A Yuletide Regency (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 21)

by Regina Scott

  Lady Celia walked the perimeter of the room, touching items lightly as she passed by each one. She paused near the bed and rested her hand on the deep green coverlet. “My brother said that he didn’t want to move into the master suite until he was married. So he continued to occupy his childhood rooms.”

  Miss Kate walked over to the window and looked out, while Lady Celia described some of the changes the suite had gone through over the years. The emotion in her voice was unmistakable, but she kept her chin lifted and her gaze focused on the opposite wall. Aaron found that he was paying attention to Lady Celia’s tone of voice and mannerisms more than he was hearing her describe things.

  Aaron knew he had to stop staring at her, so he walked about the room a bit, reluctant to touch anything. It was an odd feeling to be in the room of someone who’d passed away. He felt a distinct emptiness, almost loneliness. A boy, then man, had once occupied this space, living here and breathing here.

  “And you are welcome to my brother’s clothing,” Lady Celia said when he paused in front of the wardrobe.

  Aaron turned to look at her. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she kept her hands clasped together. He had the sudden urge to cross to her and take her hands in his. To tell her that he wouldn’t wear one stitch of her brother’s clothing if she didn’t want him to.

  Aaron didn’t answer for a moment, then he simply nodded his head. Lady Celia blinked, but it didn’t clear the sorrow from her eyes. He hated seeing her sad.

  Miss Kate turned from the window. “Someone is coming along the road. It looks like my father’s carriage.”

  So Aaron was about to meet the vicar, and while they headed down the staircase, he wondered how much comfort the vicar had brought to Lady Celia in her time of mourning.

  When Vicar Jones stepped down from his carriage, Aaron greeted the portly man with shrewd green eyes. Jones practically wheezed his way up the steps. Miss Kate must take after her mother, because there was not much to compare between father and daughter.

  “Won’t you stay for lunch?” Lady Celia asked when the vicar arrived in the foyer.

  “Of course, Lady Celia,” Vicar Jones said, regarding her with a pitying look. “I hear your days are numbered.”

  Aaron furrowed his brows, thinking the vicar was quite abrupt for a man of the cloth.

  “I will travel to my aunt’s after Christmas,” Lady Celia said.

  Her tone spoke of determination, yet Aaron detected a forlorn note as well.

  The vicar had already moved his attention to his daughter, his tone significantly softening when he asked, “Kate, you are well?”

  “I am, Father,” Miss Kate said.

  Again, the vicar surveyed Aaron. Would everyone in the county come to inspect him?

  “Wonderful,” the vicar said. “Now, I’ve business to discuss with Lord Banfield. We will see you ladies at lunch.”

  Aaron thought the vicar was being too dismissive of his daughter and Lady Celia, but he didn’t know the vicar well enough to argue the point.

  “Come to the library,” Aaron said. “Would you like refreshment?”

  Vicar Jones nodded. “Refreshment would be welcome.”

  Stanley followed along.

  “This is a . . . house dog?” the vicar asked, glancing with distaste at Stanley.

  “He is,” Aaron said.

  It seemed that Mrs. March was already fully aware of their guest and almost as soon as they sat down, she bustled in with a tea tray.

  “Thank you, Mrs. March,” Aaron said.

  Vicar Jones barely gave the woman a nod.

  What a strange vicar—one who was meant to be serving those in his realm, but certainly didn’t have much in the way of a kind word.

  The vicar picked up one of the scones and took his time spreading on butter, then jam.

  Aaron had to wave away Stanley more than once. Aaron suspected that the dog had enjoyed a scone or two in the kitchen.

  After a rather large bite, Vicar Jones chewed, then said, “Lord Banfield, I’ve come to warn you.”

  “Warn me?”

  “Gossip has already spread that you are an unmarried man, with young women always in attendance.”

  “I only arrived two days ago,” he said. “Since Lady Celia was here, alone, we sent for your daughter to be her companion. I don’t see anything untoward—”

  “I am not saying I agree with the gossips,” Vicar Jones said with a wave of his hand. “I wanted you to be aware. People—women especially—will say the first thing that comes to their minds, accurate or not.”

