Had he always been so stubborn? Lucy rolled her eyes. Yes, yes he had. “You’re dressed as Father Christmas. That’s reason enough.”
“I can take off the robes and such.” He even went so far to stand, stooped, as his fingers went to the hidden hooks at the front of his garb.
“No, no, these are the cards you’ve dealt for us all this morning, so you’ll play them until the end.” Rather pleased with an analogy that he could understand, Lucy beamed. “Now, tell your driver to go back and turn down that lane. There’s a sign by the roadside that says, ‘Home for Wayward Orphans and Unwanted Children’ and I mean to stop there.”
He gawked at her, but he rapped on the roof, and when the coach slowed to a halt, Colin jumped out to confer with the driver.
Lucy winked at Ellen, who watched the scene with an expression of interest but said nothing.
When the viscount returned to the vehicle, somewhat wetter for the experience, he sat heavily on his bench. “Happy now? He said he’d do it.”
“Very.” Travel was so much more exhilarating when one didn’t need to focus on themselves or the past. “Also, after we do this one thing, I’d like for you to take an hour and answer each letter sent to you addressed to the man you pretend even now to be.”
He gasped and touched a hand to the greatcoat dumped upon the bench beside him. “How do you know about those?”
“Suffice it to say, both Ellen and I do know of them, and you must answer them for the sake of the children.” She exchanged an amused glance with his daughter.
“There are no return addresses, just the letters.” A whine had set up in Colin’s voice, and she gritted her teeth against it. But she had raised two children through such a phase, and she would prevail here.
“It’s not about the posting of such things, Colin,” she said in a soft voice. “It’s about doing something that doesn’t benefit you.” She frowned as she looked at him. “You used to love Christmas, and this is such a little thing.” When he said nothing, she lowered her voice. “Why are you so afraid?”
His eyes flashed blue fire and he crossed his arms over his chest, clearly closing himself off.
Lucy wasn’t having any of it. He’d sulked enough. “Then answer me this. What are you running from?”
“Please, Father, just talk to Lucy. Perhaps it would help you,” Ellen pleaded with clasped hands and eyes that implored. “She and I had a conversation yesterday that made me feel ever so much better.”
Colin sighed. “I’m not running. I’m keeping myself inside walls, perhaps.”
“Why?” It was the greatest insight from him she’d had, and the most truthful utterance.
His face was a confliction of emotions, the strongest of which was sadness. And perhaps defiance. A muscle in his jaw worked before he spoke. “Everyone leaves me: Mother, Jacob, my wife, my baby boy, you. Soon Grandmother will.” When connected his gaze with hers, raw anger and self-doubt roiled there. “Did no one ever think to ask what I wanted from life before decisions were made that left me alone?”
“Some of us did,” she replied in a quiet voice as emotions and memories washed over her, escaped from behind the careful dam she’d built to hold them back. “You were selfish, wanted to live as you pleased regardless of what the rest of us wished.”
He scoffed and fixed his focus to the window. “None of you accepted me as I was.”
“That wasn’t the man we knew you could be.” Her heart squeezed for the open wounds he still nursed. Perhaps they both did. “We wanted the best for you—of you—but until you could see it for yourself, we had to let you grow up, mature.”
“And live your own lives.”
“We couldn’t wait forever. The number of days isn’t promised to any of us, Colin. You should know that with the deaths you’ve encountered.” She dared much and leaned across the aisle to touch a gloved hand to his knee. He flinched as if she’d burned him. “The question now is, what will you do with the rest of your life?” She glanced at Ellen, who had tears glimmering in her eyes. “And you are not alone. You have a beautiful, brilliant daughter who loves you fiercely. Start there.”
“I’ll help you find your Christmas joy again,” Ellen said in a voice that shook. “You do not need to struggle alone any longer. Haven’t we gotten closer in just the two days we’ve been traveling?”
“We have.” He looked at her and his eyes widened. Did he truly see her now for the first time? “You’re a marvel, Ellen.”
