The Peace of Christmas Yet to Come: Sweet Regency Romance (A Dickens of a Christmas Book 3)

by L G Rollins

  “We came,” Lady Fitzroy said, “in honor of Her Grace, the late Duchess of Pembroke.”

  Lord Birks huffed. “I’m just glad the current Duke of Pembroke keeps to himself so often.”

  “He is quite difficult to be around, isn’t he,” Lady Harriet said. “I must admit, I am never so happy as when he leaves the room.”

  “Harriet,” her mother scolded.

  “Don’t bother stopping her,” Lady Fitzroy said. “We all feel the same. There’s no reason to deny it when it’s just us.”

  As a group, they turned and began to walk down the street.

  Lord Birks’s voice still reached Hugh, however. “We are all glad whenever His Grace takes himself off. Just imagine the parties we’ll throw when he finally passes.”

  Hugh could hear no more after that.

  He stood, motionless, as Peter still waved his sword about for the enjoyment of the last few onlookers.

  Hugh could hear the sounds of muffled voices about him, he could feel his nose growing cold, he could taste a bit of the bitter shoe blackening he’d used on his face slipping over his lips. But he was disconnected from it all. Though he stood in the middle of the street, he had never felt so isolated, so apart from everything around him.

  Of course, he’d never believed his own house guests were partial to him. He’d known from the beginning they were in residence at Stonewell Castle more to honor his mother than to see him. Yet, he’d never realized just how little they thought of him. How much they hated being in his presence.

  “You were magnificent.” Martha’s cheerful voice seemed to reach him, only to bounce off again. “Both of you.”

  “Did we do good?” Peter asked, sheathing his sword with a flourish.

  “Very well,” Martha said, holding the bag open and down low enough for Peter to see.

  Martha glanced over at the duke. “I had no idea you two had practiced so very much.”

  Hugh simply stood there.

  Martha’s brow creased, and she slowly turned toward him more fully. “Is everything all right?”

  Hugh drew in a deep breath and then let it out. “Yes. Of course.”

  She wasn’t convinced—he could see it in her eyes. Did she feel at all the same as the others? He didn’t think she was anything like Lady Fitzroy, certainly not like Lady Harriett. But just because she didn’t abhor his company didn’t mean she wished to make a future with him.

  His gaze dropped to the bag of coins as a new thought struck him—if Martha thought a future with him might be possible, would she have ever put on a mummers’ play to begin with? Would she have risked being found out? Probably not.

  Martha’s hand rested lightly against his arm. “Hugh?”

  Hugh waved toward the bag. He didn’t know what Martha thought of him, only what those he’d invited into his house thought. “I see every reason you should be pleased with today’s outcome.” Why had the comments hit him so hard? Perhaps it was just strange hearing someone speak of him when they didn’t know he was around. Perhaps it was the vehemence with which they had denounced his presence.

  Whatever it was, Hugh couldn’t shake the unpleasant shock as the three of them returned to their carriage and rode back to Stonewell Castle.

  Back to his own home which was filled with people who were practically looking forward to his funeral with anticipation.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Martha slipped up the servants’ stairway and into her room. Removing her Doctor Quack costume was easier than putting it on, and soon she was in a dress once more. She felt lighter and happier than she could remember being as of late.

  Their little bag of coin was far from empty. Every time it clinked against her legs as she’d carried it up the stairs, she’d thought of all the food and clothing she could now buy for them. Peter could have new shoes. They could even afford a bit of beef once in a while.

  The door opened and Anne stepped inside. “Do you need any help, miss?”

  Martha looked over herself in the mirror. “Did I miss any face paint?”

  Anne drew up close, inspecting her carefully. “I think you got it all.”

  “How’s my hair?” She’d styled it herself. Having gone without a lady’s maid for quite some time now, Martha was used to doing her own hair.

  “Lovely.”

  “Thank you. And no one knew we slipped out? Or missed us while we were gone?”

