It all came out then, stolen kisses and all. When she was finished, her mother kissed the top of her head as if she were a little girl again, smoothing her hair. ‘We can leave in the afternoon.’
Catherine shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want to go. It will only make things worse.’ If Finn was right and no one else suspected anything, leaving would only call attention to the fact that something was wrong. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. She had to go to the Yule log cutting and Christmas mass. She had to laugh and smile and pretend everything was fine.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Millicent tomorrow and sort things out,’ her mother said softly. But it didn’t escape Catherine’s notice that this was one of the few times her mother had called the countess by her first name. ‘Mothers are good at this type of thing.’
* * *
‘You were romancing Catherine right under Lady Eliza’s nose,’ Millicent Deverill all but shouted at Finn. Admittedly, his mother was not good at this type of encounter, Finn thought, watching his mother struggle to address the situation at hand with some sense of decorum. Conflict was not her strong suit. She was a staunch believer in the idea that if one had manners to begin with, conflict would never occur in the first place.
‘It was just a dance,’ Finn reminded her calmly, aware that everyone in the room was staring at him, all three of them. His mother had called the whole family together in her private office. Channing was glaring daggers at him from his chair and his father paced the far side of the room.
‘You didn’t dance with Lady Eliza like that,’ his mother accused. ‘I invited her here for the express purpose of—’
‘Yes, you invited her,’ Finn broke in.
‘That does not give you leave to romance a neighbour’s daughter. You are showing Lady Eliza a flagrant disregard.’
Finn sighed wearily. ‘I am not. I’ve spent time with her, I’ve sat with her at dinners.’ He couldn’t recall either he or Channing being in this much trouble since Channing had locked the tutor in the wine cellar so he could go fishing.
‘You’ve been kissing Catherine.’ Channing broke his glowering silence. Dear Lord, were they boys all over again? He couldn’t believe Channing had said that. Channing turned his gaze towards Finn. ‘You knew I liked her and now you’ve stolen her.’
‘Wait a minute...’ He would not sit here and let Channing play the martyr, not when Channing had brought his London business home to the house party in the form of Lady Alina Marliss and asked him to keep the business portion a secret. ‘I’m not the one who brought home a special friend. You walk around with Lady Alina on your arm while you make eyes at Catherine. If anyone in this room is playing someone false, it’s you.’
Finn’s anger began to simmer and then it began to boil. He would not concede the field. Inside, some integral part of him knew it would kill him to see Channing with Catherine—Channing, who couldn’t even remember she hated nicknames, Channing who didn’t know the first thing about history.
‘Well, you don’t have to worry about it any more.’ Channing’s fists curled into tight balls at his sides. ‘I spoke with her tonight and she refused me.’
The room went silent for a brief moment and then it erupted, his mother and father talking at once. Now he knew what it was Catherine hadn’t told him. Finn placed his head in his hands. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Nine
‘I think cutting the Yule log is just an opportunity for men to remove their jackets and show off their muscles.’
‘I don’t mind that tradition at all.’ The girls standing near Catherine gave high-pitched laughs. The house party had tramped out to the woodland with saws and a long sled for the annual log cutting. The snow had stopped, but it was terribly cold. She doubted there’d be much jacket removing today, no matter how virile the man.
At the thought of virile, her eyes went straight to Finn. Unlike her, he’d not had the luxury of sleeping late and, as a result, looked tired, with a pale, haggard appearance to his face. There’d been no time to talk, no time to catch him alone. Which she supposed was fine. She hadn’t any idea what she’d say to him and was regretting not telling him about the proposal. Finn would know by now. Channing had never been any good at keeping secrets. Nor was Channing a gracious loser. He’d stayed back at the house today, warm and toasty next to the fire with Lady Alina while Finn had to keep up appearances as host out in the cold.
‘This one,’ Finn called out after looking over several possible logs. The men with him dragged over their tools and they set to work, a man at each end of the saw. It was heavy work cutting through a thick log, but Finn made it look easy.
