A Country Christmas (Timeless Regency Collection Book 5)

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “I concur. As fine a bowl of onion soup as I’ve ever had,” Kathleen said, and the others chimed in their agreement.

  Eliza’s face grew even redder. She cleared her throat. “My lord, if ye’ll permit a suggestion?”

  “Yes, of course,” Archie said.

  “Th’ gardener kept a cottage ’fore ’e moved into town to care for his mum,” Eliza said. “’Tisn’t grand like your lordship’s used to, but perhaps ’twill do for one night . . .”

  Simon bobbed his head. “Don’ know why I didn’t think o’ it earlier. Much quicker to heat and put in order than the manor house.”

  “And where is it?” Archie asked.

  “Just a little ways off, down near the pond in th’ forest,” Simon said. He stepped past his wife and opened a cupboard. “I’ve a key ’ere somewhere. . . .”

  Jane felt the others tense at the word forest, and she knew her bouts of panic were the reason. She felt a rise of defensiveness inside. She was not going to succumb to panic. She’d not had a spell for months.

  Archie grimaced, looking as if he were preparing to reject the idea. He looked to Jane and raised his brows, as if asking for her advice.

  She couldn’t imagine it was truly the case. She just must have been the person whose eyes he met first. Nonetheless, Jane leaned forward, and he did the same. “I think it’s a fine idea.” She spoke in a quiet voice, even though the others could certainly hear everything she said in such a small space.

  His eyes tightened as if he were uncertain.

  “And it is only for one night. We’ll make do,” she said.

  Archie brushed her hand with his fingers, and a small smile pulled at his lips. He looked at the others, whose expressions likewise conveyed their agreement. “Very well.” He lowered his shoulders and gave a determined nod. “Simon, if you please, my coachman is in the manor stables. I’m certain you could reach him faster than I. Would you make certain the horses have sufficient feed and take some soup to him? He should be fine staying in the grooms’ quarters tonight.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Simon bowed his head and left the room.

  “And, Eliza, if we might intrude on your hospitality a bit longer, we will await Simon’s return and then set off for the gardener’s cottage.”

  She nodded. “Yes, of course, your lordship.” She left the room as well, presumably to help her husband don his outer clothing.

  Archie turned back to the table, his brows pinched together. “I—”

  “Do not apologize. I forbid it,” Mother Kathleen said.

  Archie’s mouth snapped shut.

  She rose, and the men attempted to stand, hunched beneath the low ceiling, their legs bent by the bench pressed against the wall. “I have enjoyed every moment of this trip so far, Lord Symons,” Kathleen said in her most authoritative voice. “And I am determined to continue to do so.”

  She exited the room. Jonathan and Maryann followed.

  Archie scooted along the bench until he stood, head bent forward beneath the low ceiling. He offered his hand, and Jane took it, sidling along the bench to join him.

  She took a step toward the stairs, but he stopped her with a tug on her hand.

  “You are certain the gardener’s cottage will be all right?”

  She knew what he was asking. Would the forest frighten her into having an attack? “It will be all right, Archie.”

  “How do you always remain so calm, Jane?”

  She looked away, not meeting his eyes. “You know I do not, sir.” Archie had seen her in the midst of one of her panic spells, and the knowledge was humiliating.

  He stepped close, keeping hold of her hand and closing the distance between them, forcing her to tip back her head to look up at him. “This turn of events has made me angry and frustrated, but right now I feel calm. When I am with you, weight rolls off my shoulders. Somehow, you ease my troubles.”

  “I am glad that I can be of some use, then.” She knew her answer sounded trite, but with him so close, she had trouble thinking. Her heart pounded so forcefully that she felt her pulse prickling in her fingers.

  Archie’s eyes flicked to the doorway overhead.

  She glanced up and saw the mistletoe. Her breath caught, and the air between them felt hot.

  His fingertips brushed her chin, and his eyes darkened as he studied her, bending forward.

  Jane closed her eyes, every nerve tingling in anticipation as Archie pressed a very gentle, very chaste kiss . . . on her cheek.

