by Kate Pearce
Emily’s eyes filled with tears.
“Henry—“
“I’m not asking you for anything other than the chance to see if what I suspect is between us is real.”
It was real. Somehow, Emily knew it was real. Knew she loved him with every fibre of her being.
But she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything, for Henry bent to capture her mouth in a kiss that shifted the very ground she stood on.
And if she’d been in any doubt as to what she felt for him, the feel of his lips upon hers, would have proven that her heart, and her soul, wanted nothing more than to belong to him, too.
Epilogue
“Are you ready?” The angel placed a hand on Sir Amos’s shoulder.
He turned and smiled, feeling more at peace than ever before.
The wedding between his only daughter and Henry had been beautiful to witness.
It seemed fitting that it would be at Christmastide, twelve months after he’d helped them find each other.
When Henry had insisted that they do things correctly, returning her to her mother’s home, already very much betrothed to him, Amos had worried that Blechly would try to undo the engagement.
However, after he’d witnessed Henry’s meeting with the cowardly viscount, he had known that Henry would let nothing happen to Emily, and nothing stop them from being together.
Amos took one, last look at his daughter waltzing in the arms of her doting husband.
Their souls could have been made from the stars themselves, so brightly did they shine now they were entwined forever.
“I’m ready,” he finally answered, turning toward the light that should have blinded him, yet merely cloaked him like an old, comforting friend.
He took his final steps from his daughter, safe in the knowledge that her soul, and her heart, were right where they belonged.
A Family for Christmas
Alanna Lucas
The yellow glow of oil lamps flickered through the heavy snowfall, guiding Claricia toward her last hope. She pulled the coat tight about her shivering body as she trudged through the thickening snow, the fierce wind howling at her back. What had she been thinking venturing out on a night such as this?
That I could not take the chance and miss Randolph.
It had been ten years, ten long years. However, as she made her way through the icy streets of Canterbury and gazed upon all the stranded travelers this Christmas Eve, she was questioning her judgment. She’d inquired after Randolph at every inn in town, but it wasn’t until she reached the last one that she learned Frau Klaus, the proprietor of Klaus Haus, had opened her doors, offering shelter to those in need of reprieve from the weather. She offered a silent prayer that he would be there.
Chatter and laughter emanated from inside the brothel as she pulled the door open. A soothing rush of warm air welcomed her into the overcrowded parlor filled with weary travelers trying to escape the vicious storm. Beyond the commotion was a lovely Tannenbaum decorated with colorful paper roses, apples, and tinsel. She’d heard stories about such trees from her Oma, but had never seen one in person. It was a lovely sight to behold.
Claricia maneuvered through the crowd, hoping for a closer look until she spotted a familiar mane of soft auburn hair.
Randolph.
Her heart skipped a beat. Could it be?
He was sitting next to the tree, his face partially hidden from view, but she would recognize those sweet dimples and lightly freckled cheeks anywhere. Sitting next to him was a boy, who could have been no more than twelve or thirteen. She stepped closer, careful not to be seen as she listened.
“It’s a miserable night to run away.” She heard Randolph reason with the boy.
“No one will notice,” the young lad replied, his words weighed down with sorrow. “My mom is dead, and my stepfather says I’m a burden.”
“I’m recalling a story about a boy who thought the same as you, Herman. On a night similar to this in fact.”
Claricia watched as the young lad leaned forward with hopeful interest. A look she was quite familiar with, a look that held the desperation of wanting someone to tell you it would all turn out well in the end.
“As a boy, this lad had been teased to no end about his small stature and flaming red hair. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to fit in with any of the other children. And to make matters worse, he wasn’t very intelligent. Regardless of how much effort he spent, he simply could not comprehend numbers, reading was quite the struggle, and riding a horse… well, I won’t even begin to tell you what a disaster that was.”
“Sounds like me,” Herman said on a long exhale. “Did he ever learn to ride?”
