Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas

by Andrea Pickens

“Mrs. Crenshaw has given me an apple,” he piped up in a not so subtle reminder.

  Charles made a show of consulting his watch. “I do believe my allotted hour is nearly up. Wouldn’t want to face the firing squad for disobeying orders, would I, lad?”

  He rose. “Perhaps I can contrive to coax permission from his lordship to allow an extra hour tomorrow.” He winked. “And maybe I shall smuggle in a sweetmeat or two to supplement the bread-and-water rations.”

  “If Papa were home, he would not make such a jest of my predicament,” she replied.

  “The time will pass quicker than you think. After all, it’s only for a few more days.”

  “It’s easy enough for you to say,” she murmured as he strolled off with Toby.

  But indeed, she hardly noticed the passing hours. When Toby returned a short while later, they quickly resumed reading the latest chapter of the swashbuckling adventure.

  The boy had climbed up beside her, his small head nestling against her shoulder as he sat listening with rapt attention. Emma was so engrossed in the story that she didn’t hear the front door open and shut.

  “Oh, Lady Emma, I do apologize if Toby has given you no peace this afternoon.” The sight of them together on the old sofa drew a sharp intake of breath from Anne as she peeked into the room. “I am sure you would have much preferred to rest or—”

  “Toby has been a delightful companion,” assured Emma. “He has helped keep my mind off my injuries.”

  And the rude manners of the lady’s brother, she added to herself.

  Anne gave Emma a grateful look. “That is very kind of you to say.”

  “I read the story to Emma—well, almost all of it,” chirped the boy.

  Both ladies smiled, then Anne cleared her throat. “Toby, you can’t address our guest so informally. You must call her Lady Emma, or milady. It is not proper—”

  “Oh, please, it’s quite all right,” interrupted Emma. “I should very much like for Toby to think of me as a. . . friend.”

  “Mama,” continued Toby. “Emma has been great fun.” He cocked his head to one side. “Why did Uncle Noel call her a whiny brat?”

  Anne turned a vivid shade of crimson. “Toby!” she gasped in strangled embarrassment. “You must learn not to repeat what you overhear adults say, for there is much you, er, misunderstand.”

  “That’s quite all right, Mrs. Hartley. Please don’t trouble yourself over it,” said Emma softly. “Lord Kirtland has not exactly kept his sentiments a secret. I am sorry that my presence appears to be an onerous burden on your household at this time. If I had any choice in the matter, I assure you I would have taken myself off long ago.”

  Anne’s color deepened. “I apologize for my brother’s manners, as well as those of my son. I am ashamed that you have been made to feel so unwelcome.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what has brought on such unaccountable behavior in my brother—he is usually the soul of politeness.”

  “You needn’t apologize for me, Anne,” said Noel, as he came to stand in the doorway. “I am capable of making my own, if necessary.”

  Anne fixed him with an odd stare for a moment, and seemed on the verge of making some sort of reply. Instead she merely turned and picked Toby up from the sofa. “Come, lambkin, it is way past time for you to have your nap.”

  “But I haven’t shown Emma the spillikins Uncle Noel made for me! Or the painted pony he brought from Spain.”

  “I should love to see such treasures, but I am a bit fatigued right now. Might it wait until after supper?” said Emma, darting a look at the baron that seemed to challenge him to issue an order to the contrary.

  “Oh, very well.” The boy’s eyes were already half closed, and his head was resting on Anne’s shoulder.

  As soon as mother and child had quitted the room, Noel took a step closer to Emma. “Do you wish to be taken up to your bedchamber for the evening?” he asked gruffly.

  Her chin came up. “Despite your wish for me to be out of your sight, sir, I am not in the least tired and would rather remain where I am. That is, of course, assuming I really do have a choice in the matter.”

  “Very well. But I warn you that I have a few things in here that I must attend to.”

  She made a wry face. “Well, I shall try very hard not to get in your way.”

