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

by Kasey Stockton

  “I certainly can,” she said, reaching for the box in his hands.

  He held it strong. “I can come with you. Caroline?”

  She shook her head. “I will watch this one.”

  Andrew stepped out first, then took Mary’s hand, helping her onto the frozen ground. They walked in silence up the walkway and around the corner, their footprints following them in the snow until they reached the correct townhouse and mounted the steep stone steps to the front door. Andrew placed the box on the ground before the door. “Would you like to knock, or shall I?”

  She gazed up at him, her eyes latching onto his with a fierceness he had not expected. Shaking her head slowly, she sighed, and her breath clouded between them. He was grateful for the cover of darkness, that he had the ability to stare at her unhindered, to watch her large, round eyes look at him as though she was looking into his soul.

  Her voice, soft and stripped of any effect, went straight to his heart. “Do you see now what an incredible man you are?”

  Andrew stood still, stunned, as Mary knocked on the door and turned, fleeing down the steps. His brain caught up a moment later, and he raced after her, leaping around the corner as the door opened, flooding orange light onto the steps where they had been just a moment ago.

  Ducking behind a shrubbery at the corner, he took Mary’s arm and pulled her down beside him. In the shadows away from the street lamps and the lights from the houses, they disappeared, their dark coats blending into the shrubs.

  He held her flush against his side, doing his best to steady her as they both peered over the top of the bush and watched a woman in a plain serving gown bend down and retrieve the box in the snow. She glanced up, her gaze sweeping the street, and they ducked lower, hiding.

  “What does delivering boxes have to do with the type of man I am?” he whispered, his mouth so close to Mary that he could almost feel her ear against his lips. She shuddered in his arms, and he hoped it was from him and not the cold.

  “You are not unintelligent, Andrew,” she whispered back. “I mean, my lord…you know exactly what I meant. You are continuing your father’s tradition, bringing Caroline and Anne into something they never got to experience.”

  He smiled. “Anne did do this with my father, but she never told me, and I never told her.”

  Mary turned to look in his face, and he froze. She was so close now he could lean forward, and his lips would touch hers. “Because you both kept your father’s secret.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then I amend my comment. You are bringing Caroline into something she never before got to experience. And with the way she has utterly latched on to you the last few days, I am certain you would agree that she has vastly enjoyed your company.”

  “I am not sure this is an argument you will win, Mary, but if you would like to continue talking about it, I am willing.”

  “My toes are frozen.”

  “I have a remedy for that as well.”

  She lifted her eyebrows, and Andrew glanced at the Bartletts’ house. The front steps were dark again, the danger of being caught well past, and he rose, pulling Mary to her feet beside him. The cold rushed in on him with greater force, and he took her hand, pulling her toward the carriage. She did not resist him. Instead, her fingers tightened over his, and it sent a shock straight up his arm.

  He led her to the carriage and helped her inside but felt as though Mary was avoiding his gaze.

  “That took quite a long time,” Anne said.

  “We were nearly caught.” Andrew settled onto the bench beside Mary, across from his sisters. There was adequate room now that the boxes had been removed.

  “What an adventure. Do you think they saw you?”

  “No,” Mary said. “But we ducked behind the hedgerow just in time or they might have. Not that they would have had any idea who I was, but I am certain your brother is easily recognizable.”

  “Perhaps,” Andrew conceded. He’d been living in London for the better part of the last five years. And most of that he’d been alone. It struck him as odd that the idea of living in Sanders House once his mother and sisters returned to Brightly Court in Cheshire, he might find himself lonely in London by himself. He hadn’t felt that way before though, so it was likely an odd notion that would certainly pass.

  The quiet would be welcome. He would have the luxury of reading far more often, at least.

  “That was exhilarating,” Caroline said, her voice betraying her enthusiasm. “I do hope we will do that again next year.”

  “I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t,” Andrew said. The carriage jostled them to the side, and Mary nearly fell into him. He put his arm up for her to hold, and she grasped his elbow, using it to steady herself.

