A Night of Angels

by Andersen, Maggi

  Lampton gave him a lopsided smile. “Have I ever told you what a very odd vicar you are?”

  “Frequently. I take it as a complement from you. Nicholas,” he added as Lampton began to run upstairs to dress more properly.

  Lampton turned, raising one eyebrow.

  “Thank you for what you did last night.”

  “I didn’t do anything but watch,” Lampton said. “Kate did it herself.”

  “I know you did more than that. Your presence made all the difference to her. And to me.”

  A sardonic reply rose to his lips and died at the last moment. It was Christmas after all. “I was glad to be there,” he said honestly.

  Elizabeth adjusted the central table decoration of holly and candles and stood back to admire.

  “Excellent,” she pronounced and the maid fled in relief, presumably before she changed her mind again. At the sound of muffled footsteps outside, Elizabeth glanced involuntarily at the window and saw two familiar figures passing through the powdery snow to the front door.

  Her stomach, which had been tingling all morning, seemed to dive, and she reached nervously to check that her hair was still in place. Not that Dr. Lampton would notice such trivialities. Her heart drummed at the sound of his voice in the hall. She yearned to rush out and meet him, but lived in fear of finding his expression changed from the exciting warmth, the love of last night.

  Did she really believe he was so fickle? No, but it was a highly emotional time. Perhaps he had been carried away and regretted it…

  Swallowing, she pulled herself together and walked toward the door.

  Dr. Lampton—Nicholas—was hanging up his overcoat on the stand. Beside him, Mr. Grant was asking the maid if his wife was still upstairs.

  “Yes, sir,” the girl replied, just as Grant caught sight of Elizabeth.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said with his ready smile. “I have brought Lampton, as you see. I told him you were holding everything together! Go into the drawing room and help yourselves to sherry. I’ll be down directly, hopefully with Kate.”

  “Don’t disturb her if she’s sleeping,” Nicholas said at once.

  “She’ll never forgive me if I don’t,” Grant said, climbing the stairs. “And I’m more frightened of her.”

  “She can’t possibly be asleep,” Elizabeth said lightly. “Andreas is up there with her.”

  Nicholas’s gaze burned into her face. Finally, she allowed herself to meet it. His grey eyes were searching, but they glowed in a way that both elated and frightened her. In sudden panic, she wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew with this man, and then his lips quirked upward in their characteristic smile and she knew only relief and sweet, growing gladness.

  “Good afternoon, Princess,” he said formally.

  “Good afternoon, Doctor.”

  He offered his arm. “May I give you a glass of Grant’s sherry?”

  She inclined her head and laid her fingers on his arm to walk with him. Seeing him again was so overwhelming that she needed these moments of formality to regain her equilibrium.

  In the drawing room, the mantelpiece was decorated with holly and ivy, which also trailed from vases strategically placed all around the room. The doctor left her by the sofa near the roaring fire, but she was too restless to sit. Instead, she watched him pour two glasses of sherry with his usual brisk efficiency, and walked forward to receive one. Their fingers touched on the stem, but he did not release it. Their eyes met.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said huskily and bent to kiss her.

  There was no time to avoid it, even if she had meant to. It seemed too quick, too sudden, yet at the first touch of his lips she melted, for it was not too quick at all. It was just right.

  “Do you still want this?” he asked against her lips. “Could you bear to marry me?”

  “You know I could. In fact, I might insist upon it.” She took back his lips, to the imminent danger of both sherry glasses. He kissed with such hunger, such intensity, that she forgot where she was. There was only him and his devastating mouth on hers.

  Until the door opened and Andreas bounded in ahead of the Grants and a servant carrying a cradle.

  Elizabeth and Nicholas sprang apart. “Let me speak to Andreas first,” she breathed, before rushing forward to see the Grants’ baby.

  “Meet Miss Nichola Grant,” Kate said smiling.

  “Nichola? What an unusual and pretty name,” Elizabeth approved.

  “If he was a boy, he would have been Nicholas,” Kate said.

  Nicholas looked stunned, staring from the baby to Kate and Mr. Grant, with parted lips. “You named your child after me?” he said at last.