  Aaron wondered if the vicar drank brandy and if it would be rude to pour a glass in front of him. “Surely you can explain if the need arises,” he said. “I’m happy to explain as well, but I can assure you—”

  “All the assurances in the world won’t make a difference.” The last bit was a mumble and Vicar Jones took another hearty bite of his scone.

  When the man was finished chewing, Aaron said, “Then what can be done? Should I go door to door—”

  “Nothing of the sort,” the vicar said, picking up a second scone, then fixing his narrow, green eyes on Aaron. “You must marry as soon as possible. It is the only solution.”

  Chapter Nine

  One Week Later

  The cold December air tugged at Celia’s riding cloak. She couldn’t help that she’d pushed her horse faster and faster until the wind had pulled the pins from her hair. Celia found the ride invigorating, plus it was the first day this month that there’d been no rain in the morning. That didn’t mean the sun was out, but clouds and no rain were fine with Celia.

  In one week, Celia would be leaving Banfield Estate, perhaps forever. In one week, she’d say goodbye to her childhood home and all hopes of things turning out differently. When she returned to the house today, she and Kate would begin to fill the Christmas baskets that they’d deliver tomorrow. Kate had opted to stay at the house instead of go riding since she had the beginnings of a cold. And Lord Banfield had already pledged his help with the deliveries. As he well should.

  Celia had to admit that he’d been nothing but a good student, learning all about the estate. He spent the evenings shut away in the library updating the ledgers and leaving Kate and Celia to their own devices. This usually consisted of Celia making some sort of excuse to escape to her bedroom for the rest of the evening and continue writing her story. It had taken on a new shape since the arrival of Lord Banfield.

  “Whoa there,” someone called, and Celia looked over her shoulder.

  Lord Banfield was riding only a few paces behind her. He wore no hat, and the wind pushed through his hair and against his clothing.

  She nearly reined her horse in and turned fully around. She and Lord Banfield hadn’t been alone since that first night that he’d knocked on her bedroom door. Kate had been an excellent companion, even though it had been painful to watch her endless flirting with Lord Banfield and to listen to her compliments of that man each night.

  “Why the hurry?” Lord Banfield said over the wind, flashing her a smile.

  Celia wouldn’t let the smile go to her heart, or her mind. He smiled that way at Kate too. There was nothing special in it, not for her at least. Because of her apparent emotional state around Lord Banfield—as had manifested more than once—keeping in Kate’s company at all times had been most helpful.

  Even when he’d had questions about receipts, Celia had brought Kate. And when he told them the purpose of the vicar’s private meeting in the library with him, Celia had had Kate with her. Kate had exclaimed over the gossip, but then quickly agreed that Lord Banfield should search for a wife.

  Which was why, when the invitation to a Christmas ball came from the Foxes, Kate had encouraged Lord Banfield to accept on all their behalves. Of course, Celia had cried off. She was still in mourning for her brother. Besides, a good deal of her belongings had been packed into trunks already, and . . . well, truthfully, Celia could have attended the ball and sat out the da
ncing, but she didn’t want to watch the women flock to Lord Banfield’s side.

  He was beside her now, his horse keeping pace with hers. He didn’t try to speak anymore, just rode. Celia’s destination was the hill overlooking the row of tenant houses, but perhaps she’d ride farther today to lose Lord Banfield. After all, he only went for short rides since he’d been so caught up in the ledgers and management of the estate.

  Visitors had come and gone each day, and in truth, the only time Celia had spent with him had been at mealtimes. It was enough to see him wearing bits of her brother’s clothing. A vest here, a cravat there. Never an entire ensemble, which made her wonder if he was just waiting for her to leave Banfield before he donned more of the borrowed clothing.

  Today, she couldn’t help but notice, he wore a new coat, one that his valet must have ordered. But the riding gloves had been her brother’s. She’d given them to Bart several years ago as a gift. She tore her gaze from the gloves and swallowed back the building emotion. Soon she’d be gone from this place full of memories, and soon she’d be able to build a life anew.

