Almost stumbling on the steps, she steadied herself as the image of a handsome, blond gentleman with penetrating blue eyes sprang unbidden into her mind when she should have been imagining Henry. She shook herself with determination and grasped the handrail firmly. Such foolishness ! Quinton Roxbury. He was just an accident. She didn’t even know the man!
Lisette moved her feet quickly but carefully up the grand, marble staircase in a hurry to reach her own bedroom. She was rushing down the corridor when a voice stopped her.
“There you are!”
Colette had called to her. Lisette turned to face her eldest sister. “I’m sorry I am so late. I will change my clothes and be ready in just a few minutes.”
“Oh, never mind about that. Aunt Cecilia sent a note around that she is ill, so she is not coming to tea this afternoon.”
Lisette relaxed with a heavy sigh. She did not have to spend an interminable afternoon with her critical and demanding aunt after all. What an unexpected relief!
“But I need your help,” Colette began in a harried tone, while beckoning her into her own suite of rooms. “I just received a letter from Mother.”
Lisette knew where this conversation was headed. Reluctantly she entered Colette’s private sitting room and took a seat on a lovely lavender and white striped damask chair. Her nephew, Phillip, toddled over to her, his round cheeks pink and his fingers sticky as he held his chubby arms out to her in eagerness.
“’Sette, ’Sette.” He babbled the name everyone understood meant his Auntie Lisette.
Smiling, she reached down and scooped the boy up in her arms, settling him on her lap and breathing in the sweetness of him. Phillip rested his tousled head on her chest and gave a contented sigh. Instinctively she rocked the child with a gentle swaying of her body, holding him close. She would love a baby of her own when she married.
Suddenly the image of Quinton Roxbury’s face flooded her mind. He stood beside her while she held a baby. How odd! His face replaced the usual image of Henry. Lisette shook her head in amazement and not a little guilt.
“Although he’s been fighting me all afternoon, Phillip’s more than ready for a nap,” Colette explained. She moved with practiced slowness to her own chair and lowered herself down gingerly. “And I am as well,” she added with a light laugh. Colette’s hand moved over the rounded form of her once slim waist.
“Your new baby brother or sister is making your mother very tired,” Lisette whispered to the little boy in her lap. He smiled at her and closed his eyes. She brushed her hand over his soft dark curls in a calming motion.
“Thank goodness,” said Colette in relief, watching her son fall asleep in her sister’s arms. “It’s funny how you have that soothing effect on him.”
Lisette glanced up at her with a helpless smile. “I don’t do anything differently with him than you do.”
“No, but you’re a natural,” Colette grinned. “You’ll make a very good mother someday.”
“I hope so.”
“You will. Now, about our mother,” Colette began, her voice weary.
Lisette nodded, knowing exactly what was expected of her. Unaccountably irritated, she longed for the solitude of her room, wished she could lie down on her bed and close her eyes. A sudden vision of Quinton Roxbury lying atop her in the lane flashed before her. Unable to breathe for a moment, she blinked in rapid succession, trying to erase him from her memory.
“Mother is not feeling well and wants us to visit her. Obviously”—Colette patted her stomach for emphasis—“I cannot go to her right now. With Christmas coming up, Paulette needs to stay and oversee the bookshop, and Yvette—”
“Of course I’ll go to her,” Lisette interrupted without hesitation. Her mother needed her and she was the only one who could be spared. It was always this way. Her nature was such that Lisette would never not do what was expected of her, never not help when she was needed. Hit by a sudden urge to flee the room, she remained seated, not wishing to disturb the sleeping child she held so sweetly in her arms.
“I would go, truly,” Colette began, but Lisette shook her head.
“You are in no condition to travel anywhere. It’s fine. I shall go tend to Mother.”
“Thank you, Lisette.” Her sister sighed in relief. “Even if I could go, you know how things are between Mother and me. And I’m so very short-tempered right now, I’m sure to say something terrible to her.”
