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

by Kasey Stockton

  “Perhaps you ought to let your Miss Hatcher know what is being said,” Harold added. “She seems a nice enough woman. She might appreciate being warned about her husband’s actions. He created quite a scene.”

  “He is not her husband,” Andrew said, his tone steel.

  “Yet,” Harold said. They watched one another, the silence stretching, Harold seemingly trying to push Andrew into a confession with his eyes alone.

  But he was going to be disappointed. Andrew might care about Mary, but he was not about to tell his friends as much. It would be spread about London by morning if he did.

  “Was that all?” Andrew asked.

  Francis scoffed. “That’s not even why we came.”

  “Another wager, then? Who bet this time that they could get me to leave my house?”

  “No one,” Harold said. “We just wanted to make sure you were still alive. That no one was forcing you to remain here against your will.” He stood, sending his friend a victorious smile. “I believe we have confirmed that you are remaining here under your own free will and can therefore leave you in peace.”

  “How good of you,” Andrew said drily. He stood, following his friends to the door. They bid him goodbye and slipped out into the cold, frozen night, but their words and warnings remained behind, crushing him.

  He needed advice. Particularly that of a trusted friend…but his closest friend was all the way across the country. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  It was moments like these when Andrew wished most that his father was still around.

  Chapter 22

  Mama and Lady Sanders sat through breakfast like a couple of schoolgirls, grinning and whispering to one another as their gazes darted between their children. Mary took the roll from her plate and sliced it open with her knife, spreading butter over the inside. It melted over the steaming bread and the yeasty smell was enough to tempt her to shove the entirety of the roll into her mouth. Instead, she broke off a small bite and put it in her mouth, doing her best to ignore the earl sitting across from her at the table, cutting into his ham and watching her from the corner of his eye.

  Lady Sanders rose from the table, dropping her napkin on her plate. “We would like to see all of you in the drawing room when you’ve finished your breakfast. Say, half-past nine?”

  “Of course, Mother,” Lord Sanders said, standing until both of the mothers had risen and left the room. Once they were gone, he reclaimed his seat and returned to cutting into his slices of cold ham. “I wonder what they have planned for us,” he said, staring at his ham.

  “I have no idea what it could possibly be. But it has taken them nearly the duration of our visit to prepare, so we must be suitably grateful.”

  “Shall we practice our pleased expressions now, do you think?”

  Mary chewed another bite of her roll. “That would probably be wise. You may begin.”

  Clearing his throat, Lord Sanders said. “Will you say something to me, and then I can react?”

  “Of course.” She sat back in her seat, resting her hands in her lap. “Your beard is so long, I would like to braid it.”

  Lord Sanders reared back, his face contorting into one of surprise mixed with disgust. Then a wide smile crept over his lips, and he threw his head back, laughter spilling forth.

  Mary couldn’t help but mirror him, laughter bubbling up from her chest and filling the breakfast room.

  “I failed that test, did I not?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

  “Perhaps it was too much.”

  “Perhaps I won’t shave tomorrow, and we will see what you think then.”

  Mary laughed, unable to help herself, her gaze skipping along his angular, clean-shaven jaw. “You might grow a beard if you wish. I cannot promise it will make it any easier for you to catch a woman’s heart, however.”

  “Are women so fickle-minded that something as minor as a long, braidable beard would interfere with their affections?”

  She lifted an eyebrow, and it was Lord Sanders’s turn to laugh.

  “Oh, good. I am famished,” Lady Anne said, sweeping into the room and taking the seat beside Mary. Lady Caroline followed shortly behind her, sitting beside her brother and pulling a roll onto her plate. She busied herself with slathering butter on her bread, and Lady Anne spoke of the ball the following evening hosted by the esteemed Lady Rutledge.

  “My gown has two layers of flounces, and I have set my maid to embroidering the toes of my slippers with deep red roses, so they match the embroidery on my gown. It is quite lovely together, but I cannot show you until tomorrow night.” She took a bite of her breakfast and then continued, “I wouldn’t want to ruin the effect, you know.”

