Wagering on Christmas

by Sandra Sookoo

  Lucy’s eyes widened. The book lay abandoned upon her lap, the ivory linen cover stark against her blue skirts. “Does he indulge in drink often?”

  “Only when he’s in a brown study. Which is often enough.” Ellen peered at the woman next to her, her eyes nearly caramel-colored in the light of the afternoon sun. “It concerns me.”

  “I can understand that.” Briefly, Lucy covered one of the girl’s hands with her own, patted it in solidarity. “There are many vices these days for people to indulge, to hide in.”

  “Yes.” Ellen looked again at him. “I refuse to lose another parent.” To his mortification, her eyes misted with tears. “Life isn’t so terrible with me, is it? Is that one of the reasons you’re never without your spirits?”

  Damnation. Just when he thought it couldn’t be worse. Colin’s chest tightened as cold guilt poured in. He hadn’t done the best by her, his only child. “No, dearest. While it’s true you aren’t exactly the most docile of girls, I wouldn’t trade you for anyone.”

  “Oh, Papa.” Ellen launched herself from her seat and into his arms. “I wouldn’t trade you either, but the both of us must do better. We’re broken, but together we can heal.”

  “Agreed.” His heart squeezed as he hugged her, the girl so much like her mother, the woman who’d been merely a mistress—the fiery, fourth daughter of an earl—until the pregnancy became known, and his father and hers demanded he do the honorable thing. As Ellen pulled away and resumed her seat, he said, “When I drink, I forget I have you in my life, that I should make more of an effort to make you proud.” That was true enough; she didn’t need to know what else he attempted to drink away.

  Across the narrow aisle, Lucy wiped at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. Was he so pathetic that she cried in sympathy? Or perhaps it was relief that she’d escaped such a life with him. “Your daughter is quite correct, my lord,” she said in a quiet voice that immediately promoted calm. “Now is not the time to give up on living. Miss Rowley is on the cusp of womanhood and will do great things if given the proper training and encouragement.”

  “Please, call me Ellen,” his daughter implored with a smile that didn’t reflect guile or mischief. Was it possible that simply paying attention to her could correct her behavior? It would seem he hadn’t learned anything about being a parent in fifteen years.

  “I will.” Lucy returned the smile, and for the first time since she entered his carriage, the gesture reflected in her eyes, giving life to her face and returning at least five years to her countenance. “You may call me Lucy.”

  He raised a startled gaze to hers. How could she act so differently with Ellen than with him? “I am not trying to die, Mrs. Ashbrook.”

  “Then what?” She leveled her gaze upon him and he resisted the urge to squirm. She’d always had the capacity to look past the veneer he pulled over himself and see the stark truth he never wished anyone to see—that he feared being alone above all else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

  There was nowhere to run in the coach, and he couldn’t very well escape the conversation, not after the tiny breakthrough with his daughter. “A cessation of memories,” he ground out, not caring that it bordered on God’s honest truth.

  “Why?”

  What the devil was with her incessant questions?

  “Do you have regrets, my lord?” Interest hung on her voice and lit her eyes.

  Annoyance flashed through him to banish the blue devils. “You know my name, damn it. Make use of it,” he demanded instead of answering.

  Ellen’s eyes rounded, and he vowed to use vulgarity less. So many rules when one had an impressionable young person underfoot. How had he never assumed the mantle of responsibility long ago? He grimaced. Because, in the pursuit of pleasure, nothing else had mattered.

  Now, it suddenly did, and all due to the woman sitting across from him, challenging him.

  Lucy struggled to keep a grin from forming. “You could have asked politely.”

  “I did earlier today, if you’ll recall,” he shot off, pleased when her cheeks colored.

  Silence brewed between them for long moments as the coach rolled on.

  “Why are you going home?” The sound of her voice rasped through his consciousness and brought him out of further wool-gathering. “It isn’t tradition, for my family and I have attended festivities at Lancaster Hall every year and never once have you been there.”

