Under a Christmas Sky

by Sharon Sobel

  She shook her head ruefully. She had embroidered a splendid reticule for Laurentia, similar to one her sister-in-law once admired at an Assembly in Bath. “You say that to make me feel better, but you must admit, it does sound like a poor excuse.”

  He glanced down as he patted her hand on his sleeve. “I do not think it sounds poor at all. In fact, I would very much prefer it to the sorts of things I am likely to receive on both of my family’s celebrations of Christmas: leather pouches, bottles of rum, caps that are a bit too tightly fitted and invariably itch.”

  “Poor dear,” she said, before she could reconsider her own words. He pulled her closer to him as they started up the path. “I don’t think it sounds so very burdensome, and the rum would be rather pleasant, especially in a cup of tea. But why do you celebrate two holidays when the rest of us must suffice with Christmas Day?”

  They entered the posting house, and Will stamped his feet heartily on the rug at the door. It already bore the melting snow and ice of other visitors.

  “I grew up in The Hague, where gifts are exchanged early in December, with the arrival of Sinterclaus. Our butler played the part very well, though his donkey once ate the leaves on the holly branches and became very ill. And then, because my father is English, my brothers and I received yet more gifts on Christmas Day.”

  “Poor donkey,” Julia murmured, as she slipped off her jacket and handed it to one of the servants. “And poor boys. I cannot understand how you endured such an extravagance of riches.”

  Will seemed happy to pass off his own coat, as the large room was overly warm. “The donkey survived and was rewarded with special care in the stable. And my brothers and I turned out all right. Alexander is a barrister, and Frederick is training to be a surgeon in Leiden.”

  “So what prompted you to serve so far away, and risk your life in the endeavor, Lord Willem?” Julia asked, knowing she was being somewhat impertinent. She had already guessed he was a man of action, someone who would not be satisfied to ride out on his estate in the morning and remain in his library all afternoon. “Surely you have interests other than reading the manuscripts of men who imagine themselves writers?”

  If he hadn’t already realized it by her manners and bearing, her cheerful teasing would have been sufficient for him to recognize her as a lady of quality, if not one titled. He supposed he recognized it on the first morning as soon as she opened her lips. Yet she only would allow that she was a singer, and thus he convinced himself that she was a performer and a woman of some experience. The consequences of sharing a room, if not a bed, would be easily overlooked by anyone for whom it might matter.

  He wondered if she realized how easily she gave it all away. Did actresses and singers bring Christmas gifts to the homes at which they were paid to perform? Did they presume to measure the worth of men’s words, and question what they did to distinguish themselves among their peers?

  She smiled as she looked around at the room, at the rustic decorations, at the tempting platters brought to nearby tables. And then she turned that bit of approval on him. Though he had known her for only a few days, it seemed that nothing could be more natural than that they sat across from each other, settling in to share a meal.

  “What shall we order?” he asked. “The stew looked rather hearty, though the onions might make us somewhat undesirable travel companions in the close proximity of the coach.”

  “Let us nibble on peppermint, afterwards, and eat whatever we choose. That is . . .” she hesitated.

  “You left your peppermint leaves in the wreck, I daresay.”

  “I believe I saw some hardy stock just outside the door, peeking out from the snow. But I meant that I may not have enough means to see me to and from Seabury. I thought I recovered everything, but I was mistaken. So, as you see, I am somewhat dependent on your charity.”

  “Let us call it a loan, then, and you will eat whatever you fancy. I am certain my poor funds can extend as far as that.”

  “Are you quite certain? You are very kind.”

  “Mrs. Townshend, why is it you might tease me, but take things all too seriously when I tease you? We are traveling companions, are we not?”

  He was rewarded when she blushed, and her pale face was transformed. If she was beautiful before, she was radiant just now. But instead of laughing with him, she grew more serious.