Lisette nodded in understanding. “It’s quite all right. I don’t mind.”
Her sister’s relationship with their illness-prone mother had always been fraught with tension, ever since they were young. When Genevieve Hamilton first retreated from the everyday world of responsibilities and took to her bed, declaring herself not well enough to care for the family any longer, it was Colette who had assumed the daunting task of raising her four younger sisters, along with helping in the bookshop. After their father died, Colette had completely taken over the management of their finances, their bookshop, and the daily life of their family.
For this, Lisette and her sisters were all grateful, but this apparent usurpation of power caused untold friction between Genevieve and Colette, making Lisette’s relationship with Genevieve seem placid by comparison. Which was why her sisters had looked to Lisette to calm their mother’s frayed nerves when they could not. It wasn’t that Lisette found their mother’s dramatics any less irritating than her sisters did, it was just that she did not usually allow them to bother her. It was easier simply to agree with her mother than argue with her, and because of that, Genevieve took comfort in Lisette’s serenity. This would not be the first time that Lisette had made the journey to Brighton alone to placate their demanding mother.
“I’ll have Lucien handle all the travel arrangements right away. Do you want to go by train or in one of our carriages ? I always feel better if you take the carriage, although I know the train is faster and you enjoy it more. If you leave tomorrow, you could be home by next week. Unless of course”—Colette rolled her eyes heavenward—“something serious is wrong with her.”
Both sisters laughed as softly as they could so as not to wake Phillip. Their mother’s numerous ailments were never as severe as she declared them to be, and they had grown accustomed to her theatrical illnesses over the years and learned to dismiss them. Laughing, they knew this time would be no different.
Lisette said, “I am sure she’s just lonely and longs for some company.”
“It was her choice to move so far away,” Colette responded, her attitude a bit defensive.
“Yes, but she still gets lonesome for us.” Lisette kissed the top of Phillip’s hair and thought for a moment. “I think I shall take the train this time. Perhaps I can bring her back with me early and she can stay here through the holidays and the birth of the baby.”
Colette made a face and Lisette knew her sister was unhappy with the thought of their mother visiting for such a long period of time. “Why don’t we let her arrive when we originally planned? I don’t think I could bear her to be here an entire month. Not in my condition.”
“All right then.” Lisette shrugged and changed the subject. It was all the same to her. “Do you think Juliette will be home in time for Christmas?”
“Her last letter said she would,” Colette said. “But then again, it’s now the first of December and the last letter we received from her was back in early September.”
Lisette continued to rock the little boy and gave a rueful shake of her head. “Well, we never really expected her to be a good correspondent, now did we?”
“Now that’s quite true, but it would be nice to know if our sister is alive or not.”
Who could even be sure where Juliette was? It had been a year since they saw her last. Juliette and her American husband were sailing around the world together on their clipper ship, the Sea Minx. Juliette was living the adventurous life she had always wanted. A pang of envy shot through Lisette’s heart, startling her. She was not jealous of Juliette, not really, for she
had no desire to travel the world. And yet . . . Something about how her older sister lived the life she wanted called to her, too. Made her want to do the same. Juliette always did what she wanted to do and didn’t give a care for what anyone else thought of her because of it.
What would it be like for Lisette to do exactly what she wished? To live her life as Juliette lived hers? This thought gave her pause. For what was it that Lisette truly wanted? Nothing as exotic as an around-the-world adventure! Heavens, that was not Lisette’s style at all. No, Lisette merely longed to be married and have a husband. She wanted a home of her own. And children, of course. She had the usual aspirations that the majority of women her age had. There was nothing uncommon about Lisette, nothing extraordinary. Her desires were simple enough.
The startling encounter she had just had with Quinton Roxbury flashed through her mind once again. Golden hair. Blue eyes. Velvet voice. Tall. Broad shoulders. Heartmelting smile. The memory of the feel and weight of his body on hers caused her to shiver. Now that had been something extraordinary . . .
A deep sigh escaped her.