  “Who better than the man who brought her into the world?” Mr. Grant said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You are our greatest friend.”

  Nicholas was endearingly speechless for several seconds before he launched into a litany of questions about the baby’s sleeping and feeding progress, and Kate’s general wellbeing.

  Elizabeth took the opportunity to draw Andreas away and sit him down on the sofa. “Tell me, my dear, do you like Dr. Lampton?”

  “Oh yes, he’s a great gun,” Andreas said enthusiastically, having clearly absorbed more English slang than Elizabeth knew. She let it pass for now.

  “Then you would not object to seeing more of him?” she pursued.

  “I would like that,” Andreas said. “The baby doesn’t do much, does she?”

  “Not yet, but she will. Andreas, would you like to stay in Blackhaven? With Dr. Lampton?”

  At that he cast her a quick, anxious glance. “And you?”

  “Of course!”

  Andreas grinned. “Are you going to marry him?” he asked loudly.

  The others, supervising little Nicholas’s disposal in the cradle out of the drafts, stopped talking and turned to face her and Andreas with varying degrees of interest.

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath. “Yes,” she replied boldly.

  The following evening was the charity ball at the assembly rooms. Hurrying back from an emergency visit to a patient in one of the outlying farms, Nicholas arrived at the hotel just in time to escort her. There had been no formal announcement of their engagement as yet, but the news was, inevitably, all over Blackhaven.

  “Might as well brazen it out at once and arrive together,” Nicholas said. He seemed to be expecting disapproval, and from the way everyone turned and stared at her when they entered the ballroom, Elizabeth saw that he was quite right.

  The room was splendidly decorated for Christmas in holly, ivy, mistletoe, and other greenery twining around the walls, hanging from wall sconces, and arching over doorways and alcoves. Red berries gleamed in the bright candle light which shone down on the magnificently sparkling guests in their bright colors and jewels. She might have been back in Vienna.

  Dancing had already begun, a lively country dance to the jolly music supplied by the orchestra in the mezzanine gallery. Those who weren’t dancing seemed to be gazing at Elizabeth and Nicholas with silent hostility.

  “Is it because I am foreign?” she murmured as he led her forward. “Or because we have stepped outside our perceived stations?”

  “Neither,” Lady Tamar said, materializing beside them in time to overhear Elizabeth’s remark. “They think you are taking him away from Blackhaven.”

  Startled—for they had not reached such practicalities in the general euphoria of their engagement—Elizabeth gazed up at Nicholas. “Am I? Do you want to leave Blackhaven?”

  The possibilities were there. Elizabeth was wealthy. They could make their home—or homes—wherever they wished, in London or the country. Or any country where Alfred could not easily reach them. Nicholas could set up practice wherever he chose. Or not bother, though she could not imagine him abandoning his profession.

  For a moment, she watched all those possibilities flit through his mind. His eyes held a faraway look of consideration, even speculation, and then they refocused
on her, and he smiled.

  “No, I don’t,” he said, almost as if surprised. “Do you?”

  “No,” she said. “I might like to see the wider world with you sometimes, but I believe I would like to be the doctor’s wife in Blackhaven.”

  Lady Tamar laughed. “Then I shall spread the word and put his poor patients out of their misery. Congratulations, Dr. Lampton! Oh, and Tamar wants a word with you. He has had another communication from Anna, his sister in Vienna…”

  Intrigued, Nicholas and Elizabeth turned their footsteps toward Lord Tamar who was chatting with a group of people at the edge of the dance floor. Catching sight of their approach, he excused himself and strolled toward them.

  After a quick bow, he stuck out his hand to Lampton. “Congratulations! I wish you both very happy. Couldn’t be more delighted for you.” His gaze lingered on Elizabeth, a little ruefully. “I have bad news that my sister was anxious I pass on to you.”

  “Bad news?” Elizabeth repeated uncertainly. Her fingers tightened on Nicholas’s arm.

  “You’ll receive official word of course,” Tamar said, ushering them hastily into the nearby alcove, “but this letter from Anna came in the diplomatic bag from Vienna, and was brought to Braithwaite only today.”

