Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas (8 page)

“Yes, I have learned much these past few days, not only about myself, but about those around me. We all have facets we have grown used to keeping under wraps. Sometimes what we need is a challenge to bring them to light.”

“And sometimes what we need is a miracle from above.” Anna could not help but think back on her own doubts and fears. “When I saw that first star in the heavens, I wished for a guardian angel instead of a guardian uncle. What I got was an even greater blessing—I got you.”

“We have both been blessed,” he murmured. “I trust that we shall look out for each other. I hope I shall always be a guardian of your happiness, my love, and you of mine. But I do not mean for this to be a one-sided match. You have my solemn promise that your opinions and wishes shall always be as important as mine.”

He grinned. “After all, my experience in the art of diplomacy has shown me that the prospect for harmony is always best when both parties have an equal say in things.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” teased Anna.

“Truly, I have nothing more to ask for.”

The curl of his lips sent a sizzle of heat right down to the toes of her dancing slippers.

“I’ve been given the most precious gifts of all. Love, hope, happiness. Christmas is truly a time of miracles.” His smile turned a touch more tentative. “I know that for you it has been a time of sorrow, but—”

Anna pressed the palm of her glove to his cheek. “I think I have come to understand another message of the season. Loss is part of life, but we must never allow its darkness to extinguish the light in our hearts. From now on, Christmas will always be a season of great joy, as long as we share it together.”

He suddenly spun to a stop in the middle of the ballroom and swept her up in his arms.

“Nicholas! People are staring!”

“Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to bend the rules, remember?” he murmured, cutting off her laughing protest with a long and lingering kiss.

Anna arched into his arms. When at last his lips released hers, he murmured, “Speaking of protocol, would you be opposed to having our nuptials on Christmas?

“Christmas?” Her face fell. “Y-you wish to wait a whole year to be married?”

His eyes lit with unholy amusement. “Indeed not. I was thinking of the
Russian
Christmas. Which is less than two weeks away. I have procured a special license, and your uncle has assured me he has no objection.”

“Considering that ours has been a very unorthodox courtship, it seems a very fitting day for a celebration,” she answered.

“What a lucky family we shall be having Christmas come twice a year!”

“Every day will feel like Christmas with you by my side, my dear Nicholas,.” Ssaid Anna.

“Amen to that,” answered Nicholas.

And then he kissed her again.

“
O
h
, show a little spirit, Charles! Must you always be a cautious as a church mouse creeping past a sleeping tabby?” Without waiting for a reply, the young lady slapped her crop against her horse’s flank and sent the high-strung stallion hurtling toward the towering stonewall.

“The trouble is not
my
lack of spirit, but rather
your
overabundance of it,’’ muttered her companion as he spurred his own horse forward. “Ye God, I fear that if you don’t learn to rein in some of your less laudable tendencies, my dear Emma, it’s going to land you in the suds—and sooner than later.”

His jaw unclenched slightly on seeing that she had cleared the obstacle without mishap, but the slip and clatter of hooves on the slippery ground quickly brought a fresh grimace to his face. The fact that a patch of ice nearly threw his stallion off stride as they approached the tumble of stones did nothing to improve his temper.

It took a firm hand to ensure that neither of them came to grief because of the treacherous footing, and by the time he pulled to a halt beside his cousin, Charles, Viscount Lawrance felt his patience about to snap.

“You see, there was nothing to worry about!” Lady Emma Pierson gave a toss of her blonde curls, causing the jaunty little feather adorning her riding cap to brush against the shoulder of her stylish-frogged jacket. She grinned at her cousin. “Ajax and Orion have jumped far higher fences on countless occasions. Come, there’s a path up ahead with several more obstacles and a stretch where we can race—”

“Nothing to worry about?” repeated Charles angrily, as he drew to a halt beside her. “The deuce take it, Emma, it was a foolish risk! You had no idea what lay beyond the stones. Why, if the ground had been a trifle more icy, both Ajax and you might have broken your necks.” His mouth thinned. “You may have little regard for your own well-being,” he went on in a low growl, “but such a splendid animal deserves more consideration.”

At the first volley of sharp words, the smile disappeared from Emma’s face. “You needn’t lecture me as if you were one of my former governesses. I don’t need
anyone
to tell me how to go on—especially you, Charles, who are only two years my senior.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m not a child anymore. In case you have forgotten, I have already had a Season in Town. A very successful one, at that,” she added with a decided sniff.

“Then, show you have gained some sense as well as years, Em. You’re right—you are no longer fourteen and dragging the rest of us into one bumblebroth after another with your impetuous actions. It’s time to stop acting like a headstrong little hellion, with no mind for aught but your own whims.”

