“Nay, sir. He’s new. That’s all he needed to know,” Jamie McBride said. He touched his finger to his forehead. “Tomorrow, then, Master Six?”
“Tomorrow and every day after, until you go to sea.”
For the further adventures of Able Six and Meridee Bonfort, please check www.carlakellyauthor.com in 2017.
Other Works by Carla Kelly:
What to say about Carla? The old girl’s been in the writing game for mumble-mumble years. She started out with short stories that got longer and longer until— poof!— one of them turned into a novel. (It wasn’t quite that simple.) She still enjoys writing short stories, one of which is before you now. Carla writes for Harlequin Historical, Camel Press, and Cedar Fort. Her books are found in at least 14 languages.
Along the way, Carla’s books and stories have earned a couple of Spur Awards from Western Writers of America for Short Fiction, a couple of Rita Awards from Romance Writers of America for Best Regency, and a couple of Whitney Awards. Carla lives in Idaho Falls, Idaho, and continues to write, because her gig is historical fiction, and that never gets old.
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Chapter One
“I propose a Christmas at Waverly House.” Archibald Montague Clawson, Lord Symons, stood on the plush rug of the drawing room, letting his gaze travel over his companions as he awaited their reactions.
The room became silent as his four closest friends glanced at one another in confusion. The Marquess and Marchioness of Spencer—or as he called them, Jonathan and Maryann—stared at him from their spot on the sofa. The couple raised their brows in unison, a synchronized movement that made Archie grin.
Jonathan’s mother, the dowager marchioness, whom the group referred to as Mother Kathleen, lowered her knitting into her lap and tipped her elegant head in question.
Miss Jane Croft, Maryann’s younger sister, was the only person whose quizzical expression thrilled his heart. She turned toward him, her brows drawn together thoughtfully above her large eyes—eyes that, like her sister’s, seemed nearly too big for her face. She gave a small smile, which bent the bow of her pink lips into a most lovely shape, and closed her book, setting it atop a pile of volumes on the window seat beside her.
Archie had noticed Jane always kept at least one book within reach. He knew they provided an escape when the memory of a childhood tragedy brought on anxiety and attacks of panic. Books were her comfort. A thrill moved through him as he thought about the ancient, leather-bound volume of Apuleius’s The Golden Donkey he’d found at an Oxford bookseller’s shop. The book sat on his desk wrapped in gold paper and tied with a red ribbon—the perfect gift. It was just one piece of his Grand Christmas Scheme. He intended to present it to Jane in front of the candlelit Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.
Aside from the crackling of the fire, the silence in the drawing room grew so heavy that Archie imagined even the Egyptian-style statues that sat tall on either side of the hearth were staring at him with curious feline looks.
Finally, Jonathan cleared his throat. “I thought we had plans to spend the holidays with your parents in Ashford.”
Archie dipped his chin. “Well, yes, but I hoped to modify the arrangements a bit. As you remember, the Holiday Ball will take place in Ashford on Christmas Eve, and you know how lively the festivities will surely be. Mother does love a good party.” He shifted his weight to his other foot. He still hadn’t broached the subject with Lady Bromley; he wasn’t certain how she’d react to the news of her only son spending Christmas away. But he was determined to do this.
“I imagined the four of you might enjoy a smaller, quieter celebration at Waverly Manor. Just for a few days, of course. We will continue to Kensington House on Boxing Day.”
Though he didn’t say it directly, he knew the others understood his implication. The late marquess, Jonathan’s father, had died only six months earlier, and the family was still in mourning. Mother Kathleen, especially, had been devastated by her husband’s death. She undoubtedly would not attend a large party, and even if she did make an appearance, the memories of having attended the same gathering in previous years with her husband would prove difficult, Archie was certain. Though he hid it well, Jonathan missed his father dearly as well and was prone to bouts of gloom that lasted for days. Besides his concern for Jonathan and his mother, Archie believed Jane, with her shy nature, would be much more comfortable with a small group of close friends than a gathering of strangers.