The girl grinned, and Lucy blinked back tears. “Well, I do have an extraordinary father.”
He chuckled. The rich sound filled the interior of the coach and set tingles dancing at the base of Lucy’s spine. Oh, how she’d missed that sound. “This is true. Perhaps you can help me write replies to those letters?”
A hint of a blush colored her cheeks. “I would adore that.”
When the coach slowly rolled around the circular drive in front of the children’s home, Lucy encouraged them all to disembark
At the door following Colin’s knock, he asked, “Why are we here?”
“You are going to play at being Father Christmas for the children here, if any would like to see you and talk,” she replied in a low voice. Beside her, Ellen fairly hopped in place.
“Oh, how fun!”
“How not.” He vehemently shook his head. “I refuse.”
“I think you will do it,” Lucy replied with a smile. She didn’t even mind the steady drum of rain upon the hood of her cloak or the chilly December air made even more cold by the damp. “Any man who slinks out of an inn due to an indiscretion dressed like that deserves to do this.”
He glowered but further conversation was cut short when the door swung open and a gray-haired woman with a dour expression stared at them.
“May I help you?” She looked over each of them in turn and then turned up her snub nose. “It is early yet to conduct visiting hours and we don’t have adoption appointments scheduled today.”
“We are not here for adoption proceedings,” Lucy began with a smile. “We are here, in fact, to have any children who wish it talk with Father Christmas.” She gestured to Colin who fairly seethed beside her. “If you agree, I’m quite certain Viscount Hartsford—the man who generously decided on this gambit—will make a sizeable donation to your organization.”
Ha! That would teach him to involve her and Ellen in a scheme.
Colin grumbled but said nothing.
“I think we can arrange something,” the woman said and stood back for them to enter. “I am the headmistress here, and currently we have twelve children of varying ages. At present, you can wait in the parlor while I rouse them. I’ll order tea brought ‘round. It’s the least I can do, and you look cold.”
After being shown into a shabby parlor that had probably once been the height of fashion, Lucy and Ellen sat side by side on a faded olive-green settee while Colin held court in a worn leather wingback chair facing them with a meager fire nearby.
A half hour later, tea service and the first two children arrived.
While Lucy busied herself with the refreshments, she furtively watched Colin’s interaction with the two boys—not more than eight. They each came close to him, awe shining in their eyes, then when Colin asked them about themselves, the words came out in a childlike rush, both boys babbling as if they’d never had the chance before.
Maybe they hadn’t.
When the sweet desires of their hearts came forth and they stared up into Colin’s face with wide, dark eyes, and they only wished for happiness and perhaps a stick of candy, Lucy’s heart lurched. She clutched her teacup tightly while Ellen did the same, her attention riveted to her father.
Over and over children slipped into the parlor in pairs, leaving when the first two vacated the space. Their requests and stories were much like the original boys. Some wished for a home to live in, some wished for a puppy to befriend, most asked for new shoes or socks or pretty hair ribbons. None of them made overly selfish r
equests, and each one brought tears into Ellen’s eyes and a lump into Lucy’s throat.
Throughout it all, Colin listened, his head bent near to each child, an arm wrapped about their slim shoulders. He didn’t say much, and he promised very little of course, but he let them talk, and perhaps that was the best gift to both parties. With each new child, he visibly thawed until his own eyes were suspiciously shining.
Once he’d spoken with all of them and he was given a now-tepid cup of tea, Colin kept his own counsel until the headmistress joined them. Then, he hastily rested his teacup on the low table and he launched to his feet. “I want you to know the morning has been well spent,” he said in a graveled voice. He delved a hand beneath his robes and into a pocket, she assumed, and then he withdrew a small leather pouch that jangled with coin. “Please make certain every child receives socks and mufflers for Christmas. And a stick of candy apiece.” He handed the woman the pouch and she wrapped her bony fingers around it.
“This is... quite unexpected,” she whispered, weighing the pouch in her palm, her eyes shrewd as she no doubt totaled up expenses against the funds.
