It's a Wonderful Regency Christmas

by Edith Layton

  “No,” he said softly, tenderly, his eyes searching hers. “First, shouldn’t we be thinking about where you should be boarding until spring, and summer, and next winter?”

  She blinked, then, embarrassed, looked away. He had indeed discovered her circumstances. “So, you know,” she said as softly, though there was no one near to overhear them.

  He nodded. “Yes. So, Miss Lockwood, what shall you do?”

  Her spirits rose, but she didn’t want to beg for his help. She shrugged. “If I can’t prove my cousin cheated my mother and myself out of our rightful inheritance? Go on, I suppose, as I have begun. I have obligations: my mother, my future. I have to earn money and save it for both our sakes.”

  “I thought as much,” he breathed. He stopped walking, turned to her, and took her mittened hands in his gloved ones. “But, as I said, I have a solution.”

  She stared up at him with breathless hope.

  “There’s no need for you to go on alone,” he said with a curious half smile. “Not when I am here.”

  But this was more than help he was offering! She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. She saw him nod, as his smile grew.

  “But if I’m not mistaken…it’s far too soon for such an offer,” she protested. “You hardly know me.”

  “What more is there to know?” he asked. “I see your beauty, I hear your voice and never heard anything foolish fall from your lovely lips. Unless you want to make me laugh,” he added tenderly. “Then, you always succeed. I know you have a care for me; I’d bet my soul you haven’t been pretending that. Your misfortunes kept us apart until now, otherwise we might well have met sooner and under happier conditions. But now fortune has brought us together.

  “Let’s not rue the past, or waste what fate has given us,” he said. “I’ve met society misses as well as wantons, women from all walks of life, but I swear I’ve never met your like before. Nor am I apt to do so. What more could I want? I’m comfortable with you, I desire you, I need you. Come, let me take the burden of your future off your shoulders.”

  Laura searched his face to see if he was joking. But he was sincere. He’d never uttered a word of love, but she supposed that was because he was a proud man and probably wouldn’t until he knew how she felt about him. Still he, the lofty Viscount Falconer, was offering for her!

  Laura breathed a silent prayer of thanks. He was everything a woman could want in a husband, and she’d known it since they met. His proposal of marriage had been her one most secret wish, the one she’d never let herself seriously dream of.

  Still, as she tried to frame her answer, she remembered she mustn’t be overwhelmed with gratitude. That was no basis for a good marriage. She wasn’t entirely beneath his notice, after all. As he said, they might have met long before this if her father hadn’t died, and if he’d left her anything but the will to go on. She was well-bred; she’d once been considered a lady. She didn’t know if she deserved him, but she knew he had no need to feel ashamed of his choice.

  She gazed at the devilishly attractive male before her, seeing that he was breathlessly watching, waiting for her answer.

  She smiled shyly.

  “Excellent!” he said fervently, taking her hand to his lips. “I see your answer in your eyes.”

  She closed her eyes and waited for him to take her in his arms.

  He didn’t. “But for now,” he said quietly, clasping her hands tightly, “this must be our secret. I can’t move you to better lodgings until after Alex returns to school. We can’t even speak of it until then, much less act on it. But be sure, I can’t wait until we do.”

  Her eyes snapped open.

  “Don’t worry,” he added quickly, “I’ll make adequate provisions for you. More than adequate,” he went on, noting her eyes narrowing. “A handsome flat in a good district, a generous allowance for clothes, and jewels, of course. Be assured, you’ll have a liberal amount of pocket money too. Even if we find we don’t suit, you’ll be well provided for, but I don’t envision… Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You,” she said carefully, “are offering to make me your…mistress?”

  “Well, yes, though I wouldn’t put it that bluntly.”

  “How would you put it?” she asked.

  “Well, I suppose that’s what it is, though there are ways to say it more obliquely. But where’s the need? Alex is nowhere near. And why are you so surprised? You’re no blushing miss. After all, isn’t that what you were before we met?”

  She glared at him. “Why should you think so?”

