Holly and Hopeful Hearts

by Caroline Warfield

  “Well, so am I.”

  Before Kate could even blink, Lord Stanton stepped forward, and faster than a striking cobra, his gloved fist shot out and connected with the vagabond’s jaw with bone-breaking force. The man stumbled backward then fell into the mud on his backside. He shook his head, as if stunned, and when he swiped at his split bottom lip, his hand was smeared with blood.

  Lord Stanton took another step toward the man and glowered down at him. “If I ever see your lying face again, you will end up behind the bars of a jail cell faster than you can draw your next breath. Now, be off with you before I change my mind and take action now.”

  The man didn’t need a second warning. He scrambled to his feet and bolted for the trees as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. There was no sign of the little girl, Tansy.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Kate turned to Lord Stanton, her unexpected champion. “Thank you, my lord. If you… If you hadn’t…” She swallowed, unable to voice all the horrible ‘what-ifs’ spinning about in her head.

  Lord Stanton grasped her arm gently. “Come inside, Miss Woodville. You’ve gone awfully pale, and I don’t think you’re shaking just because it’s cold.”

  Kate couldn’t disagree with him; she placed her trembling gloved hand on his arm, and he tucked it into the crook of his elbow as if securing his hold on her. “I won’t faint from fright, you know,” she murmured as they picked their way along the muddy path leading back to the Cat’s Whisker’s main entrance. Although her legs did feel as if they were made of nothing more substantial than the snowflakes that had begun to swirl around them.

  He patted her hand. “I know. I worked out some time ago that you are made of sterner stuff than most females.”

  A strange warmth like a burst of sunlight bloomed inside Kate’s chest and radiated up to her face. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she murmured, suddenly feeling shy.

  “Please do.”

  The smile Lord Stanton cast her had Kate blushing to the roots of her hair, and she looked away, ruing the fact she was no longer wearing her bonnet. Curse the man. Why was he suddenly showing her such consideration? She’d half expected him to berate her for wandering off and putting herself in harm’s way. Or at the very least grill her as to why she’d gone outside in the first place. She had no defenses against his acts of chivalry and kindness. And defenses were what she would need in spades if she were to resist her troublesome attraction to him.

  Once inside the inn, Lord Stanton installed her at the table she’d occupied before and called for the serving woman. Once the fire was crackling brightly in the grate again, he joined her, offering her a glass of golden-brown liquor as he sat.

  “What is it?” asked Kate, sniffing at it suspiciously. Despite her earlier statement of bravado, she was mortified to see her hands still shook a little as she lifted the glass.

  “Sherry to help warm you up and take the edge off your shock.” He touched his glass to hers. “Here’s to safe travels, Miss Woodville.”

  “Yes.” Kate took a tentative sip. She’d had champagne on the odd occasion but had never drunk anything else alcoholic, however she was pleasantly surprised by the agreeable warmth the sweet liquid generated as it slid down her throat to her belly. She took another, larger sip and was taken aback to find Lord Stanton smiling at her again.

  “You must stop doing that,” admonished Kate.

  He cocked a black brow. “Whatever do you mean, Miss Woodville?”

  “Being congenial. We’re supposed to be enemies, you know.”

  He sighed at that. “Yes… You’re quite right I suppose.” He downed his sherry in one gulp and then flashed her a rueful smile. “Dashed inconvenient, though, isn’t it?” Before she could respond, he rose and strode out of the room, muttering, “I’m going to check on the progress of the repairs. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Kate continued to sip at her sherry, puzzling over the softening in Lord Stanton’s attitude toward her. Dare she think that his attitude toward Freddie had changed as well? They were losing precious hours on their journey north. Perhaps Lord Stanton realized that there was no way on earth he could stop Freddie and Violet from reaching Gretna Green and marrying.

  If he had, indeed, conceded defeat, he seemed to be taking it remarkably well.

  Kate was just contemplating whether she should visit the stables when Lord Stanton returned. He ordered another sherry then all but threw himself into the chair across from her. His scowl had returned, and a muscle worked in his lean, square jaw as he stared into the fire.