  Ellen snorted. “Father hasn’t seen Grandpapa since Mother died.”

  Ah, even longer than that, poppet. Since my mother died. Aloud, he said, “It is my father’s tradition. But no, I have not returned home since Christmas became lost to me.”

  “Is that true, Colin?”

  He jolted at her use of his given name. Had it always sounded so sweet? “Yes.” The word was pulled from him. “There was no point in going home throughout the years. London holds everything I wish to pursue.”

  “Even happiness?” A frown tugged at her lips, and despite his best intentions, he dropped his gaze to her mouth and remembered what she’d felt like in his arms, her lips against his. What would she feel like with experience and time on her side now, and a woman’s body?

  “That is irrelevant.” Colin snapped his focus away from the temptation she offered. It was better that way. They were strangers. Nothing more. Beside her, his daughter yawned, laid her head against the side of the coach and closed her eyes. Good, for he now wished to make Lucy squirm beneath questions. It was time for him to claim the upper hand. “Are you happy, Lucy?” Would it break his heart further to know that she was?

  She stared at him, her features carefully blank before answering. “At times, though if you talk to my family, they would say I’ve lost the Christmas spirit over the years.” She shrugged and tapped a slender forefinger on her book. “I miss Jacob. It tempers my affection for things I once loved.”

  Did that include him? He was too much a coward to ask. Perhaps he didn’t wish to know. Colin rested an ankle on a knee, striving for the picture of nonchalance. “You truly loved him?”

  “Of course I did.” One of her eyebrows rose. “You doubt this?”

  It was his turn to shrug as he leaned back against the squabs. “I assumed you married him to make me jealous.” Once he’d heard the news they’d been well and truly wed, he’d resolved to live his life in such a manner that he’d never again think of Lucy.

  It had worked up to a point, but banishing her from his memories was much like attempting to part with a limb.

  “You were beyond my reach.” She dropped her gaze to the book on her lap. “You made your choice. There was nothing left for us.” The words lacked emotion, as if she’d rehearsed them for years.

  He snorted. “You took that choice from me.”

  Lucy didn’t respond to the goad.

  Once more silence reigned in the coach for another handful of miles while Colin kept his attention at the window, as did she.

  “Jacob and I were good together.” The soft-spoken announcement yanked his regard back to her face, and her eyes clouded with a trace of happiness as she remembered. “He toiled for the Home Office, but stayed in Town, which is how we ended up in London. His limp prevented him from going into the field. He didn’t mind, for he adored his work.” Her smile sent shards of jealousy through Colin’s chest for the man—his best friend—who’d won her. “We raised a family. He loved Christmas. Always told stories of our early years together.” She landed her gaze on him, sadness now reflected in those ice-blue depths. “He mourned your loss.”

  What was there to say? That they’d both betrayed him? That he couldn’t believe after all he and she had shared that she preferred Jacob to build a life with? That he’d wished things had been different? Knowing she wanted an answer, Colin said, “Christmas changed, for all of us. The charm it once had is gone, and there’s no going back.”

  “Yes, I agree the holiday has changed, but you haven’t.”

  “It’s the one constant,” he
said with a fair amount of flippancy in his tone.

  “So is the magic of Christmas,” she reminded him.

  “Not anymore.” He narrowed his eyes. “You, of all people, should know the holiday holds no more magic.”

  “Mayhap.” She held his gaze, but he couldn’t read the emotions clouding those depths. “You could find that again, Colin. For your daughter. Repair the damage between you. It’s the season of miracles.”

  Did she truly believe that, or did she give him nothing but lip service? “Perhaps I don’t believe in it any longer. Christmas is for children. Nothing more.”

  The light died from her expression and faded from her eyes. “That is quite sad.”

  He hated that, once more, he’d caused her to become a lesser version of herself. “It doesn’t have to be.” Straightening his posture, he nudged her foot with his while darting a glance at his daughter to make certain she slept. “Flirtation passes the time, and that is most certainly not for children.” Then he winked. “So does kissing.”