“That is very thoughtful, Archie,” Maryann said. She and her husband exchanged a look, and she slipped her hand into his. “But isn’t Chiddingfold rather out of the way?”
Archie shrugged. He’d only made the journey to the small country estate he’d inherited with his title a few times, but didn’t consider the distance to be significant. “A minor detour is all—a few hours, at most—and the ride through the forest is beautiful, especially if it snows.”
At the mention of the word forest, the others glanced toward Jane—or pointedly kept their eyes from her direction. Archie knew they all worried about her mental condition and feared another attack of panic might result from traveling through the forest, as she had the night her mother died. In truth, he felt a bit nervous himself, but still considered Waverly to be the best setting for his Grand Christmas Scheme to play out.
“The manor is not in the forest,” he said, looking specifically at Mother Kathleen and Maryann. They were the most protective of Jane. “Just near it. It’s a lovely estate with a large park and competent staff. I feel it will be an enjoyable place to spend the holiday before we journey to Ashford.”
Kathleen’s expression moved from thoughtful to understanding. “I think Christmas at Waverly is just the thing.” She nodded. “A quiet celebration surrounded by those I love most . . .” She took a deep breath and pressed her palm to her breastbone. “It sounds splendid. Thank you, Archie.”
Seeing the gratitude on Mother Kathleen’s face, Archie felt even more confident about his idea.
“But you will miss the ball.” Jane spoke in her quiet voice, then blushed when the others turned toward her. “And all your family’s celebrations.”
Maryann nodded. “That is true, Archie. Perhaps you would like to go ahead to Kensington House, and we could join you after Christmas. You should not forgo Lady Bromley’s festivities. I hear they are very fine, indeed.”
“I would not enjoy one moment of it. Not without all of you. My mother, as you know, is famous for our family’s Christmas celebrations, and I intend to live up to her legacy. I’d not dream of letting my friends suffer without my superb party planning.” He winked. “I am resolved to make this Christmas special, memorable. A new beginning for the people I care about.”
He felt Jonathan’s searching gaze, but didn’t meet his eyes. His oldest friend was no doubt wondering what had brought on this proposal. Archie smiled to himself. Proposal was exactly the word. If things turned out the way he planned, next winter, he’d be the one sitting on the sofa, holding his wife’s hand. He glanced at Jane, and his heartbeat sped up at the softness in her expression. More than anything, he was doing this for her. To give her the perfect Christmas. A taste of the joy the holidays could bring. Something that he knew had been lacking in her life for the past years.
Jane smiled at Mother Kathleen, lifting her brows slightly. The older woman returned her smile. Jonathan and Maryann glanced at one another, their eyes alight.
Archie grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Now that we are all agreed, shall we start planning? We shall have a Christmas feast, of course: roast goose, boar’s head, venison, mincemeat pie, stuffing, potatoes, squash, cider, pudding . . .” He allowed his voice to trail off and grinned. “The cook at Waverly is magnificent.”
Archie felt the excitement building in the room, and it only fueled his own enthusiasm. “And since we are combining our three families together, I would like each of us to cho
ose a favorite Christmas custom—something specific to your home or childhood, something meaningful to you.” He looked at each of his companions in turn.
“I thought you said it would be simple,” Jonathan grumbled.
“This is important, Ren.” Archie fell back on his friend’s childhood nickname. He held up his forefingers for emphasis. “If I plan everything, it becomes my celebration, but with each of us bringing a tradition of our own, Christmas belongs to each of us.” He circled his hands to illustrate the point.
“A lovely idea,” Kathleen said. “And I choose for my tradition: making wishes as we stir the Christmas pudding.”
Archie shook his head. “We did that weeks ago. The tradition must be something specifically for our celebration at Waverly.”
Kathleen lifted her chin and tapped a finger to her lips. “Very well. I should like to collect garlands of ivy and branches of holly to decorate the house on Christmas Eve.”
“A very good choice.” Archie nodded. “The Chiddingfold Forest is just right for gathering holiday greenery.”
