Homespun Regency Christmas (9781101078716)

by Kelly, Carla; Jensen, Emma

  He faced her, his blonde hair very golden in the light from the solitary candelabrum standing on the table. Leafy shadows pressed all around, and outside the snowy garden looked almost gray-blue in the night.

  ‘‘You wished to speak to me, Mary?’’ he said.

  Maid or not, in that moment she stood up to him as his equal. ‘‘Yes, Sir Richard, I wish to speak to you, and I trust you will hear me out to the end, for it’s important that you know the truth. You told my mistress that you didn’t receive her letter five years ago ...’’

  ‘‘I didn’t.’’

  ‘‘Then, since she will not tell you about it herself, it falls to me to do it for her. You didn’t know it, sir, but five years ago Miss Diana’s father, Mr. Laverick, was in very severe financial difficulties, indeed he was an inch away from debtor’s jail. His debts had to be settled without delay, and they were such that Miss Diana could not have turned to you for help, for you were at that time your father’s second son. Mr. Beaumont had been making his interest known, and he somehow found out about Mr. Laverick’s debts. He offered to settle them without delay, provided Miss Diana agreed to be his wife, and returned with him to his plantation in Jamaica. It broke her heart to agree to such a contract, Sir Richard, but she had to save her father. She wrote to you, because you’d come back here to London for a day or so, and it was a long, tear-stained letter that took a great deal of courage to send. She loved you with all her heart, she felt nothing for Mr. Beaumont, and yet she was prepared to spend the rest of her life as his wife.’’ Mary held his gaze. ‘‘She wrote that letter, sir, and when she’d sealed it I took it to the letter carrier myself. I know it was sent.’’

  ‘‘It didn’t arrive.’’

  ‘‘So you say, sir.’’

  Anger stirred through him. ‘‘If I say it didn’t arrive, then it didn’t arrive!’’

  ‘‘You show wrath that someone should dare to cast doubt on your word, sir, and yet you think nothing of casting doubt on my mistress’s word about that same letter.’’

  He met her eyes, and then nodded. ‘‘The point is taken, Mary. Please proceed.’’

  ‘‘You may think that Miss Diana has been enjoying a life of happiness and plenty since her marriage, Sir Richard, but that is not the case. Mr. Beaumont was a monster, he gambled heavily and drank still more heavily, and when he’d lost at the first and overindulged at the second, he was a very violent man. She endured it as best she could, for she’d meant her wedding vows, but he made it impossible. He was frittering away his fortune, and the plantation was in increasing difficulty. She had no one to turn to, no one to help her, and after one terrible night, when he’d drunk even more than usual, she knew that she couldn’t go on anymore. She told him that she was leaving and coming home to England. In his fury he attacked her and tried to throw her down the stairs, but instead he lost his balance and fell down himself and was killed in an instant.’’

  Richard stared at her. ‘‘Is all this true?’’ he breathed.

  ‘‘Would I lie about such things, sir?’’

  ‘‘Tell me the rest.’’

  ‘‘Well, as I said, on the night he died he’d been drinking far more than usual, and it turned out afterward that it was because he’d just gambled away his entire estate. Miss Diana was left with nothing at all, save her clothes, she had to sell what jewelry she had to settle bills he’d left outstanding. As soon as she could, she left Jamaica to come back here. She’s going home to her parents in Cheshire, but first she had to come to London to see Mr. Beaumont’s lawyer and finalize the remainder of his estate. She hoped there might be a small amount left at the end of it all, but there isn’t. She’s absolutely penniless, Sir Richard, but at least she’s free of the man who made her so wretched for five long years. She vowed she wouldn’t wear black for him, not even at his funeral, for he hadn’t earned that tribute from one he’d used so shamelessly during their time together. Now she just wants to live her own life, Sir Richard, and she doesn’t deserve to suffer all over again now, this time at your hands. You shouldn’t keep sending her those gifts, sir, for such spite ill becomes you.’’

  ‘‘Gifts? I only know of the fan I’m supposed to have sent.’’

  ‘‘And the brooch, sir. It came tonight, and it upset her so much that that was when I decided to come to you.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t send the fan, and I didn’t send the brooch, I swear that I didn’t.’’

  Mary searched his face, beginning to wonder if he was telling the truth after all.

