by Beth Byers
Christmas Madness
A Historical Christmas Anthology
Beth Byers
Carolyn L. Dean
C. Jane Reid
Bettie Jane
Contents
Warts & Wagers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Silver Bells for Santa
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Holiday Homecoming
Chapter 1
A Christmas Surprise
Chapter 1
Warts & Wagers
From the VIolet Carlyle Historical Mystery Series
By Beth Byers
Chapter 1
The safe held an excess of riches. Beatrice was familiar with the jewelry cases crowding the safe, even with Lady Violet carrying her favorites with her to the country house. The top shelf where the piles of cash were kept, however, was something that Beatrice had rarely touched. She took one pile down and carefully counted out far more money than made her comfortable, locked up the rest, and then rushed to her room.
Beatrice felt as though she were being quite cheeky, carrying around that amount of ready money. Truth be told, she’d never handled quite that much before. Her mouth twisted. What if she were robbed?
The instinct to panic was hovering, but Lady Violet had trained Beatrice to act and focus on what she could do. What could she do? She could change from her light-weight dress to one fit for traveling, along with a pair of solid wool stockings and sturdy shoes. Follow with a jumper, a scarf, gloves. Packing a few things to see her through tracking down the children, that she could and needed to do.
Beatrice worked quickly. If she hurried, she could just catch one of the regular trains that would be leaving before long. Beatrice rang for the housemaid, a move she never normally would do, but the maid needed to telephone for a black cab while Beatrice packed.
Beatrice threw her clothes and necessaries into a bag, grabbed her coat and her cloche. She hadn’t even put on the hat when she rushed down the steps to the waiting black cab. The driver opened the door for her, and just as he went to close it, another body slid in beside her.
“Where are we off to then? Family holidays?”
Beatrice stared at Smith, wishing she was surprised. She was, however, very much unsurprised.
“Cat got your tongue, love?” He smiled at her with those perfect, angelic features, and she wondered—yet again—why he seemed intrigued by her. He was a golden angel. Brown eyes, blonde hair, a sort of constant light browning of the skin that proclaimed health. He’d manhandled her a time or two—without ever crossing her comfort level—so she could attest that his shoulders were strong enough to carry any burden she wanted. She was weak for shoulders and had to remind herself she couldn’t be trusted when it came to them.
If you were matched with a partner by looks, she was not his equal. She had regular features, but she wasn’t slim in the way that style demanded. Her hair was dark, her eyes were blue, she had even teeth, but her chin tended towards spotty, and she felt certain her bottom lip—oversized as it was—belonged on another person’s face. All the negatives being listed, she felt as though she might be described as cute. She was not, however, angelic.
Beatrice lifted her brow at him, and his charming grin only broadened. “Going back home for the holidays, love?” he repeated.
His intense gaze promised he could outwait her. She knew he could, so she didn’t bother to hedge. “Lady Violet’s ward, Ginny, and brother, Geoffrey, have gone off on a bit of an adventure. I’m just tracking them down and bringing them home.”
He bypassed all of the information that mattered to say, “I heard her tell you to call her Violet. I prefer Vi, myself. Perhaps an occasional Vee for flavor.”
“You will call her Mrs. Wakefield,” Beatrice ordered for what felt like the thousandth time.
He smirked slowly, eyes glinting with appreciation at her irritation.
Beatrice shook her head and counted herself grateful indeed that the black cab was stopping at the train station and she could escape him. She hopped out and paid the driver before rushing inside the station, but she was caught up by a strong hand on her arm.
“What are you doing here?” she gasped without turning. “Get back in the black cab!”
“I can’t resist a bit of a hunt. You should know that by now.”
“You are not invited.” She spun to face him, wishing the daggers she was sending through her gaze had the desired effect. Oh, he saw them and recognized what she was holding back, but if anything he was more intrigued.
“You need me,” he shot back, his own gaze glinting with interest.
“Finding a couple of wayward schoolchildren is something that even I can handle.”
Smith grinned and his arm snaked around her waist to tuck her against his side. She had to crane her head to look up at him.
“You need me,” he told her with that devil-may-care smirk.
Beatrice tried wriggling and failed. She slapped at his hand resting just about her hip but that just made him grin more and adjust his hand to her hip. It was far too intimate a gesture.
“I don’t need you. Oh! Where are the gentlemen to save a lady in distress?”
“That’s me,” he told her. “I’m just tagging along to save you.”
She slapped his hand again and snapped, “You’re the dragon.”
Her reply did not have the desired effect because he chuckled. “I don’t think you understand how this works, darling. If I’m the dragon, you’re caught.”
She went boneless and he laughed, keeping her upright against him until she caught herself and he released her. “I’m coming.”
