All Things Merry and Bright

by Kathryn Le Veque et al.

  Sitting at a small table, he inhaled the scrambled eggs, toast, and kippers a charwoman delivered just after dawn, because James wanted to get an early start. For some reason Mark did not quite understand, the host suggested the journey to Faversham would take the entire day, when they should have made it in a couple of hours by coach.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention I borrowed a blade, if you want to shave.” Frederick drained his cup of tea and wiped his mouth. “You know, for the first time since we commenced this nightmare of a trip, I actually feel human after that marvelous hot bath. And I am thrilled that we do not have to ride a horse to get you home, because my arse still smarts. Now, if only I had a change of clothes, I should celebrate, but I suppose we had to leave our trunks with your man, because we could not carry them. By the by, you have a boney arse.”

  “See? Things are getting better, and I acknowledge your criticism, but my Amanda has no complaints, and she is all that matters.” Mark stood and walked to the washstand. “And we will soon be home.” Something occurred to him, as he grabbed the soap. “What of your parents? And do you not have two sisters? They cannot all be gone. Why do you not celebrate Christmastide with them?”

  “Life happened, Mark.” Frederick tried in vain to smooth the wrinkles from his coat. “While you and I sailed the seas and climbed the ranks of the Royal Navy, life happened without us, and we cannot change it. For some, upon return, what remained of their world included no place for them, and it is just as well.”

  “But you can go home and visit, can you not?” Mark worked up a thick lather and smeared it over his skin. In the mirror, he monitored his handiwork as he shaved and tried not to reflect on the worry his wife, no doubt, suffered. There would be hell to pay, but he would gladly do her bidding to pass the night in her arms. “Do they still reside in Portsmouth, or was it Plymouth?”

  “Plymouth.” Frederick stacked the dishes and folded the cloth napkins. “There is still some tea in the pot, if you want it.”

  “No, thank you.” Mark rinsed and dried his face. After kissing the portrait miniature of his bride, he tucked it, along with her handkerchief, in the little pocket of his waistcoat and donned his coat. “I say, did not your elder sister marry a lobster? As I recall, he was a lieutenant assigned to the Inconstant, was he not?”

  “Yes.” Frederick folded the blanket from his bunk. “What of it?”

  “I was just wondering—”

  “Oy.” James opened the door to the cabin, and Mark turned. “Admirals, we are ready to depart, if you will join us in the yard.”

  “I am only too delighted.” He held the oak panel for his friend and followed him outside, where a large cart awaited, and he halted in his tracks, as his stomach sank. Frederick would never forgive Mark. “Hell and the Reaper.”

  “You are going to pay for this,” Frederick whispered. “And I am not talking about something as simple as brandy and cigars.”

  “I could not have possibly known.” Mark reminded himself of his predicament, and he was in no position to be choosy. “But it may not be that bad.”

  “Since I have to go to Faversham, I figured I would work along the way.” Without a care, James lifted his wife, who carried a small babe, to the seat. “Just jump in the back, and make yourselves comfortable, because we have several stops to make, given I have numerous orders to fill.”

  So that was why the relatively short journey would take all day.

  “Right.” Mark offered Frederick a hand, but he slapped him aside.

  “I can do it myself.” With a wild series of grunts, in perfect time with multiple failed leaps, Frederick gained the cart with a healthy push from Mark. “Where are we to sit?”

  “Anywhere there is room,” James replied. “And hurry it up, as I would like to make Faversham by nightfall.”

  “Nightfall?” Frederick remarked in a high-pitched tone, as his eyes widened. “And what a lovely smell you have discovered.”

  “Stop grousing.” Mark climbed into the not-so-elegant rig and shoved aside a crate. “Would you rather walk?”

  “Yes.” A chicken clucked a response, and Frederick rolled his eyes. “And I thought it could not get worse.”

