Dragonblade Holiday Bundle: A Historical Romance Collection

by Alexa Aston

  The “ayes” carried it unanimously.

  But, apparently, that wasn’t to be all. Phillip continued.

  “I’d like the board’s permission to endow one hundred pounds a year to pay the salary of a teacher for a school. I’ve earmarked some land and will personally pay for construction of the school building.”

  David rose to his feet, his face beaming.

  “Charge your glasses, gentlemen, I propose a toast. To the ongoing success of Wheal Gunnis and the prosperity of everyone in Stannum. I think it is safe to say, Phillip, that the salary for a teacher is approved without dissent.”

  Julian raised his glass and joined in the salute.

  A fanciful thought it was, but he was sure he could hear a nightingale outside sing her approval.

  It was early afternoon when the business of the Wheal Gunnis Copper Mining Company was concluded and the plan had been to enjoy a game of cards at White’s. However, before the three men could leave, the ladies called by the offices unexpectedly – Viscountess Carmarthen, her godmother Lady Abigail Ridgeway, Julian’s Aunt Harriet and cousin Margaret with her friend, Lydia.

  They had been victorious in their hunt for finery, judging by the unconstrained excitement of the two youngest members of the party.

  Aunt Harriet must have said something to Lydia, thought Julian. She didn’t smell like a Covent Garden opera singer today. Indeed, the girl actually managed to look demure in a modest gown topped by a light blue velvet pelisse. Harriet’s scolding of her must have been severe, indeed.

  “Good morning, Winter,” the young woman said crisply. “I trust you suffer no lingering ill effects from your mishap last night?”

  The young woman glanced sideways at Aunt Harriet and Lady Abigail. There was a small nod of approval from his aunt.

  In that case, he could give a little, too.

  “None at all, Miss Stonely, and I thank you for your kind concern about my welfare.”

  Julian addressed his next comment to cousin, Margaret.

  “How was your excursion today?”

  “Oh, it was wonderful, Cousin. I shan’t bore you with the details of ladies’ couture as I’m sure you’re not interested, but I must tell you of this most charming teahouse that gave us the most remarkable view of the streets. Lady Abigail pointed out all the important personages who came by – including some rather handsome eligibles.”

  Margaret turned to Lydia.

  “Did you not think so?”

  Lydia turned Julian’s way and regarded him a moment before turning back to her friend. “Indeed so! Lord Cavil in particular is a most striking man. I’m very grateful to Lady Abigail for the opportunity to be introduced.”

  Julian was happy to keep his counsel. If Lydia wished to employ the weapon of jealousy against him, then she was free to do so – he was immune to it. And focusing her attention on other suitable bachelors might prompt her to seek better prospects than him elsewhere.

  He rued missing the opportunity to retire to White’s for a few hours before readying himself for that evening’s engagements, but he was mindful of his duty to make Margaret and Lydia’s first foray into London memorable.

  He glanced out of the window. The morning showers had passed and the sun was out.

  “We seem to be gifted with a rare fine afternoon,” he observed. “I wonder, Aunt Harriet, if you and your charges wish to take a stroll through Hyde Park.”

  Margaret couldn’t contain her excitement at the prospect. “Oh, might we? I have so longed to see Rotten Row and all the elegant ladies and gents on their horses.”

  Lydia kept her interest tightly reined.

  “It’s still rather early in the Season. I don’t think we should see some of the leading lights of society,” she said dismissively. Margaret’s smile dimmed a little at her friend’s offhand remark.

  Julian glanced to David and Allie to see if they’d taken offence at the silly girl’s comment. As the Viscount and Viscountess of Carmarthan, they were highest ranked of all those present – including Lady Abigail Ridgeway herself, although Alexandra did defer to her godmother, as he himself had discovered was wise to do.

  Manston had elected to not hear it, while Allie lowered her head to hide a smile.

