A Yuletide Regency (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 21)

by Regina Scott

  Blast Henry for not mentioning that Eleanor would be visiting this Christmastide. If Julian listed things he did not want, the very first on the list would be spending Christmas with Eleanor and her husband, seeing the life he might have had.

  How many children did she have? What happiness and hardship had she experienced? Whom did she marry? Do I know the man?

  Julian found himself wanting in equal measures to look about the place to learn the identity of her husband and to never look away from the dreamlike vision before him. He settled on gazing on her form for as long as his imagination deigned to offer him the sight or until she spoke and proved herself flesh and bone after all.

  Behind him, Julian was vaguely aware of a voice. “You remember Andrew and Thomas, of course, but I don’t think you’ve ever met my daughters . . .” The voice trailed off and then said, “Julian. Julian?”

  He was pulled out of his reverie—somewhat. He didn’t tear his gaze from Eleanor or stop thinking about how she stood below the beribboned bough of mistletoe, which, newly hung as it was, bore many pearly berries. He’d have to keep an eye on the little shrub; with each kiss stolen beneath it, a berry would be plucked, and when the white pearls were gone, no more kisses could be exacted from those standing beneath it.

  “Julian, my dear man, what is the matter?”

  He inhaled suddenly, as if waking up from smelling salts, and glanced Henry’s direction. “Pardon?”

  His confusion amused Henry, who looked to the doorway and the object of Julian’s distraction. The latter steeled himself for a good-natured ribbing about old flames not quite dying out, perhaps connecting the comment to the Yule log. Or Henry might say something about how a naval captain should have the ability to concentrate on a simple conversation and not be distracted by anyone who did or did not enter the room. But Henry did none of those things.

  “Eleanor!” he said, spreading his arms wide as he had for his children. “We have a surprise guest for Christmastide, as you see. I invited my old friend months ago, but he didn’t know whether he could come until two nights hence, and here he is.”

  Eleanor stood at a distance of perhaps two dozen paces, thus seeing and interpreting her expression and manner posed a challenge. Julian did detect one thing for certain: she looked awfully pale. Was she ill?

  Don’t run to her side to find out. You’ll look a fool.

  “Come, Eleanor. Surely you remember Julian Stephens,” Henry said, as if he genuinely believed she might not remember Julian.

  Could she have forgotten me? Is it arrogant of me to think not?

  The little girl in Eleanor’s arms wriggled to get free, and Eleanor obliged, setting the child on the floor. The girl ran, laughing and squealing as only a free-spirited young one could. She stopped short of Henry, wrapped her arms about his leg, then settled in place with a thumb in her mouth. Eyeing Julian, she pointed at him, sort of, with her thumb-sucking hand. “Papa, who’s that?” she asked around her thumb.

  For the briefest of moments, Julian felt shock and panic at the thought that this child’s parents were Henry and Eleanor. But no, that couldn’t be; word of Henry’s being widowed would have reached him even at sea, wouldn’t it?

  “This, my dear Emma, is Uncle Julian,” Henry said. “He grew up at Willowsmeade as I did.”

  At that moment, Eleanor reached them. Her gaze flitted between Henry and Julian, as if she didn’t know where to look. He could relate to the feeling. There was so much he wanted to know, so much he wanted to say to her. He wanted to wander the gardens with her on a long, meandering walk as they told each other all about the years they’d been apart.

  He could tell her why he never had settled down, how it had never been because of the navy, though he was happy enough to let others assume as much. Unlike many sailors, Julian didn’t feel bound to the sea or his ship. He’d served what felt like a lifetime, and he was ready to spend the years to come on dry land. But only if he had the companionship of someone he loved and admired, someone he could feel completely at ease with. Someone like . . .

  Forget finding someone like her, he thought. I’ve always wanted it to be her.

  He had the means with which to begin a life with a good woman, assuming he ever found one who was both Eleanor’s equal and who would have him. He wasn’t entirely certain the two weren’t opposing, incompatible concepts altogether.

