“Did ye bring yer lunch?” Nancy, the woman next to her, asked. At Katherine’s denial, she held out a basket. “We have plenty, and you must be hungry.”
“Thank you.” Katherine gratefully accepted an apple after making certain the children had all they wanted. In her haste to leave, she hadn’t thought to bring anything.
Frost formed on the train windows as the afternoon waned, much to the delight of the children, who stood to draw patterns in it. Katherine stared at the perfect crystals, a sign that winter was nearly upon them. The cold weather complicated her existence, especially when she no longer had a place to live.
She traced a frosted crystal, amazed at the intricacy of it, the beauty. Her hope for Christmas was simple--find a new place, a new identity, until he took it from her. Again.
And a snowflake.
That was her second wish. She wanted to see one perfect snowflake fall from the sky. If she did, she’d take that as a sign that all would be well. At least for the holidays.
With a past she wanted to forget, a future she couldn’t have, one day at a time was the best she could hope for.
~*~
Cole Dumont flipped up the collar of his wool coat to keep the chill from chasing down his neck then flicked the reins of the horses. How he’d been talked into this errand was still unclear.
Yet anything was better than watching the Earl of Adair and his new countess, Lady Grace, as they prepared Crawford House for Christmas festivities. Every servant in the large mansion had been running to and fro with piles of greenery and decorations for the holiday celebration. The happiness of the newly married couple was both touching and annoying.
Cole’s own home stood only a few miles away, empty and dark--just as he preferred it.
But remaining there during the holiday with all the family traditions brought too many memories, too much pain.
He’d easily tossed aside the invitation to join the Adairs’ for a fortnight of celebrations when it had arrived. The very idea had given him the shivers. Two weeks of conversing and celebrating Christmas sounded like his version of hell.
But as the weather grew colder and the scents and sights of the season filtered their way into his tenants’ homes and the village, his mood had turned darker and darker.
He’d thought this year would be easier, but as November folded into December, he realized time had not eased anything.
After pacing the quiet halls of his home, he’d known he couldn’t stay there. Not until Christmas was over.
As a baron with just one holding, Cole hadn’t expected to have anything in common with Adair, but after meeting him several times over the years, Cole found he admired the man. They shared a love of the land and took pleasure in seeing what they could do to help the people who lived here. Neither felt the need to talk beyond the basic necessities.
Cole hoped to convince Adair to sell him one of his prize mares as well. Surely a new wife and a holiday party would put the earl in a generous mood. If Cole focused, he could pretend that was the reason he’d agreed to stay at Crawford House over the holidays rather than his own issues.
The village came into sight, draped in greenery and other décor. The scents of gingerbread and cinnamon lingered in the air along with wood smoke. He ran a gloved hand over his nose to chase away the smells.
He greeted several familiar faces with a wave or a tip of his top hat as he passed through the village, heading toward the train station at the opposite end. This place had been his home his entire life. He’d ventured far away for brief periods of time, but always returned. He closed his eyes briefly as a wave of regret and guilt rolled over him, nearly crushing him with its weight. Because the last time he’d left, he’d returned too late.
As he arrived at the station, the train pulled into view, its whistle sounding mournful in the dusky light. Or perhaps it was just he who felt melancholy. As long as his mood didn’t deteriorate beyond that into despair. He drew a deep breath of the brisk air to chase away the shadows and found a place to wait with the phaeton until the passengers disembarked.
Countess Adair--or Grace, as she insisted he call her--had given a vague description of a slim woman in her twenties with dark hair and spectacles. He wasn’t certain that was enough for him to recognize her, but surely the woman would be looking for someone to pick her up.
“Good evening, Lord Barclay.”
Cole turned to find Terrance Penney, the blacksmith, drawing near. “Done for the day?”
“Indeed. Headed home for supper with the family.” Penney cringed, as he glanced up at Cole as though realizing his mistake too late.
Smothering a sigh, Cole only nodded as he glanced at the passengers now filling the platform. Weary of the looks of pity he garnered each day, he wished people would forget his loss. Perhaps that would allow him to do so as well.
Not that he wanted to forget his family...only the aching loss of them.
Realizing he made no sense, even in his own head, he nodded. “Give Mrs. Penney my best. Are your sons and their families joining you for the holiday?”
The man’s eyes lit up. “They’ll be here at the end of the week.”
Another glance at the platform showed the crowd had thinned, leaving only a few who fit the description of his target.
“I believe the person I’m to meet has arrived. Enjoy your time with them.” He secured the reins and, with a final nod to Penney, hopped down and made his way to the platform. The tidy, modestly dressed woman standing by herself didn’t wear spectacles, but no one else matched his instructions. “Miss Flitchard?”
The lady he addressed was looking in the opposite direction and didn’t respond to his inquiry. Either she wasn’t Grace’s friend or she had difficulty hearing.
The woman seemed to at last realize she’d been spoken to and turned to him. “I’m sorry?”
“Miss Katherine Flitchard?” Cole asked.
