Her light expelled his darkness, an obscurity he hadn’t realized had turned from a hazy grey to a deep midnight void he hadn’t wanted to escape.
Yes, in London he was never alone—there was always a rousing game of cards to be had, or a new ladylove to entertain. But he knew not one of them remembered him past their brief moments together.
Would Pippa remember him now that he was gone?
The thing about being forgettable is that Lucas also forgot those he left behind—or did they leave him behind?
Deep down, he knew he’d never forget Lady Pippa. In the late night hours, or noonday sun, she would be all he thought about, though he would be tied to another.
Christmastide would forever more be a time of loss, much like the frigidly cold nights had been since Randolph was taken from him. Possibly more painful as the years passed and he saw Pippa about London—she would certainly find a good match. She would even fall in love, have children, and live a life many could only dream of.
Not Lucas—he did not allow himself to dream.
But for Pippa, he would have dreamed again. Dreamed of being a better man, a man not weighed down by his past, a man with a heart to give…not an empty shell.
Lucas took heart in knowing that scandal would never touch Pippa—she may not know what he’d given up for her, but he knew. He would marry—dooming himself and, likely, Lady Natalie—to a life without promise, only so it freed Pippa to find all she deserved.
“Maybe it is I who should be leery of the match,” his father proclaimed, bringing Lucas back to his current situation. “My son will be a marquis and will have the choice of any young lady he desires.”
“Oh, I have certainly heard rumors of how frequently he desires such ladies,” Sheridan retorted.
Lucas should take offense to the harsh comment about his rakehell tendencies, but there was no point. At one time, Lucas would have brought his mistress to the opera, or a grand dinner within one of London’s most elite homes—and dare anyone to say a negative thing about it to his face. He’d found pleasure in flaunting his scoundrel ways to make sure his parents heard of his antics.
“Besides, you, Bowmont, have no valid causation for withdrawing from the signed marriage contract. It is my family—and my daughter—who are the victims here,” Sheridan thundered, his fist slamming against this desk, rattling his ink pot. “My daughter will be scandalized, and her chances of securing a favorable match will decrease exponentially after this mess makes the Post.”
“And how will it make the Post?” Lucas spoke for the first time, and both men looked to him as if they’d forgotten he was in the room. “We are all here—your family, my family—I have yet to sign any agreement. And the match was not spoken about in London. There will be no scandal—no lasting shame. I am here, and I am…agreeable—if not happy—with this match.”
Both men were shocked into stillness. Lucas didn’t bother turning to see his father’s reaction. But if Sheridan was any indication of the utter bafflement in the room as his mouth opened and closed much like the small fish Lucas had used to catch in his family’s creek, he knew his father was certainly perplexed.
“Do I need to sign something?” Lucas raised his brow in question. “All of this bickering is unnecessary. As all of London knows, you are partners in many business ventures—very successful ventures, I might add—and it only stands to reason you would both like to keep all the profits within the family. What better way to ensure that than to merge our families?”
Odd that Lucas had never thought much of the way women were used like chattel; traded and bartered in exchange for land, titles, and business. Though, it seemed entirely different when it was a man’s life that hung in the balance while awaiting a favorable negotiation and terms.
He understood the reasoning behind the match. They were two very powerful, very wealthy families.
“If we void this contract and end marriage settlement talks, I—and my investment—will walk away from your planned changes in the village,” Bowmont said. The victory in his tone told Lucas that his father knew this was his final hand, and it was all he needed to win. “All your hard work would be wasted. Is that what you want, Sheridan?”
“Bloody hell, you know I do not want any such thing!”
“But you are willing to haggle over this marriage settlement all because my son was caught in a storm and sought shelter?” his father asked. “What if he had been lost during the storm—do you know what that would have meant for the future?”
Sheridan remained silent, likely knowing the answer, but also confident Lucas’s father was going to remind him.
“I do not have a spare,” the marquis said. “After I pass, my estate and title would go to some distant cousin—including all entailed money I’ve invested in our business dealings. You would be saddled with a new business partner…and likely, one without my cunning business sense.”
Sheridan sighed and shook his head. “Rest assured, you have won. The contract will stand.”
“I am no longer satisfied with my family’s portion of the contract,” Bowmont hissed, knowing he held the upper hand at last. “There are a few things I’d like to amend.”
“You are not satisfied with taking my daughter? Now you intend to bleed me dry?”
“I have no such demands…” Bowmont allowed the room to go silent as Sheridan pulled his cravat lose as sweat broke out on his forehead. “I want Lady Natalie’s dowry doubled.”
“Done,” the duke agreed without hesitation, knowing the added dowry did not even begin to skim the surface of his wealth—and overjoyed it was all Lucas’s father demanded.
“And the project for the village will start immediately.”
“You know that cannot be done,” Sheridan said, throwing his arms wide. “It is winter. It is impossible for the villagers to be relocated. We must wait until the coldest weather passes and carriages can be attained to move them.”
“Move whom?” Lucas asked, alarmed. “And to where?”
“Until I am deceased, and you take over my estate—Lord help my soul,” his father muttered, “that is none of your concern, Maddox.”