“It is Christmas, good woman. That is all.” Then he threw off the robe, yanked off the beard, false hair and cap, and then thrust them into her arms. “For next year, and make sure the fellow who does it is better suited than me.” He bent his head close to the older woman’s. “When I return to my home in London, I will send a check with more funding. You all deserve that.” He winked, and Lucy gawked. “Perhaps I’ll be the patron of this establishment.”
The headmistress nodded. “I would enjoy that, my lord,” she gasped out, her fingers grasping his offerings. “We rarely find notice here, and never at Christmastime.”
Not long afterward, they departed the children’s home and Ellen was handed into the coach.
Colin halted Lucy before she could climb inside. He laid a hand on her arm, his body entirely too close, his gaze boring into hers, the heat of him seeping into her. “Thank you.” His voice was low and rumbling with the old thrill she used to know.
She gasped in shock as she gazed up at him. The five-inch difference in their height hadn’t changed in the intervening years. “I beg your pardon?” Never had he said those words to her in all of their history.
A faint blush of color rushed up his neck. “Just what I said. Thank you. I needed to see this, those children, their situation. It makes me remember how grateful I am, for the life I lead.”
“Oh.” She dropped her gaze as cold disappointment pooled in her belly. “That wasn’t the point of this exercise. You were supposed to give of yourself, write those letters...” But he had with the coin and his time and offering to do more for the children’s home.
He winked, and his eyes twinkled with a knowing gleam. “The first steps are the smallest.” Then, he dropped a fleeting kiss to her cheek, and while she stared mutely at him, he handed her into the coach. “Ellen and I will work at our letters on the road, if you were wondering.”
Lucy’s cheeks blazed. Her entire body heated. Thank goodness Ellen had engaged her father in conversation as soon as he entered the vehicle. With his actions, she’d seen a trace of the man she’d used to know. She glanced at him, taken aback by his easy grin as he chatted with his daughter.
It changed nothing. He had his life. So did she, but perhaps he might live his better now. She wished for nothing else.
Didn’t she?
Chapter Seven
The rain was unrelenting.
Conversation was stilted if it happened at all. Lucy maintained a grouchy attitude as the morning dragged on. Colin was grumpy too, and Ellen had fallen into a surly mood. The girl dozed, or at least she pretended to, while Lucy and Colin stared out the windows. It was all to the good, for she didn’t feel like talking—to either of them. The happiness from the unwanted children’s home had long faded beneath the dreariness of the day. Added to the effect was the fact that rain always made one of her molars ache.
He had made a mockery of the visit to the orphan’s home; it had ultimately taught him nothing. The viscount was grateful for his roguish life, instead of seeing that the holiday meant giving of himself. Christmas spirit was decidedly missing, and that brought about her ire.
Why did she even care what happened to him and whether he was happy with his life? They were nothing to each other. Not anymore. Perhaps they never were, for his chasing of coin and pleasure were greater than love for his fellow man.
For her.
She stifled a sob that welled up. Did she regret not being able to give the young man she remembered a proper goodbye? Mayhap she did. The break in their association had been abrupt and jarring, riddled with high emotion. Was that why he lingered in her mind after all this time? Lucy glanced at him, but Colin’s attention was at the window. He wore a frown that reflected in the deep furrow of his brow. She sighed and returned her focus to the passing, rain-drenched countryside.
In this, she had no answers, but somehow she needed to find a way to rise above the memories, for soon they would break her and then she’d run the risk of saying something stupid.
A couple of hours later, Colin nudged her foot with his. Tingles erupted in her lower belly. Such a foolish response every time he touched her, but she was powerless to stop it. Something in him called out to something in her, and probably always would.
She glanced at him, caught his gaze. Questions roiled in those lake-blue eyes and a trace of sadness. “Bored?” Why couldn’t she drop into sleep as easily as Ellen? Then she’d escape the inevitable conversation.
“On and off.” He shrugged. “But I have managed to observe one thing.” He didn’t drop her gaze. “You act as if we never had a shared past, as if we never meant anything to each other.” Accusation threaded through his low-pitched tone. “Why?”
“Why should I pay tribute to the past, when it’s just that?” She strove to keep her voice even, but outrage naturally made it rise. “Our future isn’t entwined. It never was in hindsight. Perhaps I refuse to remember that, which leads to what-ifs. There is not solace or peace down that path.”
“Thanks to you.” He crossed his arms at his chest and glared out the window.
At least the connection to his gaze broke and she could manage to breathe slightly easier. But the old hurt and anger stewed within her chest. Mayhap it was time to air the old grievance so they could both move on. She narrowed her eyes, looking at him slumped on the bench opposite, his clothing wrinkled and travel worn. “I’ve heard the rumors about you. When the gossip rags catch fire, it always seems you’re featured heavily in them.” Lucy paused, choosing her words. “You haven’t changed from the man you used to be. Why is that, I wonder?” Then she sucked in a quick breath. “Or rather, are you using that lifestyle to hide?” That made much more sense than him maintaining the image of a rake after all these years.
Colin snapped his gaze back to her. “I am not hiding.”
“No? Then what exactly are you hinting at? What is it you wish to say to me? Stop dithering and tell me.” She couldn’t stand the not knowing, the dancing about the words unsaid.
Ellen stirred in her sleep. She shifted her position, rested her head on Lucy’s shoulder but didn’t wake. Lucy, not knowing what else to do, slid her arm about the girl’s shoulders and cuddled her as she would with Beatrice. It wasn’t Ellen’s fault the world around her had gone rotten.
Finally, the man across from her spoke. He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, and though his expression briefly softened as he flicked his gaze to his daughter, when he looked at Lucy, his eyes were once more hard as blue glass. “You betrayed me, Lucy.” His voice shook with emotion he didn’t share.
“How?” She frowned. “You made it clear what you valued above all else back then—coin and enterprise.” Her stomach muscles cramped, and her mind once more hurtled to that long ago winter’s day when he’d told her of his plans for the future, that he’d wished to invest everything he had to his name
in coal and steam, for the possible returns would keep them warm and happy until they were old, that he’d need a few years to see the evidence of the risk.
Never once had he talked of living off their love or knowing the struggling years ahead of them would be all right as long as they were together. He only cared about living large if his investments paid off... later.
“I’m not talking about that,” he hissed with a glance toward his sleeping daughter. Colin sat back against the squabs, his eyes narrowed to slits. “You betrayed me by letting my best friend court you. You married him, consented to share his life, bear his children, and he had precious little to his name, the same as me.” Those words rang in the chilly air between them. “How the hell do you think that made me feel?”
Lucy sucked in a breath. She hadn’t considered the matter in those terms. Yes, Jacob had been just as poor as Colin, but the difference had been Jacob wanted her despite the challenge. He didn’t wish to put off their wedding until his coffers came about. “Oh Colin, I’m so sorry.” She almost touched his knee, but her courage failed her. Instead, she kept her voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping girl. “It was nearly two years after you and I parted, after you told me we couldn’t wed until you’d made enough coin to show your father he was wrong.”
“I did.”
Did he refer to her statement or the fact that he had earned a fortune in his own right? Not knowing, she plunged onward. “Once you’d gone back to London and had made yourself into a rake, I...” She swallowed hard. “I was lost.”
“A direct result of being stubborn, Lucy.” He shrugged, the perfect picture of negligence and nonchalance, his glower firmly in place. “The ladies I keep company with don’t mind who I am or how I act.”
She shook her head as cold disappointment wrapped around her spine. “It’s an empty life, and if you gave it any thought, you would agree. You are not that man, deep down.”
Emotion flickered in his eyes, gone so quickly she couldn’t read it. “You’re wrong. A rake is what I am and it suits me.”
Wagering on Christmas Page 7
