Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas

by Andrea Pickens

  “Too dangerous,” he replied gruffly. “Go back inside.”

  “Balvan! I have a great deal of experience in driving a coach in these conditions.”

  “Did you just call me a horse’s arse in Russian?” he demanded, stifling the urge to laugh.

  “Yes—but if you wish to ring another peal over my head for hoydenish behavior, I suggest you do it later,” shot back Anna.

  “She is a dab hand on the box, sir,” volunteered the coachman. “I can attest to her skill.”

  As a frigid gust nearly swept him off his feet, Nicholas gave a grim nod. “Very well. We won’t stand on ceremony.” After directing the two others to take up their places, he maneuvered the skittish animals into position to straighten the coach. “Ready?”

  Anna tightened her grip on the reins.

  “NOW!”

  After a few slippery moments, the horses responded to the tugs and shouts, their hooves digging into the fast-drifting snow. The coach inched back, slowly but surely, until they were able to extricate the trapped wheel. Though several spokes were cracked and the rim bent, it looked as if it would hold up for a few more miles.

  The same could not be said for the coachman, who was trying to mask his pain with a thin smile. Ignoring the man’s weak attempt at argument, Nicholas bundled him inside the coach and tipped a flask of brandy to his iced lips. It was a moment or two before he realized he had left Anna to fend for herself.

  “May the devil’s arse be buried in ice,” he swore, reaching for the door latch.

  It snapped open with no help from him.

  “Ha—Hell just might freeze over in this weather.” Anna sounded almost cheerful as she scrambled in and slapped the snow from her mittens. “I trust you have saved a sip for me.”

  Thick flakes clung to her fur hat and ice rimmed her dark lashes, giving her the look of a storm-tossed ermine. A very adorable storm-tossed ermine. And a very brave one. Of all the young ladies he knew, Nicholas couldn’t think of a one who wouldn’t have swooned in fright by now. While Lady Anna seemed about to succumb to. . .

  Laughter?

  It was a sweetly musical sound that seemed to lighten the confined space with a note of sunshine. Nicholas found himself smiling in spite of the circumstances.

  “Well done,” he murmured, passing over the brandy. “I would never have imagined a highborn lady could take hold of adversity like that.”

  “And I would never have imagined a proper gentleman could carry his own weight,” she retorted, but with a twinkle in her eye. “And if you are about to remark that a highborn lady ought not imbibe in anything stronger than ratafia punch, you may bite your tongue.”

  “If I could, I would be offering you champagne,” he murmured. Strangely enough, he found he was developing a taste for her effervescent spirit, however unconventional. In comparison, every other young lady he knew suddenly seemed flat.

  Anna took a tiny taste of the brandy, then handed it back. “Actually, I would prefer vodka,” she murmured.

  “I shall ring for one of the footmen and ask him to fetch a bottle. Along with a crystal bowl full of caviar.”

  Another laugh. He was sorry to hear it die away more quickly than the first one.

  Her expression turned serious as she rooted around in one of the storage compartments and drew out a length of linen. “Let me have your hand, John. That wrist needs to be bandaged.”

  “But milady, you ought not have to tend to me—”

  “Don’t be foolish.” She already had hold of his sleeve and was folding back the cuff. “This should help stave off any further swelling.” Her gaze angled up, looking for Nicholas’s eyes. “However, you won’t be in any condition to drive.”

  “As to that,” he replied. “I will take his place on the box.”

  “And I will spell you,” she added firmly.

  Before he could argue, the coachman voiced his own reservation. “Sir, with the wheel as weak as it is, it might not be wise to risk pushing on. The snow and ice has become awfully treacherous on this narrow road. Another accident might turn out to be far more serious than the one we just escaped.”

  Nicholas frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

  “That I go ahead on foot and fetch help. We have traveled some distance, and by the innkeeper’s direction, the next village cannot be far off.”

  “Out of the question,” exclaimed Anna. “I’ll not have you run such a risk.”