‘Catherine, are you in?’ Alyson nudged her. ‘We’re wagering pennies on who will be the first to take off his coat.’
‘I think it will be Lord Swale,’ Jenny Brightly put in slyly. ‘I hadn’t noticed how divine he was until last night. He’s so tall and those shoulders just go on for ever.’ She gave a dramatic shudder.
Meredith came to the rescue. ‘I have to bet on Marcus.’ But the diversion wasn’t enough. Meredith shot Catherine an apologetic look. Every female there wanted to talk about Finn: his shoulders, his long legs, the dark brooding stare he was wont to wear. One girl went so far as to speculate she wouldn’t mind if he spouted Latin phrases while he kissed her.
‘He’s so mysterious.’
‘You know what they say about the quiet types.’ The other girls laughed as if they knew the answer. They wouldn’t be laughing if they did. They were wrong, of course. Finn was much more than the sum of his physical parts, much more than broad shoulders and brooding stares. If they knew Finn at all they’d know he was committed to family, that he loved animals, that he climbed apple trees to rescue a scared little girl who had disobeyed him when he himself had a dreadful fear of heights. And they would know he smiled. At least he did when he was with her.
‘Catherine?’ Meredith said softly at her side, jolting her out of her thoughts. ‘Are you all right?’ But Meredith answered her own question, her eyes travelling the path of Catherine’s gaze to where Finn and Marcus worked the saw and back. ‘Oh, my dear, you love him.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ Catherine was very much afraid of what loving Finn would mean. It would mean leaving. A rapid plan formed in her mind. She would go back to Paris as soon as Christmas had passed. She couldn’t stay here and watch him court another, marry another. Catherine knew what it meant. It would mean spending the rest of her life alone or settling for a marriage that was less than what she wanted.
‘It will be all right,’ Meredith intoned the necessary words.
‘I doubt anything will ever be all right again.’
Meredith squeezed her arm. ‘It will, trust me. I felt the same way with Marcus. Things will come out right in the end.’
But Catherine didn’t think so.
* * *
She still wasn’t convinced as she dressed for the evening trip to the chapel in a warm walking costume of deep-blue merino wool. Finn had to marry someone better than she and he would do it because of the thing she admired so very much in him—family before self.
It was Christmas Eve, the most magical night of the year, the one night she looked forward to above all other nights. But tonight the magic was missing. Catherine wished she could feel it. She’d hoped coming downstairs to join the gathering in the drawing room would lift her spirits. There was no reason to be glum. The drawing room was a picture-perfect image of holiday cheer.
The Yule log was in the giant hearth, burning brightly and warmly. A huge buffet of cold meats and breads was laid out, mugs of mulled wine were in the hands of the gentlemen who had cut the log and everyone else’s spirits were high. All about her was the merriment of the season. Meredith laughed up at Marcus, her face reflecting her joy. Alyson clung to Jameson Ellis’s arm with shy pride. Lord Ri
chard smiled a greeting at her and she almost recoiled.
Catherine could hear her mother’s voice in her head: the youngest son of a marquess is quite a match for a gently bred girl, much higher than we could have hoped for. Beside Lord Richard, his sister positively beamed, looking well in a cranberry ensemble trimmed in white fur. Catherine’s stomach pitched. Lady Eliza knew something, anticipated something. Catherine knew it instantly. Lady Eliza expected an offer. All at once, pieces fell into place. Lady Eliza hadn’t come down to the village and neither had Finn. Finn had talked of desire and duty in the sleigh. It seemed the supreme confirmation that her mother had been right. She was the desire, Lady Eliza the duty, not the Caribbean and the earldom.
Catherine swallowed hard and tried to hide her growing disappointment. Soon, they’d bundle into coats and set off for the church. Maybe she could pray for a miracle. Guilt struck her for such a selfish thought on such a holy night, but the thought was there all the same.
