One Candlelit Christmas

by Julia Justiss

  More than anything he did not wish to embarrass his uncle and aunt, who had been his stalwarts of support over these last four years of hell. If not for them, Iain would be locked still in his world of darkness and unyielding torment, unable to function or even remain on his feet as he did now, or worse—dead. Their relentless pursuit of new medical treatments for him and their refusal to allow him to curl into a ball and die when it would have been the easier path for him had earned them more than his love, it had earned them his gratitude and respect.

  And his absolute word of honour that he would never fail to try his best for them.

  So this evening, when he’d arrived and wanted nothing more than several large glasses of brandy, each with a dash of laudanum to ease his way into sleep after such an arduous journey, it had been their invitation to the gathering that had given him no choice. And when Julia had approached him with that look of wonder and concern on her lovely face it had been their presence, watching the exchange, that had given him the strength to remain on his feet.

  But then, as he’d looked up the stairway to where all the guests had gone to reach the parlour for dancing, it had been that expression of wonder in Julia’s luminous blue eyes that had made him begin the gruelling climb up. Lady Treybourne had arranged for a room for him on the main floor, so that using the stairs to reach most of the meals and gatherings would not be necessary.

  Iain had followed at his own pace, and each spasm that shot through his left leg and into his hip had taunted him with the possibility of failure and falling. Watching her float up the stairs on his uncle’s arm, carefully lifting the edge of her gown so that she did not trip, had made him want to take the chance to see her swirling like an angel around the dance floor. She had no idea of what her simple words had meant to him.

  By the time he’d reached the second floor and made his way to the red parlour he was out of breath and sweating. Now Iain paused by the door, and took a glass of something from a passing servant’s tray without caring that it was anything but wet. After downing it, he tugged his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the moisture on his face. He rested most of his weight on his good leg and then looked around the room.

  Couples in lines of four made their way through a country dance to the music of several violins, a cello and a pianoforte. He could see Julia in the second row of dancers, and watched as she made her way through the figures of the dance. She moved now with a gracefulness that in no way exposed her dreadful lack of it as a child. It was a difficult challenge to see any of that rumbustious child now, as she laughed and nodded in agreement at some comment made by her partner.

  Iain caught his breath, watching as long as he dared to—for someone would surely catch him gawping like a schoolboy soon—and then took a deep breath and prepared for the struggle ahead to return to the main floor of the house. As his leg screamed in protest with each pace away, and as he cursed himself for being such a fool, his heart answered the question he asked himself silently with every step.

  Yes, it was worth even this much pain to see her dance.

  It took some time to make his way safely down the staircase, and it took all his concentration to keep his leg from buckling under him. So much concentration that he didn’t see her standing above at the railing, watching his every move…

  ‘Well, that did not go as I expected it would,’ Anna, Countess of Treybourne, offered.

  ‘You never listen to me, Anna,’ replied her best friend Clarinda. ‘I told you that Julia’s reticence regarding attachments of the heart was not as steadfast as you thought. You chose to ignore my words of wisdom.’

  Anna and Clarinda stood in the hall along from the parlour, far enough into an alcove so that her sister could not see them but they could watch her. And they did.

  No sooner had Clarinda’s nephew left the parlour and begun his journey down the stairs than Julia had followed him out of the parlour, watching him through the railing of the staircase. Anna thought it did not take a scholar to recognise the look on her younger sister’s face.

  ‘I never said never, Clarinda. I always suspected that the right man would break through her resistance—much as Trey did mine.’

  They stood silently and watched the longing on Julia’s face increase with each step away that Iain took. Neither wanted to say what they were both thinking. Then Anna did. Julia was, after all, her sister and her responsibility.

  ‘Regardless of any tender feelings, he is not the right man for her.’

  ‘Regardless,’ Clarinda replied, nodding in agreement.

  ‘For so many reasons,’ Anna added.

  ‘For ever so many reasons,’ Clarinda said, with a sad tone in her voice.

  Anna felt the sting of tears burning in her eyes and blinked them away. ‘But it is Christmas time. There will be time for the realities of life after the holiday is over.’

  Clarinda stepped out of the alcove with her and nodded, her own eyes glassy with tears too.

  ‘And there could always be a miracle. A Christmas miracle of a sort.’

  Anna glanced at her dearest friend and agreed. ‘A Christmas miracle, indeed.’

  And as they passed Julia at the railing they looked away, offering up a prayer for just such a thing.

  Chapter Two

  She woke at dawn, as was her custom, but the sun sitting low in the winter sky did not offer much light to the morning. Its pale rays barely had the strength to pass through the curtains into her rooms, and it was more habit than signal that bade her seek out the new day.

  Stretching within the thick cocoon of her bedcovers, Julia thought about the possibility of seeing Iain this morning—and that spurred her to climb from the warmth of her bed.

  Dressing in a sensible day gown, short boots and a woollen shawl, Julia refused the maid’s attempts to arrange her hair in some elaborate style and chose a simple chignon instead, leaving a few strands loose around her face. Draping the shawl around her shoulders, she let the ends of the plaid fall loosely over her arm, and made her way to the smaller dining room on the first floor of the house, where breakfast would be served in a more casual way than in the formal dining room above stairs.