  To her surprise, a glimmer of a smile twitched on his lips. Instead of taking his leave right away, he shifted his weight from foot to foot and clasped his hands behind his back. “I see I shall have to watch my tongue a good deal more carefully around my nephew from now on. I am sorry that he gave voice to a comment that was not meant to be repeated.”

  Emma drew in a breath. It was hardly a handsome apology, but as it clearly cost him some effort to make, she supposed she must accept it.

  Still, stung by his obvious reluctance, she couldn’t resist a less-than-laudable reply of her own. “Ah. You are sorry that Toby repeated it? Or sorry it was said in the first place?”

  His jaw tightened. “You may take my words to mean what you wish.” With that, he turned on his heel and left.

  In a few minutes be was back again, carrying several rags, a tin of beeswax, and a large wooden box. Studiously avoiding any glance in her direction, he stripped off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and began a vigorous cleaning of the carved pine mantel.

  Emma made a show of picking up one of the books that Charles had brought for her. But try as she might, she couldn’t keep her gaze from straying to where he was working and watching the way his corded muscles moved beneath the fine linen of his shirt.

  To her acute embarrassment, he turned abruptly to reach for another rag and caught her staring.

  “Gentlemen are not supposed to engage in such menial tasks,” she said sharply to mask her embarrassment.

  “As you are well aware, I am not a proper gentleman. At least not the sort of gentleman you are used to,” he answered, taking up another dollop of the fragrant wax and rubbing it into the wood.

  She couldn’t tell whether his expression was a smile or a sneer.

  “But in my mind, a true gentleman would not ask another person to do a task which he is not capable of doing himself,” added Noel. “I am not ashamed to put an honest effort into making this house a more cheerful place in which to live.”

  Emma bit her lip as she forced her eyes back to the printed page, realizing that once again she had appeared a pampered and spoiled prig. The thought of it shouldn’t bother her in the least—after all, why should it matter what some rough country lord thought of her?

  But somehow it did.

  She couldn’t help but think about why. Another furtive glance at Noel showed him working diligently to polish the wood. He was as different from other gentlemen of her acquaintance as chalk was from cheese. There was a certain strength that radiated from him—not just a physical presence but a sense of character as well. He certainly made no attempt to hide his true self behind a facade of charming manners or amiable wit, like so many bucks of the ton.

  And although he presented a hard and impenetrable countenance when he regarded her, the softening of his features when he looked at his sister and nephew revealed that a caring, compassionate nature lay within.

  Loath as she was to admit it, she found that much as she wished to dislike him, she found him quite. . .

  Admirable. And, if truth be told, quite intriguing.

  Her fingers turned the page with a decided snap. Well, she chided herself, there was little need to wonder what he thought of her! He had ignored her presence since making his barbed retort, focusing all his attention on his work. Why, he was even whistling under his breath, as if he was enjoying himself.

  She slanted another sidelong glance in his direction and saw that he was finished with the polishing. Putting the rag aside, he drew the wooden box closer and removed a half dozen oranges, a long length of ribbon, scissors, and a glass jar of cloves. He lay all the items on the rug in front of the hearth, then picked up one of the orang
es and began to stick the pieces of spice into its skin in a willy-nilly fashion.

  The first few went in without mishap, but the next one slipped and pricked the tip of his thumb.

  “Damnation,” he muttered, giving his finger a shake.

  “Perhaps I should remind you about slips of the tongue, sir,” she murmured, “lest Toby keep adding to his rapidly expanding vocabulary.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he growled. After another grimace, his mouth quirked upward into a wry grin.

  Emma swallowed hard at seeing how the smile brought a certain golden sparkle to his eyes.

  “Quite right,” he continued. “I doubt Anne would appreciate that sort of progress in his learning.” He paused to jab another random spike into the fruit.

  “Lord Kirtland, those cloves are supposed to be arranged in a certain order, you know.”

  His brow furrowed. “They are?”

  “Yes. You must make sure that the ribbon can wrap around—oh, here, hand it to me and I’ll show you.”

  He hesitated. “You have made pomander balls before?”