“No,” she said, shouldering her bag and walking on. “Go find your own family for the holidays and leave me be.”
He didn’t answer, but she could feel his eyes on her. He paced after her like a…a…a lion stalking the poor gazelle. She wanted to turn on him and demand he go away, but she knew he wouldn’t. Repeating the request would just make them both exhausted.
“Not buying me a ticket was an interesting tactic,” Smith said, flopping into the seat opposite.
Beatrice had hoped she had lost him, even though he’d taken her overnight bag from her. All she had left was the cross-body leather bag that young men carried at university. It had appeared in her office one day, clearly used and also clearly from him. She’d considered rejecting it, but she did love it immediately.
She adjusted the bag on her lap and shot him a useless daggered glance that had him giving her quite a self-satisfied twist to his mouth.
“We’re hunting the wart and the brat.”
“Ginny isn’t a brat.”
Smith lifted a brow and Beatrice added, “She’s more like us than them.”
“She’s more like me than them,” Smith corrected. “You’re something entirely different, princess.”
“Why are you here?” she asked, ignoring that unwanted pet name. Her? A princess? She was a housemaid who’d jumped fates. Nothing more, and why he decided to bother with her she didn’t know.
“You need me.”
“I do not need you.”
“So you think you can find those two? Without me?”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “We know where they are. I’m just retrieving and escorting them home. Nothing more.”
“The second something go
es sideways for those two, Lady Ginny’s dark side is going to come out and then you’ll never find them.”
Beatrice closed her eyes. “Lady? Why must you make everything a mockery?”
“Titles are stupid,” Smith said blandly. “If any member of that family deserves one, it’s the unflappable Ginny.”
He glanced to the side and Beatrice followed his gaze. Two of the women on that side of the aisle were staring. Beatrice didn’t blame them. She’d stared a time or two at him before he’d actually started noticing her and talking to her. Once you let the devil in, it was impossible to rid yourself of him.
Beatrice rolled her eyes and glanced out the window.
“What if we make a wager?”
“What if you go away?”
“At some point during this travesty, you’ll need me, and you’ll ask me for help—”
She closed her eyes. It would be so easy to just…just kick him in the shin! Lounging so casually while driving her straight to Bedlam.
“If you do ask for help—”
Beatrice took in a long, slow breath, praying for aid since mercy was clearly not coming her way.
“—you’ll spend however much time with me that I spend looking for those brats. An even exchange, if you will.”
Beatrice snapped her mouth closed before she kicked him in other places. “I don’t need your help.”
“Then the wager falls to nothing.”
“Then you’ll spend as much time as you’ve spent harassing me on this endeavor leaving me in peace.”
His grin was back, slow and charming. Devastating really. “You don’t want me to leave you be.”
“I—”
“You like me.”
Beatrice nibbled on her thumb, knowing it was a habit from Lady Violet, and admitted to herself. Yes, she did like him. Very much. He made her days brighter and made her feel things she had no intention of feeling.
But—despite those angelic looks, he was a devil. He probably had a wife and two children he was neglecting. He was certainly wanted for a series of crimes. He was a bad bet, and she knew it. Even if her blood raced, her heart skipped a beat, and her world brightened. He was too much of a risk.
“Those are my terms.” Beatrice met his gaze, using the expression she’d use for one she reserved for the nieces and nephews.
“I’m going to make you swallow those words,” he told her, reaching forward and taking her hand. She noticed the envious smile from across the aisle, and it left her all the more irritated. Especially when he grinned that devil’s grin.
“It’s not a deal unless you swear to answer a question for each hour—honestly.”
His gaze met hers. “You have questions, you can ask them now. No need to bargain for that, love.”
If he thought she wouldn’t, he was wrong. “I want your promise that you’ll tell me the truth.”
“You don’t believe anything I say.”
“Then you understand how serious I am when I tell you that if I find at any point you’re dishonest with me, I will end our friendship.”
“I don’t want to be your friend, Bea darling.”
She fought to keep her face impassive and then told him flatly, “Whatever we are will be over. If I can’t trust you, I won’t have you in my life.”
“I’ve never lied to you, Beatrice.”
She shook her head and faced the window, letting her gaze linger. She wished she could believe him, but in all honesty, she thought he breathed lies as easily as air.
Chapter 2
Beatrice knocked on the door of Mitchell Fitzhugh, who took one look at her and said, “He’s not here. The two of them left after a quarter-hour.”
“When was that?” Beatrice asked.
“Yesterday evening,” the man replied. He was as white and faded as Geoffrey, the boy he’d sired but not raised, and his gaze reflected a low level of concern. “I’m sure they’re home now. You’ve passed like ships in the night.”