  “The storm is letting up,” replied the coachman, pointing out a sliver of blue in the slate gray clouds. “And there is nothing wrong with my legs, milady. The way is clear enough that I am in no danger of getting lost. I should be back in a short while with a safer vehicle. If I am not, then his lordship can attempt the drive.”

  “He has a point,” mused Nicholas. A more prolonged look out the window showed that the snow had stopped and the dark clouds appeared to be blowing off to the east. “All things considered, the plan is a prudent one.”

  “There must be another way,” she protested.

  “If you have a better proposal, I am willing to hear it.”

  Her lips parted, but remained frozen in silence.

  Nicholas began assembling some essentials for the coachman to take with him. “Lady Anna, like it or not, we must be. . .”

  “Practical.” Her sigh blunted the edge of irony.

  “Sometimes, discretion is the better part of valor,” he murmured, adding a pair of extra mittens from his valise and the muffler from his neck to the packet of food in the other man’s hand. “Your courage and concern are commendable, but pushing onward might only end up being far more dangerous for all concerned.”

  She signaled her surrender with a small nod.

  “That goes for you, too,” he was forced to add as the coachman tried to refuse the food and clothing. “Now be off with you. Stick to the road, and if you encounter any difficulty, do not hesitate to turn back.”

  After looping the length of merino wool up over his ears, the man snapped off a brisk salute and slipped out into the cold.

  “Do you always remain so calm and unrattled in the face of an emergency?” asked Anna as the door fell shut.

  “Being a stick in the mud has its advantages—it takes a great deal to make me budge.”

  She colored. “Oh, dear! Must you remind me of all the regrettable things I have uttered over the course of this day?”

  To keep such a becoming shade of pink upon her cheeks, he would consider repeating their conversations word for word. In Latin and Greek, if need be.

  “You no doubt look on me as a hopeless hoyden,” she said softly. “Now that I have shown my true colors.”

  “I do not see you in quite so harsh a light, Lady Anna.”

  She shied back from the window as the sun scudded out from behind the clouds. In a moment it was gone again, dimming the uncertainty in her eyes.

  What inner turmoil drove her to seek refuge in shadow? Nicholas had an inkling he knew its cause, which seemed confirmed by her troubled reply.

  “Then you are the rare exception. Most gentlemen expect a lady to resemble bleached muslin—soft, pliable, and leached of all texture and hue.” Abruptly changing position, she leaned back to face the panes of glass and cupped her chin in her hand. “I have always loved winter, and the way the world appears after a snowfall. The pristine white blanket is so pure, so perfect. It covers a multitude of flaws, hides the imperfections, softens the jagged edges. . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as she stared at the pale trees. “Everything looks so hopeful and full of promise, as if life itself were a blank canvas, on which one could start afresh.”

  “And then it melts away,” mused Nicholas.

  “Yes, I know.” Her voice was sad, subdued. “It’s only an illusion.”

  He thought for a long moment. “In many ways, what you are speaking about is really the true spirit of Christmas. It seems to me that it is a time to remind ourselves that there is always hope, always a chance for t
he rebirth of light and laughter, no matter that the days are at their darkest.”

  “Why, Lord Killingworth,” she whispered after a moment. “You are a very wise man.”

  He smiled. “Sorry, I have no frankincense, gold or myrrh to offer you, just a piece of rather moldy cheddar.” From within another square of oilskin he produced half a loaf of dark bread. Cutting off a slice, he topped it off with a crumble of the cheese and presented it to her with a flourish. “Along with a crust of stale rye.”

  Her mouth quivered, then slowly curled up at the corners. “I think it quite the most lovely Christmas gift I have received since. . . since I was a child.”

  Nicholas was too well attuned to the nuances of language to miss her last minute change of words. A shapely figure was not the only thing hidden beneath the fur-trimmed coat. Secrets. She had secrets too personal, too painful to share.

  Ah, but didn’t everyone? he thought, uncomfortably aware of his own inner conflicts, and how carefully he tried to keep them under wraps.

