All is Mary and Bright: A Christmas Regency Romance (Belles of Christmas: Frost Fair Book 2)

by Kasey Stockton

  He rubbed his jaw. “When was this?”

  “It was the winter after her husband died and left her a widow. Father told me she needed extra help and made me promise never to tell a soul. He told me my blessings would be greater if I kept the secret because it was just between us, Mrs. Phillips, and God.”

  Andrew nodded, remembering having that similar conversation with his father. “He was a good man.”

  “As are you.”

  Andrew rose, ignoring the comment. So Anne had heard all of that part, too. He was unprepared to have this conversation with a member of his family.

  “I heard what Mary told you, Andrew, and I agree with her. You are too hard on yourself.”

  “I could do better.”

  Anne scoffed, rising from the sofa and taking his arm. “Oh, pish. Of course you could. Is there a person alive who couldn’t do better?”

  She let him lead her upstairs in silence, seemingly respecting that most of the house was already asleep, and didn’t say another word on the matter.

  That night Andrew lay in bed watching the moonlight glow against his open window and wondering if there was any truth to Mary’s or Anne’s words.

  Chapter 16

  “Do you think Mr. Lockhart will be upset that we’ve arrived early?” Lady Anne asked, pressing into Mary’s side on the plush bench seat so she might look out the small window. Their shoulders bumped as the carriage rolled to a stop outside of the tall, brick building, the black letters displayed across the sign depicting the hotel’s name.

  Lord Sanders shook his head. “Of course he will not be angry. We are only a quarter-hour early, and he would not expect us to wait in the carriage in this cold, Anne.”

  Mary hoped that would be the case. Mr. Lockhart was so eager to please the Brights, she rather thought the earl was correct. They could likely do no wrong where he was concerned.

  The door swung open, and a servant let down the step. Lord Sanders stepped out before turning around to help the women down onto the snow-covered ground. Lady Anne and her mother removed first, and Lord Sanders reached for Mrs. Hatcher’s hand. “Be cautious, madam. The road is slick.”

  Mary scooted to the end of the bench, taking the earl’s gloved fingers and stepping into the bitter cold. The sky was dark, the group’s breath clouding before them as they waited for the entirety of their party to exit the carriage. Lights from the street lamps cast a weak orange glow over the walkway in both directions, highlighting the misty air.

  “Oh, Mary!” Lady Anne hissed, reaching for her as she stepped closer to the building. Her blonde ringlets were hidden under a wide bonnet, but the evening shadows did not hide her stricken face, white as if she’d seen a ghost.

  Mary jumped, startled by the harshness of her friend’s tone. “What is it?”

  Lady Anne hurried closer, looking over her shoulder as she did, and slipped. Her feet rammed into Mary’s ankle as she pitched backward, her eyes widening until her head hit the brick step that led up to the hotel.

  “Anne!” Mary screamed, dropping to her knees and lifting Lady Anne’s head from the cold ground onto her lap.

  Lord Sanders was next to her on the ground immediately. “Anne,” he repeated, but neither of their summons roused the girl. Her eyes were closed, her face eerily still.

  Looking over his shoulder, Lord Sanders shouted to his coachman. “Hold the carriage.”

  “What is it?” a deep voice asked behind them, and Mr. Lockhart appeared.

  “We must get Anne home immediately. She’s fallen and hit her head.” Lord Sanders paused on Mr. Lockhart’s face. “Can you find a physician? Send him to Sanders House.”

  “I don’t—that is, I’m not sure where—”

  The earl did not waste time. He looked to Mary. “Tell my groom to find a doctor.”

  She looked down. “But Andrew, I can’t set her on the ground.”

  “Give her here.” His arm slid carefully under his sister’s shoulders, hefting her from the frozen ground and into his arms. His mother stood behind him, watching the scenario unfold with a handkerchief to her tear-stained face, Mama beside her, clutching her arm.

  Mary rose, crossing to the groom behind the carriage and relaying the earl’s message. “You must get a physician immediately.” The man nodded before turning to glance down the road, then taking off at a run.

