Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

“Well, Dog has cast some yellow rose petals in your path already.” Kat immediately wished she had not warned the odious woman, who deftly evaded the pee.

  She did not wish to hear another word about their wedding plans. But why should it bother her? Everything was over for her and Foxleigh. She had her own life to attend to.

  Yet it did bother her. She was getting very close to going back to the house to fetch her pistols. Instead, she took a deep breath of cold air and set her shovel and bucket beside the coop, returning to the path. She would simply lock herself in the cottage and wait for Marie to finally leave.

  The insufferable woman followed.

  Katherine swung around to face her pursuer. “I do not know how either your plans or the duke’s could possibly concern me. As I have no acquaintance with you that can conceivably warrant your intrusion here, I ask that you leave and never return.”

  “I only came looking for my betrothed. Surely that is some justification for the small inconvenience.”

  “If you wish to catch up with the duke, you are welcome to try, but when I last saw him, he did not speak or look like he had wedding plans on his mind.”

  Marie’s smile was crooked, but her syrupy tone of voice persisted. “Oh, he is a very private person. He is sure to be thinking of me and his child and making arrangements to get back to London.”

  “He rather looked like he was trying to get away from London, or else I do not know how he would end up around here.”

  Katherine thought that Marie’s brittle façade of complacence might be about to break, but right at that moment, the duke emerged from around the corner of the path, a look of incensed disgust evident on his features.

  “She is quite right. I was trying to get away from London. And I find that the countryside agrees with me. Until very recently it had, among its many charms, the supreme advantage of being far away from you.”

  Marie’s face turned very red. She was finally as silent as even Katherine might wish.

  She could have kissed Foxleigh—not for any romantic reason, but simply for wiping the phony smirk off of Marie’s lying mouth.

  Chapter 12

  Two Curdled Loves

  Foxleigh kicked a chunk of ice across the path and glared at Marie. He had not been detained in the village that long. How on earth had she found her way to Katherine’s home?

  “How did you discover where I was? I do not really care, except that I should like to know which one of my contacts in London is so little to be trusted.”

  Marie rallied and assumed her usual simper. “But darling, of course I would find you! I was so worried, I could not rest until—”

  He raised his hand to cut off her dissembling, and hissed, “No more lies, woman!” But then he stopped as he reflected on her words. Worried? “And why should you be so concerned, I wonder?”

  Marie was not quick enough to apprehend her mistake. “Why the robbery my darling! Such a dreadful thing!”

  If she knew about the robbery, it had to be one of his London servants who was supplying her information, for his man of business was entirely trustworthy and he had otherwise only sent word to his friend the Duke of Bartholmer. He would find out the culprit later.

  He gritted his teeth. “If you call me darling one more time, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

  She sighed dramatically and pretended to swallow down a sob. “Of course. Anything to please you, Foxleigh.”

  It would not have bothered him if almost anyone else took the liberty of addressing him so informally. In fact, he had not quite grown accustomed to all the your-gracing that was his lot as a duke, for it made him feel that he was always surrounded by toad-eaters. But Marie calling him Foxleigh with that pretense of familiar affection was even worse than the darling appellation.

  It made him want to have her flogged. “You will never address me informally again, Mrs. Dubois. You are nothing to me—less than nothing, a thorn in my side and a constant reminder of a time when I was foolish enough to think you were worth caring for. You are a loathsome, scheming creature. The very sight of you disgusts me. Is that clear enough?”

  Marie looked shocked and bit her lip. “I crave your forgiveness, your grace. But if someone,” she gave a sideways glance at Katherine, “has been poisoning your grace’s mind against me, I assure y—”

  He cut her off with a gesture. How dare she cast daggers at Katherine? “Do not blame others for my discovery of your worthlessness. It is likely that Katherine understood what you were the instant she met you. She is cleverer than I.” He looked away to give Katherine a reassuring smile. He thought he saw an upward curl of her lips, and it gave him hope.

  Then he turned back to the vile woman who had been Katherine’s tormentor. “But you have no one but yourself to blame for my inexcusably late realization that you are a fiend from hell. The fact that she ever had to meet you at all is damning enough of your character. What right had you to foist your presence upon her, only to spin your lies to hurt her? And then you repeat the offense of such intrusion by pursuing her here!”

  “I was pursuing your grace! My heart demanded it. I do not know what she has told you, but she lied to me and would not admit that you were here, your grace. I do not like to speak ill of any of my sex,” Marie straightened her spine and held her head up high, as though she thought this might suggest it supported a halo, “but I believe she may have designs upon your grace.”

  The slightly astonished tone in which she uttered this shocking possibility almost made her sound like she believed her own deceptions. But Foxleigh was far too familiar with her mendacity to be fooled.

  A snort issued forth from Katherine’s quarter, which wounded his pride, but she otherwise remained stoically silent throughout this attack on her character.

  He walked past Katherine to stand between the two women, as though he might act as a barrier to Marie’s insults. “You are not worthy to speak of Katherine, much less cast a shadow on her morality. Any possible belief I may have had in some tiny speck of good within you has been extinguished by your own words. I overheard every conniving falsehood you spoke to Katherine just now, so you may end this ridiculous charade. I am tired of it.”

