O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I don’t mean to be an inconvenience to your family, sir.” Once more, Kit offered the Sim family a means of withdrawing their generous offer without embarrassment.

  “I won’t hear of it! We’re glad to have you. But I should warn now, my children are very inquisitive – you will be expected to regale us with tales from the high seas!”

  Kit found himself at the place of honor. At first, he was a reticent guest, mindful of everything he did lest he offend. However, sometime during the meal, he found himself at ease. For the first time since his return to England, he felt welcome.

  To be sure, he was pleasantly warm, seated at the dining table in the center of the kitchen, yet it was more than that. It was the company that warmed him from within. The three children teased each other good-naturedly. The open affection between their mother and father filled his heart.

  He enjoyed having the rapt attention of the children and managed to conjure up a tale suitable for their ears. A humorous story of a recalcitrant goat on his island home of Cattalus in the Mediterranean – his lair as Sophia once described it.

  “So, Elias climbed the slippery rocks, all the way up to the top of the cliff, only to find the goat was already waiting for him!”

  They all laughed; Pip clapped his hands with glee.

  This is what he envisioned when he dreamed of a happy family. And how easy it was to feel a part of this one.

  A key in his mind turned and unlocked a truth.

  He could have this with Sophia and their children. He could have an even larger family with Elias and Jonathan and their families. His past, whatever little or large he could learn of it from the Foundling Hospital, could not condemn him. It was a map that showed where he had been, not where he was going.

  It was only when he saw Pip disguise a yawn from around his hand that Kit discovered the lateness of the hour.

  “I should go before my wife becomes anxious.”

  Mrs. Sim gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Give her our very best, Kit. Sophia sounds an absolute treasure.”

  Kit shook Mr. Sim’s hand as enthusiastically as the man had shaken his earlier, and reminded him of part of their conversation over the table.

  “All I’m saying is that if you no longer want to work for the miser, then visit my agent in the city. Our trading business is growing, and we will need good clerks.”

  After wishing Susan and Peter a goodnight, Kit bobbed down to Pip, to make sure he could see his new friend eye to eye.

  “Thank you for helping me when I was lost,” he said to the boy.

  Pip hugged him, surprisingly strong for such a little lad.

  “I hope you find your family,” the child whispered in his ear.

  Kit squeezed his eyes shut a moment to prevent tears from falling.

  “Thank you for letting me borrow yours,” he whispered back.

  The walk back to the markets had Kit follow the same route the children had taken him. They would be closing now, but he hoped there would be enough people about to make it worth the while of cab drivers to be out in the cold. Failing that, he would have to walk another block to Covent Garden.

  That suited him just fine. At the start of the night, he’d felt like a caged lion – the encounter with Pip and his family had softened his heart, and the walk back to the market had done him good, expending the pent-up energy that had made him so restless. Now his heart was at peace. He would pay his respects to his late mother and ensure she was not forgotten.

  He caught his reflection in the toy store window. A tall, lean-faced man with blond hair and light blue eyes stared back at him. He would learn all he could about his father, too. For better or for ill, the man’s blood ran through his veins.

  The shopkeeper peered around the door “May I help you, sir? We’re about to close.”

  Kit entered.

  “Do you have paper and pencil?”

  The man looked disappointed at such a meager order, but he opened a drawer to fulfill the request. Kit grinned as the man held out a pencil stub and sheet of paper.

  “No. You’ll need them. Let’s start with this puppet theatre. What costumes come with it?”

  There was something to be said for being a child at heart in possession of a large income. Kit played with each toy as it was presented to him and made his selections – they came to over two pages and the crowning item among them was an illustrated Tales from Shakespeare.

  “Fetch me a pen.”

  Despite the lateness of the hour, the shopkeeper moved with alacrity, buoyed by the outstandingly large sale he was making.

  Kit hesitated over the flyleaf a moment, then smiled. He knew the perfect inscription. It was one from Shakespeare himself.

  “I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bishop’s Wood

  Truro, Cornwall

  Christmas Day, 1818

  Kit woke early. He eased himself carefully out of bed, so as not to wake Sophia.

  They were guests of Sir Daniel Ridgeway and his wife, Lady Abigail, invited to spend Christmas at Bishop’s Wood, their large Georgian estate.

  The invitation had been unexpected – and the surprises hadn’t ended there either.

  By a miracle, he’d found a man named Adam.

  Adam Hardacre. His father.

  More than that, Kit discovered his new family came with two half-sisters, who, along with their beautiful mother, had welcomed him and Sophia into their hearts and homes.

  And yesterday, he’d almost lost them again.

  He drew open the curtain to let in a little light. The early morning winter sky was bright, the sun painting the underside of the clouds a golden amber color. What a contrast it was compared to the day before. He’d sailed through storms equally ferocious, but that wasn’t what had his heart pounding, even now recalling it.

  Despite the temptation of getting back into bed and snuggling up to his wife while she slept, he dressed quietly. He would only disturb her, and he wanted her to rest.