  Nicholas dropped the curtain behind them. “What could be so urgent?”

  Tamar met Elizabeth’s anxious gaze. “I’m afraid your brother-in-law, Prince Alfred, is dead. He was killed in a duel with an army officer.”

  Elizabeth’s breath caught. Her fingers at her throat to comfort herself, tugged once at the diamond necklace about her throat and fell away. “Dead?” she repeated. “Alfred is dead?”

  “I’m sorry.” Tamar grimaced. “I don’t wish to spoil your Christmas with more bad news, especially after what happened to your poor governess. But Anna seemed to think it was vital you know as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said mechanically, still trying to absorb the news.

  “You won’t feel obliged to leave the ball, will you?” Tamar asked.

  And suddenly, laughter caught in her throat. The man who had tried to kill her and steal from Andreas, who had been responsible for Miss Hale’s murder, was now dead himself. There was justice in that. And even more, she was safe to look after her son.

  “No. No, I won’t leave,” she said shakily. She couldn’t prevent the beaming smile that clearly startled Lord Tamar. “Thank you for bringing this to me. And please…thank Lady Lewis.”

  In the ballroom beyond the curtain, the orchestra had struck up a waltz, and Elizabeth couldn’t bear to be still. “I think I need to dance,” she said, tugging Nicholas’s arm.

  Nicholas cast Tamar an apologetic glance and led her onto the dance floor.

  “I’m safe,” she said as he took her into his arms. “He’s dead and we’re all safe from him. I cannot even pretend to be sorry.”

  “Why should you?” He spun her gently, and she remembered her last dance with him, their first meeting only days ago. It seemed like a lifetime.

  She frowned. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Anna had something to do with it, you know. He made a lot of enemies.”

  “Does it matter?” Nicholas asked.

  She refocused on his slightly harsh, yet handsome face, and her heart seemed to dive into her stomach. “No. No, it doesn’t matter at all. I feel as if I have come home, that my life is suddenly quite perfect.”

  His arm tightened at her waist, his thumb caressed her fingers. “Then you will stay with me forever?”

  She smiled. “Oh, yes. I will.”

  And she did.

  The End

  Eleanor Fitzherbert’s Christmas Miracle

  Maggi Andersen

  Chapter One

  Broadstairs Court, London

  February 1821

  Eleanor Fitzherbert’s young sister Georgina, the Duchess of Broadstairs, entered the small salon where Eleanor was sitting working on a poem.

  “Why are you in here, dearest?” Georgina asked. “The chimney is blocked. We have called for a sweep.”

  A sheet had been spread over the rug in front of the fireplace. Eleanor looked around the room she had adopted for her personal use since she’d come from Devon to live with her sister and the duke. The walls were painted her favorite duck-egg blue, the furniture less formal than the other reception rooms, with a comfortable blossom-pink sofa, a card table, and a piano and music stand where an occasional musical evening was held. But what Eleanor liked most was that in this huge mansion, the salon was of a modest size, and felt more intimate and homelier.

  She wrote her poetry here and received friends. She and Hetty, Lady Fortescue, had worked on a poem together at the table while drinking copious cups of tea. She played chess with her brother John’s wife, Sibella who beat her far too often. This room served to help her forget that she had once had a home of her own when her husband Gordon was alive. And even though he had been ill for most of his life, they’d been content together, but for the sad fact that they’d not been blessed with children.

  Now she was alone, and her life was a series of balls and routs and card parties, where Georgina hoped to find her a husband. Several years past thirty, and childless after a long marriage, a husband seemed unlikely. The men who danced with her, even flirted with her, had an eye to young women who would give them an heir. Even the widowers with children, seemed to want more sons.

  “We have a ball to attend this evening,” Georgina said, tidying her dark brown hair before the gilt-framed mirror hanging above the Adams fireplace mantel.

  Eleanor buried a sigh. “Yes, I haven’t forgotten. I expect Lord Beacham to be there.”