  “Lord Willem, I am not very worldly, but I know that though we are companions, we cannot be equal. When a man gives a woman coins, or even when he buys her dinner, there are assumptions made, and certain expectations. I hardly know you; and yet, in order to make my way to Seabury, it is necessary for me to trust you and be in your debt.”

  She was a lady. And a worldly one, for all she said.

  “When you are reunited with your funds, I shall allow you to repay me. Or, perhaps better, you might erase your debt with a song.”

  “With a song?” If possible, she was even more flushed than before.

  “It is what you do, is it not?” he said. “And I do not recall that anyone has ever sung to me before. My mother whispered, my father proclaimed, my aunt barked.”

  “And Thomas Raffles?”

  “Thomas cajoled. Why else would I ask a perfect stranger to read his blasted manuscript?”

  Her good humor returned, though the color remained in her cheeks. “It is not a blasted manuscript, as I am quite enjoying it. And I am no longer a perfect stranger, as you have noted.”

  “There you are mistaken, Mrs. Townshend. I think you are, indeed, perfect.” Something changed in that instant; he saw it on her open lips and her wide-eyed look of wonder. Some things were moving far too quickly, and some things were not moving at all. “And now we must eat, for I am famished.”

  He caught the attention of the innkeeper, who did not hesitate to make his own recommendations, assure them that the bread was freshly made not an hour before, and that there was to be a Christmas ball in town that very evening. And that if they chose to join the townspeople there—and there would be some very fine people, all the best people, in attendance at the ball—there were rooms available just up the stairs that were very comfortably furnished.

  Mrs. Townshend spoke as she watched their cheerful host disappear into the kitchen. “Would you not consider that little speech a song, Lord Willem? A siren’s song, seducing you into staying, reminding you of the pleasures of English country life? Did you miss it while you lived in the East Indies?”

  He had found his own siren there, and he thought he would stay with her forever. But now Leena seemed part of another life, one that faded like the ink on a much beloved book. For the first time in over a year, he somehow thought it possible to turn to a new page.

  “I would much prefer a song in a sweeter voice, Mrs. Townshend. Our innkeeper has a voice like coal rattling down a chute.”

  “Do you mean, the way I sounded two evenings past, when you found me?” she asked cheerfully.

  He was saved the delicate sidestep of answering her when a steaming loaf of bread was delivered to their table. The gravelly innkeeper might have exaggerated some things, but not the quality of the bread. The rest of the meal followed, onions and all, and they savored it all without pausing for conversation. But when Mrs. Townshend sat back in her seat, he was reminded that he still owed her an answer.

  “I work for the Foreign Office,” he said, and she stared at him blankly. “Nothing as exciting as leading men in battle or spying for his Majesty, but I am a negotiator of treaties and contracts.”

  “You lived through the eruption of a volcano, Lord Willem. I believe that is as exciting as life can offer,” she said. “What is it you negotiate?”

  “The ownership of the East Indies will soon return to the Dutch. There is the rather large matter of the transference of records and property, personnel and procedures.” It did sound rather important,
now that he said it out loud.

  “I imagine you have unique skills in speaking several languages,” she said.

  “Not unique. But in these matters, even more important than speaking is listening to what other people say.”

  “Such as Thomas Raffles? I imagine you had to listen to him all day long.”

  It was hard to deny that. “Except when he was writing, of course.”

  From across the room, Will saw Milton gesticulating a bit wildly. He assumed his man had found good company and food in the kitchen, and hoped he did not remain hungry while his companions flirted with each other over a loaf of warm bread.

  “Pardon me for a moment, Mrs. Townshend. Milton seems quite anxious about something.”

  He was aware her bright eyes studied him as he rose and walked through the labyrinth of tables and chairs, and he stood a little straighter for it.

  “My lord,” Milton began hurriedly. “There is a strong expectation that it will snow heavily this afternoon, and many of the men suggest it would be safer to spend the night here in Langerford.”

  “That might just be a rumor set about by the innkeeper. I suspect he is the mayor as well as a man of business, and it would be a boost to the local coffers if we remain.”