  “My friend, if there is anything we learned in the navy, it is that it can always get worse.” Tucked amid stacks and stacks of foul fowl, Mark and Frederick held fast, as James barked a command, and the cart pitched and lurched into motion. After navigating the farm road, the cart turned onto the lane with a mighty jolt, which thrust Frederick at Mark. “Really, though, it is somewhat comfortable, and the birds deflect some of the wind.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, because you just might believe it.” Frederick shook his head. Somewhere in the heap a rooster crowed. “Oh, shut up.”

  Christmas Eve was always a calamitous affair in the Douglas household. With the entire Brethren family gathered in the drawing room, Amanda sat in a high back chair near the window, bouncing Horatio in her lap and searching through the snow for any sign of Mark.

  “Lady Amanda, would you care for more tea?” Red-faced and sporting puffy eyes, as if from crying, Eileen dragged a chair near the hearth. “Or, perhaps, some company?”

  “They can be a bit overwhelming, but you will accustom yourself to them.” Amanda tittered, as Weston, Trevor’s heir, rode Blake’s back, and Edward, Everett’s heir, mounted his papa and charged with great fanfare. “And I hope my nephew did not ruin your holiday. George is a nice boy, if only he remembers that.”

  “But Viscount Huntingdon’s behavior does not signify, Lady Amanda.” Despite evidence to the contrary, Eileen projected a shaky smile. “His was harmless banter and play, and I apologize if I concerned you.”

  “Nonsense, my dear.” In that moment, Amanda noted George’s attention focused on Eileen, and she arched a brow. Despite the protests, there were games afoot, and she met Hamilton’s stare.

  “Yes, my lady?” The butler clasped his hands behind his back. “How may I be of service?”

  “Send for the nannies, as it is time for the children to retire.” Shuffling Horatio, she bent her head and kissed his temple. “We should bring in the Yule Log, because the carolers will soon arrive to serenade us.”

  Given that was always Mark’s task, she swallowed the bitter pill of disappointment as she issued orders to the Brethren. Again, she glanced out the window, as the sun set on the horizon and nightfall encroached with still no word of her husband.

  “Allow me.” Dirk passed Angeline to Rebecca and elbowed his sibling. “Dalton, give me a hand.”

  “Aye, brother.” Dalton saluted and kissed Daphne. “I will be right back, darling.”

  “Mama, in light of Papa’s absence, should we wait to exchange gifts when he returns?” Sabrina hugged her swollen belly and frowned. “Christmastide does not seem the same without my father in residence.”

  “My dear, I could not agree more.” Fingering the expensive necklace at her throat, Amanda lamented Mark’s empty chair, where they often spent lazy afternoons. “But he would not want us to forgo our customary celebrations on his account, so you may indulge as you see fit.”

  After the nannies collected the younger generation of Brethren, Amanda perused the tea trolley and the half-empty decanter of brandy. Given the servants busied themselves with various responsibilities, she decided to retrieve a bottle of the amber liquor from Mark’s study.

  As she strolled into the foyer, she spied the distinct glow of coach lights and shrieked. “It is Mark!”

  Her shout of alarm brought the household running, and she yanked open the door without summoning the butler. The coach drew to a halt, as she descended the entrance stairs, and then she drew up short.

  The rig was empty.

  Biting the fleshy side of her hand, she sobbed.

  “My lady.” The coachman tipped his hat and jumped from the seat. “I have come to deliver the trunks.”

  “But—where is Admiral Douglas?” Choking on sheer terror, she fought tears. “Where is
Mark?”

  “The Admiral is not here?” The coachman blinked. “That is not possible, because he departed Dartford before I did, given I had to supervise repairs to the axle.”

  “Repairs?” She swallowed hard. “What happened to the axle?”

  “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I thought you knew.” As the footmen collected two trunks from the coach, Amanda waved the coachman inside, where it was warm. “So you have not seen Admiral Douglas or Admiral Maitland?”

  “Clegg, you are the first to arrive, and I would have a full account of Admiral Douglas’s whereabouts.” In the foyer, she shut the door. Surrounded by her extended family, she resolved to remain calm, even as panic nipped at her heels. “Now, start at the beginning, and tell me everything.”

  Had she thought she was frightened?