  Slipping down the servants’ stairs, he encountered no one. Everyone was still asleep, no doubt exhausted by the most remarkable series of events that had unfolded over the past three weeks. Such things didn’t tire him. Instead, they filled him with energy that other people sometimes found wearisome.

  Not Kit.

  He went out through the kitchen and into the grounds. He ignored the brick path down into the formal gardens, choosing instead the lesser trod, narrower gravel path that led down to the woods.

  Yesterday had been quite the adventure. He carried a fresh wound to his leg as proof.

  A group of children, including his half-sisters, had been in peril. They had been trapped on rickety scaffolding as the storm battered Truro and yet there had been more.

  He paused a moment, closed his eyes, and relived the moment he had to let go of his father in order to save him.

  “Let me go.”

  “No!”

  “You have to.”

  “It’ll be a bad landing.”

  “It will be worse if I take you down with me. There’s no choice… Son.”

  Kit breathed in the cold morning air and opened his eyes in time to watch his breath turn to steam. The chill was bracing, even his latest crop of aches and pains was something to savor, a badge of honor – they reminded him how precious family was and how very close he came to losing them so soon after finding them.

  He was not really a religious man – he left such things to his friend, Elias – but he could not deny the gratitude in his heart. He gave thanks to the Good Lord above for giving him the very thing he had been missing.

  A family.

  Kit Hardacre, the orphan, now had a past to go with his present. And, if he was not very much mistaken, he had a future, too. All he had to do was wait for Sophia to confirm what he knew to be true.

  He was going to be a father.

  The newly breaking dawn drew him through the forest path toward the
glint of light on the large pond. As the sun rose higher, the whitewashed boathouse glowed. He made his way to it to sit on the bench and rub out the ache in his leg, turning his face toward the newly risen sun. Even in the crisp, cold, Christmas morning air, it warmed his outside until he felt its heat matched the fire in his heart.

  As much as he was present in this moment, filled with a joy that struggled to contain itself, he also found his mind hundreds of miles away, in London with another family.

  Pip Sim and his brother and sister, his mother and father.

  Kit smiled to himself and imagined the scene this Christmas morning.

  If his instructions had been followed to the letter, a large goose would have been delivered yesterday. He imaged it roasting in the oven, surrounded by potatoes, parsnips, and pumpkin. On the kitchen dresser, a box stacked high with oranges would bring a delightful sweet aroma into the air.

  Three large sacks of coal by the kitchen door would keep the family warm for the rest of the winter. They were small things, practical things to thank the family for their generosity, but Kit prided himself on the impractical.

  In the parlor would be the puppet theatre filled with characters, sets, and costumes from a dozen different Shakespeare plays and with it, the book Tales from Shakespeare with his special inscription for Pip.

  He could see them in his mind’s eye, imagining Peter and Susan manipulating the puppets while Pip narrated the tale from the book to the audience of a delighted Mr. Sim and his wife.

  Merry Christmas, one and all.

  Kit stretched, raising his arms high above his head, pleased that an Epsom Salts bath and a good night’s sleep had eased the worst of his aches. He ought to get back to the house. Sophia would awaken soon and, hopefully, she would give him the answer they both desired.

  He left his place on the bench and returned to the house by a more direct route. The kitchen door was open, and the kitchen servants were already at work. He was about ten yards away when he heard singing. The tune seemed familiar, although he was certain he’d never heard it before. It must have been an old Cornish melody.

  He neared in time to hear the final verse and chorus:

  Then let us all with one accord

  Sing praises to our heavenly Lord

  That hath made heaven and earth of nought,

  And with his blood mankind hath bought:

  Noel, Noel

  Noel, Noel

  Born is the King of Israel

  Kit greeted the servants and took up with whistling of the carol as he climbed the servants’ stairs two at a time. Not even his injured leg was enough to stop him. He opened the bedroom door carefully so as not to wake Sophia if she was still in bed.

  She was not.

  His beautiful angel was awake and waiting for him.

  “I have some news,” she said. He needed no further words. The delight and wonder in her expression told him the answer. Kit pulled Sophia into his arms and rained kisses on her hair and on her cheek until she giggled, and he continued until she sighed and melted into his arms.

  “You have found your father, and now you are to be a father. How do you feel?” she asked.

  He had the answer ready to give her.

  “Like a man who has been given the greatest gift of all.”

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Heart of the Corsairs Series

  Captive of the Corsairs

  Revenge of the Corsairs

  Shadow of the Corsairs

  King’s Rogues Series

  Live and Let Spy

  Spyfall

  Spy Another Day

  Father’s Day (A Novella)

  The Lyon’s Den Connected World

  The Lyon Sleeps Tonight

  Also from Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Dark Heart

  Warming Winter’s Heart

  About the Author

  Elizabeth Ellen Carter is an award-winning historical romance writer who pens richly detailed historical romantic adventures. A former newspaper journalist, Carter ran an award-winning PR agency for 12 years. The author lives in Australia with her husband and two cats.