  As her horse thundered up the hill, she eased off the reins, and the horse slowed. Lord Banfield adjusted his pace to hers. When she stopped at the top of the hill, Lord Banfield joined her.

  Out of breath, Celia said nothing for several moments as she looked over the tenant housing and the land that stretched before them. A few days ago, Celia had brought Kate and Lord Banfield out here and introduced him to each tenant.

  Now that she was no longer racing through the wind, the cold, damp air settled around her and seeped through her clothing. She tried not to shiver, but her body had other ideas. Before she could protest, Lord Banfield slid off his overcoat and set it around her shoulders, then returned to holding the reins of his horse.

  Still, they didn’t speak. There was too much to speak of, yet Celia didn’t want to speak at all. She didn’t want to discuss the ledgers she’d neglected, or the distribution of the Christmas baskets, or her impending departure, or least of all the Christmas ball that she’d be missing the next night.

  “I could not sleep last night,” Lord Banfield said.

  The statement surprised her, and she glanced over at him. His gaze remained on the land below.

  “I ended up pacing the house and saw that your light was on again,” he continued.

  Well, Celia had nothing to say to that. Fortunately, he hadn’t knocked again on her bedroom door. So she simply nodded.

  “Do you ever let people read your writing?” he asked.

  Her breath hitched. “I . . . of course people read my letters.”

  “Is that all you’re writing?” He reached for her hand and slipped her glove off.

  Celia didn’t have to look down to know that ink stained the edges of her fingers. The warmth of his hand holding hers was a stark contrast to the cold wind.

  “Is it poetry?” he asked.

  She met his gaze, wondering why he persisted with his questions. What did it matter to him? “I’m writing a novel.” The words had slipped out, unheeding. Instantly, she wished she could take them back.

  The edges of his mouth lifted into a surprised smile, and she tried not to notice how the shadowed appearance of whiskers on his jaw indicated the lateness of the afternoon. “Tell me more,” he said.

  And in those brown eyes of his, she saw that his interest was genuine. And perhaps it was because in another week, she might never see this man again, that she told him about her writing. She told him how she closeted herself in her room late into the night to write her story. How it had been a story of a young woman traveling to India, and all the adventures she encountered. Adventures she’d never see in her own lifetime, but had read about and overheard at dinner parties.

  Lord Banfield had released her hand, and she’d pulled her glove back on while she told him about her manuscript. “Of course I could never have it published,” she said. “I’m already enough of a blight on society as it is.”

  “Because you’re not married?” he said.

  She looked away. “Because I’m not married.”

  “Damn society, then,” he said in a soft voice, and he didn’t even apologize for his curse. “Publish anyway.”

  She felt a smile working its way to the surface, and she sneaked a glance at him. “Perhaps under a pseudonym.”

  His gaze was intent on her, and she had to focus on her breathing.

  “I, for one, would be honored to read your manuscript,” he said.

  Celia wanted to laugh; surely he was jesting. But his expression was in earnest.

  “I am glad we have this moment alone, Lady Celia.” He moved his horse closer to hers. “I have done a poor job of expressing my condolences for the loss of your brother.”

  She did not know what to say. Many people had expressed similar sentiments, but coming from the new Lord Banfield, it felt different. More sincere somehow.

  His hand reached for hers again, and she watched his fingers curl around hers. She was utterly breathless. What was he doing? What were his intentions?

  “Lady Celia, I have a proposal to make.”

  Her pulse shot up. He couldn’t mean what she thought he was saying, but when she looked up at him, she saw his mouth move with those very words.

  “Marry me and stay at Banfield.”

  Chapter Ten

  The shocked look on Lady Celia’s face probably didn’t bode well. Aaron had never proposed to a woman before, but he didn’t think this was how it was supposed to go. Lady Celia gasped, then jerked her hand away. And . . . her eyes filled with tears after said shock melted away.