His father’s use of Lucas’s honorary title and not his given name was like a slap in the face. He’d refused to address his son directly for years, and now he wanted to deny him knowledge of what Lucas’s sacrifices would gain his family. It was unthinkable and worse than being outright ignored.
Lucas had asked a direct question, and his father was attempting to shut him out; going from passive observer to active participant in keeping Lucas at arm’s length.
“It is very well my concern.” Lucas stood, having taken enough. “Unless you forget, you still need my signature to secure this match. I have reached my majority, and may very well only have a courtesy title at the moment, but I am of an age to make my own decisions.”
“And if I cut your funds?” his father asked. “Your lovely townhouse will be gone, your bill at the tailor will not be settled, your cupboards will go bare, and you will have to find another way to support your mistresses.”
Previously, all those threats would have had Lucas coming to heel and agreeing to anything his father proposed, but the village? It was the root of Pippa’s bleeding heart. He would agree to almost anything to keep her safe, happy, and away from any scandal caused by him or his family. But never would he allow anything to happen to her village.
It would surely ruin her more than he ever could.
“You can take everything I have, but I will not agree to a marriage to Lady Natalie—or any other woman you propose.” Lucas moved toward the door, ready to depart.
“If you walk out that door, you will be cut off. Permanently!”
“Then so be it,” Lucas retorted. Startled, he realized he was willing to give it all up, no matter if it was only an open threat or idle conversation.
“Where are you going?” Sheridan called in concern. “Bowmont, fix this!”
Lucas halted, turning towar
d his father. “I am going to save a village and Lady Pippa—something I was unable to do for those dearest to me in my youth.”
The door slammed behind him, rattling on its hinges. Besides Pippa’s sweet laugh, it was the most satisfying sound Lucas had heard since his childhood. It was something he should have done a long time ago—stood up for himself, not silently begging for his parents to think the best of him.
For a brief moment, Lucas paused, unsure which way would lead him to an exit.
“Lord Maddox.” Lady Natalie stood a few paces away, her hand raised, pointing to the right and a long, wide corridor. “The front door is that way.”
The girl’s porcelain skin was shiny, and blue eyes stared back at him, a hint of sadness showing through, but he sensed the fleeting emotion was not directed at him or his decision. Nevertheless, he owed her an apology for the liberties their parents had taken in arranging a marriage between utter strangers.
He hesitated further, trying to find the right words that would say all he needed to say, but not injure the girl further. “I am sorry our meeting did not go as planned, my lady.”
“Your heart is settled elsewhere, I cannot fault you for that.” Her arm fell to her side, and her chin lifted in defiance. “No one asked where my heart lies.”
“I know it cannot lie with a stranger,” he responded, taking a step toward her, begging her to understand, to know he had not meant to injure her in any way, least of all, emotionally. “There will be another, far more suitable man for you.”
The girl laughed, a hollow, empty sound—nothing like the carefree, unbridled way Pippa’s seemed to escape her without notice. “Do not flatter yourself to think I could love you or feel any affection at all.”
Her words were cruel and unnecessary. Their betrothal was not to be, Lucas had signed no papers, nor had their match been known to anyone outside of Somerset. The thought of Pippa calling this girl a friend baffled Lucas. They were entirely at odds with personality.
“Again, my deepest, sincere apologies for this muddled mess our parents have created for us,” Lucas said, meaning every word. “I also regret you needing to hear all that transpired within your father’s study.”
Lady Natalie shrugged off his apology. “This is best for all concerned. Your heart is elsewhere, as is mine. I do hope you and Pippa fare better than me in your future. She is a lovely woman, and deserves much happiness.”
“On that, we agree, my lady.” The silence between them lengthened as they stared at one another. Could Lady Natalie be thinking of what her future could have held had Lucas not fallen for Pippa first? “Do call on me if you ever need anything, my lady. Your gracious acceptance of our parting ways is very noble.”
“I fear the power to aid me does not reside with you.” The sadness returned to her eyes, and Lucas truly wished Lady Natalie found her happy ending, as he was determined to do. “But, you should be going if you wish to arrive at Helton House before the storm hits once more. Do treat my friend with love and kindness—something I failed to give her when she needed it most.”
Lucas crossed his arm over his chest in promise. “I will give her nothing but love and cherish her every day. I know she will be happy to see you—when you’re ready.”
“Maybe someday I will have the words to make my amends with Pippa, but for now, you are what is best for her.”
“How can you know that?” he asked.
Lady Natalie pondered Lucas’s question for only a second before answering. “She was genuinely damaged when she heard of our match. I have not seen such a betrayed look since it was I who wounded her. Now, you must go—before it is too late.”
Lucas gave her a quick bow, blessed to have found Pippa, but he also found solace in knowing he hadn’t irrevocably harmed Lady Natalie by ending their betrothal before it had officially begun. “Until we meet again, Lady Natalie. Do have faith that the right man will find you.”
“And if he already has—and walked away?” She blinked rapidly to hold back her tears.
“Then believe he will right his course and return to you.” All this talk of faith and love was new to Lucas, something his family had lacked, even before Randolph was taken; but he would not make this mistake with Pippa. She would know, every moment of every day, how much she was loved.