It was silly really, the way she continued to think about meeting that man. Why did he keep intruding into her thoughts? Especially when she would most likely never see him again.
Besides, she had Henry Brooks.
Dear, sweet Henry. She had been waiting patiently for him to be settled enough to marry her for years now. They would be wed soon enough, she hoped, and then Lisette would have her husband, a home of her own, and eventually children. Everything would be fine and she would be contented.
The alluring image of Quinton Roxbury’s blue eyes caused her to shake her head once again.
“Thank you for getting my little man to sleep for me,” Colette whispered.
Lisette noted her sister’s eyes were heavy. “You should nap, too,” she suggested.
“I think I shall.”
“Colette?”
“Yes?”
She hesitated a moment. “Do you know the gentleman who was just here to see Lucien a little while ago?”
“Was someone here to see him?” Colette yawned a little. “I had no idea. I’ve been up here with Phillip all day. Why do you ask?”
Lisette paused, feeling a trifle awkward. “No particular reason.”
“Lisette?”
Her eyes met Colette’s. “I met him outside as he was leaving. I just wondered who he was.”
Colette struggled to suppress a larger yawn, covering her mouth with her hand. “You shall have to ask Lucien about him.”
Lisette was not sure if she would do that. Perhaps it was best not to know more about the handsome man who had quite literally swept her off her feet. Yes, perhaps that was best.
With great care, Lisette stood and shifted the weight of the sleeping child to her hip. She carried him into the adjoining nursery. Decorated in pastels and soft fabrics, the room was warm and sweet-smelling and a cheery fire burned in the hearth. After placing Phillip in his ornate cast iron and brass crib draped with swaths of silk, Lisette placed a kiss on his chubby cheek and tiptoed from the room.
As she passed by, she caught her reflection in the mirror and paused. Her green eyes looked overly bright, and her usually fair complexion was flushed with color. Still reeling from her encounter with Quinton Roxbury, she gave herself a helpless smile. With a sweep of her hand, she smoothed her auburn hair, which was pinned loosely on her head, and took a calming breath before rejoining Colette.
“I can’t get up.”
Lisette giggled at the sight of her pregnant sister trying to hoist herself from the chair. Reaching out her hands, she helped to pull Colette to her feet.
“You shouldn’t sit in that chair anymore! It’s too low. Come, let me help you to the bed.”
Colette accepted her assistance readily and followed her into the master suite. “I hope I have this baby before Christmas.”
“I do, too. Now slip off your shoes and lie on your side.”
After Colette had managed to situate her petite body on the bed as comfortably as her growing shape would allow, Lisette covered her with a soft woolen blanket.
“Thank you,” her sister murmured.
“You’re very welcome, but you need to let Rose help you with Phillip more often. You’re exhausted.”
Lisette noted that her sister’s delicate facial features, which were so like her own, were drawn and tired. Colette’s blue eyes had circles around them, and her dark hair hung loose and thick about her shoulders. The pregnancy had given her tresses a lovely shine, but her usually beautiful and vibrant sister appeared wan and weary.
Colette insisted upon taking care of her son without the assistance of a nurse or nanny, leaving the perfectly capable Scottish woman that Lucien hired in spite of Colette’s protests with very little to do. Even after Phillip was born, Colette had spent at least two afternoons a week at the bookshop working with Paulette. Her sister’s independence and determination to do everything herself was wearing her ragged.
“Let Rose help you,” Lisette suggested again. “She passes most of her day in the kitchen gossiping with the cook when she should be here helping you with Phillip.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Colette murmured, unable to keep her eyes open any longer.
“No maybes,” Lisette declared firmly. “I shall send Rose up later with Phillip’s supper and a tray for you. Now get some rest.”
Once again, Lisette tiptoed from the room, leaving her sister and nephew in peaceful slumber. Out in the hallway she made her way to her own bedroom in the opposite wing of the house. A nap sounded like a good idea to her, too. Now that she knew she would be traveling to visit their mother in Brighton in the morning, she would need all the rest she could get.