  Milton nodded. “That might well be, my lord. But it is already snowing.”

  Just then, the door was flung open, and a blast of snow blew in with the frigid air.

  “Damn,” Will said. “We will be lucky to arrive in Seabury in time for Easter.”

  “Last night you expected to be there in time for Twelfth Night. We are not likely to lose another four months in this storm, my lord.” Milton was nothing if not logical.

  “Damn,” Will repeated, though aware that this additional delay might be a very fine thing. He nevertheless made a show of impatience. “But we are in for the night. I will make arrangements with the innkeeper, and explain it to Mrs. Townshend. She will not be pleased.”

  Milton looked over his shoulder, and Will guessed the lady had watched their every gesture, every nuance of their conversation.

  “I think she may be very pleased, my lord,” said Milton. “And I will see to the horses. They will be delighted as well.”

  WILL APPROACHED their table, looking like a man of contradictions. The solemn set of his mouth did not seem consistent with the brightness of his light eyes and his smooth brow. If anything, his expression could best be described as mischievous.

  “Is there another lady on the road, awaiting your rescue?” Julia asked. “Has another coach arrived with travelers on their way to Seabury?”

  “If they have arrived, they are not likely to depart any time soon. It appears the snow is once again falling heavily, quite determined to stop us in our tracks.”

  Julia had the feeling she matched Lord Willem’s expression upon hearing this news. Surely, they wished to be on their way. They had an obligation to their hosts. And yet, the thought of prolonging their journey seemed perfectly delightful.

  “Whatever shall we do?” she asked, hoping she managed to sound sufficiently worried.

  “I shall speak to Mr. Granger at once, and secure two rooms in the house for us and one in the servants’ quarters for Milton.”

  Julia nodded, considering that what they lost in time, they were gaining in respectability. She wondered if she was foolish to distrust him, for he did not seem particularly desirous of taking her money or her virtue. She supposed that was a compliment.

  But perhaps the blow to her head had made her reckless, for she wished he was not so much a gentleman. It had been many months since she had longed for the touch of a man, to be held by him, to be embraced in a haven of love. And with that sudden, urgent longing came the sense that she wanted nothing more than to hold him as well, to comb her fingers through his light hair, and satisfy some wanton bit of curiosity about whether his clothes were neatly padded, or underneath his woolens and leather, he was all Will.

  “I will return in a moment,” he said, and was off to see to their business.

  The dining room had gotten more crowded since they arrived, which must be very good news for Mr. Granger. There had not been such a winter in anyone’s memory, and she was glad that there was at least one person who did not have much reason to complain about it. Once again, she thought of Mimma and their driver, and prayed they were safe and warm, no matter what they had done.

  “It is all set,” said Will, returning to their table. He slipped into the opposite chair and helped himself to more bread. “You are well situated on the third storey, in the back of the house, and I am on the second.” He paused. “Sister.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, kind brother. But I doubt anyone could find the slightest resemblance between us.”

  “In appearance, perhaps,” he said. “But there is more to us than that.”

  It was an enigmatic remark, but she hesitated to pursue it just now. She took several spoonfuls of the stew, and savored the warm gravy soothing her throat.

  “If we retire early this evening, we can hope to make a good start in the morn,” she said conversationally.

  “Perhaps not,” he said, pausing to take another bite. “Mr. Granger advised me that there is much ado in town this night, as there is a Christmas ball. He went to such lengths to persuade me that it was nothing to what we were probably accustomed, that I could not help but assure him that we would attend.”

  “A Christmas ball? But I have nothing to wear but some mended wool gowns. The townspeople will not allow me through the door.”

  “As you are my sister, I imagine they would let you through the door if you arrived in a large burlap bag. But here is the good news: Mr. Granger, that scoundrel, tells me there is an excellent little shop, not many yards down the road, where we can purchase whatever we might need to present ourselves.”

  Julia laughed. She hoped Will was keeping an account of what she was costing him. “Why is he a scoundrel?”

