by Caroline Lee
Reggie wasn’t surprised; Sebastian had always loved Christmas, and it made sense that he’d carry their family traditions out to Cheyenne with him. But then he caught the flicker of dark blue as she glanced at him from under her lashes, and a slight smile when she continued: There’s less mistletoe here, though.
Eyes widening at the instinctive thought of kissing her, Reggie felt his body react to her nearness for the second time in the last hour. Swallowing past his dry throat, he quickly pointed towards another beautiful holiday display, hoping to distract her from the topic of mistletoe altogether. Her hand was still on his thigh—probably unintentionally, but still—and she wouldn’t be able to miss the growing way he was “reacting” to her heat, her touch. He managed not to groan.
They remained sitting—Reggie thought it best, all things considered—as the other guests filed into their seats. He pointed out his sister and her husband, and Annie waved politely. Bertie and his wife and sons arrived late, and Reggie reminded himself to introduce her after the event. The Carderock siblings had grown up with the Tillworths—Bertrand had even considered marrying Zerelda at one point—and Reggie knew almost everyone in the room. That didn’t mean that he wanted to leave the side of this fascinating creature to catch up with them, though.
When Zerelda sat at the piano and her sister picked up the violin, the guests began to quiet down. Mrs. Tillworth made a little speech, welcoming everyone and going on about holiday cheer and charity, and then the ladies began their selection of carols.
They were talented musicians, and their brother—Samuel had gone to school with Reggie—joined them in a fine, clear tenor. Reggie wasn’t the only guest who enjoyed it, allowing the music to sweep him into a state of holiday cheer.
But when he glanced at his companion, he could tell that she was trying her hardest to appear interested, and almost cursed himself. How in the world was she supposed to enjoy the experience, when she couldn’t hear a single note of it?
So he pulled his pencil out again, getting her attention with the movement, and began to write.
It’s ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’. Piano is stronger. Zerelda plays this every year—it’s one of her favorites. Cynthia has missed a few notes so far.
Then he looked up, and met her eyes, and saw something shining in those depths that he hadn’t prepared himself for. Gratitude? Or something more? She took the pencil from his limp fingers, then, and bent over his leg.
I recognized the words. Is he a good singer?
Very good. Sammy matches the sound of the piano very well. I think he likes the challenge.
She took the pencil, but focused again on the musicians, her hand still resting on the notebook on his thigh. He tried to pretend like his skin wasn’t tingling.
Then, without looking at the paper, she began to write. I like the way they seem so joyful. This is a nice tradition for them. And you.
As the song ended, the guests clapped enthusiastically, and Annie handed him the pencil to join in. Half of Reggie’s attention was on her, but he applauded as well. Sammy sat down, and the two sisters launched into some instrumental pieces that were always popular. From the corner of his eye, he watch Annie glancing around the room curiously, more interested in the people near her than the music she couldn’t hear.
He glanced at the grand clock, and was surprised to discover that more than a half hour had passed since the beginning of the event. It had seemed like he’d been sitting beside Annie for only a few minutes. He smiled ruefully. Apparently her company did that to him.
Mrs. Tillworth stood again, to lead everyone in another round of applause for her children. Then she invited everyone to sing the final song together. It was Joy to the World, like it always was, and even though Reggie rarely joined in, he liked the annual tradition.
This year, however, when Zerelda started with her usual crescendo that built from the lowest notes on her piano to the highest, Annie startled him with a gasp. She grabbed his hand where it rested with the pencil against his notebook, and he liked that it was instinctive.
At his unasked question, she said aloud, “I felt that.” By that time, everyone else was singing loudly enough—some were even standing—that no one besides him heard her statement. But it touched him. Her bright eyes and smile told him that she was pleased to be able to enjoy the performance, just a bit. To be able to participate.
Slowly, not wanting to startle her, he turned his hand over, not breaking contact with her skin or dropping her gaze. The pencil ended up pressed between their palms, as he twined his fingers through hers.
She’d stopped breathing, and he watched her eyes widen and her lower lip sneak back between her teeth. And he realized that more than anything, at that moment, he wanted to taste that lip.
Maybe she saw something in his gaze, because she began to pull back. He wouldn’t let her, forcing himself to clear all thoughts of his attraction from his expression. Instead, he smiled lightly, and mouthed, “Everyone is singing ‘Joy to the World’.” He knew that he didn’t need to make any sound for her to understand, and judging from the way her shoulders relaxed and she began to breathe again, he’d set her at ease.
But he couldn’t make himself let go of her hand, and luckily, she didn’t try to pull away again. Instead, they just sat there, surrounded by his friends and family, and watched each other. He thought that he could stare into her eyes forever.
If only he hadn’t hurt her. If only she could forgive him. If only he could figure out how to help her enjoy this Christmas season.
Chapter 5
Annie was… confused. Confused by the look Reggie had given her that evening while he held her hand. Confused at the way her pulse had sped up and she’d felt hot and cold all at once. And confused by the fact that she seemed to have enjoyed every single second of it. Why would that be? Why would she enjoy being touched by a man who didn’t think very highly of her?
