The Captain's Christmas Bride

by Annie Burrows

  Her stomach turned over. She reached for the buttered scone, and devoured it in two bites, in an attempt to settle it down.

  She would have to attend the wedding, of course. She had to show Marianne that she forgave her. And if she hadn’t completely forgiven her for everything, she had at least forgiven her for the mix-up at the Christmas masquerade.

  Because that mix-up had freed her from David. The hold he’d had over her empty, lonely heart.

  And she was married to a far better man.

  She licked her lips on the last of the scone.

  ‘Delicious,’ she informed Mrs Dawson.

  Who smiled back, with no idea Julia hadn’t just been referring to the scone.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning was one of those days when the rain felt like needles of ice. Snow would have been less unpleasant against his face.

  ‘I ordered the coach to take us to the church,’ said Julia, darting him an anxious, and apologetic, look as he stepped back up into the shelter of the porte-cochère. ‘As soon as I knew you intended to come with me.’

  ‘You didn’t expect me to come with you?’ So that explained the way her eyes had widened when he’d put on his own coat and reached for his hat when she’d told him where she was going. She’d really thought he would let her attend the wedding of the two people who’d so foully betrayed her, alone? Had nobody ever considered her feelings, or attempted to support her before?

  At least that explained why she’d sent the little housemaid scurrying off—it must have been with a message to the stables to have a carriage prepared.

  ‘I am sorry, it isn’t the most comfortable carriage in the stables,’ she said as an ancient vehicle rumbled through the arch. ‘I do hope you don’t mind the state it’s in. Only I ordered the best chaise to take Marianne to church. A bride should have a little luxury on her wedding day, don’t you think? And anyway, I’d planned to walk.’

  ‘Walk?’ Her maid clucked her tongue as she draped a sable cloak round her shoulders.

  ‘I normally walk to church across the park,’ Julia retorted as the maid handed her a matching muff. ‘It’s hardly any distance at all.’

  ‘Not in this cold, my lady,’ said the maid with a disapproving sniff.

  ‘You certainly won’t feel the cold today, my lady,’ put in a towering footman as he opened the carriage door.

  ‘That you won’t,’ said the maid. ‘There’s heated bricks for your feet and an extra lap robe, too.’

  The coach into which they clambered might be past its prime, but when it had been new it must have been the last word in comfort and convenience. The seats were well padded, the doors let in hardly any draught at all and when they set off, the quality of the springs gave them a smooth, gliding sort of ride.

  This was her idea of second-best?

  ‘I would have walked with you,’ he said testily. ‘Had you decided to do so.’

  ‘But I couldn’t possibly expect you to trail all the way to St Andrew’s in this weather...’

  ‘Nonsense. Do you think I haven’t been outside in worse weather than this in my time? What do you think it was like sailing with the Baltic Fleet?’

  ‘I was just trying,’ she said snippily, ‘to show my appreciation. It was so good of you to come with me, that...’

  He sighed, and clenched his fists on his lap.

  ‘And now I have spoiled it by taking offence at your attempt to shield me from the weather.’

  He’d done a similar thing when she’d offered the use of her family’s town house. Perhaps it hadn’t been so much a desire to remain a Whitney that had motivated her then, either. Perhaps it had been a generous, impulsive show of appreciation, as it had been today.

  With great deliberation he uncurled his fists, reached out, and patted her hand—or at least where he guessed her hand would be inside the muff.

  ‘It is...’ He cleared his throat, and started again. ‘That is, I wish to commend your sangfroid. This must be a very painful occasion for you. I was not sure you would wish to attend.’ But perhaps he should have seen that she wouldn’t want the world to know how much it hurt to discover that her childhood sweetheart preferred another. Especially since she’d even pretended she was keen to marry him, just to save face. ‘But, since you have chosen to do so, then you should have known you would have my support, and my company.’

  ‘Should I?’ She turned to look at him then, her brow creased in a frown. ‘Not many men would...especially since we...’ She floundered to a halt, her cheeks flushing.

  ‘I am your husband,’ he replied, with a shrug. ‘We did not marry for conventional reasons, it is true, but that is no excuse for neglecting my duties. This is our life now.’ He squeezed her hand inside the muff as tightly as he could. ‘And it will be what we make of it.’

  ‘What we make of it,’ she repeated, searching his face intently. Then she gave a decisive nod, and sat up a touch straighter.

  God, but she was a proud piece. Though today, her pride didn’t seem such a terrible thing. She reminded him of the figurehead of a ship. Carved of oak. Bravely holding up her face in the teeth of a gale.

  No matter what life threw at Lady Julia, she would just lift her chin, and weather it. The way she was weathering being married to him. To look at her now, nobody would guess at the turmoil that must be raging inside her.

  She was the kind of woman he’d have been proud to have as his wife—if she’d actually chosen him, that was.

  * * *

  His heart gave a funny kind of tremor when she smiled into his eyes as he handed her out of the carriage when they arrived.

  ‘Oh, goodness,’ she murmured a few seconds later. ‘I am glad we came. We are the only ones sitting on the bride’s side of the church. Nobody else from the house has come.’

