It's a Wonderful Regency Christmas

by Edith Layton

  “Glitter attracts you ladies,” he said. “I wasn’t joking. Give a lad a bucket of blood to make him happy, and throw in a few instruments of torture for an unforgettable day.”

  She laughed.

  He admired the way that made her face light up, the line of her throat as she tossed back her head, the way the sunlight made her eyes glow when she looked back at him.

  “I’ll come along to show him the gory details, if you’d like,” he said.

  She smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

  He wondered again what to make of this charming, intelligent young woman. Maria’s man-at-law had confirmed that Laura Lockwood was an old school friend of the merry widow, and that she was a respectable young woman, daughter of a deceased knight. Her London address was in a district that had known better days, but it too was respectable. So what the devil was she about going out with him without a maid in tow for propriety’s sake? And why should the unmarried daughter of a gentleman wear unfashionable clothes? She looked charming in them, but they weren’t the latest mode. And most of all, why didn’t she invite him to call on her at home, as a proper young female should?

  …Unless, of course, he thought, like her friend Maria, she had been a respectable young woman, and now was something very different. It might be that the absent friend she shared her home with was more than that. It might be that the friend was a male. She was lovely; she had manners as well as upbringing. And so if she needed funds and for whatever reasons had no prospects of marriage, she might well have found herself a protector. She wouldn’t be the first to have done so. And if her protector was no longer living with her, it could be he had left her forever and not just for Christmas. That would explain why she was alone now, and why she didn’t live with her mother. Such an arrangement could well have made her family cast her out. It would also explain why she hadn’t the funds to dress in higher style, and relied on public transportation.

  Yes, Sebastian mused, it might well be. In any case, the situation warranted a closer look—just as she did. Even if his conjectures were true, he supposed she’d done young Alex no harm, as yet. If he found out that it was possible she could, the boy would pass the rest of the holiday with him.

  “It’s growing late,” he said. “So where shall we dine tonight?”

  Her eyes widened. She consulted the watch she kept clipped inside her pelisse. “Oh my! So it is. It’s already growing dark. But I’m too full of gingerbread and cider to even think of dinner,” she added, lying, because she already felt the pinch of hunger.

  “I didn’t mean now, at sunset,” he said, laughing at the thought. “No one dines out before nine.”

  She bit her lip. She’d forgotten that was how the ton dined. She ate her dinners at sunset because she ate with her charges, and they had to go to bed right after that.

  “Exactly,” she said, with a brittle smile. “And Alex must be in bed by nine. I’m afraid my dinner will be some soup, tea, and buttered toast tonight—and at a most unfashionable eight o’clock. But thank you for the invitation.” She rose from the bench and called, “Alex, time to go!”

  “What time shall I come get you tomorrow, then?” he asked.

  He could see the look of dismay that flashed across her face even in the lowering light.

  “I think it would be best to meet you at the Tower. We might dawdle over breakfast, you see,” she added in a forcedly bright voice. “Then we have to walk Pompey so he doesn’t embarrass us at the Tower. So to be sure, why don’t you meet us there at noon?”

  He bowed. “Perfect,” he said. “Come, let me get you a hackney.”

  He saw Laura and Alex, and Pompey, who seemed to have grown a few inches since they’d arrived at the park, into the hackney, told the driver, “Great Irvington Street,” paid him, and smiled as they waved good-bye when the coach rattled off.

  But he was lost in thought as he walked through the park toward his own town house.

  “Lud! We meet by daylight,” a female voice trilled. “It is my lucky day!”

  Sebastian looked up. A petite young dasher had paused in his path and was smiling up at him. Her pelisse was as red as her painted lips, her cheeks were as blushed with color as her red-gold hair, and her smile was as practiced as any actress’s. Which was only fitting, since the young woman had been an actress on the stage before she discovered that acting for an audience of one, in bed, was easier and much more lucrative.

  “Hello, Miss Lane,” he said, and sketched a bow to his mistress.

  “Oh, la!” she said, tapping him with one gloved hand. “So formal! But here I was out for a stroll, and who should I meet up with but the man I’ve been looking for all week! What luck!”