The other evening, on the stairs, Reggie had made no secret of the fact that he didn’t think she was good enough for his society. He’d stated that they valued perfection, and hadn’t bothered to deny that she wasn’t perfect. It had been humiliating to realize the truth, and even more humiliating to know that she was so bothered by it because she’d wanted him to think highly of her. But then tonight, seeing the way his eyes had lit up when she’d walked into the parlor—so like his reaction to her when he’d met her at the Depot—confused her. And then to have him spend every minute of the musicale beside her, and to have him understand her boredom and very sweetly try to cure it… She didn’t know what to think any more.
Anyone could see that she didn’t quite belong here. She’d spent the last two days shopping with Mrs. Carderock and Victoria, visiting an overwhelming selection of modiste and milliners’ shops. She’d even been measured for a collection of new shoes! And tonight she wore one of those creations, a gorgeous gown one talented dressmaker had altered hurriedly for her. Annie felt like a princess, with her hair done in the latest fashion and the beautiful pearl Victoria had loaned her.
But no matter how much she looked the part of a high society lady, Annie could feel their stares, and see them whispering behind their hands. No, she didn’t belong here, didn’t fit in. Wasn’t perfect enough, no matter how hard she’d tried.
So why did Reggie’s regard matter so much to her? Make her feel so light inside?
She focused on the conversation in front of her, one that Reggie had pulled her towards as soon as the last song ended and the guests started mingling with their drinks. This was his oldest brother, Bertie, with his wife and sister-in-law. The two brothers were laughing about something, and Annie was getting a slight headache, trying to follow the conversation. At least Reggie had turned towards her when he spoke, so that she could understand his half of the banter.
They were reminiscing about past Christmas musicales, and other traditions. She participated when asked a direct question, but it was exhausting, having to concentrate on every sound out of her mou
th. Twice she saw Reggie repeat her words, and knew that it was because his companions hadn’t understood what she’d said. Only Serena’s teachings about being a lady kept her back straight and her chin high, in the face of that humiliation.
Why had she thought that she could handle an entire season of this? What was she trying to prove?
Just when she thought she wouldn’t be able to stand the pitying looks the other two ladies were sending her, they were interrupted by a stoic servant carrying a note on a silver tray. Reggie looked surprised when the old man offered it to him, but he took it with a “thank you.” As he read it, a frown flitted across his face, and the dark slashes of his brows pulled together.
The ladies continued to talk, leaning towards each other closely enough that Annie assumed they were whispering, but Bertie clapped his hand heartily on the younger man’s shoulder. “Bad news, is it?”
“Maybe.” Reggie’s frown grew as he met her gaze. Annie gripped her fingers together in front of her, worried by the look of concern in his eyes. “A note from the clinic. The messenger tracked me down here.” He glanced at the whispering ladies, and then flicked his eyes around the room crowded with his family and friends. When he looked back at her, the concern had changed to pity. “I have to go.”
She nodded once, because she knew that’s what he needed from her. He pitied her for her attempts to fit in with these people, and thought that she’d have no chance at all without him. And damn her, but she knew it was the truth. He was leaving—long strides taking him under the chandelier and towards the foyer—and she was left alone with these people who pitied her too.
Well, she was made of sterner stuff. She’d survive here, without him. She didn’t need his pity, or his assistance. His own brother had spent years training her how to live among hearing people, and how to interact with them. She could carry on a conversation, as long as she concentrated and the speakers were looking at her. She didn’t need him.
But she was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to tell him that she didn’t need him. Excusing herself with a small curtsey and strained smile, Annie made her way towards the hall she knew led to the washroom. But once away from the eyes of the Carderocks and the Tillworths and their friends, she turned abruptly and strode towards the front foyer, kicking her skirts out of her way and hoping that he hadn’t left yet.
Luck was on her side; he was just shrugging into his overcoat when she skidded to a stop on the slick marble. Fisting her hands by her side, she marched towards him, determined to give him a set-down—politely, of course—for thinking that he could pity her. For thinking that she needed him to survive in there.
But when she reached him; when she stood in front of him, close enough to feel his breath and smell his sandalwood scent; when she looked into his eyes… She forgot her anger.
He was… scared? Worried, and it had nothing to do with her.
Unthinking, Annie touched his sleeve. “What is it, Reggie?”
He sighed—she felt it against her cheek—and ran his hand through his hair, mussing the careful style. “One of my patients is in a bad way. This is her fifth pregnancy in a short amount of time, and I’m afraid…” He turned away slightly to pull on his gloves. They were beautiful black leather, smooth and perfect. Nothing like her brothers-in-laws’, but he pulled them on with the same jerky motions. “This one will not end well, I’m afraid. There’s been too much blood.” He wasn’t paying the same attention he usually did to his words; she couldn’t be sure that she was understanding him.
“She is at the clinic?”
“No.” She could tell that he was anxious to go. “Their home isn’t too far away, though. I’ll take the carriage and send it back for you and my parents.” He began to turn, and then stopped long enough to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry, Annie.” That was it.
