Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas) (14 page)

“I am happiest when serving those I care about.”

“But you, my dear Miss Balfour, care about every one of God's creatures!”

A smile crossing her face, she nodded. “I cannot deny it.”

Yet somehow he knew her feelings for him were special. And he was powerless not to recall that little girl telling him she would wait until his return because she meant to marry him.

A pity he was so unworthy of her affection.

* * *

It wasn't often a clergyman's daughter had the opportunity to ride in a fine carriage, and now she had enjoyed that privilege two days in a row—though it did not precisely look like a
day
at present, Cathy reflected as she peered from the coach's glass. Night fell early this time of year.

And with night had come a bitter cold.

She would have thought a carriage would provide more protection against the cold, but she and her sister, who sat next to her, shivered from the frigid temperatures. Being the pragmatic sister, Cathy had wisely donned her warmest clothing—at least for her outer garments, which were decidedly winterish. She had buttoned a green velvet pelisse over her rather skimpy frock, and a heavy wool hooded cloak layered over the pelisse. Her gloved hands were stuffed into a muff made from inexpensive rabbit fur.

Though she continued to wear the hood, her ears still stung from the cold. Her cheeks must be a deep red.

“Now don't you wish you had listened to me?” she said to her sister.

“I will own, you were right.” Her teeth chattered so much it impeded her speech. “I should have worn a pelisse under my cloak, too. I am excessively cold. It's just that I wanted to project an elegant vision with my cloak lying over bare white shoulders.”

“If you spent half the time reading Scripture as you do in front of your looking glass,” their father grumbled, “you'd realize what things are truly important.”

His comments silenced both daughters. A few minutes later, his grumbling continued. “Remind me again why it is that I'm having to leave the comfort of my home on such a night?”

“Because, my dear Papa,” Elizabeth replied, “the St. Vincents have honored us with an invitation to dine with them and their guest, Lord Neely, at Rosemary Hill.”

“Who is this Lord Neely?” Papa directed his question at Cathy. While Aunt Kate clearly preferred the beautiful daughter, Papa was closest to the more intelligent daughter.

“Lord Neely was friends with Michael St. Vincent when he was at Oxford,” Elizabeth responded.

“Why would a titled gentleman be wanting to traipse about the country under such uncomfortably cold conditions?” Mr. Balfour continued to grumble. “Doesn't the fellow have his own seat?”

“I am sure he must,” Elizabeth defended.

“I believe he's coming at this time of year to avoid being home alone,” Cathy said. “The unfortunate man has no family with whom to spend Christmas.”

Aunt Kate attempted to sooth her brother. “My dear brother, it's almost like Divine Providence is smiling upon our Elizabeth.”

Mr. Balfour turned toward his sister, who sat next to him. “Have you attics to let? To what in God's wide, wide world can you be referring?”

“All these years I've encouraged Elizabeth to save herself for some titled gentleman who'd be worthy of her. And now she may be able to fulfill her destiny.”

The vicar tossed his head back dismissively. “Pray, I wish you would not fill my daughter's head with such nonsense! All I've ever wanted for my children is for them to be as happy with their mates as I was with their dear mother.”

Despite that she had unwisely balked at dressing appropriately for the weather, a shivering Elizabeth lifted her chin higher. “I think Aunt Kate is right, Papa. It
is
Divine Providence that Lord Neely is coming here this Christmas season.”

“Then I lament it's Divine Providence that has saddled me with two such foolish maidens! I thank God Cathy, at least, has her wits about her.”

The coach slowed, then came to a complete stop. Cathy glanced from the window at the large gray stone farm house, its slate roof blanketed with fresh snow. As they disembarked the carriage at the steps to the St. Vincents' big, comfortable house, Cathy silently questioned her sister's wits. How could someone be so vain that she would expose herself to such cold?

When they removed their outer garments in the entry hall, snowflakes puddle on the well-worn wooden floors. Cathy could not help but to observe the bluish cast to her sister's skin. “Really, dearest,” she whispered hoarsely to Elizabeth, “you might wish to borrow a shawl from Mrs. St. Vincent.”

“I am persuaded that if I just remove myself from this hall, I shall warm up.”

The St. Vincent male servant led them into the drawing room which was warmed by a blazing fire in its hearth. Three gentlemen stood when they entered the chamber. Two of them were the St. Vincent brothers, and the third was a shorter man of the same age.

