Same Time, Next Christmas

by Victoria Alexander

She shook her head. "She had a dreadful adventurous streak and a flagrant disregard for the rules of society."

  Surprise coursed through me. "My mother?"

  "Oh my, yes. She did try to conquer that tendency in herself, but she was never able to do so completely. She was free-spirited, you see, and saw nothing wrong with following your own path." She sighed. "I do so miss her."

  "I had no idea." I stared in disbelief and a bit of shock. "I always thought she was utterly proper and rather perfect."

  "Not at all. Completely imperfect, really." Aunt Helena smiled wistfully. "But it was part of her charm. Who she was, if you will. And why she was so loved, I suppose."

  "You never said anything at all to imply my mother wasn't perfect." Accusation rang in my voice, as well it should. I had lived my entire life under a mistaken belief as to what my mother would have thought of my behavior, of my every action, my every word. "I always assumed she was the type of woman who demanded perfection from others. You never even hinted otherwise."

  "One always puts those who have gone before in the best possible light. One does not speak ill of the dead, dear." Aunt Helena sniffed. "And one certainly does not enumerate their many faults. That would be wrong, as the dead cannot defend themselves. She was my sister, after all."

  "I see." But I really didn’t. Worse than knowing I had been wrong for much of my life was the realization that I now had no idea who that voice of propriety in my head was. Although, admittedly, it would now be much easier to ignore.

  "Your mother would tell you to follow your heart."

  "Are you telling me that?"

  "The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy," she said reluctantly. "You weren't particularly happy with David."

  "I wasn't unhappy."

  She cast me a skeptical look.

  "I was quite content with David," I said staunchly.

  "No doubt." She considered me for a moment. "I cannot condone the immoral nature of your previous illicit liaisons with this man you plan to meet in Italy, whoever he is. However, as your intentions now are to resolve matters between you, we shall simply forget that I know anything about last Christmas or the Christmas before."

  "I don't think—"

  She held up a hand to stop me. "I assume you think I will judge him because of what his name is or who his people are? Because he might not be of our social standing?"

  "Not you, but—"

  "And that, my dear girl, is the problem." She drew a deep breath. "It's my duty to tell you exactly what you will give up by following your heart. When your association becomes public, even if marriage is involved, there will be an enormous scandal."

  I nodded. "I know."

  "First of all, you will not be accepted into polite society again. People you thought were your friends will no longer acknowledge your existence. You will not be invited anywhere, and you will be welcome nowhere. Do you understand?"

  My stomach churned. "I'm afraid I do."

  "Living in London will be impossible for you. Or, at the very least, extremely awkward."

  "I realize that as well."

  She paused. "I hope you also realize your family will stand by you, regardless of what happens."

  "I am very grateful for that."

  "That's what love means, dear." She patted my hand. "Unquestioned support, even if we think one is making a dreadful error in judgment. You will have that, at least. There is nothing in the world greater than the courage one derives from love."

  "Aunt Helena, I—"

  The parlor doors slammed open. Veronica and Julia burst into the room.

  "Portia! You will not believe what—" Veronica pulled up short at the sight of her mother-in-law. Julia nearly stumbled into her. "Oh, Helena. What a lovely surprise."

  "Yes, I can imagine." Aunt Helena peered around Veronica. "And good day to you again, Julia."

  "Good day," Julia said weakly.

  Veronica's gaze shifted from my aunt to me and back. "Helena," she said with a pleasant smile. "Would you mind giving us a moment alone?"

  "Gladly." Aunt Helena threw her hands up and huffed. "I've already learned entirely too much. I don't want to know anything more than I already do. It's very hard to pretend ignorance when one isn't, you know." She started toward the door on the far side of the parlor. "I shall wait in the other room. Portia, we will continue our conversation when you and your friends are finished." With that, she swept out of the room.

  "She's far more devious than I ever suspected." Julia shuddered.

  "Deceptive, isn’t she?" Veronica shook her head, then turned her attention to me. "We have a great deal to tell you."