  A desperate pallor crept over Marie’s features, and her voice shook. “But what of our child? Surely your grace is not so cruel as to throw off his own progeny and the future of his line!” Here again, a slight flick of her eyes in the direction of Katherine made her intentions clear to Foxleigh. Marie knew very well that he would never believe the child was his—the very idea was preposterous and he had already told her so once. This drama was only to further blacken him in Katherine’s eyes.

  Very well, if it was a pantomime Marie wanted, this was as good a time as any for him to make it clear to Katherine that he had not fathered Marie’s offspring. He permitted himself to laugh at her ridiculousness. “Your child is no progeny of mine. His coloration and features are the very image of the Earl of Baton. What? Has the earl sorted out your real nature and thrown you off, as well? What a pity. True, I would feel sorry for the boy if I did not know him to be a vicious little beast. From what I have heard, even at this tender age he is overly fond of kicking cats and breaking the necks of chicks. So there is at least one way in which he favours his mother’s side.”

  “As I said before, I would never try to foist a child upon your grace that was not your own—”

  “You said that when you informed me that the baby you were carrying was the earl’s. I am afraid you have worn out that old chestnut.”

  “That was a mistake—”

  “As I recall it was right around the time that you discovered how little fortune was left to me. What a remarkable coincidence.” Foxleigh laughed. “It was a glorious thing to later discover that diamond mine had come through, but I think I would have gladly given up the windfall entirely, just to be rid of such a fortune-hunting viper.”

  She wrung her hands and a single tear slipped down her cheek. “Oh your grace, do not
say such things about the mother of your heir, I implore you!”

  “Is this merely for effect, or can you really be so deluded? Even if this child were mine—which he most certainly is not—he could never be my heir, for he would have been born out of wedlock. You have thus far been publically representing him to be the son of your late husband. His only claim to legitimacy is as a commoner. And an illegitimate child cannot be an heir to a duchy—or an earldom, for that matter, in case Lord Baton has not pointed that out. If that has been your game, I am afraid you have grossly over-played your hand, Mrs. Dubois.”

  It was at that moment that the transition came. He could see her contorting like a snake about to shed its time-worn skin. Her mouth twisted and her eyes glittered cruelly. “Oh I am Mrs. Dubois, a widow. My reputation has certain protections. But her?” She pointed a long gloved finger at Katherine and looked ready to spit shards of glass. “She is Katherine, is she? Quite. Miss Blake would be too formal. Have a care, your grace. You know very well that by staying here you are putting her reputation at risk. What will people say when they discover that you have been living here with her, with no chaperone and not so much as a lady’s maid?” She gave him a smug smile. “You had better come away with me. I have a carriage waiting, for I see you have none.”

  “You see wrongly. I have my own conveyance. It simply was not here when you arrived, because I was not here. You, yourself, are a witness that I am not here unchaperoned with Miss Blake. She is currently under the watchful eye of a widow—albeit one of dubious character. And her lady’s maid awaits her inside.”

  Marie coughed and looked superior. “Come now, your grace. There is scarcely room in the place to turn around. There are no servants. She is here unattended, and her reputation is ruined, unless you leave with me.”

  It was such a pitiful triumph that animated this bitter threat that Foxleigh might have felt slightly sorry for her, even in his contempt, had she been anyone else. But her dire proclamations did not have the effect she was hoping for.

  It was true that he had imperiled Katherine’s reputation, though there were no witnesses to his brief stay at her cottage. However, he was only too happy to restore her good name entirely by marrying her.

  He turned to the black haired beauty who had stood by in silent dignity while Marie hurled every dart and insult in her arsenal. “My dearest Katherine.” He took a step toward her. “Kat. Will you make me the happiest of men and consent to be my wife?”

  Her lovely mouth dropped open, but before she could utter any reply, a horrific howl came from Marie. He swung around and gaped as the crazed woman dissolved into a fit of histrionics, with much loud wailing about her broken heart and the inconstancy of men, and endless blubbering. She actually pulled at her own hair and hurled herself upon the snowy ground.

  It was a ludicrous display. He was struck by the great contrast between the two women in his presence. One was blameless, with every reason to weep, yet holding her head up with poise and self-possession. The other was the author of her own comparably minor woes, but wept like an utter madwoman, for the mere sake of manipulation.

  He sighed and shook his head at the scene before him, truly repenting his past decisions. He spoke to Katherine over his shoulder, “How can you forgive me for being such a blasted fool that I could not see what she was? How can you ever value the love of a man who once wasted his affection on an object so far beneath your merit, dearest, most wonderful Katherine?”

  He turned to lock eyes with her so she might see into his heart, to repeat his proposal again and again. But she was gone. He cursed. Was she once more running away from him? He rushed back down the path. He would not let her slip through his fingers a second time.

  Chapter 13

  A Late Harvest

  Katherine knew she should not remain to witness what was such a private conversation between Foxleigh and Marie, but she could not tear herself away. And, of the three of them, she was the only one with any right to be there. This was, of course, irrelevant.

  Rights had always been proportional to wealth, even if Katherine had only learned this hard lesson after her fall from the glittering tower of fashionable London.