  A furious blush raged in her cheeks, which amused him, for she was a widow and a mother. “That is impossible.”

  “Once, you didn’t think so.” Ah, it had always been such fun to banter with her, almost as lovely as holding her in his arms, sharing embraces, and the kisses he’d stolen, complete with his young man’s fumblings. They’d explored each other together when given moments alone, lost in their innocent love.

  “Before the world and reality intruded.” Her chin trembled, the only outward sign she remembered, too. “That was another time, and we were different people.”

  Colin frowned, and once more the blue devils poked at the edges of his consciousness. “Perhaps. More’s the pity.”

  Lucy sighed. She shifted position on her bench, and her book slipped from her lap to the floorboards, unheeded. “It’s time to move forward and make this the best Christmas we can.”

  “Why?” He leaned down and retrieved the slim volume. When he offered the book to her, a tiny smile tugged at one corner of her mouth as she accepted it from him.

  “Jacob’s savings are gone, and the rest of his stipend I mean to have go to the children when they become of age.” She clutched at her book with tight fingers. “I’m afraid our pockets are to let. Once the holiday is over, I will be forced to go home. London isn’t our future any longer.”

  Shock rocked him, and he sat back with a thump. No longer would he have a slim chance to glimpse her on the streets or in the shops or perhaps at a ton event. “I’m sorry to hear this.” At least that was the truth.

  “So am I.” Her chin quivered once more, and he despised that tell of her emotions. Rarely had he had cause to see it when they were younger, but when he did, he’d always strove to make things right, to make her smile again. “I must find new happiness.” Tears filled her eyes, and she took refuge behind dabbing at them with her handkerchief. “Again, life is changing and... it scares me, for I’d never imagined myself at this crossroads.”

  He nodded, looked away to give her the semblance of privacy. “For the children, then, we shall strive for normalcy.” But damnation if the news wasn’t enough to make him crave refuge in the bottom of a brandy bottle.

  Chapter Five

  December 21, 1821

  Lucy groaned, and then a yawn swooped in to cover it. Another long day spent on the road while stuck in a traveling coach with Colin—and living through painful memories—was in progress, and had been for an hour or so. The conversations she’d shared with the viscount yesterday had left her reeling and vulnerable, and she’d nearly cried twice. That couldn’t happen again, for she didn’t wish for him to mean anything else to her, yet the presence of emotion indicated that she still felt something.

  Yet what was she to do?

  I shall do what I must until this untenable trip has concluded. He is merely someone I used to know. That is all.

  A means to an end, and since they were traveling to the same place, there was nothing for it.

  She turned her attention to Ellen. Perhaps if she discovered more about Colin’s daughter, she could come to understand him better. “What is your favorite subject at school?”

  The young blonde started. Her eyes rounded as if she couldn’t believe Lucy—or any adult—took an interest in her. “I enjoy Latin. My friends don’t. They say it’s too difficult and pointless. I adore the challenge. I also like history.” She smiled, which set her hazel eyes dancing with pleasure. “So many places in the world that are fascinating. I would love to travel someday and find out for myself what those places are like.” She cast a glance at Colin, who dozed upon the bench opposite them, sprawled out with not a care in the world. “I rather doubt Father would agree to it.”

  “Why? Does not your father enjoy traveling?” When it was assumed they would marry, some of their plans had included a grand wedding tour throughout Europe, lingering longest in Italy. It had seemed so romantic to talk of touring through places she’d only read about, with Colin by her side. Instead of those idyllic dreams, she’d been handed cold disappointment, and when she had married, they’d been too poor to do more than entertain their imagination until Jacob had found work.

  “I wouldn’t know.” Ellen frowned and returned her attention to Lucy. “We never go anywhere. My aunts and my uncle are all well-traveled. My cousins brag about all the places they’ve gone. I have nothing to talk about when such subjects occur.”