  "Now?" I glanced in the direction my aunt had taken. I had no idea what was left to say, but I would rather be done with it now than put it off until tomorrow. "Another time would be better."

  "No," Julia said sharply. "This cannot wait." She glanced at Veronica. "We know about Mr. Jamison."

  "Of course you do," I said cautiously. I suspected I was not going to like this. "I told you about him."

  "No." Julia shook her head. "We know all about him. Everything about him."

  "I had him investigated," Veronica said bluntly.

  "You did what?" Although I should have suspected they would do something like this. My stomach twisted. "Go on."

  Julia traded glances with Veronica. "As you are our dearest friend, we thought it would be wise to retain the services of Mr. Phinneas Chapman."

  "Did you?" Phinneas Chapman was well-known among the upper classes for his skills at detection and, more important, his absolute discretion.

  My friends probably did indeed now know all there was to know about Fletcher, no doubt more than I did. And my aunt now knew far more than I would have liked her to. I did wish I was the type of woman to faint when confronted by adversity. It would have been most convenient.

  "We had him look into Mr. Jamison's life," Veronica said.

  "And we do apologize for that," Julia added quickly.

  "I don't." Veronica shook her head. "I realize it was a terrible violation of your privacy, but this whole adventure was so unlike you, and—"

  "We were worried," Julia said. "Extremely worried."

  I glared at them. "I'm not sure I fully appreciate your concern."

  Julia waved off my words as if they were of no significance whatsoever. "Nonetheless, we do know about his painting, and we know he's living in Paris, and we know about his family, and we—"

  "More importantly," Veronica said with an impatient huff, "we know he's here."

  "Who is here?" I asked slowly, although I was afraid I already knew the answer. "And where precisely is here?"

  "Who is Mr. Jamison, of course." Veronica drew a deep breath. "And here is London. More precisely, earlier today, here was my house."

  "What?" My mind was racing, and yet I couldn't seem to formulate a single coherent thought.

  "As I was saying, earlier today—"

  "She needs to hear it from the beginning," Julia said firmly. "You might already know this but this afternoon, your aunt paid me a visit. She has it in her head that you have been spending Christmas in Italy with a man." Julia lowered her voice. "In spite of your aunt's claim not to wish to know more, do you think she's listening?"

  "I would wager on it." Veronica shrugged. "I would be."

  Julia raised her voice. "I said I had no idea what she was talking about and that the very thought was absurd." She grabbed my elbow and steered me toward the open door to the hall, as far away as one could get from the door Aunt Helena had taken. Veronica trailed behind. "Then I went to Veronica's, intending to bring her to your house with me."

  "We thought you should know about your aunt's"—Veronica glanced at the far door and spoke a bit louder—"unfounded suspicions." She nodded and continued quietly. "We were just about to leave to come here when I learned I'd had a gentleman caller while I was out this morning. My butler said the gentleman had a pair of gloves, belonging to Lady Smithson, that his great-a
unt wished him to return." Veronica stared at me, her mouth set in a grim fashion. "Gloves she had left in Italy last year."

  "Oh?" There wasn't much more that I could say. Denial seemed pointless.

  "Imagine the gentleman's surprise when he was informed—not only had Lady Smithson not been to Italy in years—but she has not been Lady Smithson since her marriage more than a year and a half ago. I realized immediately who the gentleman was looking for and who he was." Veronica paused, no doubt to maintain control. It was obvious she was not happy about my borrowing her name. "I must say, I'm thrilled that you chose to besmirch my reputation instead of your own."

  "Yes, well . . . I do apologize for that." I cringed. "Yours was the first name that came to mind."

  "It would by my first choice," Julia said under her breath.

  "I shall take that as a compliment." Veronica huffed. "From both of you."

  "I am truly sorry." I shook my head. "That might have been an error in judgment on my part."

  "Do you think so?" a male voice said from the shadows of the entry beyond the open doors.

  My heart lodged in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I peered around Veronica.

  "A mistake perhaps?" The owner of the voice strode into the light. "Or possibly a misstatement?"

