by Regina Darcy
To have faith in love
1.A Compromised Lady’s Christmas Wish
2.THE CHRISTMAS REDEMPTION
3.The Christmas Gamble
4.THE CHRISTMAS PROMISE
5.The Christmas Scandal
1. A Compromised Lady’s Christmas Wish
Copyright © Regina Darcy 2020
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
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ONE
Lady Christiana, youngest daughter of the Marquess of Winchester, woke with a start. Her head was swimming, and for a moment, she was forced to squeeze her eyes closed and lean her head back against the squabs, wondering why it was aching so terribly. Opening her eyes again slowly, she looked all about her, taking in her surroundings.
She was alone in an empty carriage. Frowning, she started rubbing her arms. A small but distinct sliver of air was flitting through the carriage, bringing with it the cold weather of November. Looking out of the carriage window, which was already a little steamed up with condensation, she narrowed her eyes as she tried to see where Lord Timothy Archibald had gone. Her mind was still fuzzy from sleep, her confusion mounting as she saw the frost covered grass and shrubberies just outside her window. Why had the carriage come to a stop?
“Lord Archibald?”
Her voice sounded weak and reedy, making her tremble with sudden unease. Were they already in Scotland? Or had something occurred that had brought a sudden halt to their journey?
Shivering again, she rubbed her arms in a weak attempt to bring some warmth back to her bones. Looking all about the carriage as though Lord Archibald would suddenly reappear should she just wait long enough, Christiana started chewing her lower lip.
Of course, she could step out from the carriage alone, but God only knew what unexpected danger she might walk into. There was no noise no matter how hard she listened; her stomach tightened with anxiety.
She did not know what to do. A vision of bloodied, broken bodies lying on the grass at her feet swam into her mind, making her tremble all the more. She had heard of highwaymen, of course, but surely, she could not have been in such a deep sleep that she would have not awoken from the sound of pistols or fighting.
So, where was Lord Archibald? Fear and anxiety knotted inside her.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to take her courage into her own hands. Putting her hand on the carriage door, she turned the handle and leaned her head out into the misty, cold morning air. “Lord Archibald?” she whispered in a croak.
Her voice echoed across the moorland. A bird flew out from the bushes, startling her horribly. As she watched it fly up to the sky, a sudden realisation hit her.
There was no driver sitting above her.
In fact, there were no horses. Directly in front of the carriage, there was a stone wall.
Her heart started thudding. It was obvious that the carriage had been left here deliberately. There were no horses, no footmen, and even the maid Lord Archibald had provided was gone. She was, Christiana realised, entirely alone.
Overcome by the stark reality of her situation, her legs weakened, and she fell back into the carriage. A ragged sob caught in her chest. What had occurred here? Where had Lord Archibald gone? Surely, if something dreadful had occurred, then he would not have left her here alone? He had promised her his heart, had declared his love for her over and over, to the point that she could not help but find herself falling for him entirely. That was why she was here with him now, was it not? So that they might go to Scotland and wed, free from her father’s demands.
Her head began to thump wildly as she stumbled down onto the ground, squeezing her eyes closed as she pressed one hand against the carriage as she tried to make sense of what had occurred.
She had climbed into the carriage in London, escaping from her father’s townhouse in the dead of night with none but her sister Prudence the wiser that she was eloping.
The memory of their elopement swept over her.
Oh, the excitement that had captured her then! Lord Archibald had been so wonderful, for there had been much pressing of her hands, many whispered words of delight, and so many promises that she had thought herself to be in a whirlwind of delight. They had stopped only once for a brief respite, and Lord Archibald had pressed both food and drink into her hands before they had climbed aboard the carriage again.
She had thought there was a slightly strange taste to the tea he had brought her, only for Lord Archibald to laugh and say that he had put a little brandy in it to keep the cold from her limbs as they continued on to Scotland. That had been so kind of him, she’d thought, only now realising that it might have been something entirely different. She whimpered in the silence of the carriage.
Had he given her something to keep her asleep whilst he abandoned her?
Tears began to stream down her cheeks. She might be headstrong, overly proud, and utterly naïve, but even she could not deny the glaring truth: Lord Archibald was not the man she had thought him to be. He had arranged it all, planning all along to leave her alone and defenceless. She scooted as far back into her seat as she could. Panic was rioting within her.
Several calming breaths later, she finally regained her composure. She could not afford to lose herself in the agony that Lord Archibald’s betrayal had created. She would cry about her situation once she was somewhere safe. Hesitantly, she inched forward to the open carriage window. The area outside was as desolate as the last time she looked.
Despite her resolve, her thoughts wandered back to Lord Archibald. How could he have done this to her? For what reason?
Then realisation descended upon her.
A startled gasp stole her breath, her hands grasping for the necklace about her neck—only for them to find nothing at all. She sank to her knees, burying her face in her hands as she began to sob in earnest. The cad. How could he!