  Lud, what a pair they made—two prickly strangers, forced to travel by the call of duty, and suddenly thrown together by chance. Her problems were not really any of his concern, and yet he felt an inexplicable bond had formed between them.

  Trying to lighten her bleak mood, he kept up his light banter. “What! You mean to say a porcelain doll can hold a candle to this exquisite delicacy?”

  “It was a rocking horse, painted bright yellow, with a flaxen mane and tail soft as spun silk.” Anna shivered as she nibbled at the morsel of food. “I used to imagine I could ride to the moon and back if I wished to.” A sigh. “But like all childish fantasies, such dreams soon came crashing back down to earth.”

  Sympathy only seemed to be making things worse.

  He tried another strategy. “And here I was thinking you had more bottom than most highborn young ladies. But I see I was wrong. A tumble or two, and you run for cover, feeling egregiously sorry for yourself.”

  Her eyes blazed, just as he had hoped, burning away the look of dull despair. “That’s most unfair, sir!” she exclaimed. “Why, I have faced plenty of hardships that would send any of your cosseted female friends into a paroxysm of. . .” Anna’s indignation trailed off as she caught sight of his twitching lips. “Wretch—you were trying to make me angry.”

  “I would rather hear fire in your voice than such a note of defeat,” he admitted. “Trust me, we all experience times when our dreams soar a bit higher than reality allows.”

  “Even you?”

  “Yes, even me. The fall back down to earth may leave a few bruises, but the trick is to dust yourself off and get back on your horse.”

  She nibbled at the last bit of cheese while digesting his last words. “I don’t imagine it happens often. Gentlemen are so rarely knocked from the saddle.”

  “You saw me land flat on my. . . bum. A rather lowering experience, I might add, that put several distinct black-and-blue marks on my pride.”

  “At the time, you appeared to need a set-down. But I was wrong, and owe you yet another apology.” Her gaze dropped. “My judgment seems greatly askew these days.”

  “But not your aim,” pointed out Nicholas.

  She didn’t smile. “That is hardly a mark in my favor.”

  “On the contrary,” he replied. “I think it quite admirable that a young lady possess practical skills, and the spirit to use them.”

  Anna cast him a doubtful look. “You are teasing me again, I expect.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re right to say that in many ways, young ladies of the ton are indistinguishable from one another. In a ballroom, they do have a tendency to blend together into one blur of pastel silks. A very pretty blur, to be sure.”

  His lips quirked. “However, up close, pastels tend to look a trifle insipid. I often find myself wishing for some sort of show of real color.”

  Nicholas watched as her eyes deepened to an indescribably unique shade of blue. Deep, mysterious, and rippled with subtle shadings ranging from turquoise to indigo.

  A man could drown in such a hue. And die happily.

  “Even if that show of color takes the form of a snowball smack to the back of your head?” she asked.

  He found himself grinning. “You certainly leave a lasting impression, Lady Anna. A number of gentlemen might not like it that you have strong opinions, as well as a strong arm. But you also have pluck and courage. I cannot think of another lady with whom I would rather be trapped in the wilds.”

  His observation stirred an unfathomable reaction. It was gone in the blink of an eye as she lowered her lashes. “That’s nice of you to say, sir. Most of the time, I hear only florid compliments on my looks or shameless flattery of my mediocre skills on the pianoforte.”

  “And you do not like that?”

  “No. In truth it is very wearisome.”

  Anna made no protest as he tucked another blanket over her lap and settled her head on his shoulder. “Try to get a bit of sleep, then. There will still be a long way to go once your coachman returns.”

  “Perhaps you could come on with us to London after all,” she murmured into the folds of his coat.

  Dangerous. That road could only lead to trouble.

  “It’s probably best that we go our separate ways,” he replied softly.

  Chapter 4

  In her dream, she was being chased by a big black bear whose gaping jaws stretched into an uncanny resemblance of her uncle’s smile. Snap. Snap. The teeth were coming ever closer, threatening to swallow her into a maw of darkness.