  “If I did not know better, I would suspect he was in collusion with the Vulcan gods of the East Indies, bringing us all this snow halfway across the globe, so that we might sojourn in his town. I should not be surprised to learn that his daughter owns the shop, and his brother the assembly hall where we will dance tonight.” He smiled at her. “That is, if we attend?”

  “I have not danced in some time,” she confessed. But it was a weak excuse, for as soon as the music started, she knew her feet would move on their own. “I shall also require dancing slippers, for all I have are my sturdy leather boots.”

  “Then we shall be fine partners, for I am told that I dance with all the grace of a man wearing sturdy leather boots. Ones shackled in irons.”

  “Oh, dear heavens!” Julia shook her head. “But do you not have your bags packed with all the suitable garments for the Howard’s house party?”

  “Oh, indeed. I said I dance with an utter lack of grace, but I manage to accomplish that in suitable finery.” His hand hovered over the bread, but he changed his mind. “I have everything I require for the Howard’s party, including my costume for the masquerade.”

  Julia forgot about that, and thought wistfully of the lovely green shepherdess’s gown her dressmaker had made for the occasion. It defied logic that a shepherdess would be dancing between falling snowflakes, but she doubted that Cleopatra or Ariadne were familiar with slipping around on the ice, either. And what would a masquerade be without at least a few Cleopatras and Ariadnes?

  But now it appeared she might not find anything more exotic to wear than what could be had in a small shop along a country road. Or what she found in Laurentia’s closet, when she arrived at Seabury.

  “I would be delighted if you would accompany me,” Will said with as much gallantry as he could summon from a wooden chair at a small table.

  “To purchase garments in town?” she
asked, surprised. Not even Leighton thought to join her on a shopping excursion.

  Will was momentarily taken aback. “Actually, I meant tonight’s ball. But now that you mention it, I shall accompany you into town, as well. The road will be slippery and there will be packages to carry.”

  “I am sure one of the servants could assist me. If Mr. Granger is as canny as you believe, he might be willing to join me, himself.”

  “I will accompany you,” Will insisted, and sounded as if nothing else could possibly be acceptable.

  IT WAS FOOLISH, but he would not let her out of his sight. The moment he pulled her from the wreck of her coach, he knew he was responsible for her, but had not paused to examine his feelings until they were trudging through the deepening snow on their brief journey into Langerford. They walked in step, his arm around her shoulders and a wool blanket around them both, not speaking, intent on not falling and bringing the other down.

  “I believe we have arrived at our destination,” Julia said, breaking the spell. “I do not think you will find much to interest you here, my lord. Perhaps you ought to return for me in an hour’s time?”

  Reluctant to leave her, he pushed against the door, which opened onto an intimate scene. The shop was smaller than his study on Edgware Road, and a good deal more crowded. An array of gowns and capes hung from wooden poles, and narrow tables were burdened with bonnets, slippers, and garments not intended for his eyes, but with which he had a passing familiarity. Two women, one whose features bore a distinct similarity to those of the innkeeper, emerged from behind a white curtain.

  Julia was wise to wish him on his way, for he was a stranger in a strange land. And yet, perhaps, he was not the first to blunder into this sanctuary for ladies, for even as she told the women what she desired, he was ushered to a stool in the corner of the room.

  And there he sat, curiously watching the show while the snow rattled against the window behind him. He never really thought about the way ladies managed to outfit themselves, assuming it was not so very different from the way he did so. He had his valet order a new set of shirts on a regular basis, and he endeavored to arrive on time whenever an appointment had been arranged for a fitting on a new jacket. Almost all his garments were white, black, or gray, though he did have an old tartan that he pulled out for certain occasions. But this business seemed a good deal more complicated, as gowns of various colors were placed for effect beneath Julia’s delicately pointed chin, and lengths of ribbon were measured out along the edge of a table marked out in inches. There was much ado about the depth of the neckline, and if there were matching slippers available in her small size.