“Lord Neely,” Michael St. Vincent said, “allow me to present to you our vicar, Mr. Balfour, who has come with his sister and his two daughters.”

Cathy took the opportunity to observe the viscount. His light brown hair was stylishly cut, as were his clothes which consisted of a snowy white linen shirt and cravat beneath a fine black cutaway jacket, gray and red silk waistcoat, and gray superfine breeches. Though slight of build and height, he had a fine face with expressive green eyes and a friendly countenance, especially when Elizabeth placed her hand into his. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am that your Christian name is preceded by
Miss
,” he told her in his lazy, aristocratic drawl.

Whisking her gaze over her sister, Cathy tried to look at her as would one who had never before seen her. How beautiful she looked! She wore a saffron-colored gown that fell off those milky white shoulders while affording a glimpse of her breasts' swell. She truly did appear elegant.

Even if she was tinged with blue.

The knowledge that David must be captivated over her sister's uncommon beauty could not instill jealousy in Catherine for she could never consider them rivals.

Elizabeth's lashes dipped in that coquettish manner of hers as Lord Neely continued to hold her hand. “My lord! You shall put me to the blush.”

To Miss Catherine Balfour's knowledge, none of the volumes worth of praise bestowed upon her sister throughout her life had ever put Miss Elizabeth Balfour to the blush.

Perhaps Cathy's great interest in the appearances of Elizabeth and Lord Neely was so she would not stare at David. She had never before seen him in his dashing captain's uniform, and she had never before seen him so handsome. Heavy gold braid and gold epaulets and shiny brass medals adorned his well-cut dark blue jacket. Could this distinguished officer be the David St. Vincent she had known throughout her life?

Her appreciative gaze raked over him as she were seeing him for the first time. Was it the sight of those long, powerful legs in white breeches that made her more aware than ever of his height?

She could almost picture him at the bow of a great man-of-war, commanding the hundreds of men who had sailed with him. Because of his kindliness, she had never before thought of him as powerful. Until tonight. Even the dark stubble on his face emanated a manliness that could demand the respect of an entire fleet.

Now Elizabeth would be sure to fall in love with him, too.

“I declare,” Georgianne St. Vincent said, “now that everyone is here, we shall remove to the dining room.”

A smile on his youthful-looking face, his lordship proffered his arm to their hostess and escorted her across the hall to the narrow dining room. Michael St. Vincent offered to escort Elizabeth, David courteously presented himself at Aunt Kate's side to escort her, and her father offered his crooked arm to David's mother, which left Cathy trailing the others like an extra shoe.

The dining chamber was being warmed by another roaring fire and was illuminated by wall sconces, the table's pair of ornate silver candelabra, and an overhead crystal chandelier. The seating arrangements were sure to satisfy both her and her sister. David was seated at Cathy's left while Elizabeth was seated across the table from David—and next to the viscount.

Watching her sister's flirty ways with the visiting aristocrat made Cathy feel rather like a student rapturously watching a master. Elizabeth's frequent inquiries to the man beside her would end with
What do you think, my lord?
She helplessly sought his assistance in cutting her roast beef.
I am so bereft of strength.
And Miss Elizabeth Balfour had elevated the lowering of her lashes to an art form. An art form that appeared to fascinate Lord Neely.

The only problem with the seating was that the beautiful sister was on blatant display for David to admire—even though he was wonderfully communicative with Cathy. “I must tell you again how much I appreciate all those newspaper accounts. I spent the afternoon reading every one of them.”

“Had you read any of them before?”

He shook his head. “None.”

“I would have thought your brother would have them.”

“Oh, he did, but he confessed he never thought to save them for me. I'm very touched that you were so much more thoughtful, especially since you're not family. How can I ever repay you?”

“Your appreciation is my payment.”

“Is there not some service I could perform for you? You are, after all, one of my dearest friends.”

Not exactly what she wanted to hear. But close. “You must believe that what I did I did for my own pleasure—not that worrying over you was precisely pleasurable! But, since you have asked if there is a service you can perform me, I am not too proud to ask it.”

His brows hiked. “Anything, my dear Miss Balfour.”

She had liked it ever so much more when he used to call her Cathy. And sometimes just Cath. “I'm afraid what I'm going to ask for will be a great sacrifice for you. . .”

“I was not jesting. Anything.”

Marry me?
No, she could never ask that. Again. She was no longer twelve and a half years old