  Her heart fluttered. Fox was marvelous and handsome and completely right. As she watched him tear a strip out of Marie, Katherine found him almost irresistible. She went from wishing to kiss him, to wishing to drag him back to her cottage. His dark eyes flashed and his strong jaw clenched in a way that brooked no disagreement from the nasty scheming succubus.

  Katherine was stirred, but she also felt vindicated—not only for the persecution she had suffered that day, but for everything Marie had done to destroy her happiness. Avenged, but not compensated. No, that was something Katherine would never be.

  And yet, even as she enjoyed the spectacle of Marie’s comeuppance, a cloud of guilt drew over her brow. She had thought the worst of Foxleigh, based only on the testimony of this snake in the grass. It was heart-breaking to realize how much she must have hurt him. How utterly gullible and foolish she had been to believe a single word of what Marie had told her so long ago.

  After hearing their exchange, Katherine was certain that Foxleigh had only ever been guilty of making a very ill-conceived attachment with the merry widow, before he met Katherine.

  It was not a nice thing to think about, but he did not deserve Katherine’s abandonment. She had ruined everything by being a precious, over-protected, credulous little ninny. She had broken his heart and deserted him at a moment when he was still in mourning. And she did it without even asking to hear his side of things.

  What he must have thought of her! Had he believed, even for a moment, that she broke the engagement because of the paucity of his inheritance? He must have done.

  Katherine’s cheeks burned. It was too awful, too mortifying. But what else was he to think? As he said to Marie, the timing was a remarkable coincidence.

  She groaned internally and wished the earth would swallow her up. She thought she could bear anything—losing him, being homeless and poor forever, even the horror of watching him wed someone like Marie—anything but having him believe that she only cared about his wealth, that she broke the engagement because of avarice.

  If there were one way in which she wished to exonerate herself, it was that. An idiot who was too quick to judge she had been, certainly, but never a fortune hunter.

  Things were going very badly for Marie, and she gave Katherine an evil sidelong glance as she accused her of having designs on Foxleigh.

  Hah! Katherine could not repress a snort. It was always the thief who feared being robbed. But if only Marie knew what kind of designs Katherine’s imagination was conjuring up a few minutes ago, the tart might rightly be as shocked as she now pretended to be.

  Foxleigh passed by Katherine to stand between her and Marie. Why must he always smell so good?

  He smiled and her heart fluttered. She smiled sadly back. If only she had been worthy of him.

  But at least he was not having any more of Marie’s lies. He was defending Katherine—actually praising her. Though it warmed her insides, she could not revel in it, knowing how little she deserved this glowing sketch of her character.

  She was lifted out of further mortifying and guilty rumination by anger. Marie was trying to lay her son at Foxleigh’s feet. Katherine was glad that he was not duped by her outrageous assertion that this blond, blue-eyed fairylike child was the offspring of a swarthy, solid man like Foxleigh.

  When Marie let her façade drop and openly threatened to ruin Katherine’s reputation, Katherine had to turn away to cover her laughter.

  As conniving as she was, Marie was a fool. Like most upper class women, she had no idea the degree of liberty a poor woman had, even if it was not the best sort of autonomy.

  Being an independently wealthy widow was the greatest freedom, and Marie had that. But her class bias made her believe that Katherine still cared about things like reputations and virtue. These were valueless when
attached to a woman of no means and no connections. The lower classes were generally indifferent about the appearance of chastity.

  True, Katherine might starve and present an easy target for every predator who crossed her path, but if she wanted to spend an evening with a man, it did not matter one jot. Nobody cared. It was such an empty threat it was absurd.

  And yet Foxleigh seemed to be taking it seriously. He was such a valiant man. It was maddening to see how wonderful he truly was, now that he was so utterly lost to her.

  He turned to Katherine, his eyes burning even in their shadowy depths. “My dearest Katherine. Kat. Will you make me the happiest of men and consent to be my wife?”

  Katherine stood mute for a moment at the words. As their meaning sunk in, they at once filled her with joy and with utter despair. Could he truly still love her?

  But no! How could he? Of course he could not. Even if she had not used him so ill the first time they were engaged, she was now a worn out and patched creature, nothing like the sparkling debutante he had fallen in love with. He could have nothing left for her but pity and now a sense of obligation.

  Foxleigh was only proposing because Marie threatened to expose her to ruin. He was trying to rescue Katherine’s reputation and sacrificing his own happiness for her honor. Such a good man.

  But he would never respect her or think of her as he ought. She would merely be another burden to him—not quite as bad as Marie, perhaps, but a weight about his leg nonetheless. If only he loved her, things might be different. But he did not. Nor did he offer her his love, only his good name.

  Katherine’s heart turned suddenly to sawdust. Her lips parted and she spoke as though she were an automaton, hearing herself say the exhausted words without understanding what they meant for her sanity. “I thank you for this honour, but I cannot marry you.”

  But she was not audible over the din that erupted from Marie. The woman went completely wild and was howling and rolling on the ground. Katherine blinked in disbelief and watched Foxleigh stand in fascination before this performance. Would it change his mind?