by Kate Pearce
He had gone past the place that very morning, as he had every time he had traveled from the harbor to the London Road. “Damn my unseeing eyes. There all along.” Looking out to sea for him. All those long, lost years.
Daniel cradled her sweet, dear face to thumb away her tears. “But you never give up hope.”
“No. For hope is love, leavened with patience.” She smiled and wiped her eyes and smiled some more. “And a good thing I have a very great deal of patience.”
“A very good thing,” he agreed.
“Because I’ve been waiting nearly ten long years for you to kiss me.”
“My darling Charlotte.” He drew her face toward his. “I promise to make it worth your wait.”
He kissed her. Slowly, cautiously, the way a man dying of thirst raises a glass of water to his lips. Reverently. With all the lust and love and secret longing of his heart. With all the finesse he did not know could survive the years.
And all the promise of the years, and the laughter, and the children that would follow now that he had finally made her his. “My own true love.”
“My only true love,” she answered. “For you have always been mine, just as I have been yours.”
“Ah.” A happy sigh sent them apart—but only for a moment. For it was Frau Klaus in the doorway, dabbing at her tears even as she smiled. “And that makes four happy couples—so far! Christmas is here, my children. Come and share your love with all the others, and let us all drink to your health, and be happy.”
And so they were. Always and forever.
Gifts of Love
Aileen Fish
In the overstuffed great room in a house in Canterbury, Mr. James Dillingham moved to stand on the other side of his wife Della’s chair. The heat from the enormous fireplace was too much to bear. The warmth in the room was already stifling, crowded as it was with wayward travelers, and the fire only made it more uncomfortable. Yet he was grateful for a place to stay, crowded and noisy as it was. What would their children think when they heard James and Della spent Christmas Eve in a brothel?
The, er, mistress of Klaus Haus, Frau Klaus, was a sainted woman—if a woman who kept available rooms for men seeking the company of her girls could be sainted—for opening her doors to one and all who were stranded in Canterbury that night. The blizzard that made the roads impassable would be remarked on for years, he was certain. For the Dillingham family, it would be known as the Klaus Haus Christmas, he decided. He would tell the tale each year to his grandchildren, and one day their children, because he loved a good tale.
He wasn’t the only one to enjoy words being bandied about, he noted, as those sitting in the great room where he and Della sat were sharing stories of their own. Most were Christmas stories, and not personal to the teller, but his was very personal, and very suited to the season.
When there was a lull between stories, James took his turn. “Let me tell you of the Christmas of the magi. You know of the magi, of course, those men bearing gifts to the baby Jesus?”
He paused. Was it sacrilege to mention the Lord’s son in a house of ill-repute? Well, it was too late to worry about that now. He continued. “My story is of a young couple, married less than a year and celebrating their first holiday together. They were deeply in love…oh, how they loved each other! There is nothing either wouldn’t have given to provide joy to the other.”
Squeezing Della’s shoulder, he smiled down at her. Their love had never weakened in all these years.
“They were also poor, as poor as one could be while still providing a roof over their heads. But they had enough to eat, and keep the house warm, and they had each other, so they were rich. When Christmas approached, the husband was defeated in his lack of wherewithal in being able to acquire a gift for his beautiful wife. She deserved diamonds, silken gowns, the finest of jewels, but she had none of that. Nor could he provide any for her.
“What she did possess was a beautiful pendant given to her by her grandmother. The heart-shaped gold piece held a small ruby—not big enough to impress the queen, perhaps, but a fine ruby it was.” James drew in a slow breath and looked around the room to be certain others still listened. Assured his audience was awaiting more of the story, he continued.
“The young wife couldn’t wear her pendant, though, because the chain had been lost years before they married. She kept the pendant wrapped in a handkerchief tucked away in her small box of treasures. The husband knew one day he’d replace the chain, but how was he ever to do so when he earned so little?”
Across the room a young woman’s eyebrows lifted as if she wondered the same thing. So, James told her.
“The only thing he owned of any value was his pocket watch, given to him when his father had died twelve years ago. He valued the watch more than anything else he owned, as it was all he had from his father. The weight of it in the pocket of his waistcoat told him his father was always with him, in his pocket and in his heart. But he loved his wife more than any material thing, so he knew what he must do.”
With another squeeze of Della’s shoulder and a wink meant just for her, James said, “He was late for dinner that Christmas Eve, but he knew he’d be forgiven when his wife saw what he’d bought for her. She greeted him at the door as always, helped him with his hat and coat, and followed him to the glowing fireplace. There he faced her and said, ‘I cannot wait until morning to give you your gift. I’m so excited for you to see it.’”
James drew in a deep breath, once again studying the faces in the room who all watched with rapt attention. “The husband handed her the tissue-wrapped parcel, his hand shaking with excitement. She carefully unwrapped it so as not to damage the paper—which could be used again, of course—and her eyes widened when she saw what lay there. ‘Oh, my. Oh…my.’
“It wasn’t the happy sort of 'oh, my' a husband wants to hear when giving his wife the gift she desires most of all. The poor man’s puffed-up chest deflated. He asked, ‘What is wrong, my dear? It’s a gold chain for your pendant.’