  As Clegg relayed the harrowing accident, Amanda clutched Cara’s hand. To her relief, the coachman explained that Mark and his friend were not injured in the initial mishap, and for that she uttered a silent prayer of thanks. But when Clegg detailed Mark’s departure, on horseback no less, she grew more concerned by the minute.

  Where was her beloved husband?

  “After the Admiral and Admiral Maitland made for Rochester, I engaged the services of a local builder to refit the axle and replace the broken wheels, and I resumed the journey yesterday.” Clegg furrowed his brow and frowned. “I assumed they were here, my lady.”

  “We should form a search party,” stated Blake in a grave voice. “They could be injured.”

  “The roads are too hazardous—you said so, yourself.” Amanda considered the possibilities. “And Mark would not want you to risk your lives on his behalf, thus I will not allow it.”

  “My lady, this is my fault.” Clegg bowed his head. “I will leave, at once, to find the Admiral.”

  “No, you will not.” As much as she wanted to yield to his position, she could not, in good conscience, do so. “But you may depart at dawn, and retrace the journey, that you might locate Admiral Douglas. For now, I would have you take a hot meal and get some rest, which you have more than earned, that you may be awake and alert, tomorrow.”

  “Aye, my lady.” Clegg bowed and exited.

  When Amanda confronted her family, she noted the lines of strain and grim faces.

  “What is this?” She clapped twice. “Dirk, I believe you were going to carry in the Yule Log.” To Cara, Amanda said, “Dearest, would you be so good as to welcome the carolers, if I am not here to do so, as I left something in my chamber?”

  “Of course, Mama.” Cara sniffed and wiped a stray tear. “All right, everyone. Let us return to the drawing room.”

  Putting one foot in front of the other, Amanda climbed the grand staircase and crossed the gallery, blowing a kiss to Mark’s resplendent portrait, in insouciant salute. In the hall that led to their private apartment, she relaxed her shoulders and inhaled a deep breath. After navigating their sitting room, she continued to the inner chamber, marching straight to his side of their bed. Sitting at the edge of the mattress, she pulled his pillow from beneath the covers, hugged it to her chest, opened the door to her heartache, and wept.

  Chapter Six

  December 25, 1816

  To Mark’s abiding delight, when he exited the inn at Faversham on Christmas morning, he discovered the snow had finally stopped. Intent on walking home, which should have put his arrival at just past noon, he stamped his booted feet for warmth.

  “Are you sure you do not want to try and find a ride the rest of the way?” Frederick slapped his forearms and shuddered, as an unrelenting gale whipped through the city. “You could stay here, with me. They have rooms aplenty.”

  “While I appreciate the offer, and it is tempting, given your amity, I must return to my Amanda.” Although he would miss breakfast, if he were lucky, he might make the holiday meal, over which he always presided with his lady at his side. “As it stands, I am unforgivably late already, and—”

  “Admiral.” A familiar shout snared Mark’s attention, and he turned just as Clegg pulled the coach alongside the curb. “Admiral Douglas. Sir, thank heaven I found you.”

  “Clegg?” The coachman could have knocked Mark over with a feather. “How did you get here?”

  “I found a smithy to repair the axle the day after you departed Dartford,” Clegg explained, and then he detailed the refitting that allowed him to complete the journey. “When I discovered you were not in residence, I promised Her Ladyship that I would not return without you, Admiral.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that we would have arrived yesterday, had we remained with you, in Dartford?” Frederick asked with a vast deal of incredulity. “That we could have avoided the miserable trip?”

  “So it seems, Admiral Maitland.” Clegg snickered. “Now, shall we go, as Lady Amanda sits at the front window?”

  “How is my wife?” Mark opened the door but paused. “Is she well?”

  “My lady is worried, sir.” Clegg’s frown told Mark all he needed to know, and he jumped into the squabs.

  “Are you sure you will not join me, Frederick?” Mark relished the heat of the small foot stove. “We have ample space, and you are quite welcome.”

