She held it above her head, closed her eyes, and raised her cheek to him. He obliged, and she plucked off a berry and handed the cluster to him. He walked over to Etta who was on a chair, busy tucking bits of rosemary and holly into the greenery above the entrance.
“Could you hang this please?” he asked.
Her cheeks were the color of the cherries as she took the mistletoe from him and looped it through a small twig of pine. She avoided his eyes as he leaned against the doorframe, waiting for her to finish.
When she finally bent to step down, he took her hand and pulled her to him. “It’s tradition.” He had caught Tia’s holiday spirit. “We can’t disappoint your sister.”
Her amber eyes widened, and she turned her head to present her cheek.
“Is that really what you want, Etta?” he whispered in her ear.
Her breath caught, and she faced him. He bent and brushed her lips. The hint of a kiss sent fire through his veins. He heard her intake of breath and placed another light kiss on her mouth, lingering for just a moment. Then he plucked a white berry from above his head and counted.
“Hmm, only five more.” He winked at her. “We certainly don’t want to waste those, do we?”
She shook her head. Her fingers traced the lips he’d just kissed. Her chest rose and fell, her eyes now a molten gold. Etta had enjoyed it as much as he had.
Back came the preposterous grin.
Blast, but he felt like he was back at university. The taste of her made his head reel, and he wanted more. Dinner was a welcome reprieve. It would give him time to quell the flames burning low in his belly.
They gathered in the parlor again that evening. Tia played a few Christmas carols on the pianoforte while Etta sang. His toe tapped to “Deck the Halls,” and Gus realized he was enjoying his time at Bliss Manor with two unexpected companions. He felt the years fall away. In his youth, he’d been popular and spontaneous.
Where had that boy gone?
He’d invited Mrs. Willoughby and MacIntyre after the meal, along with Jasper and Pup, to join them on Christmas Day. The housekeeper was the closest thing he had to family here, and he suspected the butler would be a comfort for the sisters. He was used to putting social etiquette aside when visiting the poorer areas of London. If he could share a tankard with a man in the rookeries, he could certainly share this day with his housekeeper and a butler.
The ladies joined him by the fireplace.
“Why did you become a physician?” asked Miss Tia. She sat on the rug, her legs tucked under her with a cheek pressed against Etta’s lap.
“I wanted to help people. Two of my brothers”—he held up two fingers for her—“joined the army, one studied law.” Gus paused as Etta spelled out “lawyer.” Her mouth formed an O in acknowledgment.
“I was expected to go into the church.” Tia wrinkled her nose, and he laughed. “I studied medicine instead.”
“May I ask you a question as a physician?” He found he used his hands to gesture more when he spoke to Tia, and it seemed to help. Such a small thing, yet he imagined so vital.
“What do you find most difficult about being deaf?” He pointed to his ear. Her coping abilities and optimism fascinated him.
She thought about it. “The fear that I’ll lose my favorite sounds. Etta used to sing to me when I couldn’t sleep. When I play, I rely on vibration because I can’t hear the notes. I worry I’ll forget what the keys of the piano sound like, or her voice, or the birds of spring and summer.”
He swallowed, his throat thick. Instead of bemoaning her lot in life, as did many of his wealthy clients at the slightest discomfort, she found light in the darkness. “You’re a brave young woman.”
Miss Tia tilted her head. “Why do you think so? Many people are at a disadvantage in one way or another.”
“But the silence… is it not lonely? Isolating?”
Miss Tia gave him a sympathetic smile. “It is quiet inside my head, but my heart is never silent.” She placed both hands on her chest. “Where would you rather be hushed? Here or here?” She pointed to her head and then back to her heart.
Gus took in a long breath as he digested her words. “You’re very wise for such a young girl.”
Miss Tia snorted. “Or you’re not as clever as you think!”
“Tia!” But Etta’s reprimand held no irritation.