  He doubted that. They were close to his house. She’d likely been waiting for him. “And why were you looking for me?” he asked.

  “Why, you know better than that!” she said.

  He hadn’t realized that she always spoke with such emphasis. It probably was what had defeated her career on the stage. He realized it was also probably what made her so successful at her present career. A man did like encouragement, and there were times when fervent enthusiasm wasn’t questioned. But it seemed his ears had lately become accustomed to softer tones.

  “I’m flattered,” he said. “But unfortunately, I can’t spend any time with you now. I’m promised to someone else this evening,” he lied. “No one as lovely as you, I assure you,” he added, to stop her pouting. He used to think those red lips were adorably kissable when she pouted. Now they made him think of a trout out of water. “In truth,” he added, speaking as the idea occurred to him, “I was going to send you a note.”

  She didn’t live in apartments he rented for her; he wasn’t that firmly fixed as her sole protector yet. Last week, the notion had tempted him. Now he was delighted it would be so simple to disengage himself.

  “I’ll be gone for the Christmas holidays,” he went on. “I can’t say when I’ll return to London. It would be wrong to keep you expecting me.”

  All traces of coquetry fled. “I see,” she said flatly, eyeing him with dislike. “Giving me the boot, are you?”

  “Not in so many words… Well, I am, I suppose,” he admitted. “I won’t leave you without funds, though. I’ll send a generous sum to tide you over until you make new arrangements.”

  “Didn’t think you wouldn’t,” she said with a shrug. “You’re a gent, and a nice one, at that. Mind telling me if it’s anything I did—or didn’t? I’ve got a reputation and a future to worry about, you know.”

  “Nothing you said or did or didn’t,” he said truthfully. “It’s just that…” He found himself searching for words because he himself didn’t know the real reason why. It had just been an irresistible impulse that once acted upon seemed very right.

  “Another female?” she asked.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Let’s say, the idea of one,” he said truthfully.

  “Well, it’s Christmastime,” she said with a shrug. “Men get sentimental. If you change your mind, let me know. Don’t forget my address in either case,” she added, “seeing as to how a generous settlement would give me a vacation, and be a real holiday treat.”

  It was a slap at him but he decided not to take offense. He owed her a chance to get her own back. “I’ll see to it,” he said, and meant it. He bowed and watched her walk away.

  Sebastian felt a little disquieted because the whole thing meant so little to him—and to her. He also felt a little more than annoyed at himself. He’d campaigned to secure her affections, and had been pleased with them until today. The truth was another woman was to blame. He felt a surge of expectation and desire. It wasn’t because his mistress was walking away with such a jaunty swagger, causing her bottom to sway so he could see the last of what he’d just given up. It was because he realized he’d like a Christmas treat too. And that led him to thinking about Miss Laura Lockwood again.

  *

  Pompey paused at the foot of the
stair to Laura’s rooms, even though Alex was quietly urging him to follow. Laura frowned. The puppy had really been remarkably obedient, making her forget he was just a pup. He was quiet as a mouse all night, where he lay curled up at the foot of Alex’s bed. He didn’t bark or play loudly when he was in her rooms. In the park he’d played with all the abandon a boy could want, but always came back to Alex at a whistle.

  He was clearly a dog of contradictions. Well-behaved as he’d previously been, he now sat and refused to budge his bottom. And though he’d been small enough to hide within the folds of Alex’s jacket at Astley’s Amphitheatre the day before, it was just as clear now that he was too large for the boy to carry up the stairs. Puppies grew quickly, but Laura believed this dog must surely be setting records. It couldn’t just be all fur. Alex would surely hurt himself hauling the beast up all the stairs.

  Alex had started off whispering encouragement, but now his exhortations were getting louder. The last thing Laura wanted was for her landlady to clap eyes on the dog.

  “I’ll carry him,” she whispered, and bent to pick Pompey up.

  Her landlady’s door opened.

  Laura froze. Alex stood stock-still. Pompey looked up at the landlady and started to thump his tail on the floor.