  “Mark, I thank you.” Frederick tipped his hat. “But I have a full belly, a comfortable bed, and I am warm. Indeed, I have everything I want, right here, so here I shall stay. And I bid you a Happy Christmas, old friend.”

  “And the same to you.” Mark nodded once, closed the door, and pounded the side of the coach. “Drive on.”

  As the rig pulled into the lane, Mark replayed the somewhat hilarious chain of events that led him to that moment. He winced as he revisited the instant he discovered Frederick huddled to Mark’s back. He snickered when he recalled Frederick bouncing in the saddle of that poor mare. He guffawed as he remembered the awkward sleigh ride spent in Frederick’s lap. And then there were the chickens.

  Indeed, it was quite an adventure—one he would never forget.

  But then something struck him as odd. The underlying sadness. The solemnity. The proclamation that should have provoked suspicion that all was not as it appeared in Frederick’s life.

  While you and I sailed the seas and climbed the ranks of the Royal Navy, life happened without us, and we cannot change it. For some, upon return, what remained of their world included no place for them, and it is just as well.

  “Oy, Clegg.” Mark lowered the window and rapped on the coach door. “Turn around, and go back to the inn.”

  In mere minutes, the skilled coachman navigated the snow-covered road, and as the coach slowed, Mark leaped to the sidewalk. He burst through the door of the quaint establishment, glanced left and then right, and located Frederick nursing a glass of brandy and sitting at a table in the dining room.

  “What happened to Abigail?” Mark asked in a quiet tone. “And why did you never marry her?”

  “Because she died in childbirth,” Frederick replied in a bare whisper that all but screamed agony. “Along with my heir.”

  “Why did you not tell me?” Mark eased to a chair opposite his friend. “And when did this occur?”

  “While we patrolled the North Atlantic aboard the Renegade.” A tear streamed his cheek, and he averted his stare. “And it is not the sort of thing one shares about the woman he loves, that he ruined her prior to speaking the vows because he could not resist her. That they yielded to the passion, which ended in death. Owing to my shame and the subsequent scandal that rocked Plymouth, my father banished me, and I have had no contact with my family, ever since. Of course, you would know naught of such things, given you lead the perfect life, but I never had your discipline, and I paid for it, in Abigail’s blood.”

  “My friend, we are more alike than you realize, because Amanda was with child when we married, but to say more would be ungentlemanly.” Mark grabbed the crystal balloon and downed the contents in a single gulp. “And we, too, lost our firstborn, after I left Amanda with the Siddons, in Jamaica, because she s
uffered the sickness. But a fever swept the island, and when I returned I found my wife deathly ill and the babe gone. That is why she sailed with me, thereafter. That is why we live in each other’s pockets. And that is why I must get home to her, now.” He stood. “Now, get out of that chair, because you are not alone, and you are going to spend Christmastide with me and my family.”

  Christmastide dawned on a blustery day with a cloud-filled sky, adequate to Amanda’s mood. After dismissing her lady’s maid, she checked her appearance in the long mirror. As per her custom, she boasted a gown of navy blue velvet festooned with the braided regalia of an admiral, to honor the love of her life, and told herself he would be there to savor her attire. Toying with the necklace of diamonds and sapphires, she closed her eyes and uttered a prayer for Mark’s safe return.

  In his dressing area, she smoothed the lapel of his coat of grey Bath superfine and then studied the new black waistcoat, which matched his breeches; she sewed just for the occasion. The shine on his boots reflected her image, meeting her strict specifications, and his lawn shirt and yard-length of linen were heavily starched.

  If only Mark were there to wear the items.

  “My darling, how I miss you.” With a sigh, she strolled from their apartment and descended the staircase, to take her husband’s place at the head of the table.

  In the foyer, she peered out the side window. To her disappointment, there was no sign of the coach. As promised, Clegg departed early that morning, vowing to bring Mark home, and she requested the usual place settings, as she held out hope for his arrival.

  “My lady, breakfast is served, and the family is gathered in the dining room.” Hamilton then addressed the footman on guard. “Remember, you are to notify me, at once, if you spy the coach,”