A Kiss At Christmastide: Regency Novella (8 page)

P
ippa stood
with her back against the front door and listened as the carriage pulled away. The horses' hooves clopped against the cobblestoned drive as they departed. For the first time, she longed for the storm to continue raging outside to obscure the sound. Her eyes remained closed, though she felt her mother's stare. She could not face either of her parents. They'd worked entirely too hard to overcome their own scandalous past for Pippa to bring gossip down on them once again.

She'd done an inconceivable, horrendous thing. She'd been lost in the moment, and had allowed her good breeding to slip and her desires to take hold of her. Neither Cordelia nor her father, Gerald, were worried about any type of scandal. No, they were worried only about Pippa—they'd likely been interested to meet Lucas, witnessing the unspoken bond between their daughter and the Earl of Maddox.

That had been made impossible after Pippa had slammed the door—not directly in his face, but to his back as he'd kept his eyes trained on Lady Natalie. Was it conceivable that she felt as secure in Lucas's arms as Pippa had? Maybe both women were being taken advantage of by that rakehell.

Pippa hadn't any answers, and would likely never receive them.

Lucas had left with his parents and the Sheridans in their carriage. He'd go on to enjoy the holiday at Natalie's estate, and with luck—and a lowering of the agreed dowry—would be officially betrothed to Pippa's former friend by the New Year.

And Pippa would be alone in Somerset.

Yet, it was a certainty she'd run across the pair if they were to wed. Lucas and Natalie would spend holidays and such with Natalie's family in Somerset.

The agony of the future to come was only overshadowed by the senseless heartbreak Pippa felt.

Lucas had allowed Pippa to walk past and hadn't so much as tried to stop her to explain—that only meant there was no reasonable explanation. Lucas had come into her home, knowing he was betrothed to Lady Natalie and had set out to deceive Pippa.

It hurt.

It wounded far worse than anything Natalie had done to end their long-standing friendship.

Lucas had preyed on Pippa's weaknesses and had brought about her irrevocable ruin. She'd thought he was held down by some burden too extreme, far too dark to allow her in. Somewhere deep inside, Pippa had thought she was helping Lucas, giving him a few short days of merriment after so many years separated from family during a season of great joy.

That hadn't been the case.

Pippa's hurt turned to anger, and she pushed away from the door, stalking toward the main staircase.

“Pippy?” her mother called, using her childhood name. “Please, speak to your father and me. We are ever so worried—and more than a bit confused over what transpired outside.”

She paused on the first landing and looked back toward her parents. They did not deserve her harsh treatment and cruel words. “Nothing untoward happened, I can assure you both of that. Not that it means much.” Pippa threw the words over her shoulder before starting up the stairs, once more.

Lucas had been all but betrothed the entire time. All the mentions of Lady Natalie, Pippa and Natalie's friendship, and the holiday party—not once had he shared who he truly was. They were likely already discussing all Pippa had shared about the end of her and Natalie's friendship. Her former friend probably found joy in the telling of how Lucas and Pippa had been utterly embarrassed in front of a teeming room. The saddest part was that Pippa knew the sound of his snide chuckle—the sound he made when he heard something witty that poked fun at another. She hadn't heard it since his first moments in her home, but Pippa would never forget the sound.

Mainly because there was a lonesome sadness to it that hinted, once again, at a wound—almost as if he weren't making light of the jest spoken but needing an outlet for his pent-up hurt and anger.

At first, Pippa had mistaken his conduct for a cross-personality, but she no longer felt that was at the core of his drastic shifts in character.

“Pippy!” her father shouted as she stomped up the stairs. “Do come back here this instant and explain this entire mess.”

Pippa didn't stop. She didn't look over her shoulder or answer his calls. Without saying the words, her father was blaming her for the scene outside, the uncomfortable debacle between her family and Natalie's. But it wasn't her fault. The culpability most definitely lay at Lucas's feet, not hers.

