Thea was having the time of her life, not because of the Christmas traditions that were being observed in her new home but because her husband appeared to be enjoying them as much as she ever had. He’d helped her brothers carry in the Yule Log and deposit it on the hearth so they could all sit on it before pushing it into the fireplace. He and Thea stood to one side while her brothers took their turns sitting on the log.
The brothers then excused themselves to go enjoy a cup of the eggnog that Mrs. Gilbert had set out in the dining room. When they disappeared, Thea turned to Robert. “Shall we sit on the Yule Log for luck, my dear?”
In response, Robert picked her up and carried her across the room. After he’d gently seated her on the log, he sat down beside her, then leaned to whisper in her ear. “Merry Christmas, my love. I hope sitting on the Yule Log brings me as much luck in the new year as I’ve enjoyed these past two months.”
Thea felt a blush brightening her cheeks because she knew Robert referred both to their wedding and to their marriage, which they’d consummated the night before, at her urging. Not that Robert had been reluctant to make love to her. Heavens, he’d been more than eager but he’d been afraid of hurting her ankle.
But Thea had insisted that they could manage and they had, of course. Now she felt as though she was truly the mistress at Maulton Manor and more importantly, that she was Robert’s wife in every way. She found more about him to love with each passing day and she was delighted to discover that he no longer felt that the full weight of all his responsibilities rested only on his shoulders.
Not that he would ever be a man who lived a frivolous life and for that she was thankful. But she was more thankful that his smile appeared readily and a twinkle frequently lit his eyes. In fact, she decided to see if she could not elicit another twinkle in his eyes right this minute. She leaned toward him and whispered into his ear.
“I fear, my lord, that you are much in my debt.”
“How so, my love?”
“Do you recall that tree I was sitting under when you found me in the forest?”
“Of course.”
“Well, as I’d had the misfortune of both sitting and lying under its branches for a few hours that day, I couldn’t help but notice that there were several bunches of mistletoe high in its branches. To pass the time, I counted the berries.”
“And what does this have to do with me?”
“Since you joined me under the tree for a few minutes, I believe you owe me a kiss for each of those berries I counted.”
A smile pulled at Robert’s lips. “I wasn’t aware that the tradition applied to mistletoe still in the forest.”
“Oh yes. And if the rule has not applied in the past, well, I feel we should create our very own Christmas tradition, just between the two of us.”
Robert chuckled and then leaned close to her ear. His warm breath sent tingles down her spine. “The Yule Log is already working its magic, I see, gifting me with my very own Christmas tradition and one that promises me years and years of happiness ahead.”
Thea threw back her head and laughed and everyone in the household who heard her smiled, aware that this was to be the first of many joyous Christmases at Maulton Manor.
Christmas Mishaps
Amy Corwin
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank everyone who made this story possible, including my editor Helen and all the kind folks at Ellora’s Cave. Thank you!
Chapter One
Caroline’s parents always said her sense of humor would someday grant her as much distress as she so frequently granted them. But Caroline, sure they only exaggerated, brushed off their words with a smile, a laugh and a hug.
In fact, she dismissed their dire predictions right up until the day before her wedding.
On that fateful morning, while Caroline remained in her chambers checking the contents of her bridal chest one last time, her younger sister ran away with Caroline’s betrothed. This obvious carelessness on Caroline’s part in allowing her bridegroom’s attentions to wander was brought firmly to her attention that night at supper.
“Caroline, oh, Caroline, how could you allow such a thing to happen?” her mother asked plaintively.
“You must have done or said something to Lord Tarlton,” her father said, his spoon angrily clinking against the side of his soup bowl. “We’ve warned you before about ill-considered speech.”
Caroline blinked several times and took a careful sip of her consommé to give herself time to collect her wits. When she set her spoon down, she said in her usual dry tone, “I don’t think I mind. Really, I’m sure they’ll find all the joy in each other they both so richly deserve.”
Her parents stared at her, unsure how to take her remark.
“I don’t think—” her mother said in a faltering voice.
“This entire, humiliating experience can be laid directly at your door,” her father said in a firm voice before emphatically finishing his soup in a noisy burst.
Then he summoned abruptly for the next course to begin, as if the removal of the dishes could also remove Caroline’s unpleasant situation.
She nodded and gazed numbly at the spoon in her hand as if she had never seen it before. After the initial surprise faded a bit more, she lifted her head and managed to address her father with an insouciant remark that cost her a great deal to deliver lightly.
“Well, at least Elizabeth picked an excellent time to visit Scotland. All the roses are in bloom. And it will be glorious with the climbers absolutely covering all the walls and surrounding the inn’s windows with blooms. It’s just too bad roses make her sneeze.”
She had thought her calm retort was far better than breaking into tears and running out of the dining room. However, when she glanced at her parents, she was met with blank eyes and frowns.
In the ensuing silence, her stomach twisted as the true significance of her father’s announcement dawned on her. Her food congealed in front of her. After a few minutes, the footman finally removed her plate, quite untouched.