  ‘‘Mary, I’m innocent of all this, but I think I know who is behind it. There is someone who would move heaven and earth to win Miss Isabel Hamilton from me. He is also someone who happens to know of Diana’s part in my past.’’

  ‘‘Well, maybe this man is the guilty one, Sir Richard, I wouldn’t know about that, but I do know that Miss Diana is already desperately unhappy, and is being made more unhappy.’’

  He leaned his hands on the wrought iron table, his head bowed. ‘‘If only I’d known all this before, if only that damned letter hadn’t gone astray . . .’’

  ‘‘Then you concede that there was a letter?’’

  He nodded. ‘‘I have no choice.’’

  ‘‘Well, it’s over and done with now, and you are about to marry Miss Hamilton . . .’’

  ‘‘No, Mary, I’m not marrying her. The betrothal was ended earlier today.’’ He straightened, and looked at her. ‘‘There is only one woman who will ever really mean everything to me, and I looked into her eyes last night when I assisted her down from her chaise. I still love her, and I think I always will.’’

  Mary stared at him. ‘‘Do you really mean that, sir?’’

  ‘‘With all my heart.’’

  ‘‘Then tell her so yourself, I beg of you.’’

  ‘‘Do you think she’ll wish to hear?’’

  ‘‘I know she will.’’ Mary smiled. ‘‘Come back with me now.’’

  An unlit carriage waited in the mews lane behind Hanover Square. It was drawn up by the rear entrance of the Graham residence, and its blinds were lowered. The Christmas Eve night was bitterly cold, and there were clouds covering the stars. A few stray snowflakes fluttered silently down.

  Suddenly the rear gate of the Graham house was quietly opened, and two women, a lady and her maid, emerged, the latter struggling with a heavy valise. The coachman clambered down to assist the maid, and the lady hastened to the carriage door. She wore a black fur-lined cloak over a vermilion wool gown and matching pelisse, and there was a stylish beaver hat on her short dark hair.

  The carriage door opened, and the gentleman inside leaned out. ‘‘Isabel, my darling . . .’’ He reached out to take her outstretched hand.

  ‘‘Laroche,’’ she whispered, allowing him to draw her up into the vehicle, where she was soon enclosed in his loving embrace.

  ‘‘Oh, my darling,’’ he breathed, his voice husky with desire. ‘‘I thought you’d change your mind. I thought Richard would win after all.’’

  ‘‘Never, for my heart has always been yours,’’ she murmured softly, her eyes dark.

  ‘‘When I received your note today, I couldn’t believe you’d decided to come away with me after all.’’

  ‘‘I’m not just another diversion, am I? Please tell me that you love me.’’

  ‘‘I love you,’’ he replied immediately, just as he had to other sweethearts since his marriage.

  A moment later the carriage was driving away, the maid seated up beside the coachman. Inside, Isabel and Laroche were wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering sweet words. Isabel smiled to herself in the darkness. Before the night was out the whole of London would be talking about the astonishing flight of Miss Isabel Hamilton with the married Duke of Laroche. She’d be notorious for a while, but in the end she’d triumph, for Laroche had promised to divorce his wife and make her his duchess. How important, wealthy and fine a lady she’d be then, far more important and wealthy than she’d hav
e been as mere Lady Curzon. Her smile became sleek as she pondered Richard’s reaction to the scandal. She’d turned the tables on him, instead of he making a fool of her, she’d made one of him! Oh, what a wonderful Christmas this was!

  Diana was still curled up in the chair in the drawing room. Her tears had dried now, but her heart felt as if it had been shattered into a thousand unhappy fragments. She didn’t hear the front door being opened, nor did she hear footsteps approaching the drawing room, she knew nothing until Mary spoke.

  ‘‘Miss Diana?’’

  She looked up, her glance going immediately past the maid to where Richard stood. Slowly Diana rose to her feet. ‘‘Sir, I think we’ve said all there is to say.’’

  Mary stood aside for him to enter, and then closed the doors upon them.

  Richard halted a few feet away from Diana. ‘‘Mary has told me everything,’’ he said quietly.

  ‘‘She had no right.’’ Diana turned away as hot color rushed into her cheeks.

  ‘‘I wish you’d told me earlier, instead of letting me ...’’