  “You won’t see but a fraction of Hyde Park this afternoon on foot,” Lady Abigail interjected. “If the weather holds tomorrow, I might arrange for a barouche to be brought out – if the young ladies are agreeable.”

  The double meaning of the woman’s words was not lost on the party. Lydia was sufficiently chastened to pretend to search for something in her reticule.

  David and Allie went home to their townhouse. The remaining group rode in Lady Abigail’s carriage to Hyde Park where they disembarked.

  Lydia’s observation may have been inept but it was astute – there was little to see at the Park Lane end of Rotten Row, the hour and the Season being too early. So, the party headed northward along the stately boulevard of trees that ran parallel to Park Lane toward the old Tyburn Road.

  “Did you know that just across the road from the park was where the Tyburn gallows were?” said Aunt Harriet. “It used to be quite the spectacle to gather and watch the condemned man make his final speech.”

  “And there appears to be some kind of to-do up ahead on the corner today,” Lydia noted.

  Julian heard the sound of singing before he could make out the words. As they drew nearer, he spotted the singers, a rather ragtag group wearing working men’s clothes. Now he could hear the carol clearly.

  God rest you merry, Gentlemen,

  Let nothing you dismay,

  For Jesus Christ our Savior

  Was born upon this Day.

  To save poor souls from Satan’s power,

  Which long time had gone astray.

  Which brings tidings of comfort and joy.

  A crowd had gathered to listen. Lady Abigail urged the party closer together, warning the ladies that cutpurses favored those distracted by entertainments.

  Others, including one tall, older man dressed in priest’s vestments, were handing out pamphlets. Julian found one pressed into his hand.

  Call on Parliament now

  To Enact reforms to end

  Child Labor

  Open your hearts

  Open your minds

  Save children from Exploitation!

  He turned it over. On the reverse was a reprint from this morning’s article in The Argus. The Nightingale’s by-line was prominent.

  He looked up once more and spotted her – the woman from last night.

  She was several yards away but there was no mistaking her. There was something about a close brush with death which sharpened the faculties.

  Today, however, she wore clothing more in keeping with the elevated station he’d suspected she owned. Her attire was well-made but not ostentatious, a maroon-colored pelisse over a forest green dress. A matching hat framed her face, and her fair complexion served as a canvas to finely drawn features.

  Muttering his excuses, Julian disengaged himself from his party and headed in her direction.

  If there was any doubt about her identity, it was vanquished when a young boy abandoned a group of his friends and ran back to this woman. It was the child he’d rescued last night

  The choir continued to sing.

  How did he feel about seeing the woman again? Julian wasn’t sure. Was he angry at her? In an odd way, he supposed he was. While she had apologized at the time, he couldn’t help a measure of annoyance at her disappearance. Was it merely the result of a satisfaction denied him to remonstrate against her carelessness and inattention?

  Or was there something more?

  At first, she did not see him approach, but as the choir reached the chorus, she turned his way.

  Recognition was instant. Julian waited for the woman to pretend the acknowledgement was an error, but she did not. She rested a hand on the child’s head and waited for him to join her.

  “Lucas,” she sai
d softly, attracting the child’s attention. “Remember the gentleman who saved you last night? I think it would be right for you to thank him properly.”

  Large blue eyes in a chubby face looked up at him directly. All of a sudden, Julian felt as large and as gormless as Gulliver among the Lilliputians.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Lucas ended his words of gratitude with a swift bow from the waist.

  Julian dropped down onto his haunches. Even then, he was still taller than the child. He was also mindful of the lad’s protector above him.

  “You’re welcome, young man, but you must have a care when you walk. Do you know what gentlemen do?”

  Lucas glanced up at his mother, then back to him, and shook his head.

  “They walk between the lady and the road to make sure she is safe. Will you do that when you are grown? You can practice with your maman here and stay by her side as you walk.”