  As she reached the room, she took a deep, calming breath and stood in the corridor, savouring the last moment of peace she would enjoy for the entire day. Gathering her shawl tighter, and wrapping her formidable sense of humour around her, she glanced at the footman attending the door. It had taken her more than a year to break the habit of opening doors for herself. More than a year before she stopped trying to make the footmen laugh or move. And more than a year before she could force herself to speak openly in front of the too-numerous-for-her-taste servants as though they were not present.

  She did not belong here.

  The passage of the more than five years during which she’d lived with her sister and her brother-by-marriage the Earl of Treybourne had not lessened those feelings within her heart and soul. She could not survive in this world of nobility and wealth and pretence. Her sister had become accustomed to it, for the love Anna bore her husband had eased her transition from a comfortable but tenuous life in Edinburgh to this secure and more worldly one on the Earl’s Northumbrian estate. Or any of his others.

  She did this only for the love she bore Anna and Trey.

  As she nodded to the footman to open the door, she reminded herself again of the debt she owed her sister and brother-by-marriage. If not for Anna, simply put, she would have perished. If not for Trey she’d not have enjoyed the education and the many luxuries and opportunities his wealth and his name had been able to provide her and her sister—and their causes.

  Julia entered the dining room and paused. Every young man she’d sought to avoid sat at the large oval table, and the one she sought did not. They stood at her entrance and bowed courteously. Returning their polite gesture, she looked for a place to sit and noticed only two or three women at table. It was not Anna’s custom to miss breakfast, and her absence surprised Julia.
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  In the next instant every man save one had scurried around the table, pulling out any empty chair for her. Then she spied Trey, sitting at the opposite end of a table made for thirty and clearly fighting the urge to laugh. Without hesitation she walked to the open chair nearest him, and allowed Mr Sutton to assist her.

  ‘Good morning, my lord,’ she said as she eased into her chair. ‘I hope this morning finds you well?’

  ‘Good morning, Julia,’ Trey replied. He folded his newspaper and laid it down, and gifted her with a mischievous smile. ‘So what, pray tell, are your plans for the day?’ He paused, but she could tell he had not finished. She was not out of danger yet. ‘Have you found a partner yet for charades this evening?’

  Spoons clattered on fine porcelain. Conversations halted. Heads turned, eyes stared, and ears perked up all round her. Julia smiled at Trey—a smile she hoped gifted him with all the promises of retribution she felt at that moment, but one which appeared pleasant enough to those looking on. He knew how distasteful this entire Marriage Mart excuse for Christmas festivities was to her. But he also loved his wife, and would do anything for her—for Julia too, for that matter, especially if he believed it to her gain.

  ‘I thank you for your interest, my lord. I have chosen a partner, but would prefer not to reveal a name for fear of the displeasure of the rest of your esteemed guests.’

  Julia turned and smiled demurely at the men who watched their exchange. If she held it for much longer she swore her mouth would freeze in such a position and never move again. One of the butlers placed a plate in front of her, so she unfolded a crisp linen napkin and dropped it in her lap.

  ‘Thank you, John,’ she said quietly, and she waited for him to step away before continuing. Turning back to Trey, she noticed his sheepish expression and seized on his apparent guilt. ‘And you, my lord? Who will you be partnering for the games this evening?’

  Trey sipped from his cup before answering. ‘I will be but a watcher, Miss Fairchild. It would hardly seem fair to oppose my own guests.’

  ‘Just so, my lord.’

  She let the conversation wane as she ate the perfectly seasoned coddled eggs and slices of bacon and fried bread. When the butler had removed her plate and filled her cup with her favourite brew of tea, she leaned back.

  ‘What are your plans for the day, my lord? Had I heard correctly about a visit to your new stables?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Fairchild. Lord MacLerie and I have invested in a new racer. I have invited the men to view its arrival today.’

  ‘How exciting!’ She looked across and down the table at the young men there, and gifted them with her most feminine smile. ‘I do envy you all, but I must see to Lady Treybourne and aid her in her plans for this evening’s festivities.’

  Julia gave them no chance to intervene with her escape as she stood and waited for the butler to assist her with her chair. Trey rose and offered a courteous bow, as did every other man in the room. Trey could stop her in her place if he wished, but apparently he’d teased her enough this morn. With a nod of acceptance, she walked out as quickly as she could without appearing unseemly, and made her way to her sister’s chambers.

  Inhaling the scent of the many pine branches and wreaths that decorated the doorways and windows, Julia smiled. In spite of Wesley Hall’s size, her sister managed to make it seem small and homey. Different from their simple Edinburgh townhouse, where she’d spent the Christmases of her childhood, or the Highland estate of the MacLeries, Trey’s manor was far larger and grander. Only Anna’s small touches—using some of the smaller rooms for family gatherings, bringing their most favourite furnishings from Edinburgh and gathering their dearest friends and family around them—made it less overwhelming.