  Fletcher?

  "Lord Castleton?" My aunt stepped forward from behind me.

  "Oh, this is good," Veronica said in a quiet voice, for my ears alone.

  I had no idea when my aunt had joined us or how much she had heard. She glanced at me. "I couldn’t hear a word so I decided I might as well go home."

  Julia and Veronica traded uneasy looks. Aunt Helena directed a smile at Fletcher. "I didn’t know you knew my niece, Lady Redwell?"

  "I don't know Lady Redwell," he said smoothly. "But after I called on you today and you suggested the gloves I had found might belong to your niece, as she had stayed at my great-aunt's villa the Christmas before last, I decided the least I could do was return them in person."

  I turned to my aunt. None of this made any sense to me. "He called on you?"

  "Earlier today, before . . ." Aunt Helena waved off the rest of her explanation. "Well, that's of little importance now." She cast Fletcher her most charming smile. "He said he remembered my name from correspondence he saw the last time he was at the villa." She glanced at me. "Wasn't that clever of him?"

  I nodded. I'd forgotten Silvestro had Aunt Helena's name even if he did not have mine. So much for my attempt at a disguise.

  "Allow me to introduce you," she continued. "These are my niece's dear friends. This is Julia, Lady Mountdale."

  Fletcher nodded at Julia, who responded with a stunned nod of her own.

  "And Veronica, Lady Hadley—Attwater."

  "How very nice to meet you," Veronica murmured.

  "My apologies, but I thought it was Smithson," Fletcher said politely.

  "It was," Aunt Helena answered before Veronica could get a word out. "But Veronica married my son, oh, it will be two years ago this coming January."

  "That long," he murmured.

  Veronica shot me an uneasy look.

  "And, of course, this is my niece, Lady Redwell," Aunt Helena said with a flourish. In spite of our discussion, and my determination to return to Italy, it was obvious that she saw this newcomer as a prospective spouse. A man to rescue me from the clutches of an inappropriate stranger on the coast of Italy. Thank God I had not given her his name. "Ladies, this is Lady Wickelsworth's nephew—"

  "Great-nephew, actually," he said politely. "My grandmother on my mother's side was her sister."

  "Yes, of course—her great-nephew," Aunt Helena continued, "Lord Castleton."

  "Lord Castleton?" I said without thinking, and then hurriedly extended my hand.

  The moment his fingers met mine, my pulse quickened and I wanted to throw myself into his arms. I didn’t, of course. He raised my hand to his lips, his dark gaze locking with mine. "It's a very great pleasure to meet you. Your aunt speaks quite highly of you."

  I couldn't stop staring. "How very kind of you to say."

  The moment between us lengthened. There was so much to say, but I had no idea where to start and no desire to say anything of significance with my aunt, and my friends, as witnesses. Worse, whereas I had often been able to look into his blue eyes and read his thoughts, his gaze now was shuttered and revealed nothing. A cold chill shivered up my spine.

  "Helena," Veronica said briskly. Fletcher released my hand, and I cast her a grateful look. "You said you were leaving, and we are as well. We should be on our way."

  "But he hasn’t given her the gloves," Aunt Helena said pointedly, as if returning a pair of gloves was the traditional start of any courtship.

  "And that is my purpose here." Fletcher patted his waistcoat pocket, then frowned. "Unfortunately, I seem to have left them in my carriage." He offered his arm to Aunt Helena. "Allow me to escort you out, and then I will fetch the gloves and return them to their rightful owner."

  Aunt Helena took his arm and gazed up at him as if he were indeed the answer to her prayers. "How very thoughtful of you to offer." She glanced at me. "Portia, I shall expect you to call on me tomorrow so that we may finish our discussion."

  "I look forward to it," I said faintly.

  Fletcher escorted my aunt out of the parlor, my friends close on his heels. Julia cast me a look of support, and Veronica squeezed my arm when she passed by me. A moment later, I was blessedly alone.

  I sank down onto the sofa and buried my face in my hands. So much had happened in the last few minutes I couldn't quite sort it all out.