“Yes. Of course.” She blinked up at him, her dark eyes appearing startled in the dusky light. Her cheeks were pink from the frosty air along with the tip of her upturned nose. A brown hat perched upon her head, matching her woolen cloak. “I’m Miss Flitchard.”
“I was asked to collect you.”
“How thoughtful of you.” She studied him as though determining whether to believe him. “And you are?”
“Cole Dumont, at your service.” He gave a bow, not bothering to share his title. This was the country, after all, not London. A glance at the ground near her practical leather boots showed two well-worn bags.
As he reached for them, she asked, “Who asked you to collect me?”
He paused, frowning at her. “The Countess of Adair.” He wasn’t certain what answer she was looking for. Was she concerned he was some nefarious man sent to abduct her rather than deliver her to the Adairs’ country estate? “I’m to take you to Crawford House.”
“What’s the countess’s first name?”
He paused before answering, surprised at her caution. “Grace.”
“Very well.” Seeming satisfied he was who he said he was, she gave a nod. A single dip of her slightly tilted head.
Why that simple gesture caught his interest, he didn’t know. She raised a brow as he continued to study her.
“I thought you wore spectacles.” Surely her delicate features, those dark, winged brows, and the long, curved sweep of her lashes wouldn’t be quite so appealing if she had them on.
“Oh.” She looked down at her purse and patted it. “I do, but I kept them in my bag during the trip. I mainly wear them to see up close.”
A deeper shade of rose bloomed in her cheeks, whether from him staring or from his far too personal question, he didn’t know. He dragged his gaze away, looking anywhere but at her. “No matter. Is this all your luggage then?”
“There’s also a crate.” She glanced over her shoulder to a large wooden box nearby.
“Brought quite a few clothes with you, did you?” Cole was astonished at the size of the thing.<
br />
“Oh, that’s not mine.” At his frown, she gestured to the crate. “Or rather, it is in my care, but it’s for the countess. She ordered several gowns before leaving London.”
“I see.” He looked at the phaeton, well aware it wouldn’t fit. “I’ll arrange to have it delivered.”
“I’m her seamstress. That’s why I’m here. To see her gowns safely arrived.”
Cole frowned at her, wondering at her explanation. “Countess Adair only mentioned that you were her friend.”
There was no mistaking the surprise that crossed her features. Why would she be surprised to hear that? Surely she knew whether or not they were friends.
He dismissed his curiosity and called for a porter to deliver the crate later. Soon enough, Miss Flitchard was seated beside him, and they were driving through the village toward Crawford House.
“Oh, my,” she whispered reverently.
He turned to see her studying the shops along the street, the warm glow of light visible in many of the windows. Several people hurried past, intent on finishing their business before the shops closed for the evening.
She glanced at him as though feeling his regard. “It’s quite...picturesque, isn’t it?”
He tried to see the village through her eyes. He’d done his best to ignore the decorations, but could see why she might find the village appealing, especially this time of year.
She cleared her throat as though self-conscious. “London is much different.”
“Indeed it is.” He watched from the corner of his eye, unable to dismiss her as easily as he’d expected.
“How long of a drive is it?”
“Not far. Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, thank you.” But the shiver that passed through her belied her words.
“There’s a fur cover under the seat, if you’d like.” For a moment, he thought she’d refuse, but then she retrieved it and spread it over both their laps.
His breath caught as she leaned close, her kind gesture catching him off guard. It had been a long time since anyone had made an effort to care for his wellbeing. He had no idea how to react.
“How’s that?” she asked, looking up at him as she straightened the cover over him, her gloved fingers touching his thigh.
The waning evening light cast a spell over him as he looked into her eyes. She was close enough now that he could feel her body heat, could see the small scar just below the outer corner of her eye. He had the oddest urge to trace it with his finger and ask what caused it, to connect with her on some level.
But that would never do. He broke eye contact and eased back, not wanting to be rude but needing to keep his distance. His sanity depended on it. Forming a relationship was not in his plans. It was too risky of an endeavor and wouldn’t end well.
He flicked the reins and focused on the road ahead. This woman was a stranger briefly passing through his life. Nothing more. He’d do well to remember that.
DANCING UNDER THE MISTLETOE
CHAPTER TWO
Katherine spent enough time observing others to realize that her friendly overture had been firmly rejected. She couldn’t help the hurt that speared through her as he eased away and focused on the road.
Silly of her to care. After all, he was a stranger.
No doubt he was married with children and thought her overly forward. She was not here to form friendships, but to assist Grace with her new gowns. With a quiet sigh she kept all to herself, she pulled her wool cloak tighter and glanced about.
The quaint village gave way to open fields, with hints of civilization becoming fewer and fewer. Evening had fallen in full, leaving the sky an inky black covered with pinpoints of light. She’d never seen anything like it before. In London, only a few stars were visible at night. Nothing like this. The longer she looked, the more lights appeared. It reminded her of a pattern full of pinpricks, held up to the window at the modiste’s.
“My goodness.” As soon as the words escaped her lips, she wished she could take them back. Surely he thought her awe at the sight silly.
Rather than scoff at her in derision, he looked up as though trying to see what she did. “It’s a sight, isn’t it? I forget that you can’t see many stars when in the city.”