  Reaching the first floor above, Julia walked down the corridor that led to the family’s rooms and passed the door to Trey’s chambers. She knew, as did everyone at Wesley Hall, that her sister and her brother-by-marriage shared a bedchamber, but Julia would never presume to call on Anna there. Reaching the last door, she knocked softly and waited. When no one answered, she opened it a crack and spoke her sister’s name.

  ‘Anna?’ Then, when no reply was heard, she called a bit louder. ‘Anna?’

  The sounds emanating from the dressing room between the lord and lady’s chambers enlightened her to several things at once. First, Anna was ill. Second, Anna was ill in the morning. And third, and most happily, Anna was carrying another child. Julia recognised the sounds and symptoms from Anna’s last two pregnancies, and knew her absence from breakfast this morn would be the first of many.

  Mary, the maid who served her sister most closely entered from the dressing room and took note of Julia as she walked to the bed and began straightening it.

  ‘The Countess is a little ill right now, miss. If you would call on her later? Perhaps when she meets with Mrs Herman to discuss this evening’s plans?’ Mary smiled softly then, reassuring her of the situation. ‘I will tell her you were here.’

  Ah. Everything was well in hand if the capable Mrs Herman had control. Wesley Hall’s housekeeper had magical powers, or at least it seemed that way to Julia, for nothing was impossible for the woman. Any request from family or guest was fulfilled. Any special arrangement handled. Any help needed—especially by a young Scottish girl new to this English nobleman’s life and home—was provided, and sometimes before it was even asked for.

  For now, Julia had some time to herself, and decided that the Earl’s spacious and well-filled private library was the place to hide away from the maddening attentions of the young men in residence for most of the Christmas holiday. Once back on the main floor, she turned and went in the opposite direction to the dining room, hoping to arrive in her hiding place before the men left for the stables. The voices in the hall as she pushed the door closed warned her of their approach.

  Once they’d passed her refuge, she sought out her favourite place in Wesley Hall: a small alcove, separated from the rest of the library by two free-standing bookshelves that reached from floor to ceiling. Tugging the large cushioned chair there closer to the windows, Julia claimed her current book and curled up in it. With her book resting on her lap, her woollen shawl wrapped around her shoulders and the sight of the snow-covered fields in the windows before her, she relaxed for the first time in many days.

  Keeping up the façade of enjoying these traditions of courtship was tiring. The constant and requisite smile, the need always to be present and the requirement to be pleasant to any and all buffoons and idiots who happened to be male, of any age, with a certain level of fortune or title, were not things that came easily to her.

  But she would do almost anything for her sister, and if allowing this pursuit of men with thoughts of marriage was something that pleased Anna, she would tolerate it. Julia knew more than either Anna or Trey would ever admit about the price of Anna’s support of her little family during the years when Julia had been too young to worry about such things. Julia knew what Anna had suffered to keep her and her aunt in a decent house, with food on the table and clothes on their backs. And, though she could never openly acknowledge it, Julia would honour her for that cost nonetheless.

  Even if it meant acting the proper English young lady and accepting a husband of her sister and brother-by-marriage’s choosing.

  Julia shifted in the chair and drew her legs up, tucking them under her and arranging her gown so that there was no hint of this small impropriety visible. Leaning her head back against the cushions, she sighed.

  The thought of ringing for chocolate drifted out of her mind as the urgings of lost hours of sleep crept in. Soon Julia found herself dreaming of dancing with Iain in the ballroom above, not worrying about doing the correct thing or about being the unwanted Scottish marriage prize.

  Chapter Three

  Iain watched as the group of young men, led by his uncle and the Earl, left the house and strode off in the direction of the stables. The coating of snow made it a slippery going, but no one seem
ed to have difficulty with it. Iain now had some time to finish his review of the contracts he carried for his uncle’s signature before he returned from the outing.

  The pang of loss struck once more as he envied the men who could walk without pain and ride a horse as he’d used to. Now he was condemned to constant pain and to never pursuing his favourite pastime of riding. Taking a full breath in, and letting it out, he tried to release the anger that sat deep within him at moments like this.

  He was alive, he told himself.

  He could walk.

  After allowing himself a brief time to accept once more these changes and challenges in his life, he shook off the tendency to wallow in self-pity. With his satchel in one hand and his walking stick in the other, Iain followed his uncle’s directions to the Earl’s private library. From the expression in his eyes earlier, Iain suspected his uncle would use a need to meet Iain as his excuse for escape during the tour of the stables. Lord Robert MacLerie did not suffer idle young men well.

  With the assistance of a footman after a turn down the wrong corridor took him to the kitchen, Iain reached the library and opened the door. Stepping inside, he caught sight of two matching desks on the far side of the room. So the gossip had not simply been worthless speculation, then? The Earl and the Countess did work together on their many financial concerns, including his orphanages and her schools. And on their magazine, the Scottish Monthly Gazette.

  Making his way across the library, he laid his satchel on the larger desk and took a moment to examine the room more closely. As he ran his hand over the mahogany desk he turned and leaned against it, using it to support his weight. The smaller desk, with its vase of hothouse roses, was not the only feminine touch in what he would have assumed to be a bastion of masculinity.