  “Of course not,” Lord Sanders agreed. “The element of surprise will add to the reveal, I should think.”

  Mary smiled as Lady Anne nodded emphatically. She snuck a look at the earl, his eyes gleaming with mirth. He was teasing his sister, but not in a mean-spirited way.

  She sighed. She was absolutely going to miss this family when she left. Rising, she placed her napkin on the table. “I shall see you all in the drawing room soon.”

  The Bright siblings returned their attention to their meal and Mary left them, picking up the compilation of Shakespeare stories from the table where she’d left it and carrying it with her to the drawing room. The mothers hadn’t arrived yet, so she made herself comfortable and flipped the book open to the page where she had left off.

  But she could not focus. Her mind was running over the events of the previous day and how she had felt being held in Lord Sanders’s arms when they’d hid behind the bush at the Bartletts’ house. The warm safety his arms provided had been soothing, as though she could have closed her eyes and remained there forever and been perfectly content.

  Voices down the hall preceded the mothers, and moments later they were letting themselves into the drawing room, large boxes in each of their arms and delighted smiles on their faces. They greeted Mary and then moved to set the boxes down on the floor beside the chairs in the circle of furniture before the fireplace, leaving one box at Mary’s feet.

  “Now, don’t open it yet, dear,” Mama said, bustling over to the settee and taking a seat beside her friend. “We want to wait for the others.”

  “Of course.” But the size of the box was alarming, and Mary’s stomach clenched. It was enormous, large enough to rival the boxes of gowns they’d been sent from the modiste’s shop. But mother had not approached her for funds, and she clearly had none of her own.

  Oh, dear. Had she thrown them further into debt?

  “I hear them coming,” Lady Sanders said, reaching for Mama and gripping her hands. “Can you believe we’ve wasted all these years apart?”

  Mary looked up, glancing between the women.

  Mama sighed. “I know, but I cannot help it. I simply hate leaving my home. It is so very uncomfortable for me.”

  “I knew this, though. I should have come to you more often,” Lady Sanders said. “I plan to in the future, you know.”

  Lady Anne, Lady Caroline, and Lord Sanders stepped into the room, and their mother directed them to the appropriate seats, each of them sitting with a box at their feet. Mary’s heart constricted. If her mother hadn’t been so opposed to traveling, would Mary have grown up knowing the Bright children intimately? Lord Sanders had mentioned wishing he’d known Mary longer, that they might have spent more Christmases together. If he had come into her life before Mr. Lockhart had, who would she be engaged to now?

  She shook the thought away, clenching her hands together on her lap. It would not do to reimagine the past. It was over now, and nothing could be done to change it.

  “Are you ready?” Lady Sanders’s wide smile matched Mama’s.

  A chorus of assent met her question, and she clapped her hands together. “Now, you might not all remember this, but when you were very little, we spent Christmas together at the Hatchers’ house, and we had the most beautiful
matching dresses made for the two of you”—she indicated Mary and Lady Anne with her hands—“in crimson crêpe de Chine, and the most handsome little matching waistcoat for Andrew. Sadly, Caro, you were not born yet. We had discussed making it a tradition, but that was the last time we spent Christmas together.”

  “Now, open your boxes,” Mama said.

  Lady Anne and Lady Caroline both bent, lifting the lids from their boxes to reveal matching forest green gowns with a deeper green embroidery about the hem. They gasped, pulling their gowns out of the boxes, and Mary’s stomach wound tighter.

  She looked up to find Andrew regarding her closely as if wondering why she had not yet opened her box; she finally leaned forward to do just that. Lifting the lid of the box, she revealed exactly what she had been afraid of finding—a matching gown to rival the grandeur and the cost of Lady Anne’s and Lady Caroline’s.

