Christmas Carol

by Speer, Flora

  “This is lovely,” she said. “Thank you for taking me out of there. It was all a bit too much.”

  “I do recall you saying once that you do not care for large gatherings,” he replied.

  “I never have.” It was perfectly true.

  “I am glad to hear that in that much at least you have not changed, since as you know I, too, prefer a quiet life in the country over the constant round of tedious social events.”

  “You keep telling me how much I have changed.” Carol paused, hoping he would let slip a few more facts about the real Lady Caroline. She got more than she expected. He seized her hands and held them tight, and when he spoke again it was with a barely suppressed passion.

  “I do not know why you are so different now from your usual cold and unemotional self, but I beg you, Caroline, never change back to what you were before last evening. I could not bear it if you did.”

  “It seemed to me at first that you disapproved of my new warmth,” she said, trying to chose her words carefully so as to avoid making any further mistakes that might prove detrimental to Lady Caroline.

  “I was surprised by it,” he said. “The change was so sudden. Caroline, we barely touched on the subject when we agreed to marry, and you evaded an answer this afternoon. Now I must speak of it again. I know my proposal pleased you for practical reasons, because you told me so. And I knew from your own lips that you liked and respected me. But I received the distinct impression that you regarded certain of your future marital duties with some trepidation—not to say distaste.”

  “Is that what you thought?” Carol tried to play for time until he could reveal more about the exact direction in which the relationship between the Earl of Montfort and Lady Caroline had been going prior to her own arrival on the scene.

  “Dare I hope that you have had time to warm to the prospect of—shall I say it aloud, Caroline?—of sharing a bed with me? Your recent behavior makes me hopeful that this is the case. Otherwise I would not have spoken so boldly this afternoon.”

  “My lord, you will make me blush,” Carol murmured, still stalling in hope of learning more. What in heaven’s name was wrong with Lady Caroline that she did not respond to this man? Was she frigid? What kind of upbringing did girls have in this period of history? From what she had been able to observe so far, Carol knew young women were taught to repress any youthful exuberance in public, and she had no doubt, considering the tight supervision they were under from numerous chaperones and from all the rules of propriety, that most well-bred girls were virgins when they married, but how were they instructed to behave when alone with their fiancés—or their husbands? She had no idea.

  “You were not blushing last night after I kissed you,” Nicholas said, the sudden note of steel in his voice reminding her that, however sensitive he might appear to be in regard to his fiancee, at heart he remained a tough and rather arrogant nobleman. It was dark in the coach, but she could see by the light coming in through the windows that he was sending a meaningful sidelong glance toward her. His tone did not change when he spoke again. “Answer me honestly, Caroline.”

  “You are right,” she said slowly. “I have changed. Knowing our future together is settled, knowing I don’t have to wonder anymore—”

  “Yes,’ he interrupted. “You did tell me when you accepted my proposal that for some time you had been worried about your future, and about Penelope’s.”

  “Do you actually remember every word I spoke?” she asked, prompting him to reveal that conversation.

  “You said you were willing to become Lady Augusta’s companion, or to endure the humiliation of taking a position as governess, if that were the only respectable path open to you, but you did not want such a life for your sister. As I recall, at the time you were planning to turn your own small dowry over to Penelope, to add to the one left to her by your parents, in order to enable your sister to make a good marriage. Fortunately, I was able to convince you that Penelope would surely refuse such a scheme as unfair to you, and so you agreed to my proposal of marriage instead. I believe my offer of a substantial dowry for Penelope was the deciding factor in your decision.”

  “Anyone would wish the best in life for Penelope,” Carol said.

  “It was your affection for your sister that first endeared you to me, Caroline. Having no brothers or sisters myself, I view the love between you and Penelope as beautiful and sacred.”

  “Am I dear to you?” she whispered.

  “You are becoming more so every day.”

  “Oh.” Carol smothered the quick little spurt of jealousy that was the result of knowing she would not be present to be the recipient of Nicholas’s love. She had no right to be jealous of Lady Caroline. It was not Lady Caroline’s fault that Carol Simmons was presently living in a nineteenth-century body.

  In fact, Carol was beginning to like Lady Caroline Hyde. In a time of limited possibilities for females, a woman who was willing to marry in order to secure a comfortable and happy future for her beloved sister was a woman worthy of admiration. Carol just wished she knew what Lady Caroline’s true feelings toward Nicholas were. From her own point of view, marrying Nicholas, going to bed with him every night, and bearing his children was definitely not a fate worse than death. Life with him might well be an interesting variation on life in heaven.

  “You cannot claim to be frightened of me,” Nicholas whispered, his breath warm at her ear. “Not after last night.”

  “I’m not afraid. Not in the way you mean. It’s just that there are things you don’t know about me—I mean, about the real me. I’m not what I appear to be.”

  “Whatever you are, I want you. I want to hold you in my arms, and I pray that when we marry, you will come to me with hope and bright anticipation. I cannot tell you how glad it would make me if you were to admit that you feel a warm affection for me. After the way you responded to me when I kissed you, I think you are not unmoved by my advances. You need not be ashamed of your reaction, my dear. I assure you, it was perfectly normal.”

