A Hero for Christmas

by Jo Ann Brown

  An icy chill raced down Cat’s back and then up to settle its cold fist around her heart. “Papa had feared for Sophia when he had thought she was getting too close to learning the identity of the smugglers’ leader. He was so worried that he took her to London on the pretense of giving her a Season. He feared for Sophia’s life if she unmasked the smugglers’ leader.”

  Jonathan stared at her. “Why didn’t you tell Meriweather that?”

  “I assumed he knew.”

  “I doubt he does, because he is eager to unmask the smugglers’ leader.”

  Cat leaned her shoulder against his chest, knowing she was being brazen, but needing his strength to comfort her. She closed her eyes and wished she could melt into him. Even with the tang of the sea air and the cool freshness of the winter wind, she breathed in his scent that was a mixture of wool and leather and soap. She did not want to move. Not ever, because she knew he would allow nothing to happen to her, if he could prevent it.

  “Do you think that is why Cousin Edmund wants me to go to London for the Season?” she whispered.

  “Possibly.” His arm came up to encircle her shoulders, and her breath caught. She could not remember ever being so safe and in so much danger all at the same time. She dared not raise her head because, if she looked into his eyes, she might not be able to fight her longing to draw his head down to hers for a kiss.

  Jonathan’s next words shattered her fantasy. “You may be right about why he wants you to go to Town. With his duties and obligations there, Meriweather would not be here to protect you. Let’s get out of here.”

  He held out his hand to Michael, but kept his arm around her shoulders. As they walked away, she saw him glance back. He sighed, and she guessed he was disappointed not to be able to subdue the smugglers in their den. She was certain he planned to come back with Cousin Edmund and Charles.

  As soon as she returned to Meriweather Hall, she would ask Sophia to pray for their safety. She did not know what else to do, because she no longer trusted her own prayers would be heard. A soul-deep ache riveted her as she realized how much she had lost the day her father had died. Even more than the day she was told that her sweet Roland had been killed. She did not want to lose anything—or anyone—else.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cat looked from her sketchbook to the tables and then up at the rafters. The tables were where they should be, and the footmen were stringing the greenery according to her instructions. She drew in a deep breath of the fresh scent. Soon the great hall would look as she had imagined. Snow had piled up overnight on the windowsills, and the stained glass sent colors across the tables that were already draped with tablecloths, sparkling off mermaid tears scattered there.

  One of the maids laying out the rest of the white tablecloths began to sing an old hymn. Her voice was pure and dulcet, each note rising to spin about the rafters.

  “The holly and the ivy, when

  they are both full grown. Of

  all the trees that are in the wood,

  the holly wears the crown.”

  Cat joined the others in singing the refrain. Deep voices blended with high-pitched ones, and nobody cared if a note was flat or sharp, for they sang from the heart.

  “Oh, the rising of the sun, and the running of the deer, the playing of the merry organ, sweet singing in the choir.”

  As the second verse began, all the voices faded into silence except the maid who had begun singing.

  “The holly bears a blossom as white as lily flower, and Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ, to be our sweet Savior.”

  Everyone sang the refrain, pausing in their work as they created a harmony that grew more complex with each repetition of the refrain. When the last verse was finished, silence filled the great hall. Then Cat applauded. The servants began to cheer as they returned to their work.

  How she would miss her home while in London! If all went as she hoped, she would return right after visiting the Elgin Marbles. She held the sketchbook over her heart as she walked to look out a window. The trees rocked in the wind that never seemed to die so close to the sea.

  Roland, when I stand in front of those sculptures, I know some part of you will be there with me. I know we will see them together.

  Tears welled up in her eyes. When had she last thought about him, the only man who had ever understood her love of the beauty of a line drawn by a master artist? What other man would ever understand her as Roland had?

  Jonathan’s face appeared, unbidden, in her mind. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Jonathan Bradby was a practical man, interested in facts and figures. The only lines that concerned him were property lines and assuring his clients that they were in the right place.

  Even as she thought that, she knew she was not being honest with herself. He had helped find mermaid tears, which certainly was not a practical pursuit. And what pragmatic man would call her Cat?

  She was looking for excuses to push him away, because she was shaken by how much she longed to be with him, to have him hold her as he had by the sea last Sunday. Even almost a week later, she still resonated with the sweet sensation of his arm around her shoulders while they had walked to Meriweather Hall. She had been so busy since then that she had scarcely seen him, but he never was far from her thoughts.

  That had to stop. To fall in love with another warrior hero could mean facing the same pain all over again. She had barely endured it once. To go through that one more time was too devastating to imagine.

  It would be better if she thought about Jonathan as the friend she had vowed he would be. As his friend, she had to wonder why he was so determined to stop the smugglers. Did that have something to do with the pain that billowed into his eyes when he thought nobody would notice?

  Find a way to open your heart to God, Cat, and maybe you can find a way to help Mr. Bradby open his. Vera’s advice was good, but, in spite of praying each night and morning for the past week, Cat still waited to feel God in her life.