  The boy squared his small shoulders and gave one quick, affirmative nod. It was remarkable how little instruction and encouragement was needed to give him confidence. How he wished his own father had spoken to him that way. Perhaps…

  Well, it didn’t matter about perhaps, it was what it was, and there was nothing more he could do on that score.

  “I trust you are not seriously hurt?” the woman asked. “It was poor form of me to leave like that. My only excuse is I was frightened and Lucas was upset, and…”

  Julian got to his feet and found himself looking directly into the warm, brown eyes of the mysterious female whose name he still did not know.

  “No apologies are necessary, Madam, and there is no lasting harm done,” he said.

  “Thank you, I–”

  “Lady Lavene?”

  Was he mistaken that they both started at the sound of Lady Abigail’s voice?

  “Why, it’s been an age since we’ve seen you,” she continued.

  Lady Lavene dropped a curtsy. “Lady Abigail, it is an honor to renew your acquaintance after so long.”

  “Yes, it is. And I see you already know a friend of the family.”

  “Only informally, I… that is, we’ve not been introduced.”

  Lady Abigail waved a hand, forestalling any further explanations. She looked at Julian then back to the woman.

  “Caroline, Lady Lavene, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Julian Winter. He is a friend and business partner of my goddaughter’s husband, the Viscount of Carmarthan.”

  Chapter Five

  Lady Abigail continued the introductions. “These are Mr. Winter’s relations. Mrs. Erskin, her daughter Margaret, and her friend, Lydia Stonely. The young Misses are here to enjoy the winter Season.”

  Oh, that’s who the girl was…

  Miss Stonely seemed much younger today than she appeared last night at the coaching inn. The way she rushed over to Winter was proprietorial in manner. Now in the broad light of day, she could see the way he seemed to avoid being close to her, and yet he was mindful of the girl’s presence.

  Lucas was becoming restless. “May I play with the other boys, Mama?” he asked.

  “Yes, as long as you stay within sight of me and Father Camp.”

  With permission given, Lucas took off in the direction of a group of children who had gathered near the choir and had turned some of the pamphlets into paper darts. They were making a competition of who could throw one the farthest.

  “Is Lord Lavene with you today, my lady?”

  Margaret Erskin’s question startled her. Caroline nearly looked about as though she might see Tristan in the crowd. It was a foolish notion.

  “I’m afraid my husband passed away five years ago.”

  Mrs. Erskin looked over at Lucas. “And it is just you and your son?”

  The question was phrased carefully enough, with just the right amount of lightness and inflection to make it sound innocent. Caroline hadn’t remained so out of touch as to not know the second question that lurked in it.

  Lucas was a typical boy of his age. That age, as near as she could discern it, was no older than four. Mrs. Erskin seemed to know that, too.

  “Yes, it is just the two of us.”

  “Have you made plans for Christmas?” Lady Abigail inquired.

  Caroline glanced over at Reverend Camp who, with the denizens of St. Luke’s Mission, were handing out the last of the pamphlets while Mrs. Camp directed the rest of the ragtag choir in another carol.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t the—”

  “Then I insist you join us at least once. It’s been too long since we’ve had the pleasure of your company, and there are some new and interesting people I think you ought to meet.”

  Before Caroline knew it, she found herself beginning to nod in agreement. How odd it was that no one could actually say “no” to Lady Abigail Ridgeway…

  Perhaps it would be no bad thing to re-enter society; her time of mourning was long past and reclaiming her position would mean she could speak to those who had influence in the House of Commons and House of Lords. Among them, she could make a great difference to the plight of the poor. And her position could only benefit Lucas as he grew older.

  In the end, it was easy to justify to herself a decision she was coerced into making. If only she could ignore the traitorous little voice that whispered also how nice it might be to spend more time in the company of Julian Winter.

  “Then I gladly await an invitation,” she said. The look of pleasure on Julian’s face made her surer of herself than she had felt in years.

  “And I look forward to running into you again – but under much more pleasant circumstances than out first meeting,” he said.

