A Country Christmas (Timeless Regency Collection Book 5)

by Josi S. Kilpack

  The music was beautiful, even with only the five of them singing. Kathleen had a lovely soprano voice, and Maryann a warm alto. With the men’s low tones, she thought the angels themselves could not have sounded lovelier on that Christmas Day of old.

  As they sang about shepherds watching their flocks by night, Archie took Jane’s hand, holding it in the small gap between them. He ran his thumb over her knuckles and made gentle circles on the back of her hand.

  Jane’s mind emptied, her entire consciousness centered on Archie’s touch. She glanced at him, but he continued to sing as if he’d not noticed what his hand was doing. Was he utterly unaffected? Jane’s hand grew warm as if the stroke of his finger left fire in its wake and sent heat over her skin. Her breathing became uneven, and she stumbled over the words of a hymn she’d sung since she was a child.

  She could feel a mighty blush moving up her neck and onto her cheeks. Perhaps the others would attribute it to her closeness to the fire.

  Feeling bold, she allowed herself to relax, just slightly, until the back of her shoulder brushed against Archie’s chest. She braced herself for him to pull away, but instead, he moved closer, pressing against her.

  Jane’s heart sped up, her blood pumping in her ears. She could feel his chest vibrating as he continued to sing. How could she possibly feel so safe with a person yet, at the same time, have trouble catching her breath?

  She glanced around the room, the euphoria of cuddling against Archie blending with the spirit of the music and the love she felt for the people in the cottage. This is how Christmas is supposed to feel, she thought, a swell of gratitude making her heart soft.

  “Magnificent,” Jonathan said when the song concluded, his face filled with genuine contentment.

  Maryann brought out a bundle of sticks. Four were tied with string, forming crosses. These she placed carefully on the floor and laid the other sticks along the edges, constructing a primitive-looking cradle.

  Jane let out a soft breath, curling her fingers around Archie’s while she watched.

  As Maryann continued with the nativity story, the memory of their mother telling the same story as she built a simple manger quite overwhelmed Jane. Her throat tightened, her eyes itched, and, without any warning, a sob wrenched free from her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth but could not stop the flood of tears and weeping that burst forth.

  “Jane,” the others said in unison, their voices tinged with worry. She shook her head, embarrassed and not wishing to ruin their Christmas Eve, but unable to speak, let alone hold back her tears.

  Archie knelt before her, his hands on her shoulders. “Jane, what is it?” His voice was deep with worry.

  She shook her head again, humiliated by the scene she was making. “I am sorry,” she finally managed to choke out. “I just . . .”

  Maryann hurried toward them and slid an arm around Jane. “Dearest, what is the matter?”

  Jane swallowed and tried to hold down her ridiculous bout of tears. “I—I just miss Mother.” Her voice was choked and gasping.

  “Oh, Jane.” Archie lifted her chin.

  She pulled away, not wanting him to see her in such a state. Her eyes and nose were dripping, her breath came in gasps, and she was completely unable to get control of herself. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out again.

  “No. Do not apologize. Jane, you have every right to weep.” The concern in Archie’s voice brought on more tears. What was wrong with her?

  “Come,” Maryann tugged on her arm, pulling her to her feet. “Perhaps you should lie down.”

  Jane nodded and allowed herself to be led into her bedchamber. Her sobbing was becoming exhausting.

  Maryann held her, speaking in a low, crooning tone, but Jane could not make sense of her words over the sound of her weeping and sniffing. She didn’t think she could have possibly been more humiliated if she’d tried.

  Maryann sat quietly, holding Jane until her tears dried up. She lit a candle and helped Jane change into nightclothes.

  Once she’d convinced Maryann that she just wanted to sleep and would call out if her sister was needed, Jane was left alone in the dark room.

  She lay down beneath the blankets, feeling wrung out physically and emotionally spent. She wondered what could have possibly brought on such a bout of weeping. She couldn’t remember ever crying like this. Not even when her mother died. Or when she’d been left in the institution.