  She drew in a breath and opened her eyes, then smiled in an attempt to conceal her disappointment, even though her heart felt like it was shrinking.

  What did I expect?

  She scolded herself for her misplaced hopes and turned away, feeling childish at the tears that gathered in her eyes. For a moment, she thought she’d seen something different in Archie’s expression, something more than simply friendship, but she was mistaken. She’d seen what she’d wanted to see. I am a fool, she thought. She pulled her hand free and hurried up the steps.

  Chapter Three

  The sound of knocking roused Archie from a fretful night’s sleep. He rolled from the cot in the loft, rubbing his eyes and wincing at the feel of rough wood beneath his bare feet. Below, he heard voices, and so he dressed quickly, wishing he had hot water for a shave. With no mirror, he tied his neck cloth by feel alone, hoping he looked remotely presentable. What must his friends think of him after spending the night in this cold, dusty old house?

  He moved to the edge of the loft and, seeing no one below, determined the voices must be coming from the kitchen area directly beneath him.

  When he descended, he saw that Eliza Cringlewood and Mother Kathleen tended to a pot of porridge hanging over the fireplace, and Jane was placing bowls and cups on the round wooden table.

  Jane looked up when he stepped off the ladder. “Good morning.”

  Her smile lacked its usual warmth, and Archie kicked himself for his actions the night before. What was he thinking, acting so presumptuous as to kiss her like that? He’d quite obviously upset her but didn’t know what to say to make it right. Telling her the kiss didn’t mean anything would, of course, be a lie, and saying it had happened by accident was actually rather insulting.

  “Good morning, Jane.” He took two cups from her hands and placed them on the table. “Did you sleep well?” He grimaced, thinking of the small, dingy room with the straw mattress that she’d shared with Mother Kathleen.

  “Quite well, thank you.” She turned away toward the cupboards.

  “Good morning, Archie,” Kathleen said.

  He would have to make another attempt to regain Jane’s good favor at a later time. He turned toward the other women. “And good morning to you, Mother Kathleen, Eliza.”

  Eliza curtseyed.

  “I hope we didn’t wake you,” Kathleen said. “We tried to keep quiet.”

  He put his arm around the older woman. “I am utterly ashamed that you were all awake and dressed before me. What kind of host am I?”

  She rolled her eyes. “A tired man who spent the whole of the night making certain his friends were comfortable. I do not know how many times you and Jonathan trekked back and forth to the manor house for luggage and blankets.”

  “Only a few.” He yawned. The company had not gotten to sleep until well into the early morning hours, and he could not imagine how the others were awake so early.

  The door opened, letting in a blast of frigid air and a burst of snowflakes. Simon entered, his cheeks and nose red and his arms full of firewood. “Brought ya some more wood, my lord.” He closed the door with his foot and set the logs onto a pile beside the fireplace.

  “Thank you. But that is beyond what we will need. Remember, we are leaving after breakfast.”

  “I’d not recommend a journey just yet, my lord. The snow’s not stopped fallin’ all night. Don’ think a carriage will make it to town. Yer ’ere for another day, at least.”

  Archie’s heart dropped, and he
closed his eyes, taking a calming breath. I have ruined Christmas for all of us. The five of them could have been at this very moment warm, well-rested, and happily preparing for his mother’s holiday party.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw Jane and Kathleen looked particularly unaffected by the pronouncement, which was shocking to say the least. Maybe they assumed he and Jonathan would figure a way out.

  “Come have some porridge, Archie,” Kathleen said. “And thoughtful Eliza brought buttermilk as well.” She waved away Eliza’s attempt to lift the pot, taking the cloth from her, and wrapping it around the hot handle. Then she brought the steaming pot to the table and motioned for him and Jane to sit.

  The Cringlewoods bid them farewell, promising to check on the horses and take food to Tom in the grooms’ quarters.

  Kathleen ladled porridge into a dish and poured in buttermilk, then sprinkled sugar over the top. Archie had always been impressed by the woman’s self-sufficiency. She had grown up under very different circumstances than his own, and seeing her stir the porridge reminded him that she had not always been waited on by servants.

  Jane stood and reached for Archie’s bowl. “May I?”