  “Mr. Lockhart,” Mary said, stepping nearer to the hotel where her intended stood, shocked. “I am afraid we cannot consider dinner right now.”

  “No, of course not. You must see to Lady Anne.” His concerned expression did him credit. “But allow me to help. Might I escort you home?”

  “I really must go with Lady Anne.”

  “Then I shall see to your mother. If Lady Anne is lying on the seat, surely there is not enough room for your entire party inside the carriage.”

  Mary nodded. She stepped forward, finding Lord Sanders within, his sister laying across the bench, her torso in her brother’s arms. They could likely all fit on the opposite bench, but it would be a squeeze. And Lady Sanders would wish to be with her children.

  She hurried to her mother’s side. “Mama, let us help Lady Sanders into the carriage. Mr. Lockhart has offered to see us home directly, but they must lose no time.”

  “Of course,” Mama agreed. They helped Lady Sanders up into the carriage, and Lord Sanders caught her gaze before she closed the door, his eyes sunken, tormented. She stepped back, watching the coachman urge the horses on until the carriage swayed forward and around the bend.

  “Now let me hail a hackney,” Mr. Lockhart said, disintegrating the image of Lord Sanders’s distress from her mind. “It will be much faster.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Mama said, her shoulders shaking with cold. Mary slid her arm around her mother, rubbing her arm to warm her while they waited for Mr. Lockhart to get them a cab. She stared into the distance, watching where Mr. Lockhart disappeared to, her mouth pinched in a firm line.

  “She’ll be all right, Mama. She must be.”

  “Hmm?” Mama turned, kissing Mary on the temple. “Oh, yes. We must hurry back so we can help.”

  Mary’s ankle began to throb, the force of Lady Anne’s kick as she’d gone down on the ice beginning to take an effect. Or perhaps the agitation of the event was beginning to wane, and she could feel it more acutely. She longed to sit, to raise her ankle and give it a moment to rest.

  “Do you know your Mr. Lockhart well, my dear?” Mother asked suddenly, her voice measured and soft.

  “I know him as well as you do,” Mary confessed. In fact, they both knew his mother better than they knew him. But even that was not much.

  “Hmm.” Mother said no more, and Mr. Lockhart returned, gesturing the women to the waiting hackney in the street. A strange expression fell over Mama’s face as she thanked the man, and Mary climbed onto the worn seat, making room for her mother and her betrothed.

  She could not remove from her mind the very strange expression on her mother’s face and wondered precisely what it meant.

  To Andrew’s blessed relief, Anne had begun to rouse when he’d carried her up to her bedchamber. His heart had been hammering in his chest from the moment he’d watched Anne slip on the slushy ground and her eyes had closed, the dreadful stillness overtaking her face.

  “She’s waking,” he called over his shoulder and heard his mother moan in relief.

  They settled Anne on her bed, Mother murmuring comforting words to her as her maid set about removing her shoes and sliding woolen stockings over her feet.

  Andrew paced the bedroom, unsure of how to be useful. He gripped his cravat and loosened the knot. “Where is the doctor?” he demanded.

  “I am certain he will be here as soon as he is able,” Mother soothed.

  “That is not quick enough for my taste,” Andrew grumbled, turning back to pace to the fireplace again. Footsteps echoed in the corridor but were much too light to be a gentleman’s boots. Mary and her mother stepped into the room, gl
ancing about until their sights rested on Anne, awake, but with her eyes squeezed shut.

  “She is awake,” Mary said, her voice so quiet he hardly registered her words.

  Andrew approached her. “She woke when we arrived home. But she hasn’t spoken yet.”

  Mary nodded. A figure appeared in the doorway behind her, and Andrew moved to meet the man, only to find Mr. Lockhart and not the doctor he anticipated. Running an agitated hand through his hair, Andrew shot a perfunctory smile at the man before turning back to pace to the window.

  “Lady Anne?” Mr. Lockhart’s deep voice penetrated the room, but he did not step inside. Indeed, he should remove himself from their house.

  Mary’s voice replied, but Andrew could not make out what she said. He could only feel gratitude when he turned to find the upstart gone and Mary moving toward Anne’s bedside.