  As she considered the incident, she realized that over the years, her attacks of panic had not only made everyone around her watchful, but she’d also been cautious about allowing herself to feel anything too strongly. She didn’t mourn her mother or give her emotions any free rein, afraid of what could happen. Instead, she held them tightly, hoping to fend off the panic spells. The feelings bottled up inside for years had, for reasons unknown to her, decided on this moment to erupt in a torrent of tears.

  They couldn’t have picked a more inconvenient time. Her chest heated as she remembered the feel of Archie’s hand and the closeness of sitting beside him on the blanket. She didn’t imagine such an opportunity would arise again.

  What must the others be thinking? She didn’t hear the sound of singing or laughter. Undoubtedly, her fit of tears had put a damper on the cozy celebration.

  “I have ruined Christmas for everybody.” She muttered the words aloud, feeling even more miserable. Had it been only two days earlier that Archie voiced the same sentiment? She curled up beneath the blanket, bending her arm under her head. She hoped by now he realized how untrue it was. What he considered to be a misfortune had, for each of them, proven to be exactly what they needed.

  Jonathan was happier than she’d ever seen him, enjoying time with his wife and mother instead of worrying about Parliament and his estate. She thought of his face as he sang the Christmas hymns. Though he’d surely imagined it differently when he’d requested that particular custom, no fine pianoforte and roaring fire could have brought about such a tender moment.

  Maryann’s presentation of their mother’s tradition had been perfectly delightful—a beautiful tribute to a woman they loved and missed. Jane had seen the love in her sister’s face as she recounted the story with her mother’s custom of the cradle.

  Kathleen seemed a new person in this funny little cottage. First, as she’d been overcome with childhood memories at breakfast, and then again as they’d gone to gather holly and ivy and she’d participated in the snow battle. Being away from home and finding a distraction from the pain of losing her husband had given her a chance to heal, Jane thought.

  And Jane herself experienced healing moments, feeling brave as she read for the group and journeyed through the darkened forest. She felt different. Not that she thought she had overcome her episodes—they’d probably never completely leave—but somehow, she was stronger. As if she could endure them, knowing she had people who loved her to help when the panic grew too great to manage alone.

  They’d all been touched by this Christmas in spite of—or rather, because of—their singular circumstance.

  They’d each celebrated their traditions, albeit in a different way than anticipated.

  Their traditions. She sat up. Each of their requests had been granted, except for Archie’s. He had no Christmas tree. How had she forgotten? She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and feeling a sinking inside. She’d been so caught up in her own bruised feelings in the snow fort that she’d not remembered his custom. Archie had never celebrated Christmas without a tree, and he hadn’t mentioned the lack once.

  The tears she’d finally managed to stop threatened to reappear. She pressed her hand over her mouth, knowing one sniffle would bring her sister running back into the room.

  Archie had planned and worried and done all that he could to make this Christmas special for them, but nobody had done the same for him. It was his Christmas, too. And nobody loved the holiday more than Archibald Clawson.

  Jane lay back onto the pillow, de
vising a plan. Somebody had to find a Christmas tree for Archie. He’d given them all a lovely Christmas. Was she brave enough to do the same for him?

  Chapter Seven

  Archie glanced at Jonathan in the growing morning light. His friend trudged beside him through the snow, his breath coming heavy in white puffs. Each of them held on to a limb of the tree they were dragging.

  “I’d never have guessed such a small tree would be so much work,” Jonathan said. “Or so heavy.”

  “Don’t pretend you aren’t enjoying playing the part of the rugged woodsman. Maryann will undoubtedly be impressed.”

  “Chopping down and hauling a frozen tree through two feet of snow in the predawn woods isn’t how I planned to spend my Christmas morning,” Jonathan muttered. “I can’t even put into words how much I’d rather be in a warm bed with my wife.”

  Archie grunted as they tugged the tree through a thick growth of underbrush. “I wager any married man would say the same.”