  “Is my offer really so distasteful?” he asked, trying . . . hoping to lessen whatever intense emotion Lady Celia was going through. Marriage to Lady Celia made sense. She was most certainly marriageable age, she loved Banfield Estate, she watched Aaron when she thought he wasn’t noticing—which he hoped indicated her interest in him—and she was . . . intriguing. Her physical features were pleasant, and as the days passed, he found himself drawn to her even more.

  And he didn’t want passion to make this decision for him. So he didn’t let his mind wander in that direction, and instead he focused on the practicalities. Which he thought she’d at least consider.

  “I cannot accept your offer, Lord Banfield,” she said in a trembling whisper. “I cannot let you marry me out of pity.”

  Before he could answer or refute her accusation, she spurred her horse down the hill, heading away from him as fast as possible. As he watched her go, he wondered if in fact he had asked her out of pity. He had felt the guilt of his survival over her brother’s, and he’d seen the changes in her life happening firsthand.

  There was nothing to do but return to the estate and set about his obligations. Whoever had penned the idea that women were a mystery had never met Lady Celia. Not only was she a mystery, but she was an enigma.

  But as he rode toward the estate, he wondered at her point of view, or more accurately, her viewpoint of him. Had he misinterpreted the sidelong glances from Lady Celia? Had he been so off the mark that she wouldn’t even consider a proposal by asking for time to think about it?

  Surely she could see the wisdom in the arrangement. Men and women had married for far less, yet here was the opportunity for her to remain at Banfield Estate the rest of her life and raise her children here. As for Aaron . . . he would feel the weight of guilt lift. He’d be able to wholeheartedly throw himself into managing and running the estate. This time next year, they’d host the Christmas banquet at the estate that Lady Celia had so fondly spoken about. Together.

  And then Aaron would be able to dispel the sorrow from her countenance. Once and for all.

  He arrived at the stables, and Lady Celia was nowhere in sight. She’d ridden at a fairly fast pace, and he’d taken his time. Once he’d dismounted, he left the horse for the stable master to care for, and he strode to the front doors. Candles had already been lit against the disappearing light that a
bank of storm clouds had darkened.

  He strode into the hallway and Mr. Garner met him there to remove his coat. Then Aaron made his way to the kitchen, where Lady Celia and Miss Kate worked to fill each gift basket with preserves, bottles of oil, loaves of bread, and pulled candy.

  “You’ve made it ahead of the storm,” Miss Kate said when he came in.

  He didn’t look at Miss Kate when he replied, “Yes, I survived. I hope the weather will be agreeable tomorrow for delivery.”

  Lady Celia didn’t look up from her task, but her cheeks pinked.

  Miss Kate smiled. “It will all keep an extra day if needed. What I’m really worried about is the travel to the ball tomorrow night. What if the storm turns to snow?”

  Again, Lady Celia said nothing.

  “We shall have to bring rugs to fight off the cold.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Miss Kate said. “As long as we don’t miss it.”

  “We’ve plenty of rugs,” Lady Celia said in a quiet voice. “You can use as many as you like.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Miss Kate gushed. “But won’t you change your mind about coming to the ball? Having you along will make all the difference.”

  Lady Celia gave her friend a quick smile. “It will make no difference,” she corrected. “My mind is made up. I will hear all about it when you return.” Without any acknowledgement in Aaron’s direction, she returned to her task.

  “But everyone will want to see you,” Miss Kate persisted. “And to wish you well on your move.” She turned her gaze to Aaron. “You must convince her. I don’t like to think of her alone in this house while we are dancing the night away.”

  Aaron swallowed, but before he could reply, Lady Celia said, “Lord Banfield will be busy dancing with every lady in the county.” Her gaze focused on Miss Kate. “And I don’t doubt you’ll be so busy fending off suitors that the time will speed by. You’ll be back here before you know it. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll wait up for you to return so you can tell me everything immediately.”

  This seemed to mollify Miss Kate.

  It did nothing to ease the knot of unease in Aaron’s stomach. Miss Kate was right. Surely the neighbors would want to give their good wishes to Lady Celia.