  Kate’s heart plummeted. It seemed her speculative musings had been incorrect. “How are the repairs progressing?” she ventured when she decided she couldn’t bear sitting through another taut minute of silence.

  “Slowly.” Lord Stanton accepted his sherry from the serving woman and took a long sip before fixing his gray gaze upon her. It was frosty again. “And the snow is getting heavier.”

  “I see…” Was he suggesting that they would have to stay here for the night? It was not the most hospitable of places. The only consolation as far as Kate could see was that there weren’t many staff—which meant that there were fewer people to have to tell an unconvincing lie to: that she was Lord Stanton’s sister. She may as well have claimed she was Princess Charlotte or even the Queen of Sheba considering the skeptical looks she had received from staff and patrons at the last two inns at which they’d stayed. It was plain to see everyone thought she was really Lord Stanton’s mistress. Thank goodness she would never meet any of them again.

  Her reluctance must have shown on her face, as Lord Stanton remarked, “Don’t worry. We shall push onto the next town. Stockport is sure to have a decent coaching inn with suitable rooms for us.”

  “You don’t wish to continue on into the night? We should reach Fenwick House tomorrow if that’s the case. In time for Christmas Eve. Not that it really signifies given the circumstances. I know… I know how important it is to you, to reach Violet in time… Before…”

  Lord Stanton’s scowl grew deeper, his hawk-like gaze more piercing. “Before your brother ruins her? Married or not, I’m afraid that horse has well and truly already bolted by now, my dear Miss Woodville.”

  Kate’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I’m sure Freddie wouldn’t… I mean…” She couldn’t say what she really meant, that she was certain her brother wouldn’t seduce Violet before they were wed. But then again… Her face grew even hotter. Once upon a time she would have defended Freddie against an accusation like that, but not anymore.

  “For such an intelligent woman, you can be terribly naïve at times, Miss Woodville. Take your earlier escapade for instance.” Lord Stanton gestured toward the side of the inn where she’d been ambushed. “I still can’t fathom why you were so easily lured outside by that ragamuffin of a child. You are too kind-hearted for your own good.”

  Kate’s spine stiffened with indignation. “There’s nothing wrong with offering assistance to those in need. How was I to know it was a trap? And, might I ask, how did you know?”

  “I came in here to check on you and saw you outside with the girl.” Lord Stanton nodded toward the window. “But when I witnessed her scoundrel of a father, or whoever he was, slipping out of the trees and approaching you from behind, I knew something was amiss.”

  “Oh…”

  Lord Stanton looked down his long, aristocratic nose at her. “Yes. Oh. You should be more careful, Miss Woodville.”

  Anger flared to life within Kate’s chest. “Whilst I appreciate that you came to my aid, I feel compelled to add I am twenty-five years old and not a henwit. I have been taking care of myself for many years, thank you very much. And if you really cared about my well-being, you wouldn’t have coerced me into joining you on this futile venture in the first place. My reputation is also at risk because of you. And if it is ruined, I shan’t be able to work. And then what shall become of me, Lord Stanton? I could very well be joining the ranks of the destitute wom
en who reside at White Church House. It seems to me that you are nothing more than a ruthless scoundrel, too.”

  To Kate’s mortification, her vision blurred with a flood of hot, angry tears. She snatched up her soiled bonnet and reticule and, ignoring Lord Stanton’s call to wait, fled outside into the snow.

  Chapter 8

  Damn. Bloody damn.

  Anthony sighed as he watched Kate bolt for the door, a flurry of snow swirling into the taproom in her wake. As much as her comments stung, she was right. He was a scoundrel. As he’d at last begun to acknowledge the futility of his quest to stop Violet wedding Freddie Woodville and that Kate really could do little to help, as he’d grown to know her, his guilt about his shabby treatment of her had gradually intensified. And now that he’d witnessed first-hand how much he’d distressed her, his cavalier behavior bothered him all the more.