That was, if she forgave him for lying to her. Or rather, omitting the truth.
Chapter 13
Pippa crowded into the shallow doorway to be out of the wind and removed her glove, pounding her fist on the door before her. When no one answered, she raised her hand again to knock, a bit louder this time to be heard over the storm. She squeezed a bit closer and slipped her exposed hand into her grey muff for added warmth, still clutching her glove.
The storm had returned full force as she’d finished her second delivery in the village, except the temperatures had dropped so severely that heavy snow fell in sheets instead of a drenching rain. The gusting winds brought the snow down in such a way, it blew right into Pippa’s eyes. Her nose was too numb to be felt, and her toes ached in her boots. The flakes only lasted a moment before melting and disappearing into her coat.
She should have remained at home—out of the storm—however, she’d needed to escape the confines of that house and fulfill her responsibility to the villagers. No matter how cold she was, Pippa kept in mind that these families needed her. Many ran out of coal long before winter ended. Many were forced to sell off what little they possessed to stay warm, dry, and fed. All the while, the wealthier citizens of England ate extravagant meals each day and spent exorbitant coin on gowns made of satin and lace.
No matter how true it might be, Pippa would not admit she’d continued, despite the growing storm, as a distraction from what broke her heart.
It wasn’t that Lady Natalie was to marry, it never had been.
It was that Pippa hadn’t found anyone—even with the story of her parent’s beginning. She had failed.
Lucas was to wed another, and Pippa felt immense sadness at that fact—an ache so deep and crushing, she doubted it would ever heal and make her whole again. She wanted him to be happy and find contentment—a way to dispel the darkness, just as she wanted her former friend to be happy and well taken care of, no matter how or why their friendship had ended.
But Pippa deserved happiness, too. She wanted more than happiness—she longed for love. A love not always present in societal marriages. What she truly desired was a love and commitment like her parents had…a man willing to endure scandal and ridicule for the woman he loved.
She was being selfish, petty, and entitled. Those were traits that her parents most despised.
Her mind needed to be occupied elsewhere, anywhere, but on the feeling of Lucas’s arms around her or his laughter at the sight of her covered in flour in the kitchen or, even, his dour mood and snide comments when he’d first arrived. Yes, Pippa would also look favorably on that moment as well, despite her irritation at his forthright manner.
It was a never-ending cycle that had pounded her senses the entire drive to town as she’d sat alone in her carriage. She was undeniably attracted to Lucas—all of him. Then she remembered his lies, his deception. A sense of betrayal hit her so swiftly, she wondered how she could see past the fury over his dishonesty. With a few beats of her heart, she’d remember the way he’d tried to rescue her shattered angels and, again, Pippa could only remember the light in his eyes that pushed past the darkness that tried to keep him locked within.
Their time together had only impacted her after he was gone.
It was odd—while in the kitchen, she hadn’t thought to commit everything to memory; the way he’d moved about the room, the way he’d leaned his hip against the table and crossed one ankle over the other, the way he chuckled as if neither of them had another care in the world, and the way he’d crimped the pie crust and taught her something new. The way he’d lifted her high to re-hang the wreath—allowing her body to slide down his, back to the floor. She’d felt his entire
length: his solid chest, muscular thighs, and rigid manhood.
Pippa had wanted more—far more—than she’d received.
Somehow, her mind had known to remember every second of their time together, knowing he would shortly be gone, and the memories would be the only thing left of him.
The door before her swung open with a loud creak. “M’lady,” the woman inside called. “Do come in, quickly, afore ye are blown over.”
“Thank you, Cassandra,” Pippa said, stepping into the thatched-roof house comprised of one room with two large beds and a wood stove in one corner. Not even a table graced the room for meals or schoolwork. Only one candle lit the room. “Merry Christmas. I have brought a gift for Samuel and Lilly—oh, and a pie for you and Hector.”
“M’lady.” Cassandra curtseyed. Pippa noticed the woman wore nothing but thin stockings on her feet. “Ye did not be having ta do all this, ‘specially with a blistery storm brewing again.”
“Presents!” Two little heads popped from under the blanket on the straw mattress across the room. “We need presents!”
“Ye two scoundrels be remember’n ye manners,” their mother scolded.
“Thank ye, m’lady,” the pair chimed in unison.
“Thank you, my lady,” Pippa corrected with a laugh. “Do not forget the lessons I taught you.”
“We will not, my lady,” Lilly said, ducking back under the blanket for warmth.
“Make certain you do not, or your mother will send for me, and I will have to return to the village to teach your lessons once again,” she threatened.
From the children’s muffled laughter beneath their covers, no one thought it was any sort of threat.
Pippa leaned close to Cassandra and whispered, “I’ve included caps, mittens, and a new book for each.”
“Ye be too kind.”
“There is never enough kindness, especially during the Christmastide season,” Pippa said as she handed the two gifts to the woman. “And for you and Hector, a mincemeat pie for supper—Cook included a loaf of fresh bread, as well.”
A Kiss At Christmastide: Regency Novella Page 10