“And don’t forget mistletoe,” Jonathan said, raising the side of his mouth in a smirk.
“You of all people have no need for mistletoe,” Archie said.
“Hmmm,” Jonathan pulled down the sides of his mouth. “You’re right. I do not need a silly plant’s authorization to kiss my wife.” He bent down his head and kissed Maryann soundly to prove his point.
Archie rolled his eyes. “Ren, your custom?”
His friend pulled away from his blushing wife, grinning. “Singing Christmas hymns, and, of course, there must be a merry fire in the hearth.”
“Christmas hymns, yes. And merry fire.” Archie pretended to write a note on his palm. “The main hall at Waverly has a very fine hearth and a pianoforte. Mother Kathleen, you will accompany our little choir?”
“Of course.”
Maryann scooted forward on the sofa, her eyes bright. “Mother used to build a cradle from sticks on Christmas Eve and tell the story of the nativity. Do you remember, Jane?” Seeing her sister nod, she continued, “I should like to do that.”
“An excellent custom.” Archie nodded in approval. This was shaping up to be a fine holiday, indeed. Exactly right for what he had planned. “And that leaves Jane.” He stepped closer, then sat on the window seat beside her, not wishing to loom above her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I will think of something.” She looked up at him with a shy smile. “What is your custom, Archie?”
“A grand Christmas tree in the front hall.”
Jane blinked and cocked her head to the side. “A tree? Like Princess Caroline’s?”
“Archie’s grandmother came from Prussia as a young bride,” Jonathan said. “The tree is always central to their family’s celebration.”
“A tree in the house?” Maryann wrinkled her nose. “It sounds so strange.”
“A tree? Did you call it a tree? I’m afraid you are quite mistaken, Lady Spencer.” Archie shook his head, closing his eyes as if her words were too painful to endure. “Eine Tannenbaum is not merely a tree, but a beautiful fir pine with thick boughs. At Kensington House, it stretches up to the very top of the great hall, filling the house with an evergreen scent. The branches are decorated with lit tapers, glass ornaments, and strings of berries. It is, in truth, the loveliest thing you can imagine.” In spite of himself, he felt a pang, thinking of how he would miss his mother’s party.
“It sounds beautiful,” Jane said. “Could the Christmas tree be my custom, too?”
“Certainly.” Archie twisted to face her. “I cannot think of another person I would rather share the tradition with.” He promised himself this tree would be the most spectacular Jane, or anyone else, had ever seen.
“Thank you.” Jane’s gentle smile returned and, along with it, the pink in her cheeks.
Archie’s fingers itched to tap her chin and raise her enchanting eyes to meet his own, but in present company, such an intimate act was out of the question. Instead, he clasped her hand as he turned to address the room. “Then it is decided. I will make the arrangements, and in one week, we set off for the finest Christmas Waverly Manor has ever seen.”
Two hours later, Archie accepted Jonathan’s offered glass of brandy and settled back into the leather chair of the marquess’s drawing room. He rested his feet on an ottoman with legs carved into the shape of cobras and smiled as he remembered Mother Kathleen describing the chamber as an eerie mummy’s tomb. She had complained about the late earl’s obsession with Egypt for years, but with how deeply she mourned his loss, Archie didn’t think she’d change the decor anytime soon.
And he was glad for it. The room held memories of summers and school holidays spent with the marquess’s family. He smiled, remembering how, as boys, he and Jonathan spent hours studying the papyrus paintings with their golden hieroglyphics and the carved images of Egyptian deities.
Since their parents had been close friends, it was only natural that he and Jonathan should grow up together, especially since both had only sisters. He glanced at his friend, feeling at ease simply sitting in a memorable place with a person who was as familiar as he imagined any brother would be.
“Do you remember when we dragged the stuffed crocodile outside to the gazebo to frighten your sisters?” Archie asked.
“One of our greatest triumphs.” Jonathan leaned back, settling an ankle on his knee. “Sending an entire garden party screaming into the house.” He shook his head, letting out a sigh. “Please don’t bring that up around Mother. I still don’t think she’s forgiven us.”