Beatrice paused. There was something in the man’s face that seemed a lie. Instead of questioning further, though, she nodded and walked back to the train station. Smith paced after her like a bored lion, and she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from spinning at him. If he were anyone else, she’d have asked him if he thought Fitzhugh was holding something back, but he was who he was, and he’d claim he’d won the wager if she did.
She made her way to the train station window and asked after the schoolchildren.
The woman shook her head and then shot out, “I haven’t seen them. Same as I told the other guy. Haven’t seen them. I don’t know where they are, and I do think I’d remember. Asking me again, bribing me, none of it. It’s not gonna work.”
Beatrice stepped back, shocked until she put the pieces together. “That must be Lord Gerald.” Lady Violet had mentioned her older brother was on the hunt, too.
“Bit full of himself with underlings,” Smith said. “The common rabble. Sets them on the defensive and makes you entirely irritating despite your…being…you…” His words had slowed as he let his gaze rove over her, and she grunted because entire silence was just not possible.
Beatrice rolled her eyes and shot him a quelling look. She stared at the parked train helplessly. Those children could have gone anywhere. She crossed to the porter and asked him the same. He shook his head. “Miss, that snooty fellow asked everyone here.”
“But they didn’t buy a ticket?”
“They didn’t.”
She sighed, and her worry must have softened the porter. “I didn’t see two schoolchildren in uniforms yesterday—”
“But?” Beatrice asked, reaching out and taking his wrist, looking up at him with all her worry, letting it flood her eyes.
“But I did see a boy and a girl this morning. When the earliest of trains went. They weren’t on the train. They didn’t have bags, and they looked a bit worse for wear.”
“Did you happen to see which way they went?”
The porter shook his head again.
Beatrice bit her lip and glanced back at Smith, who smirked at her despite her worries. He was certain, she thought, that she would just beg him for help first, but she’d be damned to not try on her own. What would she do if he weren’t here?
Beatrice stared around the small village station helplessly, no plan coming to her.
“Well…well…” Smith gave her an anticipatory look. “Your Vi is counting on you.”
Beatrice clenched her fists.
“What’s a little time with me, Beatrice love?” He took her hand, turning it over on top of his so her palm was up. Tracing patterns over her flesh, he said, “I promise I’ll be well behaved.”
She pulled her hand free and walked toward the closest street to the train station. There was a pub, but there was also a small teashop. Geoffrey would want the pub. Fish and chips. But Ginny—Ginny might well have been dying for Turkish coffee given that Lady Violet and her twin, Victor, were so attached to it.
Beatrice crossed to the girl behind the teashop counter, smiling as charmingly as she could with her worries riding her, and asked after the children. The girl nodded. “They were here in the morning, I think. The pale boy is rather recognizable, isn’t he?”
“Were they all right?”
The girl winced. “They only had enough for one scone between them and a shared coffee.”
“That’s not right—”
The girl lifted her brows.
“Oh no, I don't mean you aren’t being truthful. I’m just worried. They should have had more than that. Something’s gone wrong for them.”
“They seemed upset.” The girl glanced behind her and whispered, “I gave them two coffees and two buns.”
Beatrice couldn’t help but hug the girl. She paid for the coffees and buns and then gave her a bit more on the top. Beatrice turned to Smith. He lifted those brows again and she shot him another dark look.
“What do I have to do for one of those grateful hugs
?” he said innocently, or at least as innocently as a devil could. “I believe I’ve been carrying your bags for simply forever, haven’t I?”
Beatrice scoffed and he smiled at her with his wide grin. For once, he wasn’t smirking or mocking, and the pleasant, playful version of him made her knees weak.
She left the teashop and returned to the woman behind the ticket window. “Hello again. I wonder”—she spoke quickly before the woman could interrupt with an outburst—“did you see two children not in school uniforms? Buying a ticket? The boy is quite pale. Very white-blonde hair, light blue eyes. Tends to be very red-cheeked when upset. The girl is about so high—” Beatrice held up her hand to illustrate and then added, “Brown hair, peaches and cream skin. She’s quite clever in her expressions.”
The ticket woman did consider, but then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, luv, but I haven’t seen them. Yesterday or today.”
Beatrice turned slowly. She’d gone from grateful to be asked to do something so important to Lady Violet to out-and-out sick to her stomach with worry.
Smith looked at her, waiting for her next command and she sighed. With a careful steeling of her spine, she said, “I think Fitzhugh was holding something back.”
“I can find that out for you,” Smith replied. “I agree with you there.”
She asked suddenly, “Are you married?”
Her question was an agreement to the wager as it had been her stipulation. She got to ask a question for every hour. His expression turned solemn and she swore she could feel his eyes move over her face. He cupped her cheeks between his hands and laid the most innocent of kisses on her nose. “Of course I’m not married, Beatrice.”