  “Not a soul. A few of the guests went into Dunwell, but most stayed here and have been quietly entertaining themselves.”

  Excellent. The day went far better than she’d hoped.

  “If you are ready, miss, Doctor Lock is here.”

  Martha whipped about. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

  Anne gave her a hesitant glance. “Sorry, miss.” Martha hurried toward the door even as Anne continued. “He only just got here, and I figured you’d want to be decent before you saw him.”

  She reached Tim’s room in only a few strides. The door was slightly open, so she slipped in. Doctor Lock stood beside the bed, his back toward her.

  Tim was sitting up. He looked over at her and smiled. His eyes were clear, and he seemed to be sitting on his own without struggling.

  Martha hurried forward and took hold of his hand.

  “The fever broke,” Tim declared happily.

  A mix of feelings—relief, joy, unfamiliar hope—swelled inside her, making her throat too thick to speak.

  “He’s going to be just fine,” Doctor Lock said.

  “Thank you,” she managed to whisper.

  As Doctor Lock stepped away from the bed, Martha sat upon it, facing Tim fully, placing her hand against his forehead.

  “The doctor said I was fine,” Tim protested.

  “I know,” Martha said, not taking her hand down.

  But she didn’t miss Doctor’s Lock soft chuckle as he opened the bedchamber door and left the room.

  Tim pushed her hand away. “I’m better, all right?”

  Martha let her hand rest atop his once more. “We have been so worried about you.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to grow so sick.”

  Dear boy. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Tim’s gaze moved off of her and began to rove the room. “Where are we?”

  “At Stonewell Castle. His Grace has been quite generous in allowing us to stay while you got better.”

  “Is he the one big one, with dark hair?”

  He must have seen Hugh one of the many times he’d been in Tim’s room. “Yes, that’s him.” She was a bit surprised Tim remembered him at all; his fever had been quite severe.

  Tim’s brow creased. “Do you think he’s letting us stay because he feels guilty?”

  Hugh stepped into the parlor. No one so much as glanced his way. There was no slowing of conversations, no recognition at all that he’d returned. If they hated him so much, he half-expected at least a scowl or the like. Most likely though, it was his title that stopped the glares.

  He shouldn’t be so upended by what he’d heard. He’d always been despised. First for his inability to speak, then for his choice not to. This was nothing new. Still, it galled him.

  Hugh strode into the room, not bothering to be quiet about it. Comerford was speaking with Birks near a side table that held a decanter of brandy.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.” Comerford picked up a cup and poured himself some drink. “She’s rarely about, and when she is, she’s almost always by his side; she clearly prefers to only speak with His Grace.”

  Lord Birks held out his cup, and Comerford filled it, as well. “I don’t blame any man for taking a mistress. I’m only a bit sorry that His Grace chose one with a sickly brother. Must be a blasted inconvenience having her entire family about. I don’t see why he stands for it.”

  Hugh stilled at the words. Then his heart started beating loudly in his chest, and a hot anger welled up inside him.

  “She gifted me a glove once, before she met His Grace,�
� Comerford said, his back toward Hugh.

  A conversation from several weeks ago, when he and Martha were only just becoming friends, rushed back to mind. An acquaintance “I wish I could un-make,” Martha had said. “He stole my glove—one from my good pair, too.” This was that gentleman? Why had she not said something sooner? He would have seen the man removed from Stonewell Castle immediately had he known. She would have told him if she trusted Hugh half as much as he’d deluded himself into believing.

  Hugh marched across the room toward the two men.

  “No doubt,” Lord Comerford spoke on, unaware he was about to seriously regret getting out of bed that morning, “she only agreed to his company out of despera—”

  Hugh grabbed hold of Comerford’s shoulder, spun him around, and shook him by his lapels. The cup dropped from Comerford’s hand, shattering against the floor. Hugh leaned in until his face was only inches from the blackguard’s.

  “Never speak of Martha again.”