  The landlady stared. Then she smiled. “Oh my! Just look at this fine little fellow!” She bent to stroke the silky ears, and then, with ease, lifted Pompey up in her arms.

  Laura gaped. If she hadn’t seen it, she wouldn’t have believed it, but the dog fit as comfortably in Mrs. Finch’s skinny arms as a baby spaniel might have done.

  “Mmm,” the landlady said, rubbing her chin in Pompey’s fluffy fur, “he reminds me of the pup I had when I was young. The best dog I ever owned, even though he was small as a squirrel. I used to dress him in baby clothes and carry him everywhere with me. I love dogs, but they made my late husband sneeze, so I haven’t had one in years. But just look at this little fellow! ‘Oo’s a clever little mudgekin?” she asked Pompey in a high squeaky voice. “He is!”

  Pompey licked her face.

  “And oo’s ittu baby are you?” she asked him. Alex took a step forward. “He’s my dog, ma’am.” The landlady looked down her long nose at Alex.

  “And who is this?”

  “This is Alexander, the Marquess Grenville, son of a dear friend of mine,” Laura said. “He’s visiting me for the holidays.”

  “Marquess?” the landlady said. “And I’m Queen of the May. What would a marquess be doing staying here, eh? No matter, we all have dreams and fancies. But this,” she said, stroking Pompey, “is truly a fine little doggy you have, young fellow.” Her smile erased most of the lines in her careworn face. “Don’t suppose you’d care to sell him? Got a shilling here that would fit right in your pocket. He’d make a grand Christmas present—to myself.”

  “No, ma’am,” Alex said in a worried voice. “He’s mine, you see.”

  “Aye,” she said in a softer voice. “I remember. I was only funning.” She reluctantly set Pompey on the ground again. “Be sure to take him out regular, so my floors stay clean, you hear?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” Alex said as he scooped Pompey up in his arms.

  “Well then, good day,” the landlady said, and went back into her rooms and closed the door behind her.

  Laura looked down at Alex. She could hardly see his face now. Pompey was bigger than the boy who held him.

  “Alex,” Laura said slowly, “did it ever occur to you that Pompey is a very strange dog?”

  “He’s perfect,” Alex said staunchly.

  “Come, you can tell me,” she persisted. “How long have you had him?”

  “Not long enough,” Alex said.

  “Where did you get him?”

  “He was…a gift,” Alex said.

  Laura sighed. “Well, put him down now before you do yourself an injury, and let’s go upstairs.”

  But so he was a strange dog, she thought pensively. Not only did Pompey’s size appear to be as variable as most puppies’ moods, he was obedient and well-mannered. And unlike any other pup she’d ever seen, he never chewed on furniture or slippers.

  The trio went up to Laura’s attic rooms. Laura was thoughtful, wondering if it were her eyes or her mind playing tricks. Alex took the stairs as fast as a young lad could. And Pompey came lumbering after.

  *

  The day was fine, cold, but the sun peeking through scudding clouds gave an illusion of warmth. Laura wore her best gown. It wasn’t very different from her worst one, but she knew it was newer and that made her feel better—at least, until she saw the Viscount Falconer. He was dressed so splendidly she felt as though she ought to walk a few paces behind him. He didn’t seem to notice her shabbiness, or care. She thought that might be just his excellent manners, but after a few moments in his company she didn’t care either.

  She placed her hand on his proffered arm, feeling like a lady again for the first time in a very long time.

  Alex and Pompey walked the grounds at the Tower beside them, Pompey now on a lead that the viscount supplied.

  “I know the lad has fine manners,” he told Alex, as he clipped the new lead onto the new collar he’d also brought. “But the guards at the Tower might not.”

  Whether the guards did or did not, Laura never knew. The coins the viscount gave them ensured their smiles as they let Pompey pass through the gate, just as though he were a pug carried by a lady of the court and not a big, bumbling bear of a puppy, romping alongside a young boy.

  The cells and the chopping block and its bloody history interested Alex. The medals and royal artifacts on display clearly bored him. But his ears pricked up, along with Pompey’s, when the viscount declared the menagerie of their next destination.