  She swallowed against a dry throat, looking up at her mother. She could say nothing about the expense now, not when Mama watched her with such a warm smile and a serene, pleased glimmer in her eye.

  Had the woman even known she was digging them further into debt? Mary thought it likely not.

  “Andrew, what are you waiting for?” Lady Sanders asked.

  “I was watching their faces,” he explained, before turning to his own smaller box and lifting the lid to reveal a matching waistcoat with the same dark green embroidery, red berries strewn throughout.

  Lady Anne lifted her gown, holding it against her torso. “However did you have these made so quickly?”

  “They were completed within a few days, actually. We returned to the shop that made Mary’s gowns and asked that these be put on priority in order to give us time to add the embroidery.”

  Mary lifted the hem of her gown, admiring the holly leaves and red berries. Her mother had done that for her? Surely that must have lessened the expense.

  “Shall we all wear them today?” Lady Caroline asked.

  “We had intended for them to be used for the ball, darling,” Lady Sanders said. “I was hoping we could spend dinner together tomorrow with Caroline, and then you could all match.”

  “But, Mama, I had the rose gown made for the ball especially. I’ve even had my maid embroidering my slippers to match.”

  “Oh, well, you may wear whatever you wish, I suppose,” Lady Sanders said, flustered. “We hadn’t meant to force any of you, of course. It was just a thought.”

  “A lovely thought,” Mary said, though her voice sounded stilted. “I shall carry mine upstairs this moment and see to it that Price knows to prepare it for the ball tomorrow.”

  “Oh, lovely, dear,” Lady Sanders said, beaming. “I am so eager to see you all dressed for the ball. I wish it was tonight.”

  Mary closed the box and lifted it, hoping she did not appear awkward in the way she carried it. Usually she asked a servant to assist her, but now she needed an excuse to leave the room and gather her wits about her again. She would find a quiet moment with her mother later and learn how they were meant to pay for this gown. Perhaps she would have time tomorrow morning to sell her pearls and her ruby earbobs—that ought to cover a portion of the expense.

  She reached the base of the stairs when she realized how very difficult it was going to be to see her feet and carry the box simultaneously. She was bound to trip over her skirt.

  “Allow me,” Lord Sanders said, sweeping to her side and taking the box smoothly from her arms.

  “You really don’t need to.”

  “I couldn’t allow you to carry it upstairs by yourself.” He said this as though it was purely sensical, and she allowed him to help her. She preceded him upstairs, her mind running wild, the fear of not being able to pay for the gown and the embarrassment it would cause her mother nearly undoing her.

  Of course, she could always ask Mr. Lockhart for a small loan, but the very image that conjured in her mind was revolting, twisting her stomach in knots.

  “What is it that is bothering you?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, pausing on the stairs. He could not see her face. How did he know she was bothered?

  “I can feel it, Miss Hatcher. I don’t know how I’ve gained this skill in the last fortnight, but I find I can sense your emotion right now, that your light is dimmer. That being said, will you turn, please, and face me?”

  Chapter 23

  It had been a bold request to ask Mary to turn around on the stairs and face him, but he’d needed to see her expression, to gauge what it was that bothered her, that took her swiftly from playful at the breakfast table to utterly distressed in the drawing room. To his utter delight, she spun slowly on the step until her serious, round eyes were fixed on him, her mouth closed in a firm line.

  “What is it?” he asked again, quietly.

  She shook her head. “I will bring shame and embarrassment upon my family if I am to tell you. I cannot.”

  “You must know by now that nothing you could say would deplete your standing in my eyes.”

  “You told me once that you are a curious man. How do I know you are not merely feeding that curiosity right now?”

  He swallowed a scoff. “I wish to know because I care for you, not simply to appease my interest.”

  Mary turned and continued up the stairs, the skirt of the same gown she’d worn almost every morning that he’d seen her swishing at her heels. He followed quietly behind her until they reached the floor with her bedchamber. She paused at her door and held her hands out for the box, but he set it on the floor and took her hands in his own, her skin warm and soft in his.