  “Well, if we do not return to London for Christmas, then that might pose a problem.” Caroline’s voice brightened again. “But perhaps we could do it during the summer when you come to Brightly for the house party!”

  Andrew’s guilt deepened the more Caroline innocently tried to create plans. Her life had been a pattern of only seeing Andrew during the summer house party, and occasionally on Christmas, so why should he expect her to think differently? He hardly saw her otherwise, unless his mother chose to come to London for the Season, but that had been sporadic.

  Anne yawned. “What do you think our mothers are doing up in that parlor? They have been so secretive.”

  Mary chuckled. “I think we will soon find out.”

  “We must,” Anne said. “We leave in three days.”

  Three? “So soon?”

  “Mother wants to return to Brightly, and the Hatchers need to return home. Mary’s wedding is only a fortnight away.”

  Mary’s fingers tightened on his sleeve, and then she released him as if realizing what her hands were doing. Anne continued talking about all they needed to do to prepare to travel back to the countryside, but Andrew wasn’t paying her any mind. His thoughts were wrapped around an image of Mary standing at the front of a church beside Mr. Lockhart. His body revolted.

  He could not allow her to think she must marry that man in order to save her father. Not if her heart was not engaged. Andrew had enough money to pay the man back his debts. As Mary’s Godmother, Andrew’s mother had some stake in her wellbeing. Certainly it would be acceptable to come to an agreement that would satisfy all parties.

  She had said herself she was not in love with Mr. Lockhart.

  “It is too bad we did not know you better years ago, Mary,” Anne said wistfully as the carriage arrived back at Sanders House. “I would have loved to spend Christmas with you every year.”

  “Indeed,” Andrew agreed. “I can think of more than one reason I would have liked to have known you better years ago.”

  Namely, that he might have offered for her first.

  Mary looked at him sharply and he held her gaze in the dark, only light from the lamps shining on her eyes. The door swung open and Andrew stepped out of the carriage, turning to help the women down. Anne looked tired, her face paler than normal, and he allowed her to lean on his arm as Caroline and Mary walked ahead of them.

  “I am only tired,” Anne explained, leaning heavily as they took the stairs up to each new floor. They were nearly there now, and the other women had gone on ahead and disappeared.

  “You suffered a blow, Anne. It is perfectly reasonable to take more time to heal. Think nothing of it.”

  She turned anxious eyes on him. “But the ball. It is only two days away, and I am exhausted after sitting in the carriage for an evening and watching the three of you have all the excitement. How am I supposed to dance all night?”

  “I have complete faith in you. You will dance, and you will rest when you need it.” He squeezed her shoulders. “And you will enjoy the ball.”

  A smile lit up her face and she crushed into Andrew, her slender arms wrapping him in an embrace. “You always know just the thing to say to calm my nerves. I do not know how I was so blessed to have you for a b
rother.”

  Shock rippled through his limbs, and he returned her hug, pulling her close. “I love you, Anne.”

  She stepped back, smiling at him. “I love you too, Andrew.”

  Anne went into her room. He stood outside her door for a few minutes considering her words. Perhaps he was not—nor ever would be—the perfect brother. But his sisters seemed receptive to what little he could do.

  Taking the stairs down toward the library, he was stopped in the hallway by Finch.

  “You’ve got visitors.”

  “This late?”

  “They only just arrived. Mr. Pinnegar and Mr. Jacobs, my lord. I’ve placed them in the library.”

  Ah, of course. Last he’d heard from either of them was a week ago, at least, and he’d sent Harold away in order to spend time with his sisters and Mary. He was sorely tempted to do the same thing again, but that wouldn’t be kind.

  No, he could manage a short visit with his friends. But then he would set his mind to the dilemma with Mary and her father’s debts, her marriage contract with Mr. Lockhart, and what Andrew might do to fix it all to his liking.