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  A Christmas Miracle

  Elizabeth Johns

  Alex Hartmere, Duke of Frompton, has endured enough heartache to make any man bitter. Having lost his wife and child in the war in Canada, he returns to England, only to inherit a dukedom from a father who dies in a scandalous duel soon afterwards. Repairing to his family estate for Christmas, Alex finds his first love now widowed and penniless. Can a Christmas miracle, in the form of a crippled little girl, bring them the happiness which was once stripped away from them?

  Chapter One

  Alex Hartmere was now the Duke of Frompton. He had known this day was coming, but curse it all, he would give the title away in a heartbeat. After the brutal death of his wife and child in the raid of Ganonoque, he had arrived back in England only to find his father had lost his wits over a blood feud with an old adversary, Lord Wethersby. It had not ended well, and Alex had a duchy forced upon him, along with all that it entailed. He was ready to go back to Canada despite being one of the richest, most powerful men in England. He did not want any of it.

  Of a certainty, he would be pressured to marry again and that was the last thing he wanted. Dynastic marriages for the sake of power and prestige were abhorrent to him. He had done his duty the first time… and his wife and son had been killed because of his position.

  He looked at himself in the glass. Reflected back at him was an older, bitter version of the Alex he used to be. The thick beard he wore to protect his skin from the harsh winter winds in Canada made him look untamed, feral even. After seeing his wife and son murdered, he felt wild. The only way to bear the guilt was to harden his heart.

  It was nearing Christmas and the last thing he felt was joy. It was his duty to go home to Hartmere and present a false façade to his tenants. He had hidden in London while tying up the necessary papers and formalities to become the duke, and now he must perform his duty—surely the dirtiest four-letter word in the English language.

  Leaving instructions for his servants to close up the house, he packed a small bag and set off on his oldest, most reliable steed, Midnight. He had rescued the gelding in Canada, and brought him back to England. Sometimes it seemed as though the horse was his best friend.

  He welcomed the long, hard ride to Sussex, finally allowing his mind to release its troubles and glory in the harsh elements and challenge of sitting in the saddle for a few days.

  When he entered the village of Upper Hartfield, nostalgia swarmed his senses with the sights and smells of his childhood. Smoke was rising from the chimneys, filling the air with the delicious smell of burning wood, mixed with spicy aromas of Christmas baking. Frost covered the ground with crystals that glistened in the light glowing from the houses.

  It should all put him in the mood for the festive season, but he felt nothing but bitterness. He slowed the gelding to a walk, for darkness had fallen early, as was its habit at this time of year. The familiar shops were there – the baker, the butcher, and the blacksmith. Old Sam looked up and waved as Alex rode past. The gates to Hartmere were at the end of the village, but he had to pass the one place he had avoided for eight years now. It was impossible not to wonder if she was happy with her choice of husband. She probably had several babies by now.

  It had been so long, why did it still sting?

  He regretted how they had parted, and that he had been his father’s puppet and married where he was ordered. He had not hated his wife, but it had not been a love-match as it would have been with Anna. Since it did no good to dwell on the past, he forced himself to move on down the road. She must know he was a duke now and would be returning. As Lady Lynley, she would be bound to be invited to
the same gatherings. They would see each other socially and have to behave as though there had never been anything between them.

  He started when he saw a young girl of about six years hobbling along on a crutch slip on the ice. A pretty little thing she was, and he felt a twinge of sadness for his lost son, who would have been almost of an age with her now.

  Without thinking, he drew Midnight alongside the child. “Good evening, do you have far to go?”

  “Oh, no, sir. My mother and I live at Splatmore Cottage. I was delivering some dresses for her.”

  “Alone?”

  “It is only in the village, sir. The doctor says it keeps me strong.” She smiled brightly and indicated her handicap with no hint of shame.

  There was a hint of familiarity in the little girl’s dimples when she smiled. Perhaps she was the offspring of one of the village children he had known in his youth. Many people in small areas were related in one way or another.

  She was noting Midnight with curiosity.

  “Do you like horses?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, sir. My father had many and used to take me up on them.”

  Alex tried not to show his confusion. The family must have fallen on hard times if they lived in Splatmore Cottage and used to have horses.

  Alex dismounted so the little girl could pet Midnight. The horse was a gentle giant, as black as his name indicated and standing well over seventeen hands. At Alex’s command, Midnight lowered his head for the little girl to reach. She knew exactly how to rub behind his ears and Midnight nuzzled her, encouraging more.

  The little girl giggled with pleasure.

  “Would you allow me to take you up before me and convey you to your home?”

  He could sense her hesitation.

  “Mama would not be pleased for me to accept a ride from a stranger, sir. We have not been introduced.”

  “I am not exactly a stranger,” he informed her. “I imagine I know your mama and papa. I was brought up here.”