“Eventually.” Randolph nodded. “And I’m certain you will as well.” His hopeful words warmed Claricia’s heart. Oh, how she had missed him. “As the years passed, that young boy grew into a tall man, and even his studies improved, but his insecurities remained and were greater than ever. Despite his lack of confidence, a beautiful lady fell in love with him. He tried to keep those fears buried deep inside, but when he approached Claricia’s father and asked permission to court her, and the viscount refused, all his fears simmered to the surface, consuming his every breath. He convinced himself the viscount’s refusal was for the best, that Claricia deserved better.”
“Why did the viscount refuse?” the boy Randolph referred to as Herman questioned. Claricia held her breath in anxious anticipation. She never knew what had happened that distant day, but always suspected her father’s interference.
“His family wasn’t poor, but they could never come close to the viscount’s wealth and title. The viscount did not want his only daughter to marry beneath her status.” It didn’t surprise her that Father would believe such nonsense. He rarely conversed with anyone with a lesser title than his own.
“What did he do?”
“He took what little money he had and left without so much as a word, not even to his mother. As he was running down the road, he promised himself that one day he would return a successful man and ask permission to court Claricia once again.” Randolph sighed heavily as he shook his head. “However, by the time he reached Dover, what little money he had was almost gone. His hopes had plummeted. He was much too embarrassed to turn around and go home. Days passed, and his spirits were lower than he could ever recall when he met Cornelius Goldfoot, a widower who was trying to escape the pain of losing his wife in childbirth. Together they passed many Christmases together, exploring the world from India to the Caribbean.”
“That sounds exciting!” The young lad exclaimed.
“It was for a time. But he longed for home and the family, and the love he’d left behind.”
“Did he go back home?”
“Not right away.” Claricia heard the regret in Randolph’s voice. She wanted to go to him, but curiosity about his story kept her silent. “He was still angry and hurt, and still didn’t believe he was good enough. Especially not for the daughter of a viscount.”
“What did he do?”
“Continued to run from his problems. He met friendly people along the course of his travels, but never stayed in any one place long enough to make any lasting friendships. As the years went on, he learned that no matter how far he ran, he was still the same person, with the same problems, and the promise he’d made to himself had almost faded from his memory.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good life.”
Randolph shook his head. “It wasn’t. Although his fortune had changed, his life was empty, hollow, bottomless. He knew he had to return home. He finally realized he couldn’t run from his problems and had learned to accept who he was.”
“So, he went home? Was his family happy to see him?”
“Yes, but much had changed in the years he had been gone. No longer were his parents hale, but sick with worry.”
“What happened to the girl? The one he fell in love with?”
“She was gone.”
“Did
she die?” Claricia couldn’t help but wonder all that had happened in this young lad’s life to shape his thoughts on dying and death.
“No.” The single word dampened the gaiety coursing through the room. “He went to see her father, to declare his intentions and begin to set things to right. Only when he arrived, the old lord told him that he was too late. Claricia wasn’t there, and he refused to share any further information. He could only assume she’d married another,” Randolph’s voice cracked with emotion. “So, you see, running from your problems doesn’t solve them. One day, you have to face them, before it’s too late.”
Claricia stepped forward, her body trembling with excitement. “It’s not too late.”
Randolph swiveled around. The moment their eyes met, he jumped to his feet. Puzzlement streaked across the lad’s face before he quickly looked away.
It had been years since she’d last seen Randolph. He’d grown into such a handsome man that any girl would have swooned over him, but she longed for the kindhearted lad who’d stolen her heart ten years previous.
Disbelief pooled in his eyes as he stared at her. All sounds around them seemed to fade as if they were the only two people in the room. Words that she’d rehearsed froze in her throat. In two strides he was by her side and pulling her into his embrace.
“I thought I would never see you again,” his soft words drifted into her heart dissolving the anger that had been coursing through her body since she discovered the lies her father had told Randolph.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Your mother told me. She said you were returning to Dover at once.” She nestled into his warmth. “I…I don’t want to lose you again.”