  “Eleanor, it is so good to see you again after all of these years,” Julian said with a bow.

  She is a member of the Brunson family, while I am nobody, the son of a gardener.

  He continued, “Rather, I suppose I should properly call you Mrs. . . .” His voice trailed off as he waited for her to provide the requisite information.

  “Hadfield,” she said, extending her hand. “Still Miss Hadfield.”

  The beauty and total surprise of her reply sucked his breath away. He’d seen battle and death and suffering. He knew firsthand that life, quite simply, was not fair. The absolute last thing he’d expected was to find Eleanor unmarried. And never married, by the sound of it. Perhaps . . .

  No. Stop that line of thinking, he ordered himself. I’ll never be a landed gentleman, never have a title, never have the money and status that a true lady such as she is should have. She deserves to have everything.

  When, after a few seconds, he didn’t answer, Eleanor tilted her head in question and glanced at Henry. “Don’t tell me you two have been playing Snapdragon.”

  He didn’t blame her for thinking he might have partaken of spirits already; he wasn’t known for having a tongue twisted into a knot, so she was trying to make sense of his silence. Julian found the ability to loosen his tongue and managed, “I’m quite well, thank you. And I have not been drinking. It’s a bit early in the day yet for that, at least for a captain used to being an example of maintaining order for his men.”

  “That’s right—you’re a captain now,” Eleanor said. “Captain Stephens. That sounds rather prestigious.”

  He cringed. “Don’t call me Captain, I beg you. That is not who I am at Willowsmeade, not in the presence of those who’ve known me my whole life.” He chuckled. “I can’t imagine that you, who saw me unsuccessfully attempt to saddle a cow, would be able to call me Captain with a straight face.”

  A little voice behind them piped up—one of the boys. “Uncle Julian? Did you truly try to saddle a cow?”

  Henry gave Julian a look with one raised eyebrow. “Don’t give them any ideas. They’re mischievous enough as it is.”

  “Oh, it was a dreadful thing I did,” Julian said, “and a dangerous one, as well.” He put on a look of utter innocence as he faced the children. “I could tell you the full story, but it would give you frightening dreams at night.”

  “Really?” the middle girl asked, as if she craved a terrifying story.

  “Most certainly.” Julian gave a serious nod. “Don’t ever go into the stables unattended, and never touch a cow.”

  “We won’t,” the middle girl and her older sister said in unison.

  Henry sent the girls off to find their mother so the entire family would be present for the lighting of the log. After they scampered out, the adults stood in silence for a moment. Julian finally broke it. “Miss Hadfield—”

  “Absolutely not,” Eleanor interrupted with a shake of her head. “If I’m not to call you Captain Stephens, then you mustn’t call me Miss Hadfield.” She held out her hand as if waiting to shake to seal a bargain.

  He looked at it a moment, wanting to kiss the top of her hand rather than shake it.

  Henry elbowed him. “After the stories I’ve heard from the nursery, you’d better agree to her proposition, or tonight you’ll be the one with frightening dreams.”

  Eleanor gave him a look, then rolled her eyes with a laugh. “You’ve heard no such thing.”

  “Oh,” Julian said, light dawning in his mind. “You’re the governess.” He felt as if he were putting together a very large and complex puzzle, one tiny piece at
a time, and this was the latest he’d uncovered.

  “As you see,” Eleanor said with a dip of a curtsy. “I’ve been planning to teach the children about plants. Perhaps during your stay, you could show us about the hothouse and tell us about the plants growing there? That is, assuming you remember those things after all these years.”

  “I’d be happy to help,” Julian said. He hoped she would understand from his tone and eyes that he meant so much more than that. Teaching the children with her at their side would not quite be like taking a turn about the gardens with her alone, but it would be better than nothing. Eleanor was seeking out his help, or perhaps his company. That was a good sign. At least, he chose to see it as such. “Being the son of a gardener means working in the gardens so much that those things are emblazoned in one’s memory for life.”