“It’s fine. My grandmother’s mantra was, ‘Open your mind and let your heart speak.’ I think she would have understood Miss Tia very well.”
Chapter Six
An hour later, Tia yawned. It had been a long and wonderful day. As Etta rose to accompany her sister, Dr. Wharren asked her to stay. “Could we talk for a bit?”
Etta nodded, hugged Tia, then sat back down. Her eyes narrowed, casting a warning glare over the physician’s shoulder. He turned to look and saw Tia’s impish grin as she pointed up at the mistletoe. He nodded and winked. With a laugh, the girl scampered up the stairs.
“I hope you’ve been comfortable during your visit?” he asked.
She nodded, curious at his request to see her alone but glad to have an opportunity to become better acquainted with this handsome man. “You may not believe me, but since my blubbering yesterday morning, my heart has been light. As if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
“And I’ve been oddly lighthearted after I came across you two nights ago. I believe you’re a boon to this old place.” He paused, as if struggling to find the words. “I returned home because I was disillusioned. Doctoring the wealthy filled my pocket, but the misfortunate who truly needed me soothed my soul.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I don’t deal well with death. And there is so much of it in the slums.” He let out a defeated sigh. “So, I’ve come home to rethink my future.”
“So, Dr. Wharren, did you leave behind a trail of broken hearts?” Etta’s tone was light, but her gaze intent. Why was she holding her breath? “I’m surprised you are not married.”
“I could ask the same of you. But please, call me Gus.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I had a fiancée five or six years ago, but we didn’t agree on my direction. She preferred the manicured gardens of my wealthy clients. When I extended my services to the rookeries several days a week, she asked to be released from the betrothal.”
“I’m sorry she didn’t appreciate your integrity.” She laid her hand atop his. “Perhaps it was better than a marriage full of conflict.”
Gus nodded. “And how could such a lovely woman as yourself not have men lined up with proposals?” He placed his other hand over hers. “I think you are one of the loveliest women I’ve ever met, inside and out.”
She blushed, remembering their kiss. “Our mother died giving birth to Tia. At ten, scarlet fever left her with a profound hearing loss. My father thought it best to keep her hidden away on our northern estate.”
“People are afraid of what they don’t understand or what is different.” He rubbed his jaw. “I didn’t realize it’s only been a few years. That explains her speech. Did your father bring her to any specialists? Perhaps her hearing could be restored.”
Etta shook her head. “He trusted our country doctor who said it was permanent. She can hear very shrill noises and some birdsong. She used to sit out under an oak, waiting for one to sing for her.”
“Are you afraid to leave your sister? Is that why you haven’t married?” His tone was gentle, caring. “To take care of her?”
“Papa promised me a Season each year at Christmastide since I was seventeen, but it never came to fruition.” Etta took in a long breath, acutely aware of his touch, and leaned back against the chintz cushion. “And you’re correct. I couldn’t have left Tia. Now I’m glad that I didn’t. We only have each other now.”
They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts, and gazed at the crackling fire.
“It seems the past two days have been filled with fo
rtunate coincidences,” Gus began. His eyes searched her face as he told her about the letter from his colleague and the York Asylum. “I have to admit, after your story, I’m inclined to accept his offer.”
Etta’s hand went to her throat. “To think my sister might have been one of the patients you found there. It’s frightening.” She studied his handsome profile, the elegant yet capable hands that rested on the arm of the chair, and realized how much she’d grown to care for this man in such a short time. “I believe it may be an answer to your personal dilemma. To make a difference in people’s lives without so much death.”
“My brother was right.” He gave her a tender smile that sent her heart into a pitter-patter. “He said I should consider marriage. Talking to Charlotte—his wife—always eased his mind and his conscience.”
Those wings in her stomach set up a fuss again. “I’m happy to help.”
“I imagine you are tired, and I’ve kept you up with my rambling.” He stood and offered his hand, helping her to her feet. He led her to the door and stopped under the mistletoe. “We can’t disappoint Miss Tia.”