Her eyes narrowed, a flash of emotion sparking beneath her lashes. “The rest of the gentlemen of the ton don’t seem to find such fault with my behavior,” she retorted.

“Don’t be so sure,” he shot back. “As a matter of fact, I had been meaning to broach the subject at some point during my visit, so it may as well be now.” There was a brief pause. “An
undesirable reputation, once garnered, is not nearly so easy to shed as a gown whose color no longer pleases you.”

Beneath the wind-whipped color, Emma’s cheeks went very pale. “H-How can you imply such a horrid thing! I—I had more admirers dancing attendance on me than any of the other young ladies making their come-out.”

“Oh, there’s no denying that your beauty—not to speak of your lineage and dowry—attracts gentlemen like honey draws a swarm of bees,” replied her cousin, the edge of anger replaced by a note of concern. “People may fawn over your looks and your fortune, but around the clubs, there are whispers that your behavior is becoming a tad less admirable.”

Emma blinked.

“I may as well be blunt,” he continued. “Since your mother’s death, your father has indulged in your every whim, and it has done more harm than good. To be brutally honest, you are in danger of becoming a spoiled brat, Emma. I say such a thing because I know that, at heart, you are no such thing.” Charles sighed. “But of late, your actions do you no credit.”

Her lips quivered slightly. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” he asked quietly.

She turned in profile, the brim of her hat shadowing her face.

“Let me remind you of just a few incidents from the past Season. Demanding that poor Palmerston let you drive his team of grays along Rotten Row nearly resulted in Lady Haverstock being seriously injured.”

“She. . . she should have moved out of the way a bit quicker,” responded Emma.

“Lud, the poor lady is nearly eighty!” He smoothed at the collar of his coat, though the crease remained on his brow. “Then, there was the poem you composed about Miss Taverhill and recited at Lady Jermaine’s gala ball. That was truly not well-done of you.”

“But she
does
look like a Maypole, especially when she is dressed in cherry and white stripes!” Despite the quickness of her retort, Emma did not quite bring her gaze to meet his. “It was all in good fun. Everyone laughed.”

“Everyone except Miss Taverhill,” Charles said quietly. “I happened to see her sobbing in a corner of the deserted library, and her brother mentioned that it was nigh on a sennight before she had the courage to appear in public again.”

His lips compressed in a tight line. “If you had stopped to think, you would have realized it was a cruel thing to do.”

“It was just a jest,” she replied stiffly. “I meant no harm.”

“Perhaps not. But you caused hurt and humiliation to someone who deserved neither. What I’m trying to say is that your behavior is becoming increasingly  self-absorbed. Which is a pity, because the Emma I know and love is not that sort of person. I would hate to think that superficial flatteries could seduce you from being true to yourself.”

Emma turned back to face him, and for an instant he saw a flash of emotion flicker beneath her lashes—though it was gone too quickly for him to read.

“Christmas is supposed to be a time of good cheer and jolly fun,” she said in a brittle voice. “If you find my company unpleasant, perhaps you would rather be elsewhere than Telford Manor for the holidays.”

A sigh escaped his lips. “You know that I find you no such thing, Emma. If I didn’t like you so well, I wouldn’t bother speaking of my concerns. Trust me, I take no pleasure from bringing them up.”

Her hand tightened on the butt of her crop. “Is that all? Or have you any other criticisms to bring up?”

“No. I’ve said my piece and am done with it. However, I hope you will think on it.” He forced a smile. “Now, let us ride on before the horses take a chill.”

He gathered his reins and quickly sought to point the conversation in a new direction as well. “Your father mentioned that there is finally someone in residence at Hawthorne House. Have you met the family?”

Emma shook her head as they moved off. “No, but I understand that the gentleman is some junior officer who only recently sold out when he inherited the baron’s title.” She shrugged. “Heddy Tillson says he’s brought his widowed sister and her child to stay with him, and by the glimpse she caught of them in the village, they don’t look to have much polish or blunt. It is too bad—we could have done with some lively company in the area, but it sounds as if they will prove to be dull as dishwater.”

Her cousin bit back a reproach about rushing to judgment, especially when it was based on the observations of such a flighty pea-goose as Heddy Tillson.

“Perhaps you will be surprised,” he murmured.

Ignoring the remark, Emma urged her mount into a brisk trot. “If we go left here,” she called over her shoulder, gesturing toward the fork in the trail, “we shall drop down into the orchards by Hawthorne House. The recent storm has left several fallen trees that make for a bracing ride.”

