver and china stashed away in his cellar. He and the last of the duke’s loyal servants had spared most of it from Haskill’s greed.

  He patted his pocket. Forbes had also safeguarded Ramsey’s dearest possessions, to be kept out of Haskill’s hands and passed on to the new duke.

  Not that the new duke had any plans for any of the valuables, certainly not a grand dinner party. In London, society matrons showered him with invitations, but as a bachelor living in rooms, he’d never hosted such affairs. Arranging dinners and such was a woman’s business.

  The silver was valuable, though. If anyone were to melt it down for the King’s tax, it ought to be the duke himself.

  He prayed it wouldn’t come to that. Expedient it might be for a time, but he’d only have to find something else to sell for the next bill. Not himself though, nor his freedom.

  The creak of carriage wheels behind him made him rein up.

  Blast it. He’d forgotten the nabob.

  Chapter 10

  He turned his mount toward a gap in the trees, but he’d been too late.

  “What, ho.” A sturdy carriage pulled by two horses came up next to him, the two occupants bundled against the cold like Egyptian mummies.

  “There you are.”

  There was too much delight in that deep-throated greeting.

  Andrew took in a breath. “Good day to you. I’ll just move aside and you may—”

  “Kinmarty, are you not?” The driver brought the horses to a stop, and the speaker threw off his rug, clambering out.

  He was a large man—large in width, shorter in height—with skin the color of walnuts topped by a white crop of hair. He looked like a man who’d spent too much time in the bright sun of India gorging himself on curry and chickpeas.


  Andrew glanced toward the thicket. He could be through those bushes in seconds, galloping across the hills on the other side.

  But to where? No doubt the nabob would turn around and follow him back to the Castle.

  Forbes had been right. It was time to face up to who he was.

  He dipped his head, and the other man beamed.

  “Happy to meet you, duke. Benedict Strachney, here. I’ve just come from Kinmarty. Found your friend Lovelace in the stables tending his horse. I’ve two good mounts you may borrow. Have my groom bring them over tomorrow and he can look at that leg. A dab hand with horses, he is. Er…may I present my daughter, Ann?”

  The remaining bundle of rugs lifted a gloved hand and waved. Andrew swallowed a groan and bowed from his saddle.

  Strachney cocked his head. “Did you not receive my note that I was paying a call?”

  Irritation bristled in him, churning the third helping of whisky he’d shared with old Forbes.

  No social-climbing nabob would bully him, not as Mr. Andrew MacDonal, and certainly not as the Duke of Kinmarty.

  “Your man scurried off before I could send my regrets.” He swallowed his annoyance, remembering that, though a duke may lord it over his neighbors, his was a poor dukedom and this particular neighbor was as rich as Croesus. He might need his help one day. Best to keep good relations. “I hope you weren’t too inconvenienced.”

  “Oh?” Strachney said. “Oh well, we’ve had a dose of fresh air, haven’t we, Ann? Helps me to thicken my blood after so many years away. Though my Ann is used to it, aren’t you love? Ann remained here with her mother during my travels, living with my sister in Edinburgh.”

  “I see.”

  “She’s well-suited to wild Scottish weather, you’ll find.”

  Good Lord. “Yes, well, I must be on my way, and well-suited or not, I’m sure neither of you wants to remain in the cold.”

  “I look forward to becoming better acquainted when I see you tomorrow night.”