  “I’m sorry.” Every year she renewed her acquaintance with Colin’s siblings and their growing broods. They were an active bunch, but she well knew how Ellen must feel. “Do you visit with your cousins often?”

  “Whenever Great-Grandmother returns to Derbyshire and I’m on holiday. She takes me.”

  “That is all to the good.” Lucy nodded. At least she wasn’t fully neglected. “My brother travels consistently with his position. The tales he tells are awe-inspiring, and at times, I feel... cheated somehow of life.”

  “Yes.” Ellen nodded, and again glanced at her father. “I feel that too, on many fronts.” She frowned. “Father said the two of you knew each other long ago. Is that true?”

  “It is.” There was no point in denying it, for the girl had probably overheard parts of their conversations in the coach yesterday if she wasn’t fully asleep. “When I was eighteen, your father courted me.”

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work. I think you and he would have made a handsome couple.”

  Lucy ignored the heat that slapped her cheeks. “Perhaps. It wasn’t meant to be, and I thought I’d never see him again, yet here we are.” She, too, looked at Colin, who, in sleep, seemed almost peaceful.

  “Fate has an interesting way of making us dance at attendance,” Ellen said, her voice contemplative. “What was he like as a young man?”

  “Oh, much like he is now, I’d imagine.” A tiny smile curved her lips. “He was dashing, impulsive, stubborn. He had bold plans, for his father meant for him to make his own way in the world. The duke didn’t wish for Colin to ride his coattails, and in some ways, I think that was a good decision, for it forced your father to face life head-on and work for what he wanted.” Had he achieved those plans? Made a name for himself? She didn’t know anything about him other than he played at being a rake.

  Colin, in his sprawled position, slept obliviously on. Had he taken refuge in drink the night before? That was a path strewn with pitfalls, for once a man became dependent on spirits, he was often lost.

  Lucy pursed her lips as she continued to stare at him. Why couldn’t he for once do the honorable thing, show his daughter the kind of man he’d intended to be all those years ago?

  Ellen nudged her ribs with an elbow. “You are thinking he is beyond redemption.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I’m not certain it’s my business to pass judgment upon him.” But hadn’t she silently been doing just that during the journey thus far? Had she painted him with the dirty brush filled with yesteryear’s memories, perhaps an impossible standard even s
he couldn’t measure up to? “I only wish him happy.”

  “It is not my business either, but I still worry.” Her young face wrinkled with concern. “I think he’s haunted.”

  Despite the gravity of the situation, Lucy chuckled. “How so?”

  “The older he grows, the more regrets build inside him. After a few glasses of brandy, he waxes poetic at how life used to be uncomplicated, before hope was destroyed.”

  Lucy remained silent. He’d said as much during their conversations, with the exception of regrets. Not knowing what else to say, she pulled a linen handkerchief from her bag, along with an embroidery needle and thread in a pleasing pink. Best keep the hands busy, and finishing this Christmas present would demand her attention.

  Apparently, Ellen wasn’t trained in picking up subtle clues that ended polite discussion. “Father hasn’t been happy for ever so long.”

  “Why?” She couldn’t curb her desire to know more about his life. “Does he still mourn for your mother?” Was it possible Colin had truly fallen for someone other than himself? Her heart squeezed. She hoped it was so, though she wouldn’t wish grief on anyone.

  “I’m not certain.” Ellen’s eyes took on a faraway look. “I think he did love her in his own way. They were not openly demonstrative by any stretch.” She sighed, and her expression held a rueful shadow. “Mother died seven years ago, but she and Father rarely spoke to each other. I recall childhood being quiet, as if I always had to tiptoe around so as not to put either of them in a temper.”

  What a terrible way to live one’s life. Lucy remembered her son—the same age as Ellen—and his formative years where he had the love and support of both parents. Her chest tightened in sympathy for the girl next to her. “You miss your mother, don’t you?”