  Comerford’s eyes were wide, and his mouth moved as though trying to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Come off it,” Lord Birks said, quite as though nothing unseemly had been said. “We’re nothing but a couple of understanding gentlemen.”

  The smell of brandy was heavy on Birks’s breath. This was clearly not his first drink, most likely not his second, either.

  “You’re making the ladies uncomfortable,” Birks said, taking hold of Hugh’s hands and pulling him back.

  Making the ladies wish Hugh would leave altogether, Birks meant. Hugh glanced about. They were all staring at him now. They may have been ignoring him before, but now he could clearly see the displeasure in their gazes. Their abhorrence for him, their scorn. Had it always been there, and he was only now seeing it?

  Comerford tugged on his jacket, righting himself once more. “Whatever you’re paying her,” he said in a voice only Hugh would hear, “it isn’t enough.”

  That was it.

  “Out,” Hugh ordered to the entire room.

  No one moved, but their gazes shifted from condemnation to shocked uncertainty.

  “Get out!”

  Lady Fitzroy stood first, followed by Lady Harriet. Like a very slow herd of thick-headed cows, they moved toward the door.

  “We shall entertain ourselves in the music room,” Lady Fitzroy said in a soft voice.

  Lady Wilmington replied in a whisper. Hugh couldn’t hear it, but he could guess at the meaning.

  “No,” Hugh said.

  The group stopped, a few glancing back at him.

  “Leave Stonewell Castle. All of you.” He was done with the lot of them. He was done keeping quiet to spare them the discomfort of hearing him speak, only to be shunned because of his silence. He was through trying to be equal to all the ridiculous rules and ideals they held up.

  “Leave,” he ordered again. “Now!”

  “What do you mean?” Martha asked, her hands suddenly going cold. “He’s letting us stay here out of guilt?”

  Tim leaned back against the pillows behind him. “He’s the one. The Silent Duke is the man who yelled at me and scared me.”

  Martha couldn’t move. It was Hugh? He had caused Tim to fall and then get lost that night? “Are you certain?” she asked.

  Tim watched her for a moment then nodded. “I wanted to warn him that some of the boys had more snowballs ready to throw at him up ahead. I don’t know why he yelled at me.”

  Martha didn’t know either, but a surging need to protect her little brother filled her. She’d been wondering for weeks now how anyone could lash out at such a sweet boy as Tim. Apparently, she didn’t have to go far to find out.

  “Do you think he still hates me?” Tim asked, his voice growing smaller.

  Martha patted Tim’s hand. If Hugh did, he would have her to answer to. Standing, she tried to keep her expression composed.

  “I am sure he feels quite bad over the incident now.” And if he didn’t, Martha would see that he did. She moved toward the door, her shoulders back and her jaw tight.

  “Where are you going?” Tim called after her.

  To slay the dragon, she wanted to say. Instead, she responded, “To get Peter. I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed to play soldiers with you again.”

  That seemed to satisfy Tim, and he leaned back once more.

  Martha found Peter quickly and sent him to Tim’s room. After that, she hurried toward Hugh’s study. She didn’t find him there, but a footman directed her toward the parlor.

  As she drew near, a voice—loud and angry—reached her.

  “Leave,” Hugh yelled. “Now!”

  Martha slowed her step. The parlor door opened, and people spilled out. Lady Fitzroy held her head up high, her lips pursed tightly.

  Lady Wilmington was at her elbow, whispering quickly. “You were right to warn me about him. Seems he is determined to ruin Christmas for us all.” Her gaze landed on Martha, and her steps paused. Her face darkened into unbridled disdain. Wrapping her arm around her daughter, she turned her nose up at Martha. “Come, Harriet. Let us pack our things and leave. It’s clear we aren’t wanted here any longer.”

  One by one, the guests hurried by her and up the stairs, most throwing her a glare or sour expression on their way.

  What had happened?

  Martha moved through the parlor door. Hugh stood a ways off, Lord Birks beside him.