He was almost out the door when she stopped him with her words. Surprised herself, even. “Do you need help?”
She hadn’t intended it to sound like she was offering her help, but once the words were out of her mouth, she knew that she’d follow through. If he needed help. If he needed her.
Slowly, he turned, his hand still on the jamb. Was that hope in his expression? “It wouldn not be proper for you to come. Not alone with me, and not to see a birth.”
She shrugged, embarrassed that she’d suggested it and he’d turned her down. “I am not proper. I am not perfect. And I have seen many births.”
His brows shot up. “You have?” And then he smiled slightly. “Oh, you mean colts.”
“Not only colts. I know children—” One niece or nephew on the way, “—and we do not have many doctors in Cheyenne.” It wasn’t a lie; while she hadn’t been allowed to help with Pete’s birth, she’d been there for Noah and Rose’s and even Mae, Jeanie and Ian’s. And yes, the colts. The baby horses were hers, and of course she was there for their births. Spring was always a busy time for her.
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully at her, and she tried to look confident. It was almost a minute before he finally looked away, and ran his gloved hand through his hair. “You would be willing to help?”
Would she? Would she be willing to head into the night with him, to help a woman she’d never met with a hard birth? Would she be willing to turn her back on the society that laughed and chatted and celebrated behind those doors, not caring about a woman who might not live the night? Who might leave behind a family at Christmastime?
Put like that, it was hardly a choice at all. “Of course.”
And before she knew it, she was bundled into her cloak—another loan from Victoria—and sitting beside him in his carriage as it rumbled through the dark. There wasn’t enough light to see him speak, but she was content, for now, to share his warmth. He’d put his arm across the back of the seat behind her, and she didn’t mind pretending that he’d done it to keep her close. It was a nice fantasy.
In not long at all, the carriage slowed, and then he helped her down in front of a modest townhome. This family was not wealthy, but they were not poor either. And if she were able to ensure it, they would still be whole tomorrow.
Inside, they were met by a harried-looking young man who took their wraps and pushed them towards a woman of later years holding a child who looked about two. He—Annie could see it was a boy when he lifted his head off the woman’s shoulder—sucked his thumb and seemed uninterested in the conversation Reggie was trying to hold with his carrier. The older woman nodded repeatedly, and then called up the stairs.
Soon, a man came stomping down them, cradling a baby in the crook of one large forearm. He was huge—almost as big as Ash—and looked completely uncomfortable with his delicate charge. What’s more, the infant didn’t look pleased either, judging from its red expression and wide mouth. The father winced and shifted his hold on the youngster, trying to speak with Reggie, and Annie clicked her tongue in exasperation.
Without waiting for permission, she reached over and picked up the baby. She could feel its anger and frustration, but it stopped fussing when she held it upright. Ignoring its father’s surprised glare, Annie turned her back on the little group and began to pace, humming under her breath at the little one. She wasn’t sure if it was the noise—surely, assuming it could hear, it knew there was something different about her voice—or the way she made sure to stare into the wide brown eyes… but either way, the baby shoved one fist into its mouth and began to suck. It wasn’t happy, but it was quiet.
Annie halted her pacing to glance at Reggie then, and was surprised to find him watching her. When he noticed, he smiled slightly, and nodded appreciatively, and she wasn’t prepared for the tingle of tenderness that swept through her at his approval.
The baby began to fuss again, and she bounced a little, patting its bottom in a smooth motion she’d learned long ago. When the woman passed the older child to the father and reached out for the youngest one, Annie was almost a little sorry to say goodbye. But Reggie was waiting; he picked up the little black bag he’d brough
t from the carriage and held out his hand to her.
Unthinkingly, she slipped her fingers through his, and he led her up the stairs. She tried not to think how out of place they must look, dressed in their Christmas finery, among this working-class household. But no matter; she felt more at ease here, more at home, than she did in the Carderocks’ mansion.
At the top of the stairs, Reggie glanced back down and then turned to the left. Before they got to the large door at the end of the corridor, he put down the bag again, took off his jacket, and pulled out two long white aprons. He waited to make sure that she knew how to tie hers on—like she’d forgotten, after only a few days in luxury!—and then hurried to pull his over his shirtsleeves. While she waited nervously, Annie pulled her gloves off and slipped them into one of the wide pockets on the apron. If possible, she’d like to return them to Victoria in good condition.
She glanced up at him then. In the bright electric lights of the hallway, his chocolate eyes were veiled, and his hair mussed. He looked wonderfully imperfect. Like a completely touchable prince. He took a deep breath when he faced her, and she thought she could watch his shoulders stretch beneath the fabric all night.
Looking her in the eyes, he placed a hand on each of her shoulders, and she thought she might melt. Without her cloak, without his gloves, his bare fingers touched her sensitive skin, and Annie was keenly aware that no man, besides maybe Papa all those years ago, had ever touched her there.
She was distracted enough that she missed the first few things he said to her. It wasn’t until he gave her a little shake that she swallowed and focused on his lips.
“This woman is only seven months along. The babe downstairs is nine months. Do you understand?”