  Though plenty of people were sitting on the groom’s side. He had to suppose they were his friends and family.

  He felt a strange shifting inside him as she bowed her head in prayer. How could she still wish to show friendship to a girl who’d so thoroughly deceived her? He would have thought most women would want to scratch out a rival’s eyes. She didn’t even seem to care that the stoutly built medical student was waiting at the altar for the arrival of a bride who wasn’t her, even after all the effort she’d gone to, to try and trap him.

  Though the moment the poor relation took her place at the groom’s side, Julia’s hold on her emotions wavered. She had to delve into her reticule and pull out a tiny lace-edged square of linen, with which she had to repeatedly dab her eyes.

  He braced himself for a flood of tears.

  But it never came. Indeed, Julia made no more use of her handkerchief than any of the other females present.

  There had been a good deal of sniffing and nose-blowing during his own wedding, he recalled now. It must just be one of those unfathomable things that women did at weddings. All of them.

  She attempted a watery sort of smile for the bride as the newly married couple went back down the aisle, arm in arm, though the girl gave no sign she’d noticed.

  He looked at the crown of Julia’s downbent head as she stuffed her sodden hanky back in her reticule. No, she wasn’t as unaffected as she was attempting to make out. The way the bride had cut her had hurt. It must have done.

  He wasn’t a man who was used to making gestures of affection, but he couldn’t help taking her hand, then, and raising it to his lips.

  She looked up at him, wide-eyed with surprise, for the second time that day.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘For being you.’

  ‘Me? But...’ Her forehead creased into a perplexed frown.

  She ducked her head and blushed fiery red as he tucked her little hand into the crook of his arm to follow the bride and groom to the do
or of the church.

  ‘I must just wish Marianne well,’ she said the moment they emerged into the churchyard. ‘I don’t think it would be appropriate to actually attend the wedding breakfast, but I do want to let her know that...’ She floundered to a halt, a world of regret and trepidation in her face. ‘I cannot let her go into her new life with this...hanging between us.’

  * * *

  Marianne had deliberately ignored her. She must have done. For she and Alec had been the only two people on her side of the church. She couldn’t have not noticed they were there.

  Thankfully, Alec didn’t raise any objection, though most men would have had plenty. He really was being terrifically supportive today. And...gallant, the way he’d kissed her hand for no reason at all. Suddenly it felt rather silly to be rushing away from him towards the groom who’d been the object of her girlish infatuation. For that was all it had been, she saw now. But then, David had seemed to have more substance, more worth than the titled, wealthy men who considered themselves eligible suitors for her hand. And he was clever, and hard-working, and determined to do good with his life, not fritter it away in clubs or at the races.

  Her steps faltered as she neared the lychgate, where the newly married couple were sheltering from the freezing rain. But she’d come this far...

  ‘Congratulations, David,’ she said, thinking it might be easier to deal with him first. He granted her a slight nod of the head, and a frosty look. Oh, well, it was all she could expect, she supposed.

  ‘Marianne,’ she then said, stepping closer and holding out her hand. ‘I do wish you well. I do not want to part on bad terms. And you seem...’

  Marianne let go of David’s arm and stepped close, so they could hug rather than just shake hands. Heartily relieved by the show of friendship, Julia hugged her back, hard.

  ‘I’m angry,’ Marianne hissed into her ear. ‘Can’t you see that? You never pay for anything you do, do you? If it had been me caught with my legs spread like that, I would have been cast out in disgrace. But since you are your father’s pampered pet, you get a lavish wedding, and a ball thrown in your honour, and a groom who can’t keep his hands off you.’

  Julia flinched away, wounded. But Marianne hadn’t finished.

  ‘But I got David,’ she said quietly, so nobody could overhear. ‘There’s something you couldn’t get your hands on, no matter how you tried. He’s mine. Has always been mine. The only thing I’ve had that wasn’t yours first.’

  Julia was dumbfounded. She hadn’t expected the venom in the words, or the hatred sparking from Marianne’s eyes.

  She stepped smartly back, pinned a smile to lips that felt strangely stiff, and walked away with her head held high.

  Alec held out his arm, then handed her into the carriage without saying a word.

  * * *

  ‘You look,’ he said once the door was shut and they were under way. ‘As though you regret lending them the best chaise now.’

  Lady Julia’s eyes filled with tears. For the first time that day, she really did look as though she was struggling to contain her emotions. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

  But then she pulled her mouth into the semblance of a smile. ‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘I do. Because she said...she seemed to think...’ She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

  ‘What is it? Tell me.’

  After only the briefest of hesitations, Julia looked up at him, her face working with indignation.

  ‘She said she was sick of only ever having things that had been mine first.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘And that she was glad that for once she’d walked off with something I wanted but could never have. Oh, lord,’ she said, her gaze turning anxious. ‘Do you think she’s only married David because she thought I wanted him?’