  Standing this close to her, he noted a few evident signs of the decade they’d spent apart—a handful of lines about her eyes and forehead, more clearly defined cheekbones and jawline. For the most part, however, she looked very much as she had. The lighthearted girl had merely been replaced by a mature woman. How did he appear to her? He was four years beyond his thirtieth birthday and had a hint of gray above his ears. Would she find him dreadfully old?

  The boys, likely tired of waiting for their mother’s arrival, chased one another in an intricate game of tag that came close to toppling more than one servant and did, in fact, tear a wreath of holly off one wall. Henry called to them in an abrupt tone only a father could muster.

  After the boys settled down, Henry leaned in to Julian and spoke quietly. “Keeping the two of them happily and safely occupied until they return to school may well take the steady hand of a man such as yourself.”

  Julian looked at Henry in surprise.

  His friend turned his back to Eleanor and whispered, “If you’re looking for reasons to spend time with her, I can provide several more.”

  Feeling oddly as if Henry could read his mind, Julian stepped away slightly, as if a little distance would prevent his thoughts and emotions from being exposed to his friend. Julian now found himself close enough to Eleanor to smell her hair. It still had the scent of lavender and vanilla. She looked at him expectantly, but his mind had been wiped clean like a slate. He didn’t know if she’d spoken, and if so, what answer she expected. He merely smiled, which seemed to be the appropriate response, as she spoke next.

  “Today, Thomas asked when he’d get to have the plum pudding, not because he likes to eat it, but because he likes to see it afire.”

  Her wide eyes made his heart soften all the more. Oh, how he’d missed those eyes. He fought the urge to run his thumb across her jaw, to cradle her head in his hands, and kiss her as he had the day they’d said goodbye in the gardens so long ago.

  He shoved thoughts of kisses out of his mind and returned to the subject at hand—flaming plum pudding. Julian leaned in close to her and, when he spoke, was gratified that she didn’t draw away even a quarter of an inch. “I always like the plum pudding too, but not because of the flames.”

  She turned her head and looked up at him. Had she taken a step closer? He wasn’t sure, but she certainly felt nearer, and if she drew any closer, she’d be able to hear his heart thrumming against his chest. “Why did you like the plum pudding, if not for the flame? I don’t recall that you ever found it particularly delicious.”

  “Remember how the whole family would gather in the kitchen with the servants on Stir-up Sunday when the pudding was first made?” he asked.

  “And each person got to stir it with the special wooden spoon used only for the plum pudding. I always closed my eyes when I got to stir and make my wish.”

  “As did I.”

  What kinds of things had she wished for? He’d always wished for Eleanor to be his wife when they grew up.

  After the stirring, Mr. Brunson had done the honors of dropping several trinkets into the batter, which would be cooked into the pudding. The finder of each had a certain fortune predicted for the following year: a silver coin for wealth, a small wishbone for luck, an anchor representing safe harbor, and a ring indicating marriage.

  The Christmas before he enlisted, Julian found the ring in his serving of pudding. He never did tell anyone, and the family assumed it had been lost in the kitchen somewhere or accidentally swallowed.

  “Too bad I missed Stir-up Sunday this year,” Julian said as he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and touched the tin ring he always carried on his person.

  Chapter Three

  The next day during the Christmas service at the chapel, Eleanor found herself in a circumstance of simultaneous pleasure and disappointment. The rambunctious children had been successfully washed and dressed in pressed clothing early enough, by some miracle of the season, that even with a fifteen-minute walk to the chapel, they arrived with several minutes to spare. Most of the adults had gone ahead, riding in a carriage, but Eleanor stayed behind to escort the children.

  When she shepherded them into the second of the family pews like so many sheep, she was pleasantly surprised to have her attention drawn from the children to the handsome Julian. He stood farther down the aisle, speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Brunson. The boys giggled, drawing Eleanor’s attention back to the children. She gave them her best scolding look, perfected over the decade she’d been a governess.