  Time was growing short. Once the wedding and the masquerade were over, Jonathan would go home to Norwich, and she would travel to London. Her heart cramped each time she wondered if their paths would ever cross again. It was almost too unbearable to think about.

  “How lovely! I should have guessed, Catherine, that you would be in the midst of everything.” Lady Meriweather’s cheerful voice was brightened with a laugh as she walked into the great hall.

  Cat ran to greet their mother. Lady Meriweather’s fur muff hung from one sleeve, and a jaunty green hat was perched on her black hair. Of a similar height as Cat, she wore her years well.

  “Mother!” Cat cried as she hugged her mother. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming back?”

  Lady Meriweather kissed Cat on the cheek. “I got here as quickly as any message would.”

  “How is Aunt Electra?” Cat asked, her smile so broad that her cheeks ached.

  “Her leg is healed, and she is learning to get around again. She insisted that I come home. She was concerned with the storms we have had that, if I waited even a day longer, another one might arrive, and I would end up missing my own daughter’s wedding.” She laughed. “To be honest, I believe she was eager for me to leave, so I am not there to insist that she exercise her leg more. She would prefer to sit in her parlor, receive callers and their sympathy, and tell the story of her tumble over and over.”

  “Mother, Aunt Electra was gravely hurt!” Cat tried to make it a scold, but ended up laughing.

  “Ah, gravely. That was a description she did not use herself.” Mother chuckled. “Maybe the only one.”

  Her aunt had been named well, because she yearned to be the center of attention, as if she were the heroine in a Greek tragedy. The slightest incident could become, in her telling, a disaster of titanic proportions. Cat had a tender spot in her heart for her outra
geous aunt who had married a baronet, then a viscount and most recently another baronet. Her first two husbands had left her a wealthy widow, and her new husband was happy to help her enjoy that fortune. They had been planning a yearlong tour of the world when Aunt Electra had had the misfortune to trip over her lapdog and break her leg.

  Lady Meriweather vowed to save the best stories about her visit to York for dinner and then hurried away to see the children who would soon be her grandchildren. From the first time they had met, she had developed a special relationship with Gemma and Michael who adored her.

  Cat turned her attention back to the decorating. She explained her ideas, and the servants gleefully arranged the greenery as she asked. While they worked, one of the footmen began singing the haunting “Coventry Carol.”

  “Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child, by, by, lully, lullay.”

  She sang, too, determined that she would enjoy this Christmas and her sister’s wedding instead of thinking about how the New Year would mean Jonathan leaving.

  * * *

  Jonathan watched as Meriweather signed the bottom of the final page in the stack. When his friend looked up, Jonathan smiled.

  “That is it?” Meriweather asked.

  “Yes. That is all you need to do. You have the lease on the house in Bedford Square for the next three years.” He dusted the page to guarantee the ink would not run and then set it atop the others. “Such a simple matter could have waited until after the holidays. You aren’t leaving for Town until the latter part of January, and you had a gentlemen’s agreement with Forsythe. You didn’t need to worry about someone else renting the house out from under you.”

  Meriweather leaned back from his desk and folded his arms over his chest. With a triumphant smile, he said, “But, if I had listened to you and waited until after the New Year, then you would have had no reason to rethink accepting our invitation to the wedding and the Christmas Eve ball.”

  “That is true, but I cannot believe that you would have missed me if I didn’t attend an absurd masquerade ball. What is the real reason you were so insistent that I return to Meriweather Hall?”

  “I thought that was quite obvious.”

  Jonathan put the signed papers in the box that would convey them to London. “It might be obvious to you, Meriweather, but not to me.”

  “I am outnumbered.”

  “By?”

  “The women in this family. Three of them. One of me.”

  His brow furrowed. “You can’t be suggesting that the Meriweather women did anything to make you feel unwelcome.”

  “Just the opposite.” His friend stood and turned to look out the window at the somnolent garden. He put one hand on the molding. “Lady Meriweather is always gracious, and she is as concerned about my welfare as my own mother was.”

  Jonathan said nothing, but he was starting to understand. Unlike his mother, who had as little to do with her children as possible once they were born, Meriweather’s mother had been a vital part of his life. She had died when he was barely eleven years old, so having a mother again must seem odd.

  Just as having a loving mother would be strange for Jonathan. He could never remember his mother hugging him or praising him, unless she had guests and wanted to show off what an excellent mother she was.

  His father had been the same. A feigned interest in his children when it would reflect well on him, but the rest of the time, he offered only indifference.

  Growing up, seeing his parents treat each other with the same lack of affection as they did their children, he had thought every family was like that. He had learned the truth that other children were embraced, their tears dried when they scraped a knee, applauded when they achieved some goal...but by the time Jonathan had discovered that, he had been an adult.