  “Speaking of impressing ladies, how goes it with Jane? You never did explain to me why my suggestion of a mistletoe kiss in your snow fort should elicit such an adverse response.”

  Archie blew out a cold breath. “I don’t know. I can’t figure her out for the life of me. Sometimes, I think she welcomes my attentions. She seems happy to be with me. But then there are other times . . .” He glanced to the side. “I kissed her in the Cringlewoods’ cottage—a very pure, gentlemanly kiss—you know, in order to see how she’d respond.”

  “And?”

  “And it didn’t go well. She ran away, upset.” He turned to the side and used two hands to pull the tree through another thicket, wishing Simon hadn’t come early and taken away the sled. But he supposed the man was using it for Christmas-related errands, and he could hardly fault him for that. He could have at least left the ax, Archie thought. But luckily, Archie and Jonathan had managed to find one in a groundskeeper’s shed.

  Once the tree was free, they continued onward.

  “I just wish I understood what she was thinking,” Archie said.

  “Ha!” Jonathan barked out a laugh. “I’d wager that very statement has been said by every man throughout history.”

  Archie gave him a wry grin. “Why must women be so complicated?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “I suppose that’s the challenge. But in my experience—”

  “You’ve been married for nine months, Ren.”

  “Yes, I have. And how long have you been married?”

  Archie rolled his eyes. He had a point. “Continue.”

  “In my experience,” Jonathan repeated, “I’ve found women to be less complicated than we assume.”

  “You must need more experience.”

  “Just tell her how you feel. Don’t try to decipher her expressions or body language. And never assume anything based on what she says when she’s upset. That’s where you get into trouble. And trust me, it’s not worth it.” He pretended to shiver in fear. “Talk to her—plainly—and then listen.”

  “If it were so easy . . .”

  Jonathan stopped walking and put a gloved hand on Archie’s shoulder. “Oh, I didn’t say it was easy. It’s never easy. But I’m giving you the best chance at success.” He turned back and lifted his side of the tree.

  But what if Jane refused him? What if he told her how she felt and Jane didn’t return his love? The thought was like a hole in his heart. “Is a grown man supposed to feel terrified by the very idea?”

  “Absolutely terrified, or you’re not ready.” Jonathan smirked.

  “I suppose I’m ready, then.”

  Jonathan nodded in approval. “Best of luck to you, old boy. I know none of this has come off as you expected.”

  “It’s true.” Archie kneaded his hands for a moment, trying to release a cramp from clutching the branch so tightly. He thought of his imagined proposal beneath the Christmas tree in Waverly House’s great hall after a lovely Christmas Eve supper. He’d planned to give Jane the book then, to steal a kiss in the candlelight as they admired the sparkling tree and drank mulled cider from delicate china cups. “Not one blasted thing worked out as I’d hoped.”

  Jonathan rolled his shoulders. “It may not have felt like it to you, but this Christmas was just what my family needed.” He turned more fully toward Archie. “I don’t know how Mother would have survived a house party or a ball this year. But here, away from crowds and memories and society, she’s been a new person. And Maryann has been so happy.”

  “Very likely because her husband’s been happy, as well.” Archie grabbed on to the branch again.

  Jonathan considered for a moment, then grasped the tree, pulling it forward. “I suppose I have.”

  In the early morning light, Archie saw a thoughtful smile bend his friend’s mouth.

  They continued in silence, each lost in his own thoughts until they reached the cabin.

  “Shake off as much of the snow as possible before we bring it inside,” Archie said.

  They lifted the tree upright and brushed off the branches, sending showers of snow into powdery piles. He opened the door and stepped inside, pulling the tree in behind him.

  “Oh, thank goodness you’re back.” Maryann rushed toward him, followed closely by Kathleen.

  Something in her voice sent an uneasy tingle up Archie’s spine. He looked closer at her and Kathleen. The women were crying. “Has something happened?”

  Maryann grabbed his arm. “Jane’s gone.”

  The uneasy tingle grew.