No one believed for a minute that she could be unaffected by such a spectacular humiliation. And over the next few weeks, her father and mother went out of their way to ensure she was aware of their pity. Even the servants whispered and stared at her askance when she entered the room.
This stifling situation effectively prevented her from expressing her own feelings of shame, hurt and betrayal to anyone. As the weeks turned to months, her dismay deepened over her increasingly depressing situation.
Lord Tarlton had been the only man to offer for her after two long Seasons. And initially, Caroline had rather liked him. He was tall and romantically reed-slender. Certainly, his hair was already starting to thin but he treated her kindly and with respect. And although he didn’t understand her quiet jokes any better than the rest of her family, she felt they would get along quite well.
Apparently, he thought he would get along much better with her younger sister, Elizabeth. She, like her father, had no sense of humor at all.
And during the long, two years following The Humiliation, Caroline’s family insisted on providing her with an ample supply of sympathy, pitying glances and heavy sighs. These ensured she recognized, again and again, the complete accuracy of their prediction that she would one day Be Quite Miserable.
To make matters worse, her parents would not permit her visit her sister for fear of creating A Scene. No one spoke Lord Tarlton’s name in Caroline’s presence. And her mother adopted the habit of covering her mouth with her hand and whispering if she needed to refer to either her son-in-law or Elizabeth.
But now, the day before Christmas, Caroline had suffered enough.
The holidays were the traditional time for families to assemble and toast to health and happiness. Caroline desperately wanted to see Elizabeth again and return their relationship to the closeness they’d once had. Despite Lizzy’s lack of a sense of humor, Caroline loved her. She ached to see everyone happy again and la
ughing in front of the fireplace after Christmas supper.
She wanted Elizabeth to know, once and for all, that Caroline didn’t mind—all that much—and that they were still sisters. Even if it did hurt, like the dull ache of a baby tooth ready to come out, whenever Caroline thought about the fact that she could have been Lady Tarlton. Now, instead of being a smugly satisfied wife, she was a rapidly aging spinster, simply because her sister decided a quick trip to Gretna Green was preferable to the dullness of a London Season.
Pushing away her lingering bitterness and sense of loss, Caroline studied her father. They sat companionably in the library, both preoccupied with their own thoughts. She fidgeted in her chair, hoping to catch his attention.
He ignored her, bent over his desk, absorbed in a newspaper. She clenched her hands together in her lap, determined to win his approval to visit Elizabeth. Caroline would prove she was no longer in need of overwhelming, suffocating sympathy. She would rid herself of the last, sour remnants of her humiliation and start the new year afresh.
“Father,” Caroline said. Her voice shook and she stopped to swallow. “I would like to visit my sister before we leave. If I don’t see her tomorrow, it will be months—”
“No!” her father replied, frowning as he tossed his newspaper onto the polished surface of his desk. “I’m sorry but we are leaving to spend Christmas with Lord Adair on the morrow. And your sister is indisposed—”
“This is my last chance—”
He sighed heavily. “I beg you not to bring up such painful subjects. It serves no purpose and I will not discuss it. I know you have suffered—as we warned you many times—however you brought it upon yourself.”
She straightened and managed to carry on bravely. “But—”
He stood, leaning forward, hands resting on the newspapers littering his desk. His heavily lined, though still-handsome, face flushed with anger at her refusal to obey him. “Caroline, you are well aware of the rules. No women will leave or enter any house on Christmas day. Has your envy made you hate Elizabeth so much that you wish her to die from your ill wishes?”
“That’s only a superstition.”
“And you only wish to see poor Elizabeth from spite. Do you wish to frighten her to death?” He shook his head. “I’m very disappointed in you. Very.”
Aghast, Caroline stared at her father. How could he think such a thing of her? Then she sighed, feeling her defiance slip away into the dull, gray mist of futility.
“I love her. I merely wanted to see her—”
“We leave tomorrow for Lord Adair’s home. The plans are made. We will spend Christmas at Airdthorpe, and I will, of course, enter first to ensure we bring no ill luck. No more arguments. I’m sorry, Caroline but we tried to warn you. If you had only listened…”
She bowed her head and went back to her embroidery. Shadows moved over her needlework as her father shook his head at her, blocking the wavering light from the candles. The silence grew as heavy as stones piled upon her breast.
She could not face another year this way. One way or another, she would rise above the past and bring the family back together.
She would find their lost sense of joy.
* * * * *
Early Christmas morning, Edward Masters left his town house with a determined stride. He had informed his father that he would not join the family for the holidays at their country estate—he had other plans entirely that required him to remain in London.
His father, astute as usual, already knew and approved of his son’s decision. The Masters fell in love but once in their long lives and rarely regretted it. Now was his son’s turn to pursue his choice.
So Edward fought his way through blustery, snow-filled streets, trying to keep the wind from ripping his greatcoat off his shoulders. His struggle against the elements echoed his firm resolve to achieve his goal. He was going to convince Caroline Bartlett that it was quite unnecessary for her to continue to sigh over Lord Tarlton. She had another suitor waiting for her, if she would only open her eyes.