  First, my aunt knew how I'd spent the last two Christmases and had revealed my mother was far less perfect than I had thought. And then my friends had taken it upon themselves to investigate my—I flinched at the word—lover and now knew more about him than I did. If they knew about his family, it was obvious they knew about his title as well. At least they'd shown no particular surprise when he was introduced. Fletcher had never given me any indication that he was heir to a title. Nor had he so much as hinted at his relationship to the owner of the villa. It explained a great deal. But then, even last Christmas, we'd been too immersed in each other to so much as think about the myriad details of our lives away from each other.

  Most important, and the only revelation of all of those of the past hour that truly was important, was that Fletcher was here. Here, in London, at my house. That fact alone was difficult to grasp. I was at once thrilled and completely terrified. He obviously already knew about my use of Veronica's name.

  I blew a long breath. I had thought, the next time I saw him, it would be no more than a few moments before we were wrapped in each other's embrace. However, I had not envisioned our next meeting taking place in front of my aunt and dearest friends. In addition, the look in his eyes had not been one of joyous reunion and barely restrained passion. Even if we’d been alone, I feared it would not have been the greeting I had imagined.

  Now, I was caught off-guard and unprepared. I stood and headed for the table bearing the brandy decanter. Brandy seemed like an excellent idea, and I poured two healthy glasses. I suspected Fletcher might need one. Given that my hand trembled when I filled the glasses, I certainly did.

  "You lied to me."

  I took a fast swallow of brandy, then turned toward him. The last time I'd seen him, he'd been slightly unkempt but charmingly so. Lighthearted and mad with passion, for his work and for me, he'd been completely irresistible and the tiniest bit dangerous. Today, he was the perfect embodiment of the perfect English lord. His clothes were well tailored and impeccable and obviously expensive. Not a hair on his head was out of place. Utterly, completely perfect. It was little wonder that Aunt Helena thought he would be completely perfect for me.

  "Is that for me?" He nodded at the glass in my hand.

  "No." I took another swallow. "I poured one for you."

  He crossed to my side and took his glass, tossing ba
ck half the contents. I resisted the urge to take a step away.

  He glanced at me. "Why?"

  "Why what?" I said cautiously.

  "Why did you lie to me about who you are?"

  "Oh, that," I said, as if it wasn't the least bit important. "Quite honestly—"

  He snorted.

  I ignored him. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, I didn’t know you. And the situation itself was fraught with the possibility of scandal. It wasn't something I planned, you know. When we introduced ourselves, the name that came out"—I winced—"wasn't mine."

  "It's understandable you were simply being cautious. As you said—you didn’t know me." His gaze bored into mine. "Last Christmas, however, you knew me. Quite well, I would say."

  "Yes, well . . ." I struggled for something to say, some explanation that would sound plausible. I had nothing but the truth. "I wanted to. Indeed, I intended to, but the moment was never quite right. And the longer I let it go on, the harder it was to say anything."

  "I thought you trusted me. I thought we trusted each other." He ran his hand through his perfect hair, disturbing it just enough to make my heart flutter and my stomach clench.

  "I did trust you. I do . . ." A thought struck me, and I paused.

  "What?"

  "I do trust you, Fletcher." I chose my words with care. "However, I'm not sure you can say the same about me."

  He scoffed. "I trust you."

  "Do you?" I studied him intently. "Then why did you never tell me about your family? Or that you are the heir to a title? And obviously—looking at you—significant wealth along with it?"

  "You didn’t tell me about your family either," he said sharply.

  "I never used anyone's name, but I told you a great deal about my husband and my aunt and the rest of my family. And I never led you to believe I was anything other than what I am. My name is the only thing I misstat—"

  "Lied."

  "Fine," I snapped. "Lied. My name is the only thing I lied about. Whereas you made me think you were poor!"

  "I was poor!"

  "Hah!" I waved at his clothes. "Those are not the clothes of a poor artist."

  "I'm not poor now. Now I have a fortune." He refilled his glass. "And your observation was correct about the significance of it."