  “You are making much too big of a deal of things,” Lord Birks said.

  “Shut your bone box, sir, or I will shut it for you.”

  Lord Birks drew himself up. “There is no need for obscenities, Your Grace.” Turning on his heel, he strode over to Martha. “If ever you grow tired of your current situation, Miss Cratchit, just send me word.”

  “Excuse me?” What could he possibly be referring to? Had word of their mummers’ play gotten out?

  He glanced over his shoulder at Hugh. “Just know not all arrangements need be so tedious.”

  She hadn’t found the play tedious in the least, though his comment didn’t seem to reference it. If not the play, what then?

  “Birks!” Hugh yelled. A threat if ever Martha had heard one.

  Lord Birks turned his back on Hugh and left the room without another word.

  “What is going on?” Martha asked.

  Hugh’s gaze was still on the door, his chest heaving.

  He seemed unwilling to answer her. Whatever she’d missed here in the parlor, it had clearly angered him in the extreme.

  Tim’s soft voice came back to mind, as did the reason she’d come looking for Hugh in the first place.

  Martha’s hands fell to her sides even as they tightened into fists, a new surge of anger driving her forward.

  “Have you taken to yelling at your guests? I ought not be surprised, I suppose. You seem more than willing to yell at anyone whenever you see fit.”

  His gaze finally moved to her. The look in his eyes was one she couldn’t define. There was anger there, yes. But more, as well. He looked at her, his gaze so intense, he seemed to be peering deep into her soul.

  “He deserved to be kicked out.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  Hugh harrumphed.

  “And what of Lady Fitzroy or Lady Wilmington? Did they deserve such censure?”

  He seemed not to feel guilty at his outburst at all. How could someone treat his guests—whether they be true friends or not—so harshly, then not even care?

  “I realize”—she struggled to keep her voice steady—“that they have not always been affable or understanding. I know they have made your life lonely and hard. But their unkindness does not justify your own.”

  Hugh folded his arms. “This is my home. I will do as I see fit.”

  Martha folded her arms, mirroring his stance, and lifted a single eyebrow in challenge. “I suppose you do as you see fit outside your home as well.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Even if the one who has drawn your anger is only a little boy? E
ven when he was only trying to help you?”

  Hugh’s head tipped to the side, his frustration quickly morphing into confusion.

  “Tim told me it was you,” Martha pressed on. “Only moments ago, he asked me if our stay at Stonewell is because you feel guilty.” She’d begun to wonder if there weren’t other reasons—reasons which caused her heart to race and her skin to tingle. Apparently not. “Now I wonder if you ever feel guilty for anything.”

  Hugh’s shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand down his face.

  The sight of him blurred, and Martha blinked back tears. “How could you yell at a little boy? How could you turn and leave him there, hurting, in the snow?”

  He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  “Well?” She took a couple of steps closer to him. “Have you nothing to say?”

  He looked up and opened his mouth, only nothing came out. She waited for him, waited for him to push through his struggle and find his words. But after a bit, he only shut his mouth and shook his head.

  It was one thing to be patient while he spoke, but now he didn’t even appear to want to try. He didn’t even see her brother’s suffering and illness worthy of an apology.

  “I thought I knew you,” Martha muttered, blinking rapidly again. “I was wrong.”

  “I guess you were,” he said, his voice low.

  Did he truly mean that? Martha took a small step back, then another. He still wouldn’t look at her; his gaze jumped from one part of the room to another but always avoided her.

  “I think . . .” He started, paused, took a deep breath, then pushed on. “I think you’d better leave Stonewell Castle.”

  So the time she’d been dreading had come. She’d always known it would—she just didn’t think it would happen so soon. “Very well. If that is your wish, Your Grace.”

  He winced at the formal address, as she knew he would. Turning slowly, she made her way toward the door.

  “Just know,” she said, without looking over her shoulder, “when next you feel lonely, you pushed us away. And you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  Tears threatening anew, Martha rushed from the room.