When he was sixteen, Edward had stolen a kiss from twenty-year-old Caroline Bartlett and told her he intended to make her his. She giggled and dismissed him with a tap on the shoulder from her fan.
At eighteen, he had tried again. And once more, she pushed him away with an amused laugh.
“You’re too young to know your own mind,” she declared with an edge of mockery.
When he tried to embrace her, she straightened her arms to hold him at a distance. Despite her action, however, her cheeks were flushed with something even he recognized as attraction despite his inexperience.
“And I’m too old for you,” she said. “Look for a younger miss, just out of the schoolroom, to practice your charms.”
“I want you.”
“Well, you shan’t have me. You’re too young.”
Now at twenty-one, he was undeniably a man. This time, he would not allow her to keep him at arm’s length.
Glancing around the snowy street, he neared the Bartlett residence. His pulse raced as he reviewed what he intended to tell Mr. Bartlett and then Caroline.
A swirl of snow blinded him. He wiped the flakes from his eyelashes and noted a cloaked figure racing down the front steps of the Bartlett townhome. It darted across the street in front of him, cloak flapping wildly in its wake.
A maid on an errand, he thought, dismissing the slight form as it disappeared into another cloud of snow.
He mounted the steps and slammed the brass knocker against its metal plate, not caring if he woke the entire household. As the first male to enter the house on Christmas morning, he would bring them all luck. Doubly so when they discovered his purpose.
A harassed-looking butler opened the door, hurriedly stuffing a linen rag into a pocket. “Yes, sir?” he asked.
“I’ve come to see Mr. Bartlett.” Edward stamped his boots to knock the snow off.
“I’m sorry, sir, they are preparing to leave.”
“It won’t take long. And please inform Mr. Bartlett that I should like to request the pleasure of his daughter’s company, as well.”
“I see, sir,” the butler said, still blocking the door.
Edward pushed him aside and strode into the hallway. “Where shall I wait?”
“Here, sir.” The butler gestured to a low settee near the wall. “I will return shortly.”
Pacing back and forth in the narrow hallway, Edward felt his impatience mount. Time stretched unbearably as he moved restlessly, glancing at the grand staircase at short intervals. No one came down the stairs.
He was about to go up when the butler returned. “I’m afraid, sir, we cannot find Miss Bartlett at the moment. And Mr. Bartlett is engaged in preparations to leave—”
Suddenly, Edward remembered that slim figure darting across the street in front of him. Caroline.
He knew her so well that in that instant, he understood her destination and purpose precisely. She was going to visit her sister in an attempt to mend their torn relationship. She would try now—during the Christmas holiday—for this was the most important season for her. It was one of the few times when she let down her guard and set aside her needle-sharp wit to enjoy a rare sense of warmth and belonging with her dour family.
Indeed, it was Caroline’s warmth and joy during Christmas which led him to develop his own plan to ask her to marry him on this particular morning. That and the sense that the Bartletts would believe he was bringing them luck as the first man to step over the threshold on that day.
How could they refuse him?
But the reverse was true for Caroline, if she was indeed on a mission to see her sister. She could not be the first one to set foot in the Tarlton household. Although Edward was not superstitious, he knew Lord Tarlton would be horrified to have a woman as his first visitor on Christmas day.
Tarlton would view Caroline as death coming for a visit. Tarlton and his bride would never forgive Caroline.
Without another word, Edward da
shed out of the Bartlett home. He ran as fast as he could in his heavy boots, slipping over the ice and snow, ramming his shoulder more than once into a brick wall as he refused to slow down at the corners. He was determined to make it to the Tarlton town house before Caroline.
He had to step over the threshold first.
Or at least before anyone knew Caroline had arrived.
Chapter Two
Caroline threw off her cloak, scattering a cloud of snowflakes as she slipped in the servant’s door, hoping no one would notice her. The ice caught in her hair quickly melted in the heat, dripping down the back of her neck and pooling on the flagstones at her feet. The water soaked through her slippers, leaving her frozen toes even colder. She should have worn stout walking shoes instead of the thin leather ones but the maid had already packed her belongings and Caroline didn’t want to raise any suspicions by rifling through the chest.
Shaking one foot, she belatedly tried to think of an excuse for her presence in the Tarlton kitchen on Christmas morning.
She shoved her damp cloak behind a basket of apples in the pantry and rubbed her damp hands over her skirts. Her hem was wet and muddy from her quick walk—how was she going to explain that?
Well, of course they would know she had arrived today but she wanted to present the illusion of being a guest there, already settled in and comfortable.
It would be that much harder for them to turn her away.
Women weren’t allowed outside on Christmas morning. If a woman was the first to enter a house, she brought death with her. Only boys—and men, of course—could roam freely. As always, men could do as they wished while women reaped the dire consequences if they did not obey.
A Cotillion Country Christmas Page 11