  Shrinking back with a small cry, Anna found herself sheltered inside something reassuringly warm and solid. Her lashes fluttered and she was vaguely aware of a dark shape swooping in to ward off the danger.

  “No need to be alarmed.” Nicholas brushed another tangled curl from her cheek. “The howl is just the sound of the wind picking up.”

  Now fully awake, Anna sat up. “How long have we been sitting here? It looks dark as midnight outside.”

  “Not more than an hour, but I am afraid the storm has come back with a vengeance.” The wood paneling shivered as another gust slammed into the coach. “I don’t think we can expect a rescue party anytime soon. We are going to have to fend for ourselves.”

  Even with her nose pressed up against the glass, she could make out naught but an impenetrable white shroud surrounding them. “Lud, the temperature is dropping as well. If it gets much colder, we will have to consider abandoning the vehicle and digging a snow cave.”

  “A snow cave?”

  “In Russia, it is a common practice when travelers are stranded in a storm. The snow provides much more insulation than a drafty vehicle. It is actually quite cozy, and can make the difference between life and death.”

  “How very interesting.” She had half expected Nicholas to dismiss the idea as far too outlandish, but he looked rather intrigued. “Do you speak from experience?”

  No doubt it would only add to her image of being a very foreign, outlandish sort of person. But she had grown accustomed at school to being considered different from the other girls.

  “Yes.” Her chin rose a touch, as if to deflect any derision. “My grandmother and I were caught in a wild snowstorm while traveling from Moscow to her country estate in Obuchovo. I was only fourteen and a bit frightened, but she had braved many a winter and made it seem like a grand adventure.” Her tone turned slightly wistful. “She kept me entertained through the night by recounting traditional Russian folk tales, with their fearless bogatyrs, enchanted ice maidens and magical firebirds. I was disappointed come morning, when a search party found us and dug out our sleigh.”

  “I can well imagine,” said Nicholas, his voice seeming to echo the same note of wistfulness as her own. “The Feather of Finist the Falcon was a particular favorite of mine when I was a schoolboy.”

  “You are familiar with Russian wonder tales?” she asked in surprise.

  “I usually had my nose buried in a book while
the other lads were out playing cricket.” He made a wry face. “You are not the first one who has thought me a stick in the mud.”

  Wishing that her tongue had not been so well aimed as her snowball, Anna said as much.

  “No need for remorse,” came the cheerful reply. “Such boring habits came in quite handy when I met up with a partisan band in Portugal.”

  “Y-You were in Portugal,” her eyes widened. “With the partisans?”

  “Just for a short time. I was delegated to make a rather minor delivery to one of the less important chieftains. Luckily for me, I had read an arcane Moorish text on mountain warfare, for when we were set upon by a regiment of French dragoons. . .” Nicholas went on to tell a pithy anecdote that Anna suspected did not give near enough credit to his actions in fighting off the enemy.

  She was thinking on how to respond when a jangling of the harness rang out above the din of the storm. “Lud, I have forgotten the poor horses!” she exclaimed. “In Russia, the sleighs carry horse blankets for just such an emergency. Unless the storm abates. . .” Wiping the frozen vapor from the windowpane, she tried to peer outside.

  Nicholas was already buttoning up his coat. “I saw a small stand of pine trees close by. They should provide an excellent shelter from the snow and wind.”

  “Lord Killingworth, wait! I should like to come help.”

  “And turn into a frozen Snow Queen?” He paused with his hand on the latch. “I much prefer you as a flesh-and-blood young lady. So please, do me the great favor of staying here for the moment.”

  Her pulse suddenly quickened with a rush of heat. Which made no sense, seeing as ice crystals clung to her coat and mittens. “Well, then,” she stammered. “Please do be careful.”

  A flurry of snow nearly obscured his grin. “Don’t worry. I have no desire to transform from a stick in the mud to an icicle in the snow.”

  The horses were soon sheltered, and as it turned out, the wind died down right after Nicholas returned. So it wasn’t necessary to go the extreme of seeking refuge in the drifts that had all but buried the coach wheels.