A Victorian Christmas (14 page)

Gritting her teeth, she struggled to hold on as she inched toward the open door, her skirts twisted around her ankles. If she could climb onto the carriage roof, she might be able to grab the reins.
Lord,
she prayed,
help me!
Clutching the rolled canvas shade that protected the window, she leaned out through the open door.

“Miss Ellis!” Grey’s voice rang out over the shrieks and screams in the street. “Get back inside the coach!”

She peered over her shoulder as she clung to the side. A dappled gray horse galloped after the runaway carriage, its rider hatless as he urged the steed alongside the swaying vehicle. For a moment, Star’s senses lit up like an Independence Day bonfire. Grey was coming after her! But that would put him in danger, too.

As the coach bounced around a corner, she realized that she would have to be the one to stop the horse. If the viscount were injured . . . or killed . . .

“Stay back!” she cried. “I’m going for the reins!”

“You’ll be crushed! Please stop—I’m almost there.”

“The street is too narrow! You can’t get around the coach. I can do this, Grey.”

“Star, be reasonable!”

He edged forward until his horse’s nose was almost touching her. Star debated throwing herself onto the creature’s neck. But if she fell, she’d be trampled. No, there was no choice but to go up.

She set her foot on the sill of the open window and grabbed the slender iron luggage rack on the roof. Her bonnet had slid off her head and the ribbon was about to choke her. Half-gagged, she groped for a foothold on the lamp that jutted out from the side of the carriage. In the collision with the house, the glass shade had shattered, leaving a jagged fragment protruding.

“Star!” Grey shouted just as she heaved herself onto the luggage rack. “There’s a park ahead. Trees!”

Mercy!
she thought. Fighting to hold on, Star flung one leg into the driver’s box. What if she pulled the brake lever? Would that spook the horse even more? She could feel the poor critter starting to slow. What on earth had caused it to bolt like that?

“Mind your head!” Grey roared as his horse thundered past Star. “Stay down!”

Star never had been much for obeying commands—and her stubborn streak had gotten her into a great deal of trouble. On the other hand, her life was at stake here. Struggling to breathe around the bonnet ribbon, she threw herself onto the driver’s seat and slid her wobbly legs down onto the footboard.

The carriage careened into the park, and the viscount managed to guide his dappled gray alongside the runaway. As he reached for the bridle, Star leaned forward and grabbed the reins.

“Whoa!” she called. “Pull up there, you crazy old cayuse!”

The horse made straight for a stand of trees, and Star held her breath as she tugged on the reins. The thick leather strips burned her palms, her toes mashing down into the points of her boots. Her eyes widened as she saw the low branches.

“Star, you must jump now!” Grey shouted. “I’ll catch you!”

The horse had begun to slow at last, but Star knew it would be too late. The nearest branch was only a few yards away, and the carriage rolled doggedly onward. Clinging to the edges of the driver’s box, Star glanced over at the viscount racing alongside.

“Jump, Star! I won’t let you fall!”

Sucking in a breath, she coiled against the footboard and then threw herself toward him. A strong hand clamped around her shoulder. An arm of steel scooped the back of her legs.

The dappled gray veered away from the trees just as the carriage slammed into the trunk of an ancient oak. Wheels flew in every direction as the body of the coach exploded like a barrel of black powder. Wood splintered in an ear-tearing screech, and the luggage rack splashed into a stone fountain. Still caught in the reins, the exhausted horse came to an abrupt stop, its foam-covered sides heaving.

“Grey!” Star clung to the man’s broad shoulders, imagining herself trapped in that tangle of wood, metal, and horseflesh. “Mercy sakes! I thought I was a goner.”

“Are you all right?” He turned his horse onto a side alley as people began pouring back into the streets. “Dear God . . .”

“He took care of me,” she choked out. “And you. I didn’t break anything, but my hinges and bolts are sure loose. Oh, Grey!”

His arms slipped tightly around her, holding her close as she shuddered at the near disaster. “You shouldn’t have tried to climb up,” he murmured. “Miss Ellis, you are a rash, impulsive—”

“Mule headed, addlepated—”

His lips brushed hers for a moment, a heartbeat. “Beautiful and amazing woman,” he finished. “If you hadn’t climbed up, you’d have been inside the coach when it hit the tree. But when I saw you clinging to the side like a . . . like a . . .”