  “I have,” she said rather wistfully. “My brother Robert and I had great fun making decorations for Christmas when we were children.”

  “And?”

  She thought for a moment. “And then Mama died, and well. . . I suppose the servants did it.”

  Still, he made no move to give it to her. “You might scrape your delicate skin or break a nail,” he warned.

  Emma felt a sharp stab of disappointment. She looked down at her book again, hoping that she might hide the glint of a tear that his casual rebuff had brought to her eyes. “If I did, you need not fear that the whiny brat would complain,” she replied in a brittle voice. “But of course it is clear that you do not wish my touch to sully anything in your ·precious household.”

  Taking great care to smooth a crease from one of the pages, she pretended to turn her full attention back to the volume in her lap.

  Chapter 4

  His tongue seemed bent on creating no end of problems today, thought Noel with a rueful grimace. He sat back on his haunches, twining the length of ribbon around his fingers as he cast a sideways look at Emma. The two spots of color on her cheeks and the rigid set of her jaw indicated that despite her show of unconcern, her feelings had been wounded.

  His lips compressed. He hadn’t meant to be cruel. It was just that her offer had taken him by surprise. So, for that matter, had her behavior with Toby. She had been nice to the lad. And patient, which he well knew was not always easy with an energetic five-year-old.

  The trouble was, he wanted to keep thinking of her as naught but a spoiled heiress, for to allow even a hint of regard to develop might be. . .

  Dangerous.

  He slanted another quick glance at her profile—the rich blue of her eyes, the pert tilt of her nose, the lush fullness of her mouth, and the hint of vulnerability in her expression—then looked quickly away.

  Lud, she was quite the most lovely lady he had ever met, and if he were not careful, he would might start behaving like the drab, common moth who finds itself drawn inexorably toward a bright, shimmering flame.

  Dangerous indeed.

  Uttering a silent oath, he stood up abruptly and held out the orange and the jar of spice.

  “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “That was ill done of me. I would be grateful for your help, if you still wish to offer it.”

  It was Emma’s turn to hesitate. “You needn’t ask me just because you feel you should be polite.”

  Noel allowed a wry smile. “As you may have noticed, I am not overly concerned with the social graces.”

  She gave a tentative smile in return as she accepted the proffered items. “The thought might have occurred to me.”

  “Actually, I am simply being pragmatic,” he added dryly. Uncorking a can of linseed oil, he began to wipe down the dingy wainscoting around the fireplace. “I could use a hand if I am to finish making things cheery for Anne and Toby by Christmas Eve. It is their first holiday without—” He caught himself. “But that is hardly any of your concern.”

  “Do I really seem so incapable of caring for anyone except myself?” asked Emma in a tight voice.

  “I did not mean—” He felt a flush rise to his cheeks. “That is, I simply did not

  mean to burden you with my problems.”

  Emma already rearranging the nubbed cloves into neat rows. “Was your sister’s husband a soldier like you, sir?”

  “No, he had a small estate near Lymington. When an epidemic of influenza swept through the area, he and Anne insisted on tending to their servants. “

  Though naturally reserved, Noel soon found it was easier to talk to Emma than he had ever imagined. She listened well and asked thoughtful questions. And any doubts that may have lingered as to her character were quickly put to rest by her quick intelligence and lively sense of humor. It was soon clear that she was not the shallow, conceited young lady he had first taken her to be.

  And as he managed a bit of probing of his own and learned something of her own background, he found that the outer show of bravado hid a far more sensitive nature. Indeed, the more they talked, the more intriguing she became.

  Dangerous. The word once again began echoing a warning inside his head.

  Noel barely noticed how much time had passed until Anne and Toby returned, followed by the housekeeper who, along with his sister, was carrying a tray of food.

  “Since it would be uncomfortable for you to move to the dining room, Lady Emma, I thought we would join you for an informal supper here,” announced Anne, venturing a stern look at Noel as if she expected him to protest.