“His wife lifted the chain and draped it over her fingers. ‘Yes, it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful, but…Well, here,’ she said and took a parcel from the mantel. He opened the small box and saw a heavy gold chain inside and burst into loud laughter. He laughed long and hard at the good joke of their gifts, but when he looked at his wife, he saw she wasn’t laughing. Realizing she didn’t understand, he told her he’d sold his watch to buy her necklace. ‘But this is the finest watch chain I have ever owned. I will treasure it always.’”
Everyone in the room chuckled softly, believing this to be the end of the tale, and not very impressed by it. “At this point, the wife broke into sweet laughter of her own and reached to kiss her husband. ‘You dear man,’ she said. ‘I sold my pendant to buy you the watch chain. But at least I can wear my necklace without the pendant.’”
His thoughts returning to the crowded room, James patted his wife’s shoulder just to treasure her nearness. “You see, they loved each other so much, they sold their most valuable possessions to give each other the gift they treasured most. And in doing so, they received the gifts they treasured more, the gift of true love.”
Della looked up at him and smiled—that deep, knowing smile that told of how many years of happiness they’d shared. He returned the smile.
When James didn’t continue, a young boy asked, “But what did the man do with his chain, now that he had no watch?”
James helped his wife to her feet, then lifted his watch on its heavy gold chain from his pocket and glanced at it. “No, no, I’ve held the floor too long. We must retire now to the room Frau Klaus has been kind enough to provide us with. We wish you all the merriest of Christmases.”
And as Della turned away from the fire, the light caught the small ruby in the center of her grandmother’s heart pendant, and the jewel winked at him.
It had taken many years of saving every spare penny, of Della taking in sewing and James sweeping the floor at a pub each morning be
fore going to his job at the newspaper, and of not buying gifts for each other, but they eventually managed to buy back her pendant and his watch. They had argued when their savings reached enough to buy the first piece, each insisting the other person deserved theirs more, and in the end waited until they could buy both.
By some miracle the jeweler still had the pendant and watch, so one glorious Christmas Day they unwrapped the gifts they’d bought together. It was a joyful morning.
Opening the door to their room in the brothel, James allowed Della to enter, then wrapped her in his arms. “Merry Christmas, my darling wife.”
After they kissed, Della held his gaze, her eyes filled with emotion. “Merry Christmas, my dearest husband. I’m so lucky to have had you beside me for all these years.”
They were blessed, not lucky, he corrected in his mind. Blessed to have found each other once upon a time, blessed to have a partner whose love remained strong through the hardest times, even blessed to have this room in the brothel on such a wonderful night. Before falling asleep, he prayed the same thing he always did, that they’d have many more years together in love.
How to Reform a Rake
Tammy Andresen
It began at a brothel…
No, that wasn’t entirely true. When Maximillian Ableman, the Duke of Longley, reflected upon that time, he realized that the misadventure began earlier than that at the London Gentleman’s Club, in the wee hours of the morning.
It was all Clearwater’s fault, really. Sirius Renwall, the Earl of Clearwater, was widely considered to be the most wholesome among their set, which really wasn’t saying much at all. He’d been just as inebriated as the rest of them when he’d stood in front of Max and their three other friends and declared that it was blasphemy to spend such a blessed event alone.
And that was how they had all agreed to spend the holiday at Clearwater’s estate in Dover. Drunk, of course. That detail was of particular importance.
It had seemed like a fine idea at the time. They’d raised their cups and loudly cheered.
The next morning, however, it appeared far less appealing as Max had climbed into Si’s carriage. Crammed into the tiny space with four other men, he let out a not-so-subtle groan.
“You don’t get to moan.” Rex shot him a dark glare. “We’ve been waiting for you for over a quarter hour.”
Max pressed his palms into the sockets of his eyes. “Why didn’t you come inside?”
“We thought you’d be right out.” Si swayed in his seat. “Stop the carriage.”
“It is stopped,” Chase chuckled. He had an amazing constitution when it came to liquor. “But all the same, Your Grace,” he winked over at Max, “let’s take a second carriage. We’ll divide up by men least likely to lose their liquor from last night. Those will go in Max’s carriage.”
“So you and Max,” Rex growled, his heavy brow dropping even lower as he ran a hand through his bedraggled hair. He kept it quite long, though it was normally artfully tied back. This morning it looked about as kept as a wet kitchen mop. “Actually, what do I care? The only thing better might be to cancel this trip to Dover.”
Si might have protested but he had his head between his knees.
Kenneth Marksburg, Earl of Kissinger, but known to them as Key, thumped the roof of the carriage. His blond hair fell in his bloodshot blue eyes. It startled all of them and Max gave him his best glower. He’d perfected it over years of telling people to piss off with his eyes. Key ignored the glance. “Onward, gentlemen. Dover awaits.”
It took another half hour to ready the second team, but in that time the men walked a bit and Max’s cook, Mrs. Pastrel, filled their stomachs. He had to be honest, he wasn’t sure if food made some of the men more or less likely to toss the contents of their stomachs and he was glad to be sharing a carriage with Chase.