* * *
Finn sat in the family pew, his mind swamped with guilt of all types: guilty pleasures, guilty thoughts. The guilty pleasure was his covert and somewhat dangerous effort to catch sight of Catherine across the aisle in the Emerson pew, an effort which required him to move his head without leaning forwards and setting his clothes on fire.
The latter was proving harder to do than one might expect given he had years of experience. Passing the light was a long-standing Christmas Eve ritual at the Deverill midnight service, the church taking on a peaceful cast as unlit candle after unlit candle was bent to the light of the lit candle next to it and so on until the place looked ethereal.
This year the peace of the candles did not have their usual effect on him. His thoughts were not centred on the vicar’s Christmas reading of the story from Luke or on the familiar hymns. His thoughts were centred most firmly on Catherine, even if he couldn’t quite see her in full, yet another source of guilt. His feelings had shamed her. He’d broken the most cardinal of rules instilled in him by his father when he’d come of age for women: treat women with respect. Never take from her what you cannot give back should the need arise to return it.
A more literal sort would think of this advice only as an approach to dealing with virgins and it was for the Channings of the world. But it was also more. Women had other items to guard beyond maidenheads. They had pride and they had reputations. He’d imperiled Catherine’s reputation last night with that dance. He’d not liked his mother taking him to task over it, but she’d been right to do it. Although he had not needed the reminder. He’d known the moment the dance had ended what he’d done.
But how could he have done differently? Finn leaned forwards, catching a glimpse of Catherine’s profile, of her auburn hair long and sleek in the candlelight, the light dancing across her fine features, the delicate curve of her jaw, and the perfect slope of her nose. He liked to think she felt his stare in that moment. She looked his way and smiled, then made a brief, panicked gesture at his coat. He pulled the candle away just in time to escape a singeing. He gave her a quick grin back and shrugged.
He was doing that a lot lately. Grinning. Smiling. Catherine brought it out in him, he supposed. His mistress had thought he never smiled. Perhaps he’d not had a reason to smile. But now that he had one, he had to figure out what to do about it. He knew what he wanted. It was just that it had happened so fast.
The vicar gave the signal for all to rise for the last hymn, ‘Adeste Fideles’, his favorite. Finn let the lines of the beloved song swell and echo around him. The congregation sang it in Latin, of course. There he went, smiling again.
The congregation began filing out during the last verse and Finn felt his father at his side, his voice low and supportive. ‘Go to her, my son. If she’s what you want, nothing on earth will be able to stop you.’ Finn heard more than saw the smile in his father’s voice. ‘Don’t worry about the haste of things. Who can explain love once it happens? Besides, she’s practically been one of us since she was eight and could walk over. If you love her, she will be a credit to you and to all of us.’
Finn clasped his father’s hand. ‘Thank you.’ It was a blessing, a confirmation. He’d spent the afternoon closeted with his father, talking it over, making his case more to himself than to his father. He wanted to be sure, for Catherine’s sake. Over his father’s shoulder his mother smiled softly, her eyes sparkling with gentle tears.
Finn let the others move ahead. He waited until Catherine stepped into the aisle and approached the Emersons. ‘Might I walk you back, Catherine?’ he asked quietly.
The eyes that searched his face were worried. He wanted to erase that concern. What did she imagine he had to say? ‘I’d like that.’ Catherine stepped away from her parents before they could answer for her. She slipped an arm through his and let him lead her away, careful not to light any clothing on fire with their flames.
Outside, they blew out their candles. ‘Make a wish, Catherine,’ Finn whispered, closing his own eyes and blowing out the flame.
‘That’s only for birthday candles,’ Catherine corrected.
‘I think Christmas candles count too,’ Finn argued softly. He drew her apart from the crowd gathering and dispersing in the churchyard. It was too cold for anyone to linger for long, but for now, the crisp air felt good after the heat of bodies in the church. Overhead the sky was midnight velvet pierced by the diamond sparkle of stars—a silent night, a holy night, a night of love and for love.