  “Andrew, you are going to wear a hole directly through that floor if you do not cease your pacing,” Mother said sharply.

  He stilled, glancing up to find every eye in the room—including the maid’s—settled on him. He was something of a nervous wreck, wasn’t he? “Perhaps I will go downstairs and await the doc—”

  “Good evening, Lord Sanders, Lady Sanders,” Dr. Kent said, sweeping into the room, the butler, Finch, standing in the corridor directly behind him. “I was informed that Lady Anne took a fall.”

  He approached the bed and smiled at Anne, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Outside of the Clarendon Hotel,” Mother said. “She hit her head on the steps.”

  “Ah. May I?”

  Mother stepped back, and Mrs. Hatcher moved to her side, sliding an arm around her back and offering support. Mary hesitated at the edge of the room, watching. Andrew did not know whether to leave the doctor to his business or remain and watch. He was so anxious, his body felt as though it hummed, his feet unable to remain still. When the doctor leaned down and began asking questions of Anne, Andrew knew he needed to make his escape. She was in good, trustworthy hands, and Andrew was likely making things worse with his agitated concern, not better.

  Letting himself into the hallway, he took the stairs rapidly up two flights before he could go no higher, and then he turned and sped all the way to the ground floor. Resting both hands against the wall, Andrew leaned forward, his chest heaving and his head hanging. His sister, young, sweet, delicate Anne had fallen and hit her head so hard on the step that Andrew had heard the impact. It rang through his mind repeatedly; he wanted to remove it entirely but he did not know how.

  “Lord Sanders?”

  He stilled, his arms flexing at the sound of Mary’s voice.

  “May I do anything to help?”

  “Is Dr. Kent with Anne?” he asked.

  “Yes. He is continuing his examination. Although…”

  Andrew’s head snapped up. “What is it?”

  Mary’s round eyes widened. She must think him fit for bedlam with his crazed concern. She swallowed, stepping forward and laying a calm hand on his bicep. He flexed again on impulse, but her hand remained. “The doctor has not shared his thoughts yet, but I can only believe that his tone of voice would not be so cheerful if he was vastly concerned for her welfare.”

  Her words, so softly spoken, were a balm to his spirit, draining the fear from his body as though her hand on his arm was, in actuality, a spigot, and she had emptied his reserves. She made a valid point, but it was her presence of mind as well as body that calmed him, aided him in returning to a reasonable man of sound mind. The overwhelming desire to feel her in his arms crushed him, stealing his breath.

  “Would you like to return to Anne’s room? Or shall I come and find you when the doctor has finished his examination?”

  Right. Anne. Andrew was ashamed for the direction his thoughts had traveled. His sister was upstairs and needed—he gasped. His sister. “Has anyone spoken to Caroline?”

  Mary’s face reflected the surprise he felt. “Oh, dear Caroline. Shall I go up now, or would you wish to?”

  He would make an absolute mash of things if it was left to him. But what would Caroline need? A woman’s loving support, surely. He smiled, but he could feel how crooked it was. “I think it best if you go.”

  “You do not think she will need to seek comfort from her brother?”

  “I am certain you will provide the comfort she needs.”

  Mary stared at him, her brows pulling together as small lines formed between them. “What if we go together?”

  The idea surprised him, but he found himself nodding and, shortly after, following Mary up the many flights of stairs to Caroline and her governess’s rooms. “Should you explain?” he asked, but Mary merely glanced at him while her knuckles rapped softly on the door.

  Miss Bolton opened the door, her hair swept low into a conservative bun, her middle-aged eyes wan. “Yes, my lord? Miss Hatcher?”

  “We would like to speak to Caroline. Has she completed her dinner?”

  “Yes, miss, long since passed.” The governess stepped away, opening the door wide enough to allow them entry. The room was set up like the parlor downstairs; on one side, a table, on the other, a large globe surrounded by shelves of books.

  Caroline sat on a rose, tufted chair near the fire, a book in her hands. “Good evening, Andrew, Mary. You are home early.”