  ‘If she has, then she’s a very stupid girl.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Lady Julia searched his face as though he might possibly have the answer. ‘Why does she resent me so much? I stood up for her. I shared everything with her. Why, the very first day she came to Ness Hall, and I saw her weeping for her parents, and from fright at what Nick and Herbert were trying to do, I gave her my favourite doll. I loved that doll.’ She looked the very picture of bewilderment.

  ‘You have never been on the receiving end of charity, have you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘It isn’t a pleasant feeling.’

  ‘Are you saying that I made her feel uncomfortable?’

  ‘You made me feel uncomfortable,’ he pointed out. ‘When you offered me the use of your father’s town house.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘I know you didn’t mean to. But you see, I have a particular aversion to becoming the kind of man who lives off a woman’s money. It was what my father did. He squandered my mother’s fortune on his own pleasures, leaving us all nothing but debts upon his demise. I have always sworn I would do better.’

  ‘But I offered it freely. And, yes, it was to help you achieve your goals, but...well, I am your wife.’

  ‘But only by accident. And I’m a proud man, besides.’

  She looked as hurt as though he was rejecting her, not just her offer of help.

  ‘How would you feel if you suddenly became penniless, and dependant upon the goodwill of others? And people suspected you of marrying someone only to get your greedy, grasping hands on his money?’

  Her face cleared.

  ‘Just like you, I suspect. I’d throw the money back in your face.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But...’ She frowned. ‘Marianne never did. She always seemed...grateful. I never dreamed she...’

  ‘Ah, but perhaps she was frightened as well. Perhaps she felt she had no choice but to appear grateful to you, since it sounds as though you were the only person to show her any sympathy.’

  ‘Which...might have made her resent me all the more,’ she said slowly. ‘I had everything she’d lost. Wealth. A secure home. Family. Oh, why did I never see it? I couldn’t understand why others thought she was sly, and spoke of her with such dislike.’

  He plucked her hand out of the muff. Patted it.

  ‘Well, she’s out of your life now. And it sounds as if you are well rid of her.’

  ‘But...David. Poor David. Can he know? Does he have any idea how...how two-faced she is?’

  Poor David? The blasted man had been as underhanded as the girl, from what he’d heard.

  ‘What is it about that man?’ He’d meant to remain sympathetic and understanding. He’d come to this benighted wedding to show his support. He’d even let her go and speak to the podgy groom alone, to show that he trusted her. But as that man’s name fell from her lips with such obvious emotion, something very far removed from sympathy and understanding swept his good resolutions aside.

  ‘He isn’t handsome. He isn’t wealthy. He has no title. And yet the two of you appear to have been fighting over him like two dogs over a string of sausages.’

  ‘He was...different,’ she said, turning her head to look out of the window. Probably just as well. He was so angry at her persistent refusal to see any wrong in that man that it must, by now, be showing on his face. And he didn’t want her to see how angry he was growing—not while she was still so hurt. She’d had enough hurt for one day without him adding to it with a display of...petty jealousy, or whatever black humour it was that David stirred up.

  ‘Most of the village boys, you see,’ she resumed, without turning back to him, ‘were horribly rough. And followed Nick and Herbert’s lead in bullying and tormenting Marianne. David was the only one who didn’t. He was quiet, and studious. Eventually, Papa learned that he had a very quick mind, and granted him permission to borrow books from his library, so that he became a frequent visitor to the house.
And we—the three of us—became friends.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘And then there was the spaniel, Silky. Papa let Marianne and I have her for a pet, because she was gun shy. One day there was an accident in the stables. Silky got trampled. Nick was going to break her neck, to put her out of her suffering, he said. But when Marianne burst into tears, David stopped him. Promised to heal her. Even then, he was interested in medicine.’

  Good grief. The way she was talking made it sound as if she regarded him as a cross between Sir Gawain and St Francis of Assisi. He was still trying to school his expression into its usual wooden immobility when she finally turned her head and looked up at him.

  ‘He will be a good doctor,’ she insisted.

  Maybe. But with that stocky build and scholarly disposition he’d run to fat before he turned thirty.

  ‘And I can see that marrying Marianne will be a good match for him, in many ways.’ She sighed. ‘For one thing, Papa has told me he arranged a very generous dowry when she told him of their intention. Which will ensure they can set up house, and David can start up a practice somewhere, in some comfort when he qualifies.’

  ‘Wise man, your father. He has rid you of them both at a stroke.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her eyes widened.

  He braced himself for a flurry of feminine fury. Instead, after only a moment’s reflection, she slumped into the squabs in an attitude of defeat.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted glumly. ‘You are probably correct. He never appeared to dislike Marianne more than he disliked anyone else. But then neither does he appear to understand how...lonely I will be without her.’

  You have me, now, he almost blurted. But what sort of a damn fool thing was it to say? He was no substitute for a lifelong companion, or the chivalrous knight she’d created out of her girlish imagination. He was just a man. A man, moreover, who wasn’t used to dealing with women.

  ‘We are here now,’ she said despondently as the carriage drew to a halt. But she made no move to get out. And her face was working, as though she was really, really struggling to compose herself.