  “You said you had to support yourself,” he said patiently, wondering what more she wanted him to promise. “You have no chaperones, no family I ever saw, indeed, no friends either, though you said you lived with them. What was I to think?”

  She paused. “Anything but that, I suppose, if you believed me a good and decent person. Obviously you do not.”

  “Good, of course, yes. But decent?” he asked. “That depends on your interpretation of the word. I don’t consider Maria decent, but you do. Come, what is this?”

  “This,” she said furiously, “is a refusal. No, never, ever!”

  “And why not?”

  “Because I am no man’s mistress, I never was, and would never be!”

  “Then what the devil were you talking about?” he asked in confusion.

  “I was talking about my working to fulfill my obligations,” she said angrily.

  “Well, just so.”

  “So you assume that means a female who works for her livelihood is a prostitute?”

  “I never said such!” he said, frowning. “But you do—or did—work at something you never specified. And too,” he said, affronted, “you never invited me to your home. What else should I think?”

  “Ah,” she said. She snatched her hands from his. “I see. Or rather, I don’t, but I see what you mean. Well, it’s simple. I didn’t invite you to my lodgings because I’ve been living in an attic, in rented rooms.”

  His eyes widened. He took a step back. “You work at a house of assignation?” he asked incredulously.

  Her head went back as though he’d slapped her. Her color rose. “Worse,” she spat. “Or so I suspect it would seem in the eyes of a man such as yourself. Worldly, are you, my lord? I think not. You do know your own world. Oh yes, that I do believe. But you’re a man who never saw the world as it exists beyond his own riches and privileges. Because, my dear sir, I am not a whore. In fact, though I work for my living, and live in my employer’s house and must obey her every command and put up with my patrons’ whims, that is where the similarity ends. You see, sir, I’m alone at the moment, and in rented rooms, because I was granted a vacation for the holidays. Otherwise, I’m employed as a governess! And I’m a good one.”

  She looked over his shoulder at the romping boy and dog. “Moreover,” she said stiffly, “as such, I don’t think you’re the sort of man an impressionable lad like Alex should be associating with. Good day, sir. Alex!” she called, “Pompey! To me, please. We’re going home.”

  The dog reached her first, and crowded close to her side.

  The viscount was amazed to see the dog had such big white teeth, which were suddenly bared as it stared at him.

  Alex merely looked from one adult to the other in confusion.

  “We’re going home,” Laura said, taking Alex’s hand. She turned on her heel and began walking.

  “Good-bye, sir,” Alex called as they marched back the way they’d come.

  They’d only gone ten steps when the viscount came running up to them. “I hope you remember that I get Alex on Christmas day,” he told Laura in clipped tones.

  She bit her lip. That had been agreed. But she’d hoped they would all spend that day together. Now, even in her rage at the man, she realized she’d be alone on Christmas day; more alone than she’d been in years. She gave a curt nod.

  “So we agreed,” she said. She hesitated, then looked down at Alex and Pompey. Both w
ere looking at her with big, sorrowful eyes. She swallowed her anger. There were some things more important than a foolish spinster’s shattered dreams. She looked up at the viscount, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “But things have changed. Can’t Alex stay with me for just that one more day? I was going to have a fine goose from the cookshop, an entire dinner, actually. I’ve treats planned for him.

  “I was going to tell you everything on that day,” she said, trying to keep from sounding as if she were pleading. “Because it would scarcely matter any more then, would it? You’d see for yourself, after all. I waited because I was afraid you might be just as appalled at my circumstances as you are, and would have taken Alex from me if you’d seen how I lived. You must admit that I did him no harm, whatever you think of my financial state. My lodgings are meager, but entirely respectable. I am entirely respectable too.”

  She tried to keep her pride, without offending him. She tried to state her position without letting Alex guess what had just happened between herself and the viscount. “We’ve all had fun together these past days, haven’t we?” she asked. “Soon, it will be over. I’ll have kept my promise to Maria. Please let him stay with me for Christmas day.”