“She’d forgive you anything, my good sir,” Archie said. “That woman quite adores her son.”
“Mother has a soft heart—much like yours. Both of you have a gift of knowing the right words and understanding what to do to ease another’s heartache. It is something I envy.” He was quiet for a moment, then he lowered his foot, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Archie, I should be taking care of this family, not depending on someone else to do it. It is nice of you to forgo your holiday plans out of concern for our comfort, but it is truly not necessary. In all your twenty-six years, you’ve never missed your mother’s Christmas party. Neither have I, now that I think of it. And I cannot bear to think of disappointing your mother in this way.”
“Do not concern yourself on that point. Mother will have plenty to occupy herself. She will hardly miss either of us. And truly, I want to do it.” He found it difficult to meet his friend’s gaze.
Jonathan squinted, regarding him. “Is there someone you wish to avoid in Ashford? I get the impression you have a higher objective than playing Father Christmas for a family in mourning.”
Archie swallowed over a sudden dryness in his throat. In all their years of friendship, this was the first time he felt nervous anticipating Jonathan’s reaction. “I do have another motive.” He took a fortifying drink, then leaned forward, setting the empty glass on the low table between them. “I intend to propose marriage to Jane.” There, he said it. “I hope you, as her guardian, will give your blessing.”
Jonathan gave a slow blink. He opened his mouth, then closed it, blinking again.
Archie would normally have thought the bewildered reaction amusing, but the anxiety of the situation overcame any inclination toward humor.
Finally, after a long moment, Jonathan seemed to find his voice. The sides of his eyes squeezed in a grimace. “Archie, Jane is—”
“Young? She is nearly nineteen.” His voice came out sharper than he’d intended, even though he knew his friend’s worry had nothing to do with her age. He braced himself for what he knew was coming.
“I know you care about her—we all do—but Jane is delicate. She requires care and she’s prone to . . . ah, bouts of—”
“She is not mad.” Archie cut off his words.
“No, but she is also not a typical young woman.”
“Do you think I don’t know, Ren?” Archie glanced to
the doorway, to make sure they weren’t overheard, then lowered his voice anyway. “I was there when we found her, lost and frightened after escaping that horrible institution.”
Jonathan shook his head slowly. “She didn’t escape. If you were to ask her, she doesn’t remember any part of that night. She suffered an attack of panic, took leave of her senses, and fled through London in a thunderstorm. That is what I’m talking about, Archie. She . . .” He stood and paced in front of the hearth, avoiding the gold painted sarcophagus in the corner. “Marriage requires two capable people, and Jane . . . is troubled.”
“I know full well what I am undertaking.” Archie felt a pain and realized his hands were tightly fisted, his nails biting into his palms. He forced them to relax, stretching his fingers out straight on his legs.
Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck as he stopped and faced Archie. “I know you care for her, and who wouldn’t? She has endured more in her short life than any person should. Don’t you think perhaps what you feel is more of a brotherly love? A desire to protect her? Pity, even?”
“It is not pity.”
“Jane is nothing like any of the young ladies you’ve fancied before.”
“Exactly right. And that is why I never married any of them.” He’d expected some resistance on Jonathan’s part, but the man’s negative response surprised him. Archie breathed slowly and pushed away his frustration, knowing Jonathan rarely said anything without consideration. He was not being cruel, and part of Archie’s anger came from realizing Jonathan’s words held a hint of truth.
“I do feel compassion for what she has endured and continues to endure,” Archie continued. “But that is not my entire reasoning. I love her, Ren. She touches something inside me that I didn’t know existed before. I want to make her happy, to give her the life she should have—starting with Christmas. That is why I changed my holiday plans. Of course, the idea arose from a desire to ease your family’s grief during the holidays as well, but it is especially for Jane. I intend to make our first Christmas together special.” Archie held his gaze. He needed Jonathan to understand that he was in earnest.
A Country Christmas (Timeless Regency Collection Book 5) Page 17