  He vowed to himself then and there that regardless of how this escapade ended, he would make sure she did not suffer. Whilst he didn’t for a minute believe her brother, her well-connected friend Miss Penrose, or even Lord Rookhope, her uncle, would tolerate her living in penury if she lost her position at Mrs. Brooke’s Ladies’ Academy, he didn’t trust that his stepmother wouldn’t do her best to discredit Kate to whomever she knew within ton circles, thus preventing Kate from securing another teaching position either at a decent school or as a governess. Indeed, Phyllis had probably already begun to spread nasty rumors about Kate and her background to everyone attending the house party at Hollystone Hall, despite his warnings not to. His stepmother could be quite ruthless when she took a dislike to someone, and the Woodville family was set firmly in her sights.

  He glanced at his pocket-watch. It was well after three o’clock and high time they were on the road again. And he should really check on Kate. He didn’t think the vagabond would be back for second-helpings, but one never knew…

  When he’d seen that brute man-handling Kate, he’d seen red. The cur was indeed lucky he hadn’t throttled him to death. With the remnants of anxiety tightening his gut—and not wishing to examine why he felt such strong, protective feelings toward Kate—Anthony quit the taproom and went in search of her.

  To his relief, he found her soon enough in the stables, watching The Cat’s Whisker’s ostler, a young stablehand, and his own driver, Wilmot, checking all of his carriage’s harnesses and the horses.

  “All seems to be right now, milord,” remarked Wilmot.

  “Excellent.” Anthony pulled on his gloves, issued orders to Graves and Peterson, his footmen, that they were to acquire a basket of food, additional blankets, and warmed bricks for the journey, and then turned to Kate. “I shall just settle the account, and we shall be on our way again, Miss Woodville… If that is all right with you?”

  Kate frowned, clearly confused by his conciliatory manner. “Of course…”

  When he returned to the carriage, it was to find Kate already rugged up inside.

  “Thank you for arranging the warmed bricks and extra blankets,” she said quietly.

  “It was no trouble at all.” Anthony took his usual seat opposite her and placed his boots on the hot bricks at his feet before dragging a rough wool blanket that smelled suspiciously like horse over his lap. “There’s no sense in us being martyrs to the elements as we continue on.”

  “No…” She glanced at the sizeable basket on the bench seat next to him. “There looks to be quite a substantial amount of food in there. Are you planning on traveling through the night after all?”

  “Perhaps. We shall see how things progress with the weather.”

  Kate nodded and then pushed a stray lock of her curling red hair behind her ear. Even in the dim light of the carriage, he could discern how pale she was and noticed the tight lines of tension around her green eyes as she turned away from him to gaze out the window. She wasn’t wearing her bonnet, and it was evident that the wind and perhaps her rough treatment at the hands of the gypsy had played havoc with her hair. It was all but falling from its pins about her slender neck, and he had the odd urge to loosen all of her wild tresses so he could see how she would look with them tumbling about her shoulders.

  Good God. He really should stop objectifying Miss Woodville as if she were some muse put on this earth to fuel his desires.

  He straightened his shoulders and huffed out a sigh as he turned his attention to the drear winter landscape. The snowfall was still relatively light, and he couldn’t deny a growing eagerness to push on into the night. If Woodville had stopped by Fenwick House in Cumbria, there was a good chance he could still intercede in time.

  As to whether he’d call the bastard out… Anthony was sorely tempted. Freddie Woodville might have served in His Majesty’s army, but he was also a crack shot with a pistol. He could think of nothing more satisfying than putting a bullet in Woodville. Preferably right between the eyes.

  Strange how he could feel such enmity toward him yet feel so protective toward Kate. If the circumstances were different… Anthony gave himself a mental kick. He needed to stop that line of thinking right now.

  Kate Woodville was not for him.

  * * *

  Heavens, it is cold. Kate shivered beneath her blankets on her side of the carriage. Lord Stanton had decided to push on to Cumbria, and now she was ruing her suggestion that they do so. The bricks at her feet had long ago lost their heat, and her feet were blocks of ice. Even though she was tightly wrapped up in two blankets and her pelisse, her teeth had begun to chatter. She couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers or her nose at all. She pitied the driver and the footmen outside and shivered all the more.