  “You are speaking of physical love.” She could scarcely whisper the words. Her heart was beating hard—she could hear it in her ears—and she was trembling. This was more than the reaction of Carol Simmons. This had something to do with the body of Lady Caroline. Carol could not understand what was happening to her, and she could not stop shaking. “I ought to tell you—to explain—”

  “Dare I hope that you might look forward to that part of our marriage, now that we are beginning to know each other better and to explore the possibilities that lie between us?”

  “Well, you see—” She wanted to tell him everything, all about Lady Augusta and the way she had moved Carol through time. She wanted to confess her stupid and emotionally destructive teenage indiscretion with Robert Drummond. And when Nicholas knew the truth, she wanted him to tell her it didn’t matter. She wanted him to know all of it and still make love to her because he wanted her, Carol Simmons.

  She tried to tell him, only to discover that she could not. Lady Augusta’s warning, combined with her own fear of the historical repercussions if she violated that warning, kept her from speaking the words forming in her mind and on her tongue.

  “It’s all so complicated,” she whispered.

  “Then let us discover together how best to simplify matters.” Nicholas gathered her into his arms and kissed her hard.

  Carol did not protest. Because it was what she wanted, too, she ignored the continued shaking of her body and the peculiar, panic-stricken little voice deep inside her mind that told her she ought to find the touch of any man repulsive. Another, stronger, voice overcame the first to insist that nothing about Nicholas could ever be repulsive. Carol welcomed his kiss, opening her mouth for him, accepting him in a surge of spiraling desire.

  While they were still locked in that first, long kiss, Nicholas unfastened the clasp of her cloak. His hands slid beneath the heavy folds, pushing back the thick wool and fur so he could draw down the top of her gow
n. She was wearing a yellow, gauzy dress this evening, with not much of a bodice between the low neckline and the high waist, so it did not take much effort for him to get it off her breasts. The air was cold on her bare skin and his mouth was hot. And his hands—never had hands touched her so gently, or wreaked such havoc upon her senses.

  Carol moaned, pressing herself upward into his hands, feeling her nipples harden against his palms. He pushed down upon the yellow gauze again. Within a moment she was fully revealed to him from waist to chin, his to touch and kiss and fondle. And adore.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, though he surely could see nothing in the darkness of the carriage. Now it was his mouth caressing her breasts, first one and then the other. Carol was filled with a sweet, surging warmth. His hand moved lower, over her hip and between her thighs. “Exquisite. Caroline, Caroline—”

  Carol slid down onto the gray leather seat with Nicholas on top of her. His hand stroked her inner thigh with a slow, circling motion. The thin fabric of her gown offered no barrier to erotic sensation. She shifted her legs, hoping, but not daring to ask, that he would press upon and thus ease the aching fullness between her thighs, which was beginning to make her uncomfortable.

  Nicholas’s crisp linen shirt was scratchy against her breasts; the diamond head of the stickpin fastened in his cravat was like ice on her lips as she strained upward, searching for his mouth … and found it… and let him devour her….

  The carriage jolted to a stop. As if it were happening far away, Carol heard one of the footmen jump to the ground and begin walking across crunchy ice and snow toward the door to open it.

  “Dear God, Caroline, what am I doing?” Hastily, Nicholas hauled her to a sitting position and pulled the bodice of her gown upward. Carol heard a ripping sound as the fabric gave way. She fumbled with her cloak, trying to cover herself before the door was opened. Her gloved hands were shaking so hard that she could not get the clasp hooked. She uttered a sob of frustration, which was not caused solely by the recalcitrant clasp.

  “I have it.” Pushing her fingers aside, Nicholas fastened the clasp and drew the edges of the cloak together just as the footman flung the carriage door wide and let down the step. There were torches flaming at either side of the entrance to Marlowe House. Carol saw their fiery light reflected in Nicholas’s eyes. Then he was out of the carriage and turning to hand her down.

  His self-control was amazing. Not by the faintest crack in his haughty expression did he reveal what he and Carol had been doing. He saw her safely inside her door with all the cool self-possession of the born aristocrat.

  “I have no doubt we will meet again tomorrow evening,” he said, bowing while the butler looked on in open appreciation of Nicholas’s good manners. “At yet another ball. Will you save the first waltz for me? And allow me to take you in to supper?”

  “Certainly, my lord.” Taking her cue from him, she gave him her trembling hand to kiss. “If I have counted the days correctly, tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”

  “It is indeed. When we meet at the ball I shall take the opportunity to wish you an especially merry Christmas.” For an instant a glowing fire in his eyes flared and sparkled for her alone, giving a private meaning to his words before he resumed his cool demeanor. “Until then, good night, my dear.”

  The butler closed the door after him and turned to Carol.

  “Your cloak, Lady Caroline?” He stood with his hands outstretched to receive the garment.

  “I think I will keep it on until I get to my room and can take it off in front of the fire,” Carol told him. “I am badly chilled after the cold ride home.” Actually, though it was true she was trembling, she was far from cold. She was still burning from Nicholas’s kisses and his entirely too intimate caresses. Not knowing what damage he might have done to the fragile fabric of her evening gown, she was afraid to remove the cloak until she was in a more private place than the entrance hall.