  Jonathan stepped around the tree, closing the door behind him. “What do you mean, ‘gone'?”

  “When I woke, she was nowhere to be found,” Kathleen said. “We’ve searched the cottage.”

  “She must have had another spell,” Maryann settled into her husband’s embrace, looking frantic. “Brought about by her weeping last night.”

  “We’ll find her,” Jonathan whispered to his wife.

  Panic jumped over Archie’s skin in prickly bursts. How long had she been gone? She could be cold, lost, hurt . . . He leaned the tree against the wall and strode back outside, Jonathan following. The men’s footprints from this morning were clear in the snow, but aside from the trail the company had made on their outing the day before and the path toward the Cringlewoods’, there were no others.

  “Find Simon.” Archie pointed toward the woods. “He may have seen her, or at least have an idea of where to look.” Archie started along the other path. “I’ll search in this direction.”

  Jonathan nodded and started toward the Cringlewoods’ house.

  Archie moved as quickly as he could through the deep snow, nearly at a run. His mind spun with scenarios. When had she left? Was she dressed in her nightclothes, as she’d been when she went missing last spring? He thought of that night, how they’d found her wet and afraid and with no memory of how she’d come to be there. But here in the freezing snow, the danger was so much worse. His breathing grew ragged and his thoughts frantic. If he didn’t find her soon . . . The alternative was too painful to imagine, and he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on the thought.

  He moved up the hill, following the footprints past where the snowball battle had taken place. Oh, Jane, where have you—

  He stopped, hearing voices. With a fresh burst of energy, he reached the top of the hill and looked between the trees beyond.

  Simon Cringlewood was pulling the sled. Tied to it was a freshly chopped pine tree. But Archie didn’t focus on Simon for longer than an instant when he realized Jane walked beside him.

  When she saw him, she raised her hand, a wide smile spreading over her face. “Happy Christmas, Archie!” she called. “We’ve brought a tree!”

  “Happy Christmas to ya, yer lordship.” Simon gave a small bow.

  Archie drew in a breath; the relief at seeing her safe and warm, bundled in her cloak and mittens, filled him so strongly that he thought his insides would melt. He sprinted down the hill and pulled her into his arms. “Jane. I was
so worried. When I returned and they said you were gone . . .” He held her tighter, wanting to reassure himself that she was here and unharmed.

  “I hoped to be back before anyone was awake. But finding just the right tree took longer than I expected, then Simon had to chop it with the ax and tie it to the sled.”

  Archie still did not trust himself to speak.

  Jane wriggled out of his grasp and stood back, studying him. “Archie, what is wrong?” Her eyes rounded with realization. “Oh my. You feared I'd wandered off.”

  He nodded, worried how she might receive the affirmation.

  “I did not even consider,” she said, her brows pinching together. “I thought I left early enough to return before everyone awoke. I—Oh, I am sorry, Archie.”

  “Shall I continue on to the cottage, Miss Croft?” Simon pulled on the sled’s rope.

  “Oh, yes. I suppose we all should.”

  Simon started off, and they followed. Archie was torn between wanting to walk slowly to extend the time they had alone and knowing he needed to return to reassure the others that she was safe.

  Jane took Archie’s hand. “I remembered what you said about the Tannenbaum and how special it is to you. I wanted . . .”

  Her words trailed off, and Archie was overcome, unable to believe that she would go into the cold, dark woods alone to find a tree for him. “Jane, I . . .” He had no words to express how deeply her gesture touched him. The swing from panic to relief to tenderness tumbled his emotions all over one another, and his mind was still attempting to catch up.

  Jane watched him, the crease between her brows deepening. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I am so sorry.”

  “I told you I would always worry about you.”

  She nodded. “I remember.”

  “And after last night . . .”

  “I know. I realize now how my absence must have appeared to all of you.” Her cheeks, already pink from the cold, deepened into a blush. “I don’t know what overcame me last night. I am so sorry for ruining the evening.”