  The travel lanterns inside the carriage provided enough light for her to discern that Lord Stanton was asleep. After they’d partaken of a light supper of cheese, rolls, and fruit cake, he’d settled into his seat, his dark head resting against the well-padded leather squab and had drifted off. At least Kate thought he had. Over the last few days, she’d observed that Lord Stanton was a very quiet sleeper; he didn’t snore at all.

  Strange how in many ways she barely knew him, yet she’d also learned such intimate details about him, too.

  She shifted restlessly in her cold leather seat, tugging the blankets about herself as tightly as she could, envious that her traveling companion was able to slumber despite the arctic-like conditions.

  And then Lord Stanton opened his eyes.

  Perhaps he’d been feigning sleep to avoid conversing with her as she’d often done; either way, his gaze was alert as it settled on her with unerring accuracy.

  “Miss Woodville, I swear you are turning blue,” he said, his brow furrowing with apparent concern.

  “N-N-No, I’m n-not,” she said, all the while inwardly cursing the fact she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering. “I’m f-fine.”

  He gave a derisive snort. “Clearly.”

  Before Kate knew what he was about or could marshal a protest, he moved to the seat beside her and drew her close with one arm whilst drawing his own blanket over both of them. When Kate tried to pull away, his grip only grew tighter. “We c-can’t… You c-can’t…”

  “Of course we can, Miss Woodville.” Lord Stanton’s breath was a welcome gust of warmth against her temple as he gathered her even closer, so close her cheek rested against his greatcoat. “I give you my word as a peer of the realm that I will behave with the utmost decorum. As a gentleman, I simply cannot sit by and watch you freeze to death in my carriage.”

  “I s-s-suppose that w-would be m-most inconvenient f-f-for you.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  Kate detected an amused undercurrent in his rich, deep voice. With her head resting against Lord Stanton’s very wide chest, she could feel the rumble of it along with the steady thud of his heart. His furnace-like heat. An odd warmth unfurled inside her, and she had to resist the urge to snuggle more deeply into his embrace. He smelled heavenly—the scents of his spicy cologne, wool, and a trace of wood-smoke intermingled with another musky, masculine sce
nt she couldn’t quite name—whatever it was, she decided she quite liked it. A part of her brain warned her that what she was doing was wrong, but as Lord Stanton’s warmth enveloped her and her trembling began to ease, she couldn’t summon the will to pull away.

  Who’d have thought a man could make such a wonderful pillow… Or that Lord Stanton should even care about her comfort when most of the time he was an arrogant ass… Too tired and now too content to sort through the tangled skein of her thoughts, which were largely comprised of trying to understand the conundrum that was Lord Stanton, Kate, at last, drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 9

  Fenwick House, Cumbria

  Christmas Eve

  Kate wasn’t sure how Lord Stanton’s driver and his pair of footmen managed it, but they made excellent time, despite the fact the snowfall grew steadily heavier the further north they traveled. Once they reached the outskirts of Kendal around three o’clock in the afternoon, Kate was called upon by Lord Stanton to give directions to Fenwick House, which she did as best as she was able, considering it had been eight years since she’d last visited. Dusk was just beginning to fall when the carriage, at last, turned into the snow-covered gravel drive and drew toward her uncle’s sprawling Jacobean manor house.

  Kate was pleased to note Lord Stanton’s expression of surprise as he took in the brooding grandeur of Fenwick: the impressive gray stone façade covered in ivy, the myriad arched, mullion-paned windows, the crenellated turret towers at the end of each wide wing; it was a truly magnificent sight, even set against an austere backdrop of moorland blanketed in snow and a dull, pewter gray sky.

  Ha! Take that, Lord High-and-Mighty. You believed Freddie had nothing to offer Violet except a tainted family history and a life of drudgery. But, oh, how wrong you are.

  Lord Stanton was silent as he handed her down from the carriage. If Kate hadn’t been so stiff from the journey, she would have enjoyed sweeping past him, but the most she could manage to do was lift her chin into the air as she picked her way across the gritted path toward the carved, black oak doors.