Just then rambunctious laughter rang through the common area, reminding them that they were not alone. Randolph took her hand and guided her toward the door. “I just want a brief moment alone with you.”
Claricia was about to question Randolph’s sanity as they stepped outside into the cold winter’s night. But much to her amazement and delight, a slight break in the weather revealed the splendor of nature. Fresh snow blanketed the street. Clouds had given way to a clear midnight blue sky. Thousands of stars twinkled, joyously smiling down upon them.
“It’s so peaceful and lovely!”
“You’re even lovelier.” Randolph grasped her hands within his. “I love you, my dearest Claricia.” He leaned in, touching his forehead to hers.
“I love you, too.” She kissed his cheek. “Promise me, no more running from problems. It doesn’t matter that you’re a second son with no money, or that our house won’t be grand, or any of that. As long as we’re together, we will be the richest couple in England.”
He looked into her eyes. “Marry me.”
Hot tears, cooled by the freezing breeze, coursed down her cheeks. “I would be honored to be your wife.”
He pressed his lips against hers, then gently covered her mouth. She gave into the moment, never wanting the kiss to end.
“There’s something you should know,” he said as he eased back. She braced herself for some horrible secret. “My time away has been quite lucrative. You will never have to want for anything, I—”
She placed her fingers on his lips. “As long as I have you, I won’t.”
A brisk wind whooshed through the leafless trees. “Let’s go inside.”
As they re-entered the warm brothel, all the joy she’d been experiencing was crushed by the sight of the young lad Randolph had told his story to, huddled in a corner, trembling and frightened. She met Randolph’s eyes, and understanding passed between them. They approached the boy together.
Herman looked up at them; tears threatened to spill at any moment.
“I spent years running, running from my problems, from my dreams. I don’t want you to suffer the same fate, not if I can help.” Claricia knew Randolph’s words were spoken from the heart.
Herman sniffled back the tears. “I…I don’t understand.”
“I—” Randolph began.
Claricia put a gentle hand on Randolph’s arm. “We,” she corrected him.
Randolph smiled brightly, revealing the dimples she’d dreamt about. “We would very much like to help you.” The lad’s brows crinkled with confusion. “We would like you to be a part of our new little family.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I want you to follow your dreams, to always have a home where you’re welcomed, to feel loved.”
The boy wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. “I would like that very much. But…but why?”
Claricia bent down and brought the lad into her embrace. “Because Christmas is a time for family.”
The Pirate’s Yuletide Haven
Katherine Bone
Cassia Beaugre Ransome stood on the widow’s walk above Klaus Haus, searching the silvery streets of Canterbury for her husband. After being threatened by excise men, Ansell and his band of pirates had gone to hide their contraband in a spacious crypt below Chapel House in Whitstable. They had promised to meet her after they’d “sown the crop,” but night had fallen and the worst winter storm Kent had ever seen was ravaging the city. The roads were blanketed with snow, and the ill-timed weather made traveling across the countryside hazardous to smugglers and regular folk alike. Surely customs officials were not on the hunt in these conditions. A wave of nervousness crashed into her.
Or are they?
She could only pray that Ansell would be able to elude them if, in fact, they were patrolling the Canterbury Turnpike. She studied the narrow, snow-covered street, invisible wings fluttering in her chest. Here, at least, the snowstorm might be to her husband’s advantage as it would distort his tracks as soon as they were made.
Oh, where was he? He’d been scheduled to arrive hours ago!
Whirling snowflakes filled the air, making it difficult to see. Worry seized Cassia’s chest, and her throat bobbed like a cork on a raging sea, her fear an infectious, debilitating disease. What if Ansell and his crew had been arrested? How would they continue their tradition of repaying the brothel’s landlady, Frau Klaus, for saving Cassia from Dorchester Gaol? The dear woman had hidden Cassia in a secret passage behind a buffet hutch in her kitchen all those years ago, no matter the risk to herself. Given a second chance, she and Ansell had vowed to return to Klaus Haus every Christmas with ankers of brandy, barrels of wine, silk, chestnuts, and tea to share with her girls and offset her deprivations.