“Lisette!”
She turned at her name. Paulette, her younger sister, came rushing toward her, her blond curls flying around her anguished little face.
“What is it?” Lisette asked.
“Did Colette speak with you? Are you going to visit Mother? I cannot—”
“Yes, I know,” Lisette interrupted what she knew would be a list of reasons Paulette could not be spared. “I’m going to Brighton by train tomorrow. Don’t worry.”
Paulette’s expression lit up with a radiant smile. “Oh, thank you! I would go to her, but with preparing the bookshop for Christmas and everything, I just can’t leave. And you know how Mother can be. You are so good with her. I don’t know what we would do without you—”
“It’s fine. Truly. I don’t mind going at all.” She turned and continued to walk to her room, simply wanting to be by herself to think about . . . things.
Paulette called after her, “You are an angel, Lisette.”
3
What Child Is This?
Oh, sometimes stealing was just too easy.
Tom didn’t like stealing from people. He really tried not to, but sometimes it was simply far too easy.
Some fancy toff would walk by with a big fat purse acting as if he owned the world, and Tom just couldn’t resist taking something from him. Besides he needed that money. And so did Mama. He always told her he earned whatever money he stole because Mama thought he was still working for the old shoemaker. But Tom promised himself he would go to hell before he ever went back to work for that old blighter again. Not after what he tried to do. No sir! Tom was no fool.
It pained him to know that Mama would worry if she knew that he was stealing, but what she really feared was that he would get caught. Tom feared that, too, to be sure, but he knew he wouldn’t get caught. He was too quick on his feet, his touch so light, he was long gone before anyone realized that they’d been pinched. Besides he knew he would not always be forced to steal to survive. So he let Mama believe he was still working for the shoemaker. That giant arse! How he hated that man.
Tom had a plan. Yes sir. He had a fine plan to help him and Mama.
Because he certainly didn’t squander all the money he stole. No sir. In fact, he
saved more than he spent, and he’d saved up quite an impressive bit so far. Someday he and Mama would live in a proper house and she wouldn’t have to work her fingers to the bone for a few measly shillings.
Now, eyeing the fancy gent with the long navy coat as he stood and bartered with the young lass selling matches, Tom watched with calculated carefulness as the man removed the purse from his pocket and gave her a coin. With practiced skill Tom observed which pocket and slid off the barrel on which he had been perched in a casual pose, pretending to bite his fingernails. Pulling his tattered tweed cap low over his head, Tom slowly moved toward his intended target.
As the gentleman ambled through the busy lane, he did not notice the small boy who followed him, nor did he feel the quick little hand that slipped inside his coat pocket and removed his purse in the blink of an eye. Jostled by the bustling crowd, the man walked on his way, oblivious of the boy who raced in the opposite direction with all of his money stashed inside his threadbare shirt.
His heart pounding with excitement and exultation, Tom did not stop running through the crowd until he reached the grimy alley he knew like the back of his hand. Only then did he stop and catch his breath for a moment. It wouldn’t do for the big lads to see him all rushed and breathless. Tall Jerry Gray and his little gang would be all over him in an instant and take his money as they had a time or two before. The purse was safe enough inside his shirt for now. Ignoring the guilt that threaded through him, he would count it all later, in the safety and privacy of his home.
Instead he walked casually along the grimy Saint Giles alleyway toward the rundown building in which his mother rented a tiny garret room. Stepping over scattered refuse and dipping under tattered clothing hung on lines to dry in the freezing cold December air, he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble from the gang boys.
One thing Tom had learned to stay clear of was trouble.
“Hullo, Mrs. Framingham.” Tom nodded his head at the practically toothless old woman who stood in the doorway of the wooden building, her filthy apron covering her even filthier skirt. She always stood guard at the door on rent day, making sure each of her tenants was accounted for and no one slipped by her.
It Happened One Christmas Page 2