  The boys promptly stopped elbowing and poking each other and sat on the bench with straight backs and forced smiles they’d put on in an attempt to show their innocence. She kept her stern expression on for a few more moments, though doing so took effort, as the boys’ sudden pious behavior was so clearly for her benefit.

  Little Kate toddled in last, but when Eleanor stepped into the pew, she felt Julian’s presence behind her. She glanced up and felt her middle do a little flip. Perhaps she’d get to sit beside him during the service. She couldn’t guarantee she’d be able to do her duties as governess, as her attentions would be entirely diverted by the naval captain beside her. The prospect of being physically close to him again after so long filled a tiny corner of her heart with excitement, a corner she’d thought had died long ago.

  “Captain Stephens!” Thomas said, in what the boy likely believed was a whisper, but surely carried ten feet or more. “Can we sit by you?” No doubt the boys hoped to hear stories of sea battles, which would not happen under a church roof.

  “Please, Captain?” Andrew echoed. “May we?” he added, correcting his brother’s grammar.

  Eleanor turned to the boys with her strict governess’s expression back in place, only this time with her eyes even wider. The boys’ eyes widened to match hers, and their mouths clamped shut as they folded their arms and faced forward like good boys.

  “Impressive,” Julian said. He leaned in and spoke quietly, so only she could hear. “You’re able to make them behave without saying a single word. It’s like magic.”

  The compliment sent a ripple of gooseflesh along Eleanor’s arms. Silly that such a simple statement would affect her so. “I’ve had practice,” she said with a smile.

  “Would my sitting with the boys help them remain quiet throughout the service? Or would it only encourage them to be noisy in the one place they oughtn’t?”

  His question made her heart drop slightly. She shouldn’t have gotten excited over the prospect of sitting beside him. Yes, they would have sat in silence, but she would have reveled in having him within whispering distance for a solid hour or more, even if they whispered nothing. Merely being near him again would have felt like a Christmas wish come true. Though she hadn’t made any wish on this year’s Stir-up Sunday.

  She used to. But on the last Sunday of November, while she’d encouraged the girls to close their eyes and made their own wishes on their turns stirring the pudding, Eleanor didn’t do the same. She’d lived through enough Christmases to know that silent pleas made on Stir-up Sunday were only childhood fancies. She’d made plenty of such silent requests over the years, and they hadn’t come true. S
he knew better than to put stock in such things.

  “Sitting with the boys would likely help,” she admitted. “They’ll want to impress you with their maturity, no doubt.”

  “Then I’ll sit with them.” Julian nodded in lieu of a bow, then entered the pew and worked his way to the far side of the bench, where the boys demanded—though to their credit, quietly—that he sit between them. He draped his long arms around both boys, who, under Julian’s strong influence, appeared as immovable as stone.

  “Good men,” Julian told the boys, who sat up even straighter at his praise.

  Little Kate reached up to Eleanor with both arms. “May I?” she asked, then clarified, “Sit in your lap?”

  “Of course, dear.” Eleanor slipped into the pew and sat on the polished wood, where she settled Kate onto her lap. “Now it’s time to be very good and very quiet as the minister speaks to us.”

  Kate cupped her hands about her mouth and whispered, “About Jesus?”

  “About the night he was born, yes. It’s time to be very still.” Eleanor pressed a finger to her own lips.

  Kate mimicked the gesture with a single pudgy index finger and nodded with sober eyes.

  “Good girl,” Eleanor whispered into the child’s ear just as the minister climbed the steps to the pulpit and the congregation went quiet.

  Oh, that I could hold my own child thus, Eleanor thought with a bittersweet ache.

  Such had not been her fate, alas, but if she wasn’t to have her own children, at least she had the fortune to work closely with those born of someone else—a far preferable choice to many other types of employment older single women had to rely on.

  For the entire service, Eleanor tried to pay attention, but the presence of one Captain Julian Stephens a few feet away succeeded in creating a distraction beyond her ability to overcome. Halfway through, she allowed her thoughts to take flights of fancy along the lines of what she’d once imagined of her life with Julian, back when they were still young, before the world had schooled them in realities.