  ‘‘Would you have believed me? I think not, for you’d have preferred to continue thinking ill of me.’’

  ‘‘Forgive me,’’ he said softly, coming a little closer.

  ‘‘Please go, sir, for I’m sure Miss Hamilton would not understand if she knew you were here.’’

  ‘‘I’m no longer betrothed to her, Diana.’’

  She turned. ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘We were ill-suited, and besides . . .’’

  ‘‘Yes?’’

  ‘‘Besides, I still love you.’’

  She stared at him, her emerald eyes large and uncertain.

  His heart tightened with love for her. ‘‘Diana, I love you so much that I can’t bear to think how you’ve suffered.’’

  ‘‘Please don’t toy with me, Richard, for I couldn’t bear it.’’

  ‘‘I’m not toying with you, I’m telling you the absolute truth. I love you, and I want you to be mine. I want the last five years to be wiped away, and for us to begin again.’’

  Fresh tears shone in her eyes, and she took a hesitant step toward him. He needed no second bidding, but swept her into his arms, his lips seeking hers in a kiss so passionate and consuming that it was like a flame flaring through them both. Her perfume was all around, lily-of-the-valley, so delicate and exquisite that it seemed as if there was magic in the air. She was his again at last, returning his love just as he’d always dreamed.

  Geoffrey’s carriage drew up at the curb outside the Graham house in Hanover Square. He sat inside for a moment, adjusting his costume. He was dressed as Harlequin, and would have felt quite the thing had it not been for the unease caused by the discovery of Richard’s angry visit to his residence. The fact that Richard had asked specifically if his valet was available was all the proof Geoffrey needed that Richard had discovered the truth, and as a consequence Geoffrey was very much in two minds about attending the Holland House masquerade. The thought of being confronted by a furious Richard was almost too alarming to contemplate, but now that Isabel was so nearly his, Geoffrey was very loath to forfeit the chance of escorting her. He was in a quandary, and so hesitated before alighting.

  His glance fell on the wrist favor he’d purchased for her. It lay on the seat opposite, and was a delightful concoction of velvet mistletoe and holly, to be tied on with a dainty scarlet ribbon. It was such a pretty thing, and he’d been charmed with it the moment he saw it. He must take his courage in both hands, and risk the possibility of Richard’s fury. Isabel was worth it all and more.

  Taking a deep breath, he alighted, presenting a strangely lithe figure as he hurried up to the door of the house. Some carolsingers were on the corner, their lusty voices echoing around the elegant lamplit square, where a number of carriages were setting off for the masquerade. The singing was so very redolent of Christmas that Geoffrey turned for a moment to listen. God rest ye merry, gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay . . .

  He rapped on the door, which in a moment was opened by a footman, but as Geoffrey made to step inside, the man shook his head. ‘‘I fear Miss Hamilton is no longer here, sir.’’

  ‘‘Eh? What’s that?’’ Geoffrey stared at him, for it was such an odd choice of words. No longer here? What was the fellow saying?

  ‘‘She asked me to give you this note, sir,’’ said the footman, holding out a sealed letter.

  Puzzled, Geoffrey opened it and read. Mr. Hawksworth. By the time you read this, I shall be long gone from London with the Duke of Laroche, whom I love with all my heart. He is to make me his duchess. Goodbye. Isabel Hamilton.

  Geoffrey stared at the letter, a thousand conflicting emotions tumbling through him. Isabel and Laroche? Numb, he looked at the footman, who was all civility.

  ‘‘Will there be anything else, sir?’’

  ‘‘Er, no.’’

  ‘‘Good night, sir, and the compliments of the season to you.’’

  ‘‘Thank you. And to you.’’ In a daze, Geoffrey turned away from the door. Isabel and Laroche? Oh, what a fool she’d made of him, and of Richard!

  Richard. Suddenly Geoffrey thought again of the awfulness of a confrontation with that gentleman. Perhaps now was the time to show discretion, rather than the proverbial valor. Yes, indeed, a Christmas visit to his family in Great Yarmouth would seem to be the wisest move under the circumstances.

  Suddenly Geoffrey wished he hadn’t been moved to meddle so. The old adage simply wasn’t true, it wasn’t all fair in love and war; it certainly wasn’t fair to Geoffrey Hawksworth, that was for sure! With Isabel as his prize at the end of it, maybe it was worth the hazard, but now that she’d flitted off with that philanderer Laroche, it had all come to nothing!