Her anger was swiftly intensifying to fury—and she would prefer her parents not witness her breakdown, for she knew that was to come. How could it not follow?

And it was all for a man she hadn't wanted in her home to begin with. She should have sent him to the stables for shelter until the storm passed. It was more than he deserved.

Pippa had half a mind to wish she'd have made him return to his carriage and refused him altogether; yet, that would be wishing certain ill will on another.

That scoundrel of a man should be thankful she was not a spiteful woman.

She wanted to throw something, slam the wall—scream in a fit of rage, but instead, her shoulders shook with her weakness…her bleeding heart, as he'd called it.

What right did she have to be infuriated in the first place?

Lucas had made no promises to her. They had shared only a kiss, nothing more. Unless you counted his hands on her and his firmness pressed to her most tender spot. Could actions be taken as a promise—an agreement of something further?

They'd never spoken of anything past last night. He'd made no mention of a future, and neither did she know anything about his past.

The truth was that he hadn't thought enough of Pippa to share his connection with Lady Natalie.

Pippa was being irrational. Her expectations and feelings were misguided, at best. The idea that a genuine affection had developed between them in such a short time was childish. Warm fondness was based on open knowledge between two people. Sharing. In no way had she and Lucas had any sort of open communication or understanding.

Her lips tingled at the thought of his mouth on hers—his hands circling her waist to hold her tight. She shook her head, dispelling the thought. There were no feelings on his side, he was betrothed to another. A man promised to wed does not so easily hold another woman, should not crave her lips nor press his body against hers in need.

In fact, he'd outright deceived her.

Openly, willingly, and with full knowledge, he had duped her.

And stolen her first kiss.

The blackguard. The scoundrel. The debaucher of women.

He was a true London rakehell.

And Pippa hadn't seen past his motives to see his true nature. Lady Natalie and Lucas deserved each other—both selfish, vain creatures who sought their own happiness at the expense of others.

She stood on the top landing, breathing shallow, quick breaths.

At some point, her father had stopped shouting for her from below. However, Pippa was unaware when or how long she'd stood there.

Her legs ached from climbing the stairs quickly, so she must not have stood there overly long. Neither had a servant happened upon her. Though, the likelihood she would have noticed a servant through her anger was doubtful.

And Pippa would admit she was spitting mad, at herself for not seeing through his guise of the gentleman in need of shelter. He had duped her, and she hadn't had enough sense to see it happening.

Not even Lady Natalie's misplaced announcement all those months ago had Pippa spinning in such a way.

Possibly because Pippa knew she had no right to be cross with Lucas, to feel betrayed. He'd sought shelter during a storm, not asked to seduce her. Even their kiss could be blamed on her clumsy nature—though she hadn't any previous record of such ungainliness.

Every part of her wanted to be mad at him. Every inch of her wanted to march after the Sheridan carriage and speak her mind. Every logical instinct told her that Lucas wasn't entirely to blame for any of this. It was her unreal expectations of their kiss.

All that her parents had promised in a first kiss.

Their kiss that had ended with their undeniable love.

Pippa had desired a kiss, no matter how little she knew of the Earl of Maddox.

He'd given her a false impression, an expectation of more when he should have known not to offer Pippa any such thing.

The urge to stomp her foot and scream at her credulous character was almost too much to hold at bay.

“My lady.”

She hadn't heard her trusted family servant traverse the stairs to her. She was not surprised her parents had sent him in their stead. Pippa patted her face, searching for any treacherous tears, which may have escaped her notice, before pasting a feeble smile on her face and turning.

Pippa was unsure what she'd expected to see in Briars' stare, but what greeted her almost had tears falling once more. His shoulders drooped, and his spine caved inward far more than normal—so much so, that he gazed at Pippa from a lower stature, though at one time, he'd stood far above her average height.

“Will you be needing the carriage, or shall I send the horses back to the stables?” he asked with regret. Her servants had been watching her, possibly hiding just out of sight, but close enough to hear all that had transpired between Pippa and Lucas.