  “I’d planned to take you all out for a Christmas dinner at a fine restaurant I frequent,” he said, gazing at her steadily. “I was going to engage a private room. The owner knows me; he said he’d allow the dog. I thought we’d have a feast.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not possible now,” she said softly. “But may I please keep Alex for that one more day? I’ll have him at your house the next morning, I promise.”

  He stared at her.

  She stared at him.

  Pompey looked up suddenly. His ears pricked forward, as though he heard someone call him. He looked around and suddenly took off, dashing down the road. As he ran, he crashed into Laura and knocked her off balance. She fell, toppling down the slight embankment and landing in the turgid waters of the semi-frozen lake.

  The viscount was in the lake only moments after she landed there and sat sputtering and shivering. He scooped her up and strode back to the road with her. She was icy cold and soaking wet. Nevertheless, he thought her body felt just right in his arms.

  Laura looked down as best she could from under the limp and dripping brim of her bonnet, and saw her drenched gown and pelisse. She realized she was clinging to the viscount. She hated him in that moment. She was embarrassed, hurt, and frozen. But his arms were strong and his body held all the warmth she wanted, and she never wanted to stand on her own again.

  Even so, she knew what she had to do. “Put me down, please,” she said through chattering teeth. “I’m all right.”

  He set her carefully on her feet.

  She winced at the icy water sloshing inside her ruined half boots.

  “He didn’t mean it!” Alex cried. his hand on the now-returned Pompey’s collar. “He just ran after a squirrel and his shoulder bumped into you, but he never meant it, just look at him!”

  Indeed, the dog looked penitent. He was a big tricolored heap of misery, his eyes grown huge and sad.

  Laura felt even sadder. “I know,” she said. “My fault for not watching where he was g-g-going.” She realized she was stammering with cold. “But I think we should g-go home now.”

  “Yes,” the viscount agreed. “And get you out of those dripping clothes. And no,” he added in her ear as he picked her up again and strode to the entrance of the park with her in his arms, “I don’t intend to divest you of them myself, only to make sure you’re out of them as soon as possible.”

  He called a hackney cab, and they all piled into it. Laura gave her address to the driver. They drove to her rooms in silence. The viscount didn’t let her out of his arms, even though her drenched clothing had thoroughly soaked his own.

  But her curved little bottom was warm in his lap, and her body heated his own to furnace heat as the ride went on.

  The hackney stopped, and the viscount bade the driver wait for him. He lifted Laura in his arms again, and stepped out of the coach, frowning when he saw the house. Harry’s man-at-law had told him where she lived. It was a respectable neighborhood that had known better days. But he hadn’t realized until now how long ago that must have been. He scowled and stared up to the top of the narrow house when she told him where her rooms were located. But he said nothing as Alex raced ahead to open the door for him, and not a word as he strode in through the doorway.

  The woman he carried didn’t say another word either.

  But, “Oh, lord! What’s happened?” the landlady cried as she opened her door and saw the viscount and his drenched burden come into her hall.

  “She fell through the ice at the park,” he told her tersely, because now he too was chilled to the bone.

  “Well, then, bring her in here!” Mrs. Finch commanded. “I’ve a nice fire going, and I’ve a tub, and the poor thing needs to get out of those clothes and into a hot tub. Then she needs to sit before a fire, and there’s no hearth in the attics. But how is the dear doggy?” she cried, looking for Pompey.

  Pompey poked his head out from behind Alex, and wagged his tail.

  The viscount blinked. In his contrition, the dog seemed smaller, puppylike again.

  “Let the dear doggy in,” the landlady commanded, “and the boy too…” She stopped, hands on her hips, and looked the viscount up and down. “And who, sir, are you?”

  “Falconer,” he said, “Viscount Falconer.”

  “Certainly,” she said. “A viscount and a marquess in my house, is it? Well, I’m the Queen of Sheba, but get Miss Lockwood in here immediately anyway.”

  Then, and only then, did Laura make a sound. She giggled.