  The carolsingers were still in full voice on the corner as Geoffrey resumed his place in his carriage. As the vehicle drew away, his glance fell again on the pretty wrist favor. Mistletoe and holly? Mistletoe and folly, more like! He gave it a savage scowl, and then leaned his head back against the upholstery. Suddenly he wasn’t enjoying Christmas at all, in fact it was the most disagreeable season of the entire year!

  As the church bells struck midnight, and then began to peal out joyfully across London, Richard and Diana were locked in each other’s arms in the house in Pargeter Street.

  He drew back, putting his hand tenderly to her cheek. ‘‘It’s Christmas Day,’’ he whispered, ‘‘so will you make me the happiest man on earth by agreeing to be my wife?’’

  ‘‘Oh, Richard.’’ Her eyes shone with joy.

  ‘‘Will you?’’ he pressed.

  ‘‘Yes, oh, yes.’’

  ‘‘My darling . . .’’ He kissed her again, loving her so much that he felt weak. She was his forever now, and suddenly Christmas was a time of unbelievable happiness.

  Upon a Midnight Clear

  Amanda McCabe

  Chapter One

  December 21, 1816

  ‘‘Oh, Aunt Antoinette, please won’t you come to Bath with us? Christmas won’t be Christmas without you!’’

  Lady Penelope Leighton’s childish voice piped into the fire-warmed air of the sitting room. Her large, green eyes were wide and beseeching as she leaned against Antoinette’s knees.

  ‘‘Grandmama’s house in Bath is always jolly, but it won’t be if you’re not there,’’ added Penelope’s brother, Edward, hanging off the back of Antoinette’s chair with his sturdy, chubby little hands. ‘‘We’re going to see a pantomime.’’

  ‘‘And a lecture on Greek theater,’’ said Penelope, her eyes growing even larger, if that was at all possible. She reached out to clasp a handful of Antoinette’s red silk robe. ‘‘Or, if you don’t care for Greek theater, there is sure to be something on philosophy or theology at Aunt Chat’s Philosophical Society.’’

  ‘‘Or herbs!’’ cried Edward. ‘‘You always like to hear about herbs.’’

  Baby Louisa, still scarcely able to toddle, glanced up from her building blo
cks and gurgled an agreement.

  ‘‘Oh, mes petites,’’ Antoinette said softly, putting an arm about Penelope and Edward and drawing them close to her. ‘‘You know I would love nothing better than to spend Christmas with my favorite children in all the world. But, as I have said, I must finish this new book on winter herbs very soon, or my publisher will be most unhappy with me. And in Bath there would be far too many ‘jolly’ things to distract me.’’

  ‘‘We would not distract you, Aunt Antoinette!’’ Penelope declared, going up on tiptoe to loop her small, slender arms about Antoinette’s neck. ‘‘We would be so good and so quiet when you were working.’’

  Antoinette laughed, for she knew all too well that the Leighton children’s idea of ‘‘quiet’’ consisted of tiptoeing while they shouted out about their newest discovery in Greek history (Penelope), horses (Edward), and solid food (Louisa). She pressed a quick kiss to Penelope’s tousled dark curls. ‘‘I know you would, dearest, but the lectures and dances would not be resisted. We will have a grand party when you return home next month.’’

  As Antoinette hugged them close, she caught a glimpse of their little group reflected in the gilt-framed mirror hung above the fireplace. Anyone looking at them would realize immediately that she was not the children’s true aunt. Not their blood aunt. Their milky-white complexions, Edward’s silvery blond cap of hair, were in sharp contrast to Antoinette’s own coffee-colored duskiness, her midnight eyes, and the thick, wavy fall of her matte-black hair. They were as far opposite as people could possibly be.

  Except in their hearts. In Antoinette’s deepest soul, they were her nieces and nephew, and she loved them beyond all else. They never watched her with doubt or curiosity or hostility, as so many others did. In their clear eyes there was only love and respect.

  Or beggary—as there was now. It hurt her heart to see them, to know that they would go away in only a very few moments and leave her alone at the one time of year when all families should be together. She almost jumped up, grabbed a valise, and shouted, ‘‘Of course I will go to Bath with you!’’