Lord Archibald had never cared for her; he had only cared for the expensive emerald pendant she had worn almost every day of her life since her mother had passed away. The emerald had been the one thing that had reminded her of her mother. She recalled how beautiful she had thought her mother was when she had worn it. It brought to life her mother’s gentle smile, her bright eyes, and her welcoming embrace. It was worth more than money to Christiana. It was, in her eyes, priceless.
And she had told Lord Archibald all about it. Oh, how he had admired it. How he had made her promise to make sure she took it with her when she came with him to Scotland! What a fool she had had been. She had thought him the most considerate gentleman in the world, wondering how she had been so lucky to meet such a spectacular gentleman.
He had stolen her heart, and, in doing so, had taken her trust and shattered it all around her. In her idiocy, she had believed every single word he had ever spoken to her without question. It was clear now that he was not as wealthy as she had been led to believe.
Dropping her head into her arms, Christiana felt agony rip right through her. How had she lost all sense and sensibility?
She was nothing more than a fool, lost and alone—and, worse, entirely ruined. She shuddered inwardly at the thought.
; Even though her virtue was still intact, to be found as a lady having eloped and been abandoned would mean social ruin. No one would wed her now. She knew that, even if she had means, she could not return to London and to her father. He would be so ashamed of her, so humiliated by what she had done, that she was not even sure that he would welcome her home. He had arranged for her to marry a man of the highest peerage, respected by society, and with more wealth than almost any other. And she had turned her back on it all to run off with Lord Archibald, all for the sake of love. Terrible regrets assailed her, her guilt weighing down on her like a heavy load.
For the next hour she sat curled in the corner of the carriage, looking for the courage and adventurous spirit she was used to exhibiting.
As the carriage grew colder, a gust of wind swept through the carriage window and caught her hair, almost freezing the tears on her cheeks. It brought her to her senses. It was approaching Christmas, the season for hope and miracles. She would not let her misfortune stain her family or define her life.
Wiping her tears from her face, Christiana rose to her feet a little unsteadily and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She tried to melt into the warmth that it brought, ignoring the numbness that was creeping into her toes.
“At least I chose to wear my boots,” she murmured to herself, drawing in a deep breath. As she stepped out of the carriage, she was grateful, at least, that she had worn her warmest travelling garments, although they were not going to keep the cold from her bones for long. She imposed an iron control over herself, as she considered her next steps. She looked up, the sky was grey, the clouds threatening, and the wind continued to whip at her hair. Then, it dawned on her.
“My reticule!”
Hurrying back to the door of the carriage, Christiana half crawled back inside seeking the small bag she had been carrying with her. She could not recall what she had done with it but was quite certain that she had never once given it or even shown it to Lord Archibald. Searching the seats, she looked everywhere, her breathing quickening and fresh tears coming to her eyes. She had to find it. It was, she knew, her only means of sustenance.
And then, something caught her eye.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Christiana breathed, reaching for the ribbon that she knew belonged to her reticule. It held the pin money she had been saving for some weeks, knowing that she might need a little money during her travel to Scotland. It had become stuck in the seat where she had lain sleeping, hidden from Lord Archibald’s eyes. Holding it close, she closed her eyes and tried to regain a sense of steadiness.
She had no idea where she was. She had very little hope of finding anyone willing to help her, but she knew she could not remain here alone. Darkness was already beginning to creep over the sky, and she would not have long to find somewhere secure to spend the night.
“Have you met with an accident?” a voice suddenly said out of nowhere.
Christiana’s heart skipped a beat with fright, and she bit back a scream as she almost tumbled out of the carriage. Turning her head slowly, she saw a young lad sitting on the back of a workhorse, looking at her with big, curious eyes. He was slightly dirty, with a little straw poking out of his rough cropped hair, but his smile was, at the very least, a little endearing. There was no one else with him, which gave her an immediate sense of safety.
“Y—yes, yes,” she stammered, climbing out of the carriage and turning to face him. The boy was only around eleven or twelve years of age. She felt no fear in speaking to him, more curious than anything else. “What are you doing roaming the countryside by yourself?”
“I ain’t roaming anywhere. I am on my way home,” the lad replied with a curious look.
“Oh,” she replied hesitantly. “Might you tell me if there is an inn nearby?”
The boy scrunched up his face. “We are not that far from the village of Nettlefold. The Bell and Whistle inn is about a mile or two,” he said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, “that way.” He gestured to her left, tipping his head to look at her a little more carefully.
She nodded, feeling herself tremble inwardly. To walk that way alone was a terrifying thought, but what other choice did she have?
“You can ride up here with me, if you like,” the boy said, clearly a little concerned with having found a lost lady in the middle of nowhere. “I ain’t going that way, but I don’t mind going a little way with you.”