  The sun glistened on the wide waters of the Thames, making it sparkle brighter than any of the crown jewels as the trio paced along the bank toward the compound where the exotic animals were housed.

  Laura heard the howling and trumpeting as they got closer, and grew nervous. “Do you think this is wise?” she asked the viscount. “Do you think the animals will react badly to seeing Pompey?”

  He patted the hand that lay on his arm. “It’s being locked up that disturbs them, not seeing those that are free.”

  Indeed, Laura was amazed because the animals actually quieted when they saw Pompey. And they saw him, that was obvious. The humans that looked into their cages seemed to be transparent to them. But the glazed and desperate looks in their eyes sharpened and then focused on Pompey whenever he appeared before them. Whenever he did, they fell still.

  The dog himself behaved strangely. He paused and sat for a moment before each cage he passed. He seemed to be communing with the beast inside, whether elephant or tiger. And each beast appeared to be listening to whatever silent thing he said.

  “Pompey is the strangest dog I ever met,” Laura whispered to the viscount as they watched a threadbare lioness stop pacing, her mad yellow eyes growing calm and sane as she stared at the dog.

  The viscount nodded. “I agree. But there’s no question he’s devoted to the boy. I don’t know where Alex picked up the creature, but now I begin to believe Pompey picked him. That’s not at all bad for him. He needs the devotion.” He hesitated. He studied Laura’s face. “I don’t know how close you are to Alex’s mother, but surely you know she’s not very close to him.”

  “I know,” she said sadly. “We, she and I, aren’t close anymore either. We haven’t been for years, actually.”

  “And yet you agreed to take the boy for Christmas. No, you fought for the right.”

  “So I did.”

  “And why is that?” he asked.

  “Were you close to his father?” she asked in return.

  “No, not after he married Maria.”

  “And yet you fought for the right to take care of Alex too.”

  He smiled. “Yes, and now I’m glad I did. Think what I might have missed if I’d just handed the boy over to you and
forgotten my promise. Sometimes,” he added with a teasing smile, “good deeds bring their own rewards.”

  Because she couldn’t think that he could really think befriending her was a reward, Laura looked away. Just in time to see that Alex and Pompey had proceeded to the next cage, where a huge black bear was almost touching noses with Pompey through the bars of the cage.

  She gasped. The viscount dropped her hand and sprinted forward. He ran to the dog, prepared to snatch him away, and then paused. There was no animosity shown by either creature.

  “She must think he’s a cub,” Alex whispered excitedly. “See how gentle she is with him? He looks like one too, doesn’t he?”

  “So he does,” the viscount said softly, gently easing Alex back from the cage. “Pompey is a strange beast, altogether. Where exactly did you find him, Alex?”

  Alex’s smile vanished. “He’s my dog, sir,” he said stiffly.

  “And that’s that, eh? Well, it’s all right with me, and obviously it is with Miss Lockwood too. But you do know you must give him up when you go back to school.”

  Alex grew still. Pompey nudged the boy’s hand. “He wants to walk on,” Alex said abruptly. “May we?”

  “Of course,” the viscount said. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  It was in all a glorious day. But it grew colder as the sun sank in the west.

  “Time to go,” the viscount finally said when he noticed how Laura pulled her pelisse tighter as a chilly wind began blowing in off the river. “Today I brought my carriage so I can take you home in style.”

  Laura grew even colder at his words.

  “How kind,” she said, trying to conceal her horror. But she was prepared. She’d sat up in the night thinking about what she’d do if this happened. “But we’re not going straight home. I have to buy Alex’s Christmas present and so I thought we’d go to a toy store and I’d watch and see what he wants most of all.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll come along with you, if I may, because I’ll have the same problem when Christmas comes.”

  He saw her fear and dismay and realized that whatever her game, he didn’t want to hurt her. But now he knew she would always refuse to let him see where she lived, or with whom. She only had Alex in her care for a while longer, but that might be too long if her behavior in any way jeopardized the boy physically, or, more likely in her case, morally.