His mouth covered hers; his hands slid about her waist and pulled her close. His lips were soft and warm. They pressed against hers, making her insides quake and her legs weak. Her palms moved from his chest to the silk cravat, then slid around his neck. Her mind was a bumblebath of emotion. She knew his kiss wasn’t proper but never wanted it to end.
He drew back and touched his forehead to hers. “I feel as if I’ve been waiting for you all my life. Does that sound mad?”
She shook her head, still clinging to him, certain if he let her go, she would crumple to the floor in the happiest disheveled heap.
He reached up and plucked another berry from the bunch. “There are only four left for tomorrow. Not nearly enough.”
Gus woke with a start. He’d dreamt of Grandmama granting one Christmas wish to each of her grandchildren. But this year, instead of asking, she had pushed him under the mistletoe with Etta. Maybe his grandmother was a ghostly presence at Bliss Manor.
The absurd smile returned. He didn’t know exactly when or how it had happened, but he was in love Miss Henrietta Comden. He threw back the counterpane, ready to begin his day. A new year approaching, a new life and, he hoped, a new family.
He dressed in a cranberry waistcoat with matching tails and manilla brown trousers. By the time he reached the drawing room, he found Tia, Etta, and MacIntyre in an excited conversation.
“What happened?” he asked, worried they were planning to leave.
“Tia had the strangest dream last night.” Etta gave her sister a doubtful look. “She said ‘the countess’ visited her.”
Gus paused. “What did she look like?”
Tia described his grandmother, down to the cameo she always wore pinned to her breast. “It sounds like we both dreamt of Grandmama.”
“She promised my Christmas wish would be granted. And when I woke this morning, I could hear birdsong in my head, and Etta’s voice was as clear to me as if she’d spoken in my ear.” Tia’s clear blue eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I was so afraid I would forget.”
“I dinna doubt what the lass hears, only that a ghost was in her room last night.” MacIntyre shook his head. “Are ye sure it was no’ all here?” He pointed to his temple.
“It doesn’t matter. I remember,” Tia said, hugging herself. “It’s the best Christmas Day of my life.”
Later that day, over a cup of wassail, Gus gave Tia the book Etta had found in the library. She squealed, then curled up in a chair in front of the fire to flip through the pages. Mrs. Willoughby and MacIntyre sat together, deciding which parlor games to play after dinner. Gus noted the pleased smile she bestowed on the Scot and his tender tone as they spoke.
“It seems you’ve made my sister and our butler very happy this Christmastide,” said Etta. She sat down next to him on the chaise longue. “I only wish I had something to give you in return.”
He took her hand. “There is. Stay here.”
“I beg your pardon?” Those brandy eyes held his, searching for an explanation.
“It’s only been three days, and I don’t understand it myself, but I can’t bear the thought of you leaving.” He raised her fingers to his lips. “Tia was right. The heart is never silent, and mine declares that I’ve fallen in love with you.”
He’d said it. The spontaneous boy of his youth had reappeared, and now his fate was to be decided by this exquisite woman.
A tear fell down her cheek. Good God, he’d made her cry. Gus brushed it away with a finger. “I’m sorry, Etta. I’m afraid I’ve overwhelmed you.”
She shook her head, an umber lock falling from her chignon. “I feel the same, as if everything that has happened has led me to you.”
Blast! How could he kiss her with the stupid smile back on his face?
“Miss Henrietta Comden, will you be my wife?” He tucked the stray curl behind her ear.
She nodded, crying in earnest now.
“I warned you she cries all the time,” said Tia with a roll of her eyes. “Even at the happiest of times.”
“I told ye, lass, it would all work out,” spouted MacIntyre. “So, Dr. Wharren, I understand ye’re in need of a butler?”
They laughed as Gus rubbed his neck. But this time he didn’t look for the source of that chilly draft. “Thank you, Grandmama, for this wish,” he whispered, watching the two females hug one another in congratulations. “I love you too.”