A little hesitantly, Christiana took in the bare back of the horse, seeing that there was no saddle and certainly no way of getting onto the horse. “I—I think if you might walk alongside me for some of the way, I would be very grateful.” She pulled a coin from her reticule, knowing that whilst it was one of the few coins she had on her, she could not simply demand such a favour from the boy without some sort of recompense.
“For that, I will travel with you all the way.” The boy grinned, reaching down to grasp the coin from her hand with dirty fingers. “Come along then, miss. We’ll get you there before dark, I promise.”
Christiana felt tears spring to her eyes at the goodness and kindness of such a young boy, who was nothing but a stranger to her, but dashed them away quickly, seeing the lad already riding off. Hurrying to keep up with him and doing her best to ignore the thumping pain in her head, Christiana began to walk along the road towards the Bell and Whistle, praying that by the time darkness fell, she would, at the very least, be safe and dry.
Although what she was to do thereafter, Christiana had very little idea. As she walked next to a dirty country boy and a workhorse somewhere in the middle of England, she let her hot tears flow silently down her cheeks. It was six weeks until Christmas and all she wished for was to be able to go home.
TWO
The Honourable Aaron Thayne, the youngest son of the Earl of Penwick, let out a short exhalation before gathering his horse for the jump ahead. His stallion took the hedge at the outskirt of his father’s estate with ease, landing with grace and poise, just as Thayne had expected.
Pressing the horse into a gallop, Thayne let the animal have its way, not caring in which direction he rode. Anything to get away from his father’s house.
The cold air bit at his cheeks, but he ignored the way his fingers were already going numb holding onto the reins and concentrated on keeping his seat, feeling the animal begin to slow. The stallion tossed its mane and nickered before coming to a gentle trot, its sides heaving and steam rising from its sweat-laden neck.
Thayne knew he could not force his stallion to ride the long miles back to the Penwick Estate without some sort of respite and care. A stab of guilt pricked at his mind as he continued to ride along the path, realising that he had pushed his horse rather hard. Sighing, Thayne shoved one hand through his thick, dark hair and began to scour the countryside for any signs of life.
The air was growing thick with moisture, and as he continued to ride slowly, Thayne saw the spirals of mist begin to cling to his horse’s legs and felt himself shiver violently. It was growing colder with almost every second that passed, which was of little surprise given the time of year. But Thayne had not exactly thought about dressing suitably for the weather when he had stormed from the house and climbed onto his stallion’s back.
He had left Penwick estate in a fit of temper. His mother, Lady Penwick, had been attempting to enquire as to his plans for the Christmas season, and he had, of course, reacted rather badly. He had told his mother in no uncertain terms that he would be remaining either in his quarters or out riding on Christmas Day, and she was not to expect him to involve himself in any of the festivities she had planned. His mother had accepted this calmly, only for her to then state that they had received an invitation to attend the Duke of Kilmerstan’s Christmas ball, and she had already accepted on his behalf.
That had sent waves of anger and frustration through him, making his temper flare. He had not spoken with consideration nor with understanding. He had, instead, lost his temper completely and stated to his mother th
at she cared nothing for him, could never understand why he felt as he did, and, no, he would not be attending the Christmas ball regardless. He would summarily be journeying to his own small estate to spend Christmas in solitude. The memory of his harsh, petulant words had him blushing in shame. He would have to find a way to sooth her hurt feelings. He sighed deeply.
The pain he had felt some five years ago still stabbed at him as it did at this time almost every year. It never went away. Year after year, he was forced to endure the Christmas season, his memories burning brighter and with more ferocity with every year that passed.
He clenched his fist as the memory washed over him. I should have done better. I should have saved her. He stirred uneasily in his seat, his steed sensing his sadness. He sighed again. To think that in his everyday life, he was an agent of the Crown, working on matters and crimes of most importance. Unbidden the memories he tried so hard to avoid each year washed over him.
He had returned home one Christmas after a short visit to London and had found his wife dead in the gardens. Her beautiful visage had been blue and frozen. None of his staff had known what had occurred, for as far as they were concerned, his wife had simply been out for a stroll in the gardens that morning and was taking her time, enjoying the brisk morning air as she so often did.
Her death had been unexpected. The shock of discovering her frozen body five years later hit him like a boulder.
He had cared for his wife very deeply, although he had not been in love with her, for theirs had been a marriage of convenience. But Ramona had been a childhood friend. Her gentle disposition was known to all. Never had a woman been more delicate and ethereal. He had not been in love with her but had still loved her fiercely, the way you do someone precious that is in your care.
As his elder brother had already produced both the heir and the spare, there was very little chance that Thayne would ever take on the title. But that had not mattered to Ramona. They had been wed and enjoyed a very contented six months together before he had been called back to London on a matter of business. He had promised that he would return to her before Christmas and had managed to do just that, only to find that he had been too late.