  He made his way downstairs, certain they were only here to do their best to convince him to come out with them for a night of Faro or to drink at one of their clubs. He could easily put them off.

  But when he stepped into the library Andrew had not expected to find Mary amongst them.

  Chapter 21

  Lord Sanders’s friends were curious men with playful dispositions. Mary was able to surmise that from the short few minutes she’d spent in their company. That she heartily wished to be removed from said company mattered little, for she did not know how to extricate herself without being rude. If only the earl would arrive soon, then she could leave him to his friends and slip quietly from the room.

  “You are a friend of the family’s?” the blonde one asked, his smile wide, like a cat preparing to pounce.

  “Indeed,” Lord Sanders’s deep voice said from the doorway. He surveyed the scene, settling his gaze momentarily on Mary before looking to his friends. “And while I’m sure you were waiting for me to introduce you, I am not certain an introduction should take place. I owe this woman my utmost discretion when introducing her to wretched men.”

  “Doing it too brown, I say.” The red-haired man’s smile betrayed his amusement. “We are perfectly appropriate acquaintances for any young woman to have.”

  Lord Sanders lifted an eyebrow, standing at the edge of the sofa where his friends were both seated, Mary standing behind the wingback chair opposite them, her hands folded over the top of the chair.

  “I’m not sure about that, but since Miss Hatcher is a woman who knows her own mind and possesses the intelligence to sniff out rats”—he pierced his friends with a glare—“ then I am going to trust you not to say anything you might later regret.”

  They both nodded.

  The earl cleared his throat. “Miss Hatcher, allow me to present friends of mine, Mr. Harold Pinnegar and Mr. Francis Jacobs.”

  She dipped into a curtsy, and the men both rose, bowing. “Pleased. But I don’t wish to impose. If you will only allow me a moment to select a book, I will shortly be out of your hair.”

  “Please, take all the time you need,” Lord Sanders said with a generous smile. He waited until she stepped away from the group to take his seat on a wingback chair, and she moved to the bookcase behind him where they had previously found Pride & Prejudice.

  Scanning the titles on the case, she tuned out the low conversation being held near the fire. She only had two full days left at Sanders House and then they planned to travel home. The weather was not ideal, but it had mellowed enough to make the trip possible. Each of the women in the house was ready to return to the country, and Mary told herself she should feel the same.

  It was not as though she did not love her home in Berkshire. But the last few weeks in London had been some of the happiest of her life, and she was loath to see them come to an end.

  Particularly when it occurred to her that they could never repeat these happy days again, for, in just a little longer than a fortnight, she would become Mrs. Lockhart.

  A shudder wracked her shoulders, and she returned her focus to the books. When her eyes fell on a collection of Shakespeare plays, she pulled the large, heavy tome from the shelf. If she only had a few days, she could lose herself in a familiar story, one that she might finish when she returned home using her own copy.

  But only in the daytime, of course. The lamps and candles she’d used here to read late into the night were an expense she was not fortunate enough to indulge in at home. At least, not until her marriage finalized.

  Pausing at the edge of the rug, she wrapped her arms around the book and smiled at the men. They each stood upon her approach. “Forgive my intrusion, my lord, Mr. Pinnegar, Mr. Jacobs.”

  “You are forgiven, Miss Hatcher,” Mr. Pinnegar said. “I am only sorry we did not have the opportunity for a deeper acquaintanceship.”

  She held his gaze a moment before she nodded and turned to leave.

  Footsteps followed her from the room, and she paused just outside the door, glancing back to find Lord Sanders just behind her.

  “Did you wish to read in here?” His voice was low, meant for her ears alone, and despite the bland topic, it gave her a thrill. “I can take them to the drawing room.”

  “No,” she said, a smile coming unbidden to her lips. He was the most thoughtful man. “I am happy to return upstairs. I hadn’t expected anyone to be in the library or I wouldn’t have bothered your guests.”