  “Thank you.” He passed it to her, but she still avoided his eyes while she served him.

  They ate in silence, Archie trying to come up with a strategy to get five people and their luggage, six horses, and a carriage driver out of Chiddingfold Forest. He devised and then dismissed scenario after scenario, feeling more hopeless with each attempt.

  Jane’s spoon clattered into her bowl, and she jumped up, startling him out of his pondering.

  She hurried around the table. “Mother Kathleen!” In an instant, her arm was around the older woman’s shoulders.

  Tears ran down Kathleen’s face.

  Archie moved to her other side, offering a handkerchief. “My dear, what is the matter?”

  She took the handkerchief and waved them away, wiping her eyes and making a very wet sniffing sound. “Oh, you must forgive a silly woman. Back to your breakfast, you two.”

  Jane looked at Archie, her brows pinched together in worry.

  He lifted his shoulders, not sure whether to obey.

  Kathleen waved her hand again. “I am not weeping out of sorrow. Please sit down.”

  They exchanged another uncertain glance, but returned to their seats.

  After a moment, Kathleen took in a jerky breath and blew it out slowly. “Oh, what happy memories this morning has brought. The taste of the porridge, the smell of wet firewood and dusty stone walls. It reminds me so very much of my grandparents’ house in Northumberland. My grandfather was a tailor, you know. And their little cottage was very much like this one.” She dabbed her eyes again and smiled sheepishly. “I did not mean to be such a watering pot.”

  “This cottage is very pleasant,” Jane said. “Simple and quiet.”

  Well, that, at least, was true: plain wooden utensils, shabby furniture, and no happy chatter of family members or servants preparing for a party. In the air hung the odor of dust and mildew instead of anticipatory smells of a Christmas feast. It was, indeed, simple and quiet. He didn’t consider the observation to be a positive one.

  In a moment, Jonathan and Maryann joined them, wishing all a good morning. Jane scooped porridge for the two.

  “Sleep well?” Archie asked.

  “Like a baby,” Jonathan poured buttermilk onto his porridge and smirked. “Once my feet thawed.”

  “Well, you shall have plenty of time to warm up.” Kathleen smiled and passed the sugar dish. “The roads are impassible. We will be here at least another day.”

  “Oh.” Maryann smiled at her husband. “Well, I was not looking forward to another carriage ride anytime soon. And it is quite cozy in this little cottage with the fire crackling and the snow falling outside the windows.”

  “I agree,” Kathleen said. “And, Jonathan, have I told you about your great-grandfather in Northumberland? His son, your Uncle Bernard, was a Jacobite supporter and lost a foot in one of the border skirmishes . . .”

  Archie’s mind drifted from the conversation. He couldn’t push away the anxious feelings tying his stomach in knots. Jonathan laughed at something Maryann said, then took another bite of porridge. The Marquess of Spencer—one of the most influential men in the country—was sitting on a hard chair, shoveling gruel with a wooden spoon when he should have been in a fine dining room, eating a delicious breakfast prepared by a master chef.

  “It can’t snow forever.”

  Archie hadn’t realized Jane had moved her chair closer to him.

  She spoke quietly, leaning to the side, so only he could hear. “Do not worry. We will still carry out all of the Christmas customs. Just on a smaller scale.” She tipped her head to the side, looking up at him. “Do not be troubled any longer. We are all enjoying ourselves, yet I can see you are frustrated.”

  In spite of his worries, his tension eased at her words, or perhaps it was her closeness—he never could decide how she managed to calm him.

  “I wanted to give you all a special Christmas,” he said. He heard a whine in his whisper, but it was true. “Christmas shouldn’t be like this. It should be exciting and splendid and . . .”

  “You will see, the holiday will be special, even in a simple cottage,” she said. “Spending time with those we care about makes it so.”

  He turned to watch the others, surprised to see them comfortable and happy. He slid down in the chair and leaned back so his head was near hers. “Miss Jane Croft, how is it that you are so wise?”

  “I do not believe I have ever been called wise.”

  “Well, that is a travesty. You are one of the wisest people I know.”

  She remained quiet for a time, and he glanced over at her.