Her gaze lingered on the strong column of his throat, the line of his jaw, the shadow of his whiskers, before studying the night sky again. He was a very attractive man. “It makes me feel rather insignificant.”
His dark gaze caught hers, his surprised expression just visible in the lantern light. “It does, doesn’t it?”
She bit her lower lip, determined not to say anything more, else he’d think her ridiculous. Instead she looked up again, wondering why the sight of all those stars put such a lump in her throat.
It had been a long, tiring day, she reminded herself. How remiss of her not to respond when he’d called her name at the train station, but sometimes she forgot what name she was using, just as she’d forgotten to wear her spectacles.
She’d have some work ahead of her when she arrived, as Grace would want to have one or two of her gowns fitted.
She should’ve thought to see if any food was available for purchase at the train station. Or maybe once everyone retired for the evening, she might sneak down to the kitchen and see if the cook would provide something for her. Her stomach grumbled as though protesting the possible delay of an evening meal. Thinking of food was obviously a mistake.
“Hungry, are you? I am as well.” He shared a small smile that eased the coolness she’d felt from him earlier.
“The cold air always seems to bring out my appetite, not to mention the upcoming holiday festivities.”
The glimmer of friendliness she’d seen vanished at the mention of holidays. He must not enjoy them. Some people didn’t. She had fond memories of Christmas as a child but had spent the past few years alone.
Katherine would like a few moments to enjoy the Christmas season. Something about this time of year used to give her renewed hope. Unfortunately, the small bud of it had been stolen, and she wasn’t certain if she could get it back.
~*~
Adair handed Cole a glass of brandy in the library upon returning. “We appreciate you helping us by retrieving Miss Flitchard.”
“Happy to be of assistance.” Cole took a long draught of the golden liquid, appreciating the burn of it down his throat into his chest. The warm sensation in his body felt odd--as though the sudden heat shocked the part of him that was always so cold.
Adair leveled a look at him. “I was pleasantly surprised you accepted our invitation.”
Cole clenched his jaw, not wanting to offer too much of an explanation. Speaking of his entire family dying--mother, father, and sister--never made him feel better. Not that he wanted to forget them. Far from it. He only wanted to put the pain of their death behind him. Though thus far, that had been an elusive wish.
Since Adair patiently waited, Cole finally said, “I prefer to stay busy during the holidays.”
“I’m terribly sorry. Losing your family just before Christmas must’ve been incredibly painful. How long has it been?”
“Two years.” He swirled the liquid in his glass, keeping his gaze focused on that rather than meeting the sympathy in Adair’s. How he hated the pity directed his way. Why didn’t people realize that only made it worse?
“We’re pleased you’re here.” As though sensing Cole would prefer to change the subject, Adair continued, “How did you find Miss Flitchard? I have yet to meet her, though Grace speaks highly of her.”
Cole glanced up, relieved at the change of subject. “She seems quite...” He hesitated, surprised that the first word that came to mind was beautiful. Watching her expression as she stared up at the night sky had been a delight. But the last thing he wanted to do was suggest he was attracted to the woman. “Pleasant. I don’t believe she’s spent much time in the country.”
“A city girl, eh? Well, we’ll have to hope she comes to appreciate the many adva
ntages the countryside has to offer.”
Cole nodded, thinking she’d already found something to admire about their corner of the world. Not that it should matter to him what she thought.
“And how are you finding married life?” Cole asked.
Adair’s grin said it all. He touched his cheek, as though his smile felt unfamiliar. “I never thought such happiness was possible.”
Cole returned his smile, appreciating Adair’s joy. “Here’s to many more years of marital bliss.” He raised his glass, ignoring the twinge of envy that filled him. In his experience, the higher a person’s joy, the further they fell when it was ripped away. Such joy was not worth the risk. Of that he had no doubt.
~*~
Katherine looked about the luxurious bedroom, certain there must be some sort of mistake. She peeked out the door, but the maid who’d shown her to the room was gone.
She turned back to the room to stare at the inviting four-poster bed with its warm brown and gold covers. Different shades of the same colors were used throughout the large room, giving the room a cozy, welcoming feel. A fire burned brightly with inviting chairs before it, and Katherine found herself moving toward the warm glow.
Surely this bedroom was not for the seamstress sent to accompany the new wardrobe, even if the gowns were for a countess. Yet Katherine’s two well-worn bags sat on the floor before the bureau.
A quiet knock on the door interrupted Katherine’s musings. Before she could respond, the door opened and Grace entered.
“I am so thrilled you’re here,” Grace exclaimed as she came forward to embrace her.
Her delight took Katherine by surprise, but she returned the hug all the same. Grace’s affection created a warm, fuzzy feeling inside her. How long had it been since someone greeted her thusly?
She blinked back tears at the thought. Neither Grace’s welcome nor the holidays were any reason to suddenly become maudlin. That would never do.
“Mr. Dumont didn’t have room for the crate containing your gowns, but the porter reassured us it would be delivered promptly.”
Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas Page 109