“Like an ol’ bedbug.”

Grey laughed suddenly. “Dear heaven, young lady, you have me in such a muddle that I’m . . . I’m . . .”

He pulled her closer and kissed her full and warm on the mouth. Star unfolded inside like a blossoming rose. Never in all her days of courting had a man’s kiss lifted and floated her upward, unfurling her petal by petal. She clutched at his shoulders, reveling in the scent of bay rum on his skin, in the pressure of his hands against her back, in the heat of his lips on hers. Her senses danced up and over the snowy street, drifted above the chimney pots on the rooftops, soared into the downy flakes that sifted from the clouds. It was wonderful, magical . . . heaven. . . .

“Star, I want you—,” he began. Then he paused, his breath ragged. “Dash it, I can’t . . . can’t.”

She swallowed hard. “The baron.”

“Yes.” He set her a little away from him. “It’s the baron. Rupert Cholmondeley is—”

“Wicked?”

“No.”

“Cruel?”

“No.”

“Already married?”

“No, blast it. He’s a fine chap. A decent, honorable human being.”

“Then what’s wrong with him?”

“He’s my brother, that’s what.” The viscount looked up at the swirling snowflakes. “I’m Grey Cholmondeley, elder son of the earl of Brackenhurst. I’ve come all the way from India to make peace with my family, to show them that I’m a changed man, to prove that I’m upright and honest and worthy of my father’s name. They’re to see that I’m no longer the sort of man who would lose a fortune at cards and drink whiskey until the wee hours. I’m not the sort of man who would . . . who would . . .”

“Kiss his brother’s fiancée?” Star grabbed his hand and squeezed it until every drop of rebellious spirit drained from her. “No, no, no,” she whispered. “This can’t happen. We can’t let it.”

CHAPTER THREE

Grey watched the familiar stone expanse of Brackenhurst Manor come into view as the carriage traveled through the iron gates and up the long, curving, graveled drive. They had managed to survive the hours since the incident with the runaway horse, but he felt less sure of his ability to manage the situation with Miss Ellis once they arrived at his family’s country house.

From the moment they had returned to the inn at Doncaster, she had withdrawn into a cocoon of silence, focusing all her attention on her quilt. Bidding farewell to the elderly couple, who journeyed on toward the Yorkshire Dales, Grey and Star had continued in the same carriage eastward across the open moors. Although the intimate situation had offered opportunity for conversation, she had shown no interest in talking. She had worked on her quilt as though it and it alone had meaning in her life. Unable to entice her into even the most mundane chitchat, Grey had opened his traveling bag and taken out a heavy text devoted to the cultivation of
Camellia sinensis
, the tea shrub.

“I’m developing a tea estate in India,” he said as the rattling coach approached the manor. It would be his final opportunity to engage the young American in conversation. If they arrived in the same carriage and hadn’t resolved their concerns, if they weren’t even
speaking
, his family would be wary immediately. “I’ve bought land near Darjeeling. It’s a small town in the foothills of the Himalayas.”

Star looked up, spotted the manor house, and blanched. “Mercy,” she mouthed.

“Tea,” he said. “I’m planting tea.”

Her dark eyes turned to him. “Are you going to tell your brother what happened in Doncaster?”

“No. Be assured, I’ve every interest in establishing a good relationship with Rupert.”

“Because if I lose the chance to marry him and keep the earl’s money coming to Daddy’s ranch—”

“You won’t. I’ll not endanger your plans, Star.”

“Miss Ellis. You’d better call me Miss Ellis, and you’d better keep your distance, and you’d better not . . . not . . .” The dark eyes flashed. “How long did you know about Rupert and me before you told me he was your brother?”

“I tried to tell you earlier.”

“Not early enough! You were charming and funny, and . . . and you sewed my quilt. You led me around like a heifer with a ring through her nose.”

“I didn’t intend to lead you on. I only thought . . . I thought how delightful you were and how beautiful. I didn’t intend to kiss you.”

“Don’t talk about that!” She began stuffing quilt patches into her piece bag. “Glory be, but this situation is a confounded mess. It’s half my fault anyhow for being such a chatterbox and napping on your shoulder and all. It’s just that you’re the only person who seemed to understand me. I talked about the Lord being the Master Quilter, and you knew what I meant. I thought maybe I’d found a friend . . . no, it was more than that. I liked you, and I was wrong—dead wrong—to let you kiss me. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Star, please stop your recriminations.”