  Was he flirting with her? A twinkle in his gray eyes seemed to suggest so. She felt a frisson of pleasure she had not experienced since the days of courting with Tristan. An unbidden blush grew on her cheeks.

  Julian and his party took their leave of her and she watched them cross over to Park Lane and climb into the carriage that waited for them. The last of the afternoon light was fading away and so, too, had their audience. The final verse of Hark the Herald Angels Sing came to an end and Mrs. Camp’s makeshift choir started to disperse.

  Caroline called Lucas to join her. The boy scampered up to her with at least three variations of paper darts and they made her way over to Reverend Camp.

  “That was a splendid afternoon, don’t you think?” he asked.

  “Well, we certainly distributed all of the pamphlets and I don’t see too many of them discarded.” She glanced down at Lucas then sheepishly back up at the reverend. “A few turned into playthings, yes. In any case, hopefully, we have done some good.”

  “I’m sure once people have read The Nightingale’s next article, today’s effort will not return void.”

  “About The Nightingale…” Caroline hesitated. “I chose to use a pseudonym deliberately. I think it would be best if no one beyond you, Mrs. Camp, and the editor of The Argus knows I am the author.”

  “Your secret is safe with me, my dear. Now tell me, who were those fine people you were talking to a little while ago?”

  Caroline gave the priest a full explanation of the events of the previous night and how Lucas’ rescuer was also acquainted with a mutual friend.

  “Does that mean we’ll see less of you at St. Luke’s?” he asked.

  “I don’t see why it should. Nothing has changed as far as I’m concerned.”

  There was a peculiar look in the old cleric’s eyes, but he said nothing.

  She lifted her chin, daring him to doubt her. “I shall see you tomorrow night at the Mission, as per usual.”

  The priest nodded. “There can be no doubt you will do good, wherever it might be.”

  Caroline frowned. This was not a satisfactory end to things. While she did, indeed, intend to return to society, that didn’t halt her responsibilities to the people at the Mission. Why did he think…

  She felt a tug at her hip.

  “Mama, I’m tired. I want to go home.”

/>   She smiled down and took his hand.

  “Then let’s go home and see what Mrs. Stewart has prepared for our supper, shall we?”

  After the third article was published, the entire city was talking about The Nightingale. Sales of The Argus had gone through the roof. Caroline knew this because the publisher had sent her a large bouquet of hothouse flowers to thank her for the increase in circulation.

  As she walked down the street with Lucas to order him some new shoes, it seemed every second person had a copy of the newspaper in their hands or under their arms.

  After their errand, she visited a tearoom and ordered a cup of tea for herself and a warm cup of milk for Lucas. As they sat there, she overheard two gentlemen discussing the story of a young matchgirl found frozen to death last winter, her body laid to rest in a pauper’s grave as no one came to claim her.

  Only then did Caroline feel trepidation about what she had done. It was all too easy to get a rush of blood to the head, dash out the words and cast them out onto the world. As hopeful as she had been that people might feel the same dismay she felt on first hearing these stories, she had no expectation about how they would be received.

  Was it possible she could she do more harm than good?

  Their journey home would see them cross the corner of Hyde Park. There, not far from where the old Tyburn gallows had been, a large man stood on a box, shouting at a group of people. On a large board next to him was pinned a newspaper spread.

  She didn’t need to venture any closer to know which newspaper it was and what page was pinned there. The man yelled out with a thick Scottish burr.

  “Then shall they also answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when saw we thee ahungered, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee?’. Then shall He answer them, saying, ‘Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me’.”

  The man was beginning to draw a crowd and not everyone appreciated his sermon. Hecklers jostled those who had gathered simply to listen. Some of them had taken to yelling to drown the man out.

  Caroline turned Lucas away from the spectacle and directed him towards Grosvenor Square. A barouche moved past them; the canvas head dropped on both sides to give the passengers the best of the day’s sunshine.