  Georgina turned to gaze at her, her dark eyes concerned. “You didn’t warm to Lord Beacham?”

  “I don’t think Lord Beacham warmed to me.”

  A crease appeared between Georgina’s brows. “I’m sure I don’t know why. You are clever, charming, and beautiful.”

  Eleanor laughed. “Thank you, dearest. If I am all that, I should have the ton at my feet.”

  “You would have in your first season, had you not married that same year.”

  “Now how would you know that, goose? You were barely out of nappies. You chattered all through our wedding ceremony as I remember. Nanny had to take you out of the church.” She rubbed her fingers. She had finally removed her wedding ring with an effort to get on with her life. “I don’t regret a moment of the years Gordon and I were together.”

  Georgina hurried over to sit beside her on the sofa. “Of course you don’t. We all loved Gordon, and we miss him.”

  What Georgina wouldn’t say, was that Eleanor might now have a child. Eleanor squeezed her sister’s hand. “I know you do. I’ve cast off my widow’s weeds. I’m extremely grateful to you and Hugh for all you’ve done. While I’m not resisting the idea of another man in my life, I do try to keep my feet on the ground, Georgie. To find a kindred spirit seems unlikely at my age.”

  Georgina looked doubtful, but she rallied. “You will, I’m sure of it. Perhaps tonight, someone will capture your heart at first glance!”

  Eleanor grinned. “Perhaps.”

  Georgina rose. “I must go and see what’s holding up that sweep, so we can have a fire lit in here.”

  Eleanor sighed, pulled off her house slippers, and tucked her feet beneath her gray poplin morning gown. She took up her pencil, turned to a page of her journal, and soon became lost in improving a line of iambic pentameter, which could be difficult but so satisfying when one got it right.

  A knock came at the door.

  Eleanor raised her head in frustration as the perfect line threatened to escape her mind. “Come in.”

  The butler opened the door. “Lady Eleanor, the sweep and his master are here to clear the chimney.”

  “Oh yes,” Eleanor hurriedly donned her shoes. “Have them come in, Loveday.”

  A beefy, shabbily dressed fellow entered with a small boy. He nodded at Eleanor as she gat
hered up her things. “Grimsby, milady. We’ll get this ’ere chimney workin’ quicker than a startled fox.”

  Eleanor stared at the boy. He could be no older than seven at the most, with an angelic face which might admittedly prove misleading. Young boys were more often devilish if Georgina and Hugh’s boisterous young fellow was anything to go by.

  “He’s so young,” she said drawing closer to the lad. Longish dirty blond hair hung lankly from beneath the sweep’s cap.

  An unpleasant odor emanated from the man who had adopted a wary expression. “The smaller the better they be. ’E’ll be up and down in a trice.”

  “What is your name?” she asked the boy.

  “Nash, milady.” Nash had the bluest eyes. His skin was so grimy, it had taken on a grayish sheen.

  “Be very careful, Nash,” she said, her heart breaking for him. She wanted to whisk him away from this mean-looking man.

  “’E’s a good one, yer ladyship. No need to worry.”

  Nash was gazing at the piano. “Up you go, boy. Yer not ’ere for tea,” Grimsby said poking the boy with his long brush.

  Nash entered the white marble fireplace and climbed nimbly up into the chimney. For a moment, his thin legs dangled and then he was gone.

  Eleanor left the room and was making her way to the staircase when her brother-in-law appeared. She smiled at Hugh, His Grace of Broadstairs, of whom she was most fond. Accompanying him was a tall, dark-haired man. “Eleanor, allow me to present a friend of mine, Viscount Hayworth.” He turned to his friend. “Mark, my sister-in-law, Lady Eleanor Fitzherbert.”

  She curtsied. “How do you do, Lord Hayworth.”

  “Lady Eleanor.” Hayworth bowed. There were gray streaks at his temples, but he would be no more than forty if that.

  “We see little of Mark since he took a government post in Paris,” Hugh said.

  “Paris. How fortunate, my lord,” Eleanor said. “A magical city filled with art and poetry.”

  “And so much more,” Hayworth said. “You’ve not been to Paris?”