“My what?”

She looked up at him, a tear hanging on the end of an eyelash, and it was all he could do not to gather her into his arms again. “Neither of us intended to . . . to enjoy the other’s company quite so much. We’ve both apologized, and now we must do our utmost to carry on as though nothing happened. I’ll be welcomed back into the family fold, and you’ll . . .” He swallowed. “Well, you’ll marry Rupert. And all will be as God intended.”

The carriage came to a stop before the flight of stone stairs that led to the huge wooden doors of Brackenhurst Manor. Grey permitted his focus to linger on the young woman across from him for a moment longer.
Was
this what God intended? Had the Almighty contrived to toss Star Ellis headlong into Grey’s arms— a rigorous test of the faith he had been so determined to uphold? If she was a test, he wasn’t at all certain he could pass. If, on the other hand, she was a temptation—a luring siren sent straight from the originator of sin—he longed to curse Satan straight into the pit of eternal darkness where he belonged.

But what if his meeting with Star had been nothing but a random coincidence—sheer chance? If there were no God, no need for atonement and reconciliation, Grey could woo the young woman away from his brother. He could enjoy her charms, as he’d enjoyed so many fleeting tête-à-têtes in the past, and then gallop straight back to his adventurous wanderings without a flicker of guilt.

“Thank you,” Star said, reaching out and laying her hand on his arm. “Thank you for your faith in the Lord, and for understanding why this marriage to your brother is so important to my family.”

Grey managed a stiff nod. “Of course.”

“Brackenhurst Manor,” their coach driver called, opening the door. “Good day to ye, Miss Ellis. Pleasure havin’ such a lovely lady aboard me carriage. And, Lord Stratton, thanks as well. ’Appy to be of service.”

Star gave Grey a last grateful look before gathering her things and stepping out of the coach. He slipped his book into his bag and followed her into the evening. He had been planning this moment for months. It was to have been a time of anticipation, reunion, and celebration. As it was, he could barely summon the enthusiasm to climb the long staircase and tug on the bellpull.

“Good evening, sir,” Massey the butler said, opening the door. “May I tell my master who is—good gracious! Can it be you, Lord Stratton?”

“The very same.” Delighted at the sight of the family’s faithful servant, Grey clapped the old man on the back. Massey had never been one to express his feelings, always careful to pinch his lips tightly and look the other direction when the unexpected occurred. As when he was a mischievous boy, it pleased Grey no end to have caught the dear fellow momentarily off guard. “I’ve come from India for the holidays, Massey.”

“Lord Brackenhurst will be most pleased to see you, sir,” the butler said, recovering his aplomb. “Do step inside and permit me to announce you. May I say the name of the young lady, sir?”

Grey took Star’s elbow and led her into the cavernous foyer with its twin curved stone staircases and marbled floor. As they strolled into a large formal parlor, he introduced his companion. “This is Miss Star Ellis. She’s come from America to marry Rupert.”

The butler stopped in his tracks, swiveled around on a pair of squeaky shoes, and peered at Star. “Miss Ellis? From America?”

“Good evening, Mr. Massey,” she said, extending her hand.

The butler looked down at the proffered appendage, debated what to do with it, and then gingerly attempted a handshake. “Delighted, I’m sure, Miss Ellis. You have arrived earlier than expected.”

“But didn’t the earl get Daddy’s letter?” She clutched her scrap bag. “My father wrote to say I was coming before the new year. Texas is having another Big Die-Up, you see, and Daddy thought we ought to get everything settled with the earl before spring rolled around.”

“A Big Die-Up?” Massey glanced at Grey.

“A harsh winter,” he explained. “The Ellis family’s cattle are perishing in the cold.”

“Ah.” The butler tucked in his lower lip and gave a solemn nod. Then without further word, he set off in the direction of the staircase, his shiny black shoes squeaking like a badly tuned violin.

“Good chap, Massey,” Grey said, showing Star to one of the long, gilded settees. Embroidered in a burgundy damask stripe, it sat queenlike before a blazing fire. To one side rose a towering fir tree, as yet undecorated. Grey knew from tradition that early the following morning the servants would festoon the Christmas tree with spun-glass ornaments from the Continent, myriad miniature paper fans, silk ribbon garlands, and at least two hundred tiny candles.