  “Thank you.” Her gaze locked on his, just for an instant, then dropped.

  He leaned closer so their arms touched. She did not pull away. Archie hoped it meant he was forgiven for his actions the night before. He considered what she said. Could they truly enjoy Christmas in this place? It would certainly be one they’d remember. Would it be a fond memory? Or spoken about with dismay for years to come?

  When the meal was complete, the women took the bowls and cups away, washing them in a large wooden basin that must have been filled with melted snow.

  “Come, Archie,” Jonathan said, indicating the area before the kitchen fireplace. “This is the warmest spot in the place. Let’s move the sofa and chairs closer.”

  Closer consisted of just a few steps from one end of the room to the other. They pushed the table against the wall and carried the sofa and two soft chairs across the room, arranging them before the fire in a crescent shape.

  Mother Kathleen swatted the patched cushion of the sofa a few times, raising a cloud of dust, but she sat anyway, unrolling her knitting and counting her stitches to resume.

  Jane sat in a chair, and Archie took the other on the far side of the room. Jonathan and Maryann nestled into a corner of the sofa, his arm around her shoulders.

  “Is everyone warm?” Archie asked.

  “Very comfortable,” Kathleen said.

  The others nodded their agreement.

  “Well, should we play a game, then?” Archie said. “The space is a bit cramped for charades, but I suppose we could devise another sort of guessing game.”

  None of the group looked very interested in the idea. With the darkened sky and the long night, he thought they all must be rather tired.

  “It is so nice to just sit quietly,” Maryann said. “Perhaps someone could tell a story.” She leaned against her husband’s shoulder. “Or, Jane, will you read to us?”

  “I have a book,” Jane said. “But I think it is rather dreary for Christmas Eve.”

  “What is it?” Maryann asked.

  “A new book written by an anonymous author: Frankenstein.”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Jonathan said. “And I think you’re right. Hardly the thing for Christmas Eve.�
� He made a motion with his eyes toward his mother, and they all understood Kathleen would probably not care for a dark tale. “Do we have any others?”

  Archie waited, hoping someone would devise a game or perhaps conjure a book, but none of them came forward. Finally, he sighed. “I have a book.”

  Jonathan twisted to look at his friend. “You?”

  Archie didn’t take the bait and engage in the teasing banter his friend expected. He felt heavy as he climbed the ladder to the loft, then returned with the book wrapped in golden paper. His dream of finding a special moment to present it to Jane in front of the Christmas tree puffed out like a candle’s flame.

  “It is actually for you, Jane. I meant it to be a Christmas gift, but it seems we have need of it early.”

  Jane’s face lit up, and she smiled. She tugged on the bow, untying the ribbon, then tore the paper free. “Oh, Archie.” She ran her hand over the embossed leather. “It’s beautiful.” Turning it, she read the title, printed in gold letters on the spine. “The Golden Donkey by Apuleius.”

  “I know you’re interested in classical works. The man at the book shop said this is a very good translation.”

  She pressed the book to her chest. “This is such a thoughtful gift.” Her eyes were soft, and the look in them nearly brought him to his knees. She held his gaze for a long moment, then blushed and looked back down at the book. “I have heard the story is rather scandalous.”

  “I remember quite enjoying it at university.” He shrugged and returned to his seat, trying to act as if his heart hadn’t melted into his boots at her reaction.

  “Scandalous is the preferred genre for students,” Jonathan said.

  “I, for one, could do with a bit of a scandal.” Kathleen smirked, her eyes still on her knitting. “I should like to hear it.”

  Jane smiled. “Very well.” She opened the book and turned slightly to allow the firelight to illuminate the page.

  Owing to Jane’s shyness, she had only read for them a few times—always short passages in a soft voice—but today, Archie saw something different.

  As she recited the story, her confidence grew. She sat tall in the chair with a straight back and lifted chin, holding the book before her. Her words were sure and strong. The inflections and cadence of her voice added nuance to the story and, at times, humor. The party burst into laughter more than once and listened raptly as she told the story of Lucius and his experiments with magic that eventually led to his being changed into a donkey.