  “An excellent idea,” he murmured, standing up and wiping his hands with a clean cloth. “May I fix a plate for you, Lady Emma? You have certainly earned a bit of sustenance with your labors.”

  Emma laid aside the last of the oranges. “I am almost done with these, so you had best find me another chore so that I may deserve breakfast,” she replied in a bantering tone.

  Anne ducked her head to hide a small smile, but tactfully refrained from making any comment on the marked change of attitude in both her brother and their guest.

  “Emma, Emma! I have brought my spillikins, and my pony for you to see.” Toby was quick to climb onto the sofa beside his new friend and dump an armful of wooden toys in her lap.

  “Perhaps you would care to dine alone in your room,” said Noel quietly. “As Anne said, things tend to be rather more informal here than you are used to.”

  Emma was already admiring the gaily-painted animals. “I should prefer to stay here,” she replied. “That is, if you have no objection to my joining your family meal.”

  “You are welcome to remain.” He handed her a plate, then gathered his nephew in his arms and tossed him up in the air. The little boy shrieked with delight as Noel caught him and turned him upside down.

  “Here now bantling, you must leave Lady Emma in peace for a bit.”

  Toby grabbed at his uncle’s knee, and gave a yank to the well-worn top of his boot. Noel pretended to trip, and collapsed to the floor. The two of them wrestled for a few moments before the boy emerged from a tangle of limbs and plopped down on Noel’s chest with a thump.

  “I give up,” cried the baron in mock surrender. “I see I shall have to engage in a series of lessons with Gentleman Jackson himself if I am to have any hope of victory in the future.” He sat up slowly and brushed a mass of tangled locks from his brow. No doubt after this display of behavior, Lady Emma would find him to be a very odd sort of gentleman—as well as ill-tempered—compared to the polished, well-mannered bucks of the ton.

  And what of it?

  Giving an inward shrug, he turned and added another log to the crackling fire, trying to ignore the flicker of desire stirring inside him.

  Between Toby’s eager chatter and Anne’s polite questions to Emma concerning holiday traditions of the area, the meal passed quickly. Noel waved away his sist
er’s offer of help and removed the supper tray himself. When he returned, he brought back her basket of greenery and another box filled with assorted items for fashioning decorations.

  Anne hesitated as she picked up a bough of fresh-cut holly. “We could take our work to the kitchen so that we don’t disturb you any longer, Lady Emma. You must be rather exhausted.”

  “Oh, please don’t go,” replied Emma. “I should hate to miss all the fun.”

  And good fun it was, she found herself thinking a short time later, when everyone was engaged in making the room look cheery. Noel had begun to hang the clove-scented oranges from the freshly waxed mantel, while Anne was arranging bouquets of fragrant pine boughs in earthenware jugs and along the windowsills.

  Meanwhile, Toby was busy cutting out lopsided paper snowflakes with a pair of blunt scissors. The boy’s peals of laughter punctuated Noel’s gentle teasing of his sister, and a cozy warmth filled the room—not just from the flames dancing high in the newly polished hearth.

  How had she thought the baron a cold, unfeeling man? reflected Emma. He was certainly neither. Recalling his playful antics with his nephew and his undisguised concern for his sister, she was moved by the genuine show of his feeling, so unlike the bored ennui affected by many of the gentlemen of the ton.

  She paused for a moment in finishing the last pomander ball, and suddenly felt a small knot form inside her chest. There was a palpable spirit of love and kinship surrounding her companions. Lord Kirtland and his family might lack for blunt, but they had something infinitely more valuable, she realized with a start. Something that many people would gladly pay a fortune to possess.

  As she watched the flicker of the flames, Emma bit her lip and thought of the endless rounds of balls, routs and house parties she had attended over the last year. And it suddenly struck her that between all the flatteries of her admirers and the swirl of new activities, she had become rather too caught up in the pursuit of superficial pleasures. Her father, her brother and her cousin—she had become so self-absorbed that they had become almost strangers. That the prospect of missing bit of revelry because of a twisted ankle had seemed a dire calamity only showed how shallow her feelings had become.