  She should have known that for aristocrats there was seldom a private place. The maidservant Ella was waiting for her in Lady Caroline’s bedroom, and there was no reason not to let Ella take the cloak from her shoulders.

  “I think I stepped on my skirt when I got out of the carriage. I may have torn the dress,” Carol said, making up the excuse on the spur of the moment.

  “It’s only a little tear.” Ella did not dispute Carol’s explanation. “It can easily be fixed. Oh, you are shivering so hard! Into bed with you, my lady, and I’ll put a warm brick at your feet so you don’t develop a chill.”

  Eventually, following half an hour or so of Ella’s well-meant ministrations, Carol was granted the privacy she sought. Having tucked her mistress between warmed sheets, and after repeated assurances from Carol that she was perfectly well, Ella left the room.

  The hot, flannel-wrapped brick at Carol’s feet did not ease the shaking that seemed to come from the very marrow of her bones. She sensed that it had something to do with Nicholas’s lovemaking, because it had started when he began to talk about sharing a bed with his future wife.

  “Lady Caroline,” she whispered, having no idea where the words were coming from save that she felt them in her heart, “he will love you. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Nicholas will never hurt you. You can trust him.”

  Slowly, very slowly, the shaking subsided. It was as though a terrified, caged bird had been soothed and gentled into a weary sleep.

  What happened just now? Carol kept perfectly still, not wanting by any movement or another whispered word to reawaken the frightened creature that must be Lady Caroline’s consciousness. Lady Augusta said we would be one entity, and that I could not cause her any harm. Why, then, did she wake up in abject fear when Nicholas began to make love to me?

  Carol lay for a long time watching the firelight cast flickering shadows around Lady Caroline’s beautiful room. She tried not to think about Lady Caroline, or about Lady Caroline’s fiance. That last attempt was a hopeless cause, for by now Carol knew with painful certainty that she was never going to stop thinking about Nicholas. She was falling deeply in love with him—with a man who was not hers to love and never would be.

  Marlowe House was in the process of transformation. While the public rooms—the reception room and ballroom and the great dining room—had been decorated for Lady Caroline’s betrothal ball, those parts of the house daily used by the family were traditionally decorated on the morning of Christmas Eve Day so the decorations used would be fresh for the holiday itself.

  Coming down the stairs and into the hall, Carol nearly collided with a footman whose vision was obscured by the huge vase of fir, ivy, and holly he was carrying.

  “Beg pardon, my lady. I didn’t see you.” The footman set the vase down on the table in the center of the hall and hastened away to follow the latest instructions from Lady Augusta’s butler.

  The cream and white drawing room was fragrant with greenery. Knowing that Christmas trees would not become a part of holiday decorations until later in the century, Carol did not expect to see one. All the same, she was dazzled by the festive appearance of bunches of evergreens, holly, and red and white hothouse flowers, all tied with bright red ribbons.

  In addition, the daily bouquets sent from Nicholas to Lady Caroline and from Lord Simmons to Penelope were also crowded into the drawing room, to add their fragrance and color to the Christmas decor.

  “Nicholas.” Carol picked up the card that accompanied the bouquet meant for Lady Caroline. She touched one of the deep red roses with trembling fingers. “What am I going to do about you? How can I keep on lying to you?”

  “Aunt Augusta has gone out.” Penelope poked her head around the drawing room doorway. “Since you were still asleep, she ordered me to supervise the decorating, but it is almost finished. Come join me in the breakfast room, where it is quieter and we can talk.”

  Penelope put an arm around her waist and Carol went with her, sliding her own arm around the girl. Carol had been alone, or at least left to herself, for s
o much of her life that until recently she’d thought it was normal. She had scarcely known how much she missed and longed for the pleasures of ordinary companionship. In Penelope she had found a true sister. Not even the knowledge that she would at some point have to return to her own time could mar Carol’s enjoyment of the hours they spent together.

  In the cheerful, pale yellow breakfast room frosty sunlight streamed through the windows to touch the porcelain bowl of holly sitting in the exact center of the table. The sideboard was laden with kidneys, bacon, eggs, and assorted breads. One of the servants poured coffee for Carol as soon as she sat down at the table.

  “Did you talk to Aunt Augusta before she left?” Carol had not seen Lady Augusta since the previous evening and she was beginning to wonder what was going on. She was almost getting used to Lady Augusta watching her, so it seemed strange for her ghostly companion to absent herself. Carol wanted to talk to Lady Augusta about the sensation of Lady Caroline’s presence that she had experienced. Perhaps Lady Augusta would have an explanation for that occurrence.

  “She told the butler she had some business to transact,” Penelope said, biting into an iced bun. Carol smiled at her, amused to see Penelope’s small pink tongue appear to lick a particle of sugar glaze off her lower lip. Penelope possessed a ready sweet tooth. Carol had noticed that wherever Penelope was, a sweet bread or pastry, or a dish of candy, was always near at hand. Penelope swallowed her bite of currant-stuffed bun and spoke again. “Now that the decorating is nearly over, we are left to our own devices this morning.”