Disappointment flared. She'd thought only of herself—and had forgotten the children. Again.

Pippa released her grip on the stair rail, her fingers aching at the action as she hadn't realized she'd been holding it so tightly. It was the only thing keeping her upright as her knees shook with weakness. Responsibility pulled the hurt from her and restored her sense of priority.

Certainly, Lucas hadn't seen her as a priority after he'd walked through her front door—no, he'd chosen Natalie, apparent by their departure together. It was time Pippa put first those who'd stood by her during her first Season, who hadn't joined the gossip rags in sensationalizing any affection or attraction Pippa had toward her music tutor.

The village.
Her
village. Though the small community sat nestled between Lady Natalie's estate and her own, they were hers. Many of them were related through blood kinship to her mother, and the rest gained at least part of their family income from the Midcrest dukedom.

Lady Natalie had been given the classic fair beauty most men favored. She was the daughter of a man far more influential than Pippa's. She'd had everything a girl could want since birth. When would Pippa receive what she desired? It was unfair the way Natalie treated Pippa, but her actions had gone unpunished, and still, she flourished.

“I will travel to the village as soon as I collect an extra muff,” Pippa said, fearing Briars suspected she'd forgotten her duties for the day. “It is still blustery outside, and I have many gifts to deliver. I would not want to catch a cold before our Christmastide feast.”

“Surely you are correct, Lady Pippa.” He nodded at her forethought. “I will have the coachman await you in the drive and instruct the footman to load your gifts and the pies.”

“Very good. I will only be a moment.”

Pippa couldn't meet his stare, worried pity would be glaring back at her. It was something she could not handle, knowing that others—besides her—had witnessed the connection between Lucas and her. Everyone but Lucas, that is. Had he had such special moments with so many women that he didn't notice the rarity of it with her?

Hurrying to her room, Pippa searched for her extra muff.

She needed to focus on her future, not the past or Lucas. He was never meant to be hers, nor were they ever destined to meet. Their kiss was something that should have never happened. The draw of her parents' great love match was to blame—that was all. Nothing more. Nothing less.

She closed her eyes once more, and the feel of his lips against hers still seared her mouth—she could imagine them pressed together as if he were there.

Pressing her fingers to her lips, Pippa's pulse raced as she allowed herself this final moment to remember their kiss—a kiss that had affected them both in that split second of time.

Pippa let her hand fall limply to her side and, with it, she banished the feel of Lucas's arms around her. She pushed the scent of him from her senses, and she begged her mind to forget the set of his jaw and the wave in his hair.

It was done. He was gone.

And she had a life to live.

She spotted her warm, grey muff on her dressing table. Retrieving it, she made her way downstairs—a new set to her brow and determination in her step.

With a stop in the kitchen to make sure all was loaded and not a pie forgotten, Pippa would be on her way.

And after that, she did not know. She only knew what the next several hours held for her.

The kitchen was much as it had been the night before: supplies, flour, and sugar everywhere. A large pot boiled on the stove, and bread could be smelled baking in the oven as a tray of berry tarts cooled by the open window.

Her mother stood, kneading dough. The sight had tears springing to Pippa's eyes—it was as things should have been all along. Her mother, father, and her together for the holiday. They would laugh, bake desserts, prepare their feast, and spend the special day together before returning to London after the New Year began.

Then why did Pippa only feel regret, a sense of emptiness filling her more and more?

She was surrounded by the loved ones she'd prayed would arrive before Christmastide, but suddenly, they weren't enough—something, no, some
one
was missing.

And she needed to face the fact that he was never coming back. Never again would they work side by side in this very kitchen. Never again would they deck the halls of Helton House with festive cheer. Never again would he be there to brush a tear from her cheek when something saddened her.

“My dear Pippy,” her mother called, keeping her eyes on the dough she kneaded and her back to her daughter.