Icy winds tore at Cassia’s hem, and a chill swept up her skirts as she continued to search Castle Street for her husband. Shivering, she wrapped her cloak tighter about her, and like so many seafaring wives who’d come before her, she kept vigil with an uncertainty that clenched her heart and penetrated her very soul.
The eight-mile journey from the coast of Whitstable to Canterbury offered well-screened byways, signal stations, and forests. Thankfully, Ansell was very clever. He made use of these hidey-holes in case of emergencies, and Cassia knew he’d use various other techniques to warn smugglers along the turnpike, as well: lanterns in oak trees, messenger pigeons, white horses on the hilltop, mills turned in contrary directions, or St. George’s cross hoisted up on the mill sail. But Ellenden Wood led to Pean Hill, which was dangerously exposed to excise men and the elements. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
Would Ansell and his men be ready? She believed so. After all, her husband had proven time and time again that he could overcome any obstacle set before him.
Cassia sucked in a tremulous breath, then exhaled. The air crystalized in a wisp before her face. Echoes of laughter from the parlor carried on the howling wind, and the brothel’s wooden sign swung wildly off its hinges, clanging against the bricks at its base. Half-timbered buildings lined Castle Street, their candlelit, mullioned windows a guiding light in the snowy mist, promising sanctuary.
The Stour River was not far from the brothel, either, offering another route to safety and warmth—or escape. Was the canal frozen on a night like thi
s, though, or were lighters—shallow boats used in marshlands where silt altered the watercourse—in use?
Cassia startled as Great Dunstan, the largest bell in Canterbury Cathedral, came to life, tolling the hour. The sacred, melodious carillon invigorated her hopes. Christmas Day was coming and so was Ansell. She smiled as frost nipped at her lips. Holidaymakers from all over England traveled to Canterbury to pay homage to Archbishop Thomas Becket, who had been cruelly murdered by four of King Henry II’s knights in the cathedral two hundred years before. Nearly all of the shrines dedicated to the archbishop had been destroyed in that time, but the pilgrimage still continued.
Frau Klaus prized Canterbury’s religious heritage, the devout monks and passionate patrons straddling piety and sin. The shrewd, well-propertied landlady of Germanic descent craved respect. Nevertheless, she was kind. When all the inns were full, she turned no one away, especially on Christmas Eve.
Cassia couldn’t help but smile, and she hugged her arms close against the chill. She listened intently for sounds that rose above the merrymaking indoors. Oh, what she would give to hear the telltale crunch of man-made objects spoiling the blanketed Earth, the wayward snap of a downed branch, horse hooves making headway across the cobblestones, or voices carrying from West Gate, the doorway into Canterbury, mere blocks away. But only eerie whistling fisted over the hamlet. Nothing revealed her heart’s desire—Ansell’s return.
Frustrated, Cassia walked to the stout oak door that led inside the brothel. She opened the entrance and closed it behind her, shutting out the blustery world. Her toes felt frozen as she stomped her kid leather boots, then slipped out of her cloak. She hung it on a peg and sidestepped the snow that fluttered around her feet. Turning again, she faced the passageway that led to a narrow set of stairs where peculiar shadows danced on the walls.
Her thoughts turned to the Yule log. Eager for the warmth it offered, she took the stairs one at a time, carefully hiking up the heavy, stiff hem of her dress to keep from tripping. As she descended the oak staircase and worked her way past a hallway of doors to the next landing, the wind howled, fighting to penetrate the brothel’s slated roof. Soon, soft chatter came from a doorway to her left and moaning lovers to her right drowned out Mother Nature’s complaints.