‘I need to tell you why I didn’t come on the Yule log cutting this afternoon.’
Catherine paled, her eyes going to the toes of her boots where they peeked from beneath her dress. ‘I thought so. You seemed like you had something on your mind when you picked me up yesterday.’ She looked up and bit her lip.
‘I did. It’s not something a man shares easily or without risk and I needed more time to work up my courage, I suppose.’
‘I’ve never known you to need any more courage than what you already had.’ Catherine gave him a half-smile, although he could see the effort cost her. Whatever she thought was coming, she was trying to make it easy for him. ‘You were brave enough the day you climbed the apple tree. I might still be up there.’
Finn gave a short laugh. ‘I was very scared that day. I don’t like heights, you know.’
She smiled, a little wider this time, and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. ‘I know and you did it anyway.’
Over her shoulder he was aware of Lady Eliza staring, her cheeks flushed before his mother put an arm about her and led her away to a sleigh. Catherine turned and followed his gaze.
‘Did you have something to tell me about Lady Eliza?’ Catherine prompted. ‘A happy announcement, perhaps?’ Finn could hear the strangled pain and he understood. She’d thought he’d come to tell her he was marrying Lady Eliza. Some of the guilt he felt in the church came racing back. He’d not meant to hurt Catherine. Oh, how differently she must see events than he did! The realisation galvanized him into action.
‘I’m not going to marry her,’ Finn said, relishing the relief that flooded Catherine’s face. ‘I’m going to marry you. If you’ll have me,’ he added. He rushed on. ‘I know it’s only been a few days, but really we’ve known each other for a lifetime, if you think about it. It’s not all that strange. We don’t have to go on expeditions if you’d rather not. I don’t know if I can stop spouting inconvenient Latin phrases, but I can try. We—’
Catherine put a hand to his lips. ‘Wait, let me answer. You don’t have to explain anything. Yes. Yes, I will marry you and, no, you don’t have to stop the Latin phrases. They’re a part of you. I don’t care if we go or stay, I just want to be with you, wherever you are.’ Then she was crying. ‘I thought...’
‘I know what you thought.’ Finn gripped her gloved hands between his. ‘I didn’t mean for you to think that. Please, Catherine, don’t cry any
more.’
She looked up at him. ‘I love you, Finn Deverill.’
‘Te amo, Catherine. I love you,’ Finn said, enunciating each word carefully because when a man tells a woman he loves her for the first time, he wants to remember it his whole life. When that man was Finn Deverill, he wanted to remember it in English and Latin.
They were alone in the churchyard. Far ahead of them, the sounds of carols drifted back from the sleighs. Assured of their solitude, Finn bent his mouth to hers and kissed her, once for love, twice for for ever under the Christmas sky. When he’d wondered what the holidays held in store for him, he’d never imagined this, but the things one can’t imagine often make the best gifts of all for precisely that reason.
* * * * *
The Captain’s Christmas Angel
Margaret McPhee
MARGARET McPHEE loves to use her imagination—an essential requirement for a trained scientist. However, when she realised that her imagination was inspired more by the historical romances she loves to read rather than by her experiments, she decided to put the ideas down on paper. She has since left her scientific life behind, retaining only the romance—her husband, whom she met in a laboratory. In summer, Margaret enjoys cycling along the coastline overlooking the Firth of Clyde in Scotland, where she lives. In winter, tea, cakes and a good book suffice.
For Helen—hope you like the extra-special hero!
Chapter One
November 1807
The sun was low in the clear winter sky as Sarah Ellison scanned the expanse of ocean before her. Water lapped against the bow of the boat, making a rhythmic slap against the planks of oak, and the rock of the vessel was slow and easy. Sarah’s stomach began to settle. She breathed in the cool fresh sea air, tasting the tang of saltiness against her lips, and felt glad that she had abandoned the cramped, dim cabin below.
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