Author’s Note
Gus and Etta married and eventually turned Bliss Manor into a hospital of sorts, taking in soldiers after the war and poor souls with afflictions their families didn’t understand or wished to keep hidden.
Tia returned to Bliss Manor every year, a firm believer in the mansion’s restorative powers. As an adult, she brought her children and then her grandchildren, sharing the magical place where Christmas wishes were fulfilled. The sounds of birdsong, her music, and the voice of her beloved sister never grew faint in her ears.
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Aubrey Wynne
A MacNaughton Castle Romance
Deception and Desire (Book 1)
An Allusive Love (Book 2)
A Bonny Pretender (Book 3)
A Merry MacNaughton Mishap (Novella)
About the Author
Bestselling and award-winning author Aubrey Wynne is an elementary teacher by trade, champion of children and animals by conscience, and author by night. She resides in the Midwest with her husband, dogs, horses, mule, and barn cats. Obsessions include wine, history, travel, trail riding, and all things Christmas. Her books have received the Golden Quill, Aspen Gold, Heart of Excellence, and the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence.
Aubrey’s first love is medieval romance but after dipping her toe in the Regency period in 2018 with the Wicked Earls’ Club, she was smitten. This inspired her spin-off series Once Upon a Widow. In 2020, she will launch the Scottish Regency series A MacNaughton Castle Romance with Dragonblade Novels.
Find Aubrey
Website: aubreywynne.com
Facebook: facebook.com/magnificentvalor
Twitter: @aubreywynne51
Instagram: Aubreywynne51
Subscribe to Aubrey’s newsletter for new releases, exclusive excerpts, and free stories:
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Of Christmas Past
Charlotte Wren
“The best prophet of the future is the past.”
Lord Byron
Chapter One
Pont au Double, Paris
Friday, December 13th, 1844
Josiah had never quite been able to recreate the reflection of gaslight on water. The hypnotic allure of it, the concept of movement, had always eluded his brushstrokes. The painting in his hand was no exception. He’d completed it two nights earlier, when the sky was moonless and a tempera
te southern wind negated the need for a scarf. The Seine was always more beautiful at night, he thought. A shimmering artery of light and dark, flowing through the city.
As an artist, he’d always failed to do it justice.
In all of Paris, the Pont au Double had always been his favorite spot. The old stone bridge linked the Rive Gauche to the Île de la Cité, where the great cathedral of Notre Dame had stood for over six centuries. He came here often, almost always after dark, and in all kinds of weather. Tonight, with the wind tearing out of the north, one definitely needed a scarf. Because of the bitter cold, there were fewer people about.
Despite being in possession of his scarf, Josiah suppressed a shiver as he gazed up at the cathedral. In particular, its magnificent rose window. The faint glow of candlelight shone through the stained glass, creating a muted kaleidoscope of color, an effect that could not be seen in daylight. Hence his nighttime visits. The window was what drew him to this spot, time after time. For it reminded him of home.
By now, his parents would have lit the solitary candle that burned each night in the rose window of Highfield Hall. It had long been a family tradition, done in memory of his Uncle Julian who’d gone off to fight Napoleon at Waterloo, and never returned.
Since his departure on Christmas Eve, almost five years before, Josiah hadn’t returned to Highfield Hall either. But, unlike Uncle Julian, his had not been a heroic farewell. He hadn’t ridden off to go and fight on some foreign field, taking with him hopes and prayers for his safe return.
No, Josiah’s departure had taken place in a hailstorm of fury, a slamming of doors, and the declaration of a vow never to return. His had been a rebellious rejection of tradition. The act of a boy who’d erroneously believed himself to be a man. Being born a Northcott didn’t oblige him to take an officer’s commission, or dive into politics, or marry some giggling idiot of a girl. To hell with his father’s worn-out, old-school ideologies. Josiah wanted to write, to paint, to travel the world. To experience life as he saw fit.
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 46