  *

  Laura didn’t have much to laugh about in the days that followed. She didn’t develop a cold, as her landlady had feared. But she didn’t feel very well, either. She was still bruised and shaken, in heart and body, and couldn’t get out much because a fiercely cold winter wind had begun to roam London’s streets. Though she ventured out to buy Alex books and paints to keep him occupied, and spent every hour with him, she worried that he’d find his last days in her company sadly flat.

  Still, she was determined that Christmas day, at least, would remain ever bright in Alex’s mind, and set out to make that so. She hadn’t heard from Viscount Falconer, apart from his sending a basket of out-of-season fruit after her mishap. And so she believed that meant he’d agreed she could keep Alex until Christmas.

  Well, why not? she thought. What could a bachelor, even a rich and titled one, do for the boy that she couldn’t?

  “I’ve bought a few gifts,” she told Mrs. Finch as they sat in the landlady’s flat before her blazing hearth the night before Christmas. “And we’ve decorated my rooms with fresh evergreen boughs, as we used to do at home. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to sweep up any needles that may fall. And I’ve ordered a fine goose from Mr. Benson, the poulterer,” she added proudly.

  “Well, won’t we be stuffed then?” Mrs. Finch said. “Seeing as to how I ordered a fine turkey from him myself. And if you try to have your Christmas dinner anywhere else, Miss Lockwood, I’ll turf the two of you out into the streets, rent paid or no. Of course,” she added with a twinkle, “in that case, Pompey stays with me.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Finch,” Laura said, and hugged her.

  Alex smiled, and Pompey, at his side by the hearth, opened one sleepy eye and beat his tail on the floor.

  “So,” Laura said, “we’ll have ourselves a happy Christmas tomorrow then, won’t we?”

  The others remained silent, and avoided her eyes.

  Until that moment, Laura had thought she’d hidden her sorrow. “Well, then,” she said with forced gaiety, as she stood, “thank you, Mrs. Finch. Come along, Alex, it’s past time for bed.”

  They trooped up the stairs to their rooms. She waited until Alex and Pompey had crowded into Alex’s bed. Laura blew out the lamp and went into the front room. But she did
n’t go to sleep. She sat gazing out the window, looking out over the chimney-pot-peppered rooftops of London.

  A full moon appeared and disappeared as it sailed through wind-driven storm clouds; it looked as though the rooftops would be covered with snow by dawn.

  Laura’s expression was as distant and cold as the moon’s. She’d endured a lot since her fortunes changed, going from pampered young lady to faceless servant. But she’d done it without a complaint. Now, however, she felt all the anger and regret that she’d suppressed. She felt sick with envy and a need for revenge—upon the cousin who had taken her old home, and now, too, upon the man who’d taken away her heart.

  She knew she couldn’t live the rest of her life that way.

  And so she looked at the matter practically, and decided to endure.

  After all, she reasoned, there was no saying he’d have courted her seriously even if they had met when she was still a lady. She had no title, and no entrée into London society. And she’d never had a fortune, at least not what a viscount would consider an adequate dowry.

  Still, he’d wanted her in his bed, which was, although demeaning, also rather flattering, in a strange way.

  So what if she never saw him again? she asked herself. His loss.

  …And hers, she thought, as tears, translucent as the silvery pre-storm light, at last trickled down her cheeks.

  Laura sat at her window and waited for the great clocks of London to strike the Christmas hour, knowing that her greatest gift, her love, would probably never be given to any man. And that the love she wanted most in return would also never be hers. She only became aware of the lateness of the hour when she felt a furry head bump into hers, and felt a velvet tongue trying to lick away her tears.

  “Oh, Pompey,” she whispered as she hugged the enormous dog, finding comfort in the solid warmth of his great body, “what am 1 to do?”

  “Sleep,” must have been what he said, because with the great beast herding her like a wooly lamb, she left the window seat, stumbled to her bed, and did just that.

  *

  Mrs. Finch woke early the next morning and went out to sweep snow off her steps so she and her tenants could go to church. Alex walked in the door before she could get out. He was covered with snow.