  He leaned in a little, his eyebrows raising a fraction. “I believe you are the guest who was bothered today.”

  “Not in the slightest. They only wished for an introduction before you arrived, and I refused to perform it myself. I do not blame their curiosity at finding an unknown woman in their friend’s home. Did you not tell them your mother had guests?”

  “I did tell them, but I refrained from expounding on how lovely those guests were. You’ve successfully piqued their interest.”

  She drew in a quick breath. Had the earl realized what he’d said? She imagined so, given the intense look in his blue eyes, and her heart refused to slow. “My mother would be gratified by your praise.”

  He shot her a wry smile. “What book did you choose?”

  She lifted it, moving her arms away from the title.

  “Ah,” he said. “A classic. Which one will you read?”

  “I was thinking Twelfth Night, actually. It seems fitting.”

  His smile was as soft as his voice. “I do hope you enjoy it. Goodnight, Miss Hatcher.”

  She dipped her head and turned to go up the stairs. Lord Sanders had upended her equilibrium though, and her head spun. What had caused this change in behavior? He’d been so politely distant for the duration of their visit, never putting her in a position to feel uncomfortable. Every stray thought she’d had or attraction she’d felt over the last fortnight was entirely her own fault, her own feelings.

  But tonight? Something had shifted between them. He had praised her, followed her into the corridor heedless of what his friends might think or say. He was emboldened, and she wanted to know why.

  Because despite her understanding that there could never be something between the earl and herself, her dreams hoped otherwise.

  Francis leaned back in his seat, crossing his ankle over the opposite knee, his head gesturing toward the door. “You’ve been keeping that secret well-hidden.”

  Andrew ignored his friend, settling back in his chair.

  Harold put a staying hand on Francis’s shoulder. “Don’t press him, man. He will explain when he’s ready.”

  “There’s nothing to explain.” Andrew hoped his voice sounded even, that he was not betraying his lie.

  “Is that what you’ve been doing the last few weeks? And here I thought your mother wanted your companionship.”

  “She requested I make myself present for
my sisters. Her guests have had nothing to do with it.”

  “Why does her name sound familiar?” Francis asked, screwing up his mouth in thought. “I know I’ve heard it recently, and it wasn’t in this house.”

  Lord Sanders frowned. “She’s from Berkshire and doesn’t come out in Society here. Perhaps you heard of different Hatchers.”

  Harold snapped his fingers. “I know it. We heard it from the steps of Boodles the other night. A gentleman was trying to obtain entry, and they blocked him at the door.”

  Francis sat up. “The dandy? I remember this. He lacked an introduction and made a fuss. No one knew his name, so of course they were not going to let him in.”

  “Yes. But do you recall his argument with the doorman? He said he was engaged to Miss Mary Hatcher as if that would hold any weight.” Harold guffawed, showing his teeth. “No one in the vicinity had even heard her name before.”

  “Until now,” Francis added, grinning. “My, she is lovely. You think the dandy from Boodles is marrying her with a false idea of her rank? He did call her a miss, so he cannot be wholly fooled into believing she holds a title.”

  “Her mother’s grandfather was an earl,” Andrew explained. “She does have entry into the ton should she wish it, but I believe her family has largely kept to themselves. My mother is her godmother, you know, and our families’ connection runs clear back to our mothers’ childhoods. Their own parents were dear friends.”

  Harold sat up. “You are awfully defensive of Miss Hatcher’s claim to a respectable connection, Sanders.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t wish for her name to be dragged through the mud when she has done nothing to earn it. I’ve met with Mr. Lockhart and Miss Hatcher together on numerous occasions, and she has done nothing to indicate that she is misleading him in any capacity.”

  Indeed, the very thought of Lockhart shouting her name for all to hear at Boodles, subjecting her to conversations such as this across London’s drawing rooms, made him ill.

  Francis lifted his hands in defense. “Your issue is with this Lockhart fellow, Sanders. We are merely the messengers.”