  What made a couple who had at least appeared to be in love change so completely? Maybe his father had been right when he had told Jonathan and his brothers that love was just foolishness invented by women to get men to do their bidding. He had wanted to discount that as another lie, but then Augusta had treated him exactly as his father had warned she would. She had used him until she could find someone else with more wealth and a title who would do as she wished. Every ounce of him wanted to argue that Cat would be different, but was he ready to test that possibility? No, and maybe that was the greatest proof that he did not deserve to be called a hero.

  “And Sophia and Catherine...” Meriweather’s hand slowly closed into a fist as Jonathan looked at him again. “I know they are frustrated with my inability to step into their father’s shoes. Maybe if I had been raised to the life of a peer, it would be different.”

  “I can’t help you with that. I am the youngest son of a youngest son.”

  “And be grateful that won’t change.”

  As Meriweather went on, Jonathan listened with one ear and prayed silently for God to help his friend. Guide him, Lord. Let him return to being the man he was before his experiences in the war made him question every decision. Help him see how truly special is the welcome he has received from Cat and her family. If I can be of use, Lord, use me.

  A sense of comfort settled on him, and he welcomed it. He was confident that God would show him how to help Meriweather.

  “Can I ask you something, Meriweather?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you taking Cat to London to protect her from the smugglers?”

  His friend stiffened as his eyes narrowed. Suddenly Jonathan was facing the man he had known on the battlefield: loyal, filled with resolve, and ready to do whatever was needed to serve his country and protect his fellow soldiers. The transformation was startling, and relief flooded Jonathan. Until now, he had not realized how much he had feared that Meriweather would never be more than a faint shadow of the man he once had been.

  “What gave you such a bizarre idea?” Meriweather asked.

  Jonathan quickly explained what Cat had told him last Sunday on the shore, about her sister being sent to keep her away from the smugglers who believed she was getting too close to the truth. Shock stripped color from his friend’s face.

  “I assume,” Jonathan said, “that no one mentioned this to you.”

  “Not a whisper.” He walked to the hearth. Clasping his hands behind in his back, he stared at the flames. “Why would they keep something so important from me? Do they believe me to be utterly inept?”

  “I don’t think the omission was intentional. Cat believed that you already knew.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Each time I wanted to speak to you about it, one of the Meriweather women or another would appear. I did not want to distress them further.”

  “This changes everything.”

  “Does it?” Jonathan got up as his friend turned to look at him. “Miss Meriweather will be gone from here once she and Northbridge are wed. Cat is going with you to London along with Lady Meriweather, I assume.”

  “While I simply leave my estate to the smugglers?” He held his head in his hands. “What to do? What to do?”

  Sorry to upset his friend, Jonathan put a hand on his shoulder. “It is almost a month before you have to make that decision.”

  “True.” Meriweather’s head popped up like a puppet’s.

  “Who knows? We may have had our victory over the smugglers before you leave, and then the decision is made for you.”

  “True.” A smile eased across his friend’s lips. “Any ideas how to do that?”

  Jonathan grinned. “I might have a good one.”

  “Let me send for Northbridge, and we’ll talk it over.” Meriweather, his good nature resurrected, clapped him on the shoulder. “We will beat them yet.”

  “I hope you are right.” Jonathan walked to his chair so he could make sure his face did not
betray him. He still wished he could keep Cat from going to London, but he would rather have her changed by the ton than to imagine her cowering in Meriweather Hall, at the mercy of outlaws.

  * * *

  The great hall was hushed. Dusk had invited the shadows to emerge from the corners, and the light from the few candles burning on the tables could not reach the rafters. The holly that had gleamed in the sunlight was dull and lifeless. Even its bright berries were swallowed by the darkness.

  Cat stood in the middle of the room and turned to take it all in. While there were still sections of the room that needed to be finished, everything should be ready by the wedding breakfast. She had almost made a muddle of everything, but, with Jonathan’s help, everything should be perfect for the celebration.

  “Beautiful,” Jonathan said from by the doorway.

  As she faced him, her breath caught. In his bright green coat and crimson waistcoat, he brought the colors of the holly back to life. But she hardly noticed his clothing, as she was captured by the smile that tilted his lips and glittered in his pale blue eyes. Its warmth uncurled in her center, sending a tremor outward to her fingertips and toes.

  He walked toward her. She was unable to move, held in place by his gaze and her own longing to be in his arms. He held his hand out to her. She put her fingers on his palm, and he raised them smoothly to his lips. Her own lips parted with a soft sound that was both a gasp and a sigh, as she surrendered to the sweet pleasure of his lips on her skin.

  Raising his head, he whispered, “So beautiful.”

  “Yes, the great hall—”

  “You, Cat. You are so beautiful.”

  She pulled her gaze from his and looked at her dirty gown that was sticky with pitch from pine branches. Patches of dirt showed where she had carried other greens to the footmen hanging them on the rafters.

  “You are hoaxing me,” she said with a laugh. “I am a complete rump.”