  Her eyes widened at his touch, her expression wary.

  “Please, lighten your burden. I only wish to help.”

  She stared at their hands clasped in between them, soft lines forming on her brow. “I believe I told you once that my mother has largely been kept in the dark regarding our financial burdens. She has a fragile disposition, you see, and we must take care of her. But what I fear is that she has overextended our purse in the purchasing of this gown, and I haven't the slightest notion how I am to make up the difference.” She looked up into his eyes, concern lining the depths of hers, pools of emerald he very well could get lost in. “I don’t wish to embarrass her, but I don’t see how I can wear that gown until I have resolved this.”

  Relief flooded Andrew, and he squeezed her fingers. “You do yourself credit with your concern, but you need not worry. Your gown has been paid for.”

  She froze, her fingers stiff in his. “How do you know this?”

  “Because all my mother’s bills are sent to my steward, and I just happened to see the one belonging to this scheme of our mothers. It is a gift from us to you, Mary. Do not distress yourself over the cost.”

  He expected relief to overtake her as it did him, but her brows only furrowed further. “But how am I to repay you? I cannot until after I wed, and I do not wish to make you wait—”

  “I will not accept your money, Mary.” The idea of accepting money from Lockhart made Andrew want to vomit.

  She looked up sharply. “Because I am poor?”

  Andrew’s heart pounded furiously in his chest, her nearness, her skin on his bewitching him. Tightening his fingers around hers, he hoped to impress upon her the sincerity of his feelings.

  “No, Mary. Because I love you.”

  Her eyes rounded further. She pulled her hands from his and backed against the wall, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

  “Why not? It is true.”

  “I am not free.”

  “You are not yet married, either,” he countered, stepping closer. “Contracts can be broken.”

  “And then my father will be sent to prison.”

  Andrew shook his head. “I will pay his debts. I care not for the cost. I will do anything to make you happy.”

  Surprise fell over her face. “I couldn’t ask that of you.”

  “You are not asking it. I am offering.”

  Mary’
s eyes held his, pained. She looked as though she wanted to step forward but was resisting. Andrew yearned for her to relent, to surrender her misery and find happiness with him.

  She leaned further back, widening the chasm between them. Did she not realize that all it would take to close the distance, to yield to happiness, was one step forward? “Mr. Lockhart is not the sort of man to let things go easily. He could sue. No, the cost is not worth—”

  Andrew’s hands came up, cupping her cheeks and effectively cutting her off. Her silky skin was smooth under his thumb as he brushed it over her cheekbone, hoping to bore into her the depth of his feelings through his eyes. He recalled seeing Lockhart with the widow, Mrs. Dobson, and his body clenched. The way Lockhart had cradled the woman close to his side, buying her perfume—those were not the actions of a man in a platonic relationship. Above all, Mary deserved to marry a man who would cherish her, and her alone.

  His voice was low, and he hoped it conveyed the depth of his earnestness. “It would be worth spending every last penny I have to see you freed from the clutches of that idiotic upstart. He does not deserve you, Mary.”

  Her lips parted, and he was utterly enthralled by them. “But, I…”

  Andrew waited, but she had no argument. He swallowed, prepared to press his advantage. “I will work every day of my life to try and be worthy of you.”

  Her hands came up and cupped his, but her eyes turned sad. “It wouldn’t be right. I have signed a contract.”

  “To the devil with contracts,” he whispered. “What are they when compared to love?”

  “I don’t…I guess…” She dropped her voice. “You truly love me?”

  “Yes.” He felt her resolve melting, the tightening of her hands over his own. The gentle curve of her lips in a smile was the invitation he needed, and he moved closer, his lips aiming for hers.

  “No, I am still engaged,” she said, halting him when he was only a breath away. He could feel her words, so close he was, and his body ached. “If I am going to kiss you, I must break things off with Mr. Lockhart first.”