  Andrew’s feet were glued to the floor, but Mary crossed the room, lowering herself onto the footstool before Caroline’s chair and taking the book from her hands. She set it on the floor and possessed herself of both of Caroline’s hands. “When we arrived at the hotel for dinner, Anne slipped in the snow and fell. She is in her bed now, and the doctor is seeing to her, but she hit her head on the step.”

  Caroline’s small mouth opened in a gasp, and she glanced up, looking to Andrew with concern shining in her blue eyes. “Will she be all right?”

  “We have yet to hear. We wanted you to be aware of the situation.”

  “We must go to her at once,” Caroline said, standing and dropping Mary’s hands.

  Mary rose beside her, slipping her hand behind Caroline’s back. “We don’t wish to bring excitement into her chamber, so if you need a moment to compose yourself it would be wise to do so here.”

  Caroline nodded, and she turned, wrapping her arms around Mary in the embrace Andrew wished to have. Mary returned the hug, and then Caroline took in a deep breath. She crossed the room to Andrew and slid her small arms around his waist, pulling him close as she breathed against his chest.

  Surprise filled him, but he quickly shoved it aside and returned his sister’s embrace. She stepped back, looking up at him, worried. “Will you come with me?”

  She wanted him? Of course he would be there with her when she needed him. He’d felt so useless after laying Anne on her bed earlier, so unaware of what he could possibly do to be of assistance. But now Caroline needed him. And he would do whatever she asked.

  “Of course.”

  She slipped her small hand around his arm, and he led her from the room, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Mary was following. She stepped behind them, her hands clasped lightly in front of her and a joyful, satisfied smile on her lips.

  He knew just how she felt.

  Chapter 17

  After his initial examination, the doctor had nothing but good things to report: he believed Anne would sustain no lasting effects from the fall, he believed the worst she would endure would be a nasty headache, and—most importantly, according to the patient—he had full faith in her ability to sustain complete recovery by Twelfth Night.

  Mary closed the door to Lady Anne’s bedchamber softly behind her, leaving the girl asleep with her maid nearby in case she needed anything. It had been a full two days since the wretched fall, and the doctor had just been in to visit and check her progress. He was a young man with a kind smile, and Mary liked him.

  She almost asked him to take a look at her ankle, too, but after a decent night’s rest it had already begun to feel bett
er; she could not have been seriously hurt then, merely bruised.

  Trailing her fingers along the evergreen lining the bannister, she paused at the base of the stairs and leaned forward, inhaling the scent from the dried needles interspersed with holly. Deep voices trailed up the stairwell, and when she recognized the doctor’s smooth tone, she moved forward at once. Pausing at the base of the stairs, she found the doctor and the earl deep in conversation, Lord Sanders’s back to her.

  “And you think she will be fit for dancing?” Lord Sanders inquired, his brow furrowed. “She has been quite looking forward to it.”

  “Head injuries are oftentimes unpredictable, and I can make no promises. But I believe Lady Anne will be fit for dancing. She likely needs one or two more days of rest to allow the headache time to pass, and then she will be back to her bright, chipper self.” His gaze flicked to Mary, and he offered her a brief smile.

  Lord Sanders nodded, running an agitated hand through his hair. “Thank you, Dr. Kent.”

  “Of course. But now, I must beg your leave. I am sure you heard of Mr. Bartlett’s unfortunate collision? His coachman walked away unscathed, but that poor family is soon to be without a father if things continue to progress the same way.”

  “I had not heard. I am afraid I’m unacquainted with any Bartletts.”

  The doctor’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Bartlett is a cousin to Lady Rutledge, so I assumed—”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I was not thinking.” Lord Sanders’s hands came behind him, his gloveless fingers clasping lightly together.

  “If you are a praying man, then I would ask you to include Mr. Bartlett in your prayers. If he is lost, his family will be left with no home.”

  Mary’s chest tightened. A cool gust of air wound into the corridor as the door opened and Dr. Kent left the house. Lord Sanders turned, halting the moment his eyes landed on her. “Forgive me,” she begged. “I hadn’t meant to overhear. I was only coming downstairs.”