It was near ten by the time they left his home. As he stretched his legs, Chase lay on the seat facing him and promptly fell asleep. Bastard.
The scenery slipped by, pretty farms dotting the landscape as they made their way through Rochester and then Faversham. By nightfall, he had a splitting headache. Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands, he let out a breath in the frigid carriage. A cloud of breath filled the cabin, thick and moist. The air was changing.
Sure enough, as he parted the curtain again, he watched as fat snowflakes fell to the ground. “Bloody hell,” he gritted out.
“What’s wrong?” Chase called from the other seat, finally rousing.
“Snow,” he said moving only his lips. What was he doing in this carriage, travelling all the way to Dover to spend Christmastide drunk? What was he doing with his life? He’d been asking himself questions like this a great deal of late.
“You do an amazing job of saying so much while talking so little. Your entire face tells a story,” Chase said as he stretched, giving a loud yawn. His jaw cracked and he reached his hand down to rub it. “You’ve really perfected stoic disapproval. It matches your black hair and craggy features perfectly.”
“Attractive description.” Max allowed the curtain to fall back in place. “No wonder debutantes aren’t chasing me and instead run in fear.”
“Oh please.” Chase rolled his eyes. “They don’t chase you because you flaunt debauchery. The second you show an iota of interest in marriage, they will flock about you.”
“They still chase you and you’re the most debaucherous of the lot of us.” Max rubbed his temples, trying to rid himself of the pounding in his head. It was true. Chase had the classic features of a god. His brown hair and sparkling eyes had lured many a women into his bed.
“You’re not actually considering it, are you?” Chase placed his elbows on his knees, his gaze narrowing as he assessed his friend.
For Max’s part, he had little intention of answering the question. Honestly, he didn’t know what he was considering beyond getting out of this carriage and returning home to sleep in his own bed. There was a vague sense that this life of drinking, gambling, and women had become too much, brittle and hollow in its pursuits. “Considering what?”
“Debutantes. Marriage. Domesticity,” Chase practically spit the last word.
Max leveled his friend with a stare. Chase was as close to a brother as he had. They all were. Some parts of a man’s mind, however, were private. “And miss all of this? Driving into Canterbury in the middle of a storm? Tell me again why we didn’t just Christmas together in London?”
Chase shrugged, sitting back in his seat, but his gaze continued to assess his friend. “The whiskey will be sweeter for the suffering.”
Max scratched his head. Somehow those words seemed significant. Puzzling out the how and the why, however, had to wait as the carriage slid upon the road, the vehicle tipping precariously to one side. Max braced himself against the wall as the driver pulled the conveyance to a stop.
Letting out a long breath, Max snapped the door open and stuck his head out. “Forgive me, Your Grace.” The driver removed his hat as he spoke. “But I don’t think we’ll make it to Dover tonight. Best to stop in Canterbury and travel on after this storm passes.”
Max gave a clipped jerk with his chin. “Put your hat back on, man, and tell the other driver.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the driver answered, bounding down from his seat.
It took a few minutes but the carriage began moving again.
They quickly made their way into Canterbury and stopped at an inn only to discover that it was full. As was the next and the next.
The five friends gathered outside the fourth inn they’d tried. Snow was pelting them as it collected on the ground soaking into their leather hessians.
“I think I’ve a solution.” Chase gave them a devilish grin. It was one he had perfected over years of practice. “There is a brothel over on Castle Street. Frau Kraus’s establishment. Perhaps there is room for us there.”
Rex let out a bark of laughter. “Only you would know where a brothel in Canterbury is located.”
“Frau and I go way back,” Chase’s grin spread even further. “Now there is a woman that can turn a boy into a ma—”
Si gave a timely cough. “Regardless, it’s freezing out here. Let’s go before the brothel is full too. If it isn’t already.”
Climbing back into the carriages, it took less than a quarter hour to make their way to the brothel and only a few minutes to secure a room.
Frau gave them a saucy wink. “We’re filled to the gills but Vadoma has generously allowed you gentlemen to share her room for the evening. She’ll expect compensation in addition to mine, of course. She’d also be happy to tell your fortune, if you’re so inclined.”
A gypsy. Max held in the long exhale he wished to let out. He’d have to sleep with one eye open tonight, which meant he’d need to refrain from drinking too much. A pity. After the day he’d had, it would have been nice to numb his throbbing head.
They were ushered upstairs and entered into a spacious room with a large bed, a table, and a window seat. A dark-haired beauty greeted them with a smile. “It is a pleasure, my lords,” she murmured, looking down at her open hand.
They each placed a shilling in her palm. This was the fee just for being allowed space on the floor, which was fine with Max. He had no desire to share a bed with such a woman. He wasn’t sure what was so distasteful about it. He’d made a hobby out of bedding willing females. Near an occupation, but not tonight. “Will any of you be needing additional services?” she murmured.
“No,” he answered before anyone else could. “Just a place to sleep.”
“Bloody bullocks, what is wrong with you, man?” Chase made a face at him. It was somewhere between a scowl and an eye roll.
“I meant,” the gypsy interrupted. “Would any of you like me to tell your fortune?”
“Not yet, love,” Chase gave her a rakish wink. “Perhaps later.”