“Let us go right, then, and continue on to the open fields,” he replied. “The ground is too frozen to chance any more jumping—”

But Emma had already spurred her horse forward. Her crop flashed through the air, and Ajax thundered off at a dead gallop.

Charles already knew which turn Emma would choose before the stallion was halfway there. For a moment he was sorely tempted to turn back to the manor house and leave her to face any consequences that might befall her. However, gentlemanly scruples won out over pique. The weather looked to be turning even worse, so after letting fly with a few choice epithets, he followed after her, though at a more circumspect pace.

The worst of his anger had been vented along with the curses. It was hard to stay mad at Emma for long, for despite her faults, he considered her the best of friends—smart, funny, loyal, and good-natured, regardless of the criticisms he had voiced earlier.

If only she would. . .

Even from a distance, the cry of pain was sharply audible. But by the time Charles had reached the spot where the riderless stallion sidled in nervous agitation, and had vaulted down from his saddle, there was not a sound coming from his cousin’s prostrate form.

“My God, Emma! Can you hear me?’’ he demanded as he knelt down beside her.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open. “Y-yes.” She bit her lip and struggled to sit up. “I think it’s just a bit of bruising—to both my rump and my pride. But is Ajax unharmed? I shall never forgive myself if—”

“Yes, yes, he’s fine.” Charles slipped his arm under her shoulders, but prevented her from rising. “Don’t move for a moment. You’ve had a nasty spill.” The breath he had been holding came out in a rush of relief. “Lord, another few inches and you might have been killed,” he added in a low voice, eyeing the jagged stumps of broken branches poking up from the fallen oak.

“You may go ahead and say that I would have thoroughly deserved such a fate,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “I-I. . .”

“Silly poppet.” He cut off her words by burying her face in the folds of his jacket. Her fashionable little military style shako had been dislodged by the fall, and his fingers began to gently stroke her tangled curls. “Life should be sadly flat without my favorite cousin to brangle with.”

Emma stifled a sob. “I know that I’ve been. . .”

“Shhhh,” he soothed. “We shall discuss that some other time. Right now, do you think you can manage to stand?”

“I think so, if you will give me a hand.” With a game smile, she attempted to get to her feet, but as soon as her right foot touched the ground, she bit back a scream of agony and collapsed against his chest, her face ashen with pain.

“I-I fear it is worse than I thought,” she gasped.

Charles helped her lie back down on the frozen earth. “Hawthorne House is not far away. I shall have to ride there to fetch help and to send word for a doctor. Will you be all right for a bit?”

She nodded.

He peeled off his riding coat and tucked it over her chest. “That’s the spirit. I knew I could depend on you not to fall into a fit of vapors,” he replied with a wan grin. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

* * *

E
mma shifted slightly
on the hard ground, and an unladylike word escaped her lips. Several, in fact. She winced, thinking that if Charles had overheard such language, he would no doubt ring down another peal upon her head.

Not that it was possible to sink any lower in his esteem.

The uncomfortable thought caused her to move once more, sending a stab of pain through her right ankle. What hurt more, however, was the memory of her cousin’s frank words.

Was he right?
she wondered, blinking back a tear. Had she really turned into the selfish monster he described?

A part of her longed to shrug off such criticism. Perhaps he was merely upset because she had not spent as much time with him during the whirlwind months in London as in the past. After all, she had been one of the leading belles of the beau monde’s Season. Countless gentlemen had vied for the honor of leading her out on the dance floor. They had laughed at her bon mots, applauded her performances on the pianoforte, and complimented her on her riding skills. . .

Praise heaped on praise—according to everyone around her, she could do no wrong.

Surely Charles
must
be mistaken, she assured herself.

Such a conclusion made her feel infinitely better, and so she chose to ignore the tiny voice in the back of her head, which whispered that Charles was never petty or mean-spirited. Instead, as she drifted into unconsciousness, she heard only the echo of all the honeyed flattery and sugared praise that had come her way.

Such sweet reveries were rudely interrupted by a rough shake of her shoulders.

“Come, now. Open your eyes!”

Emma groggily did as ordered—and wasn’t so sure the decision had been a wise one.

It was not Charles whose face loomed only inches from hers, but rather that of a perfect stranger. 

Actually, he was not perfect at all, she decided, once her eyes were able to focus. His face was lean and angular, its color unfashionably bronzed by the sun. A shock of unruly black hair fell over his brow, accentuating the sharp, aquiline line of his nose. His chiseled lips looked to be full and well formed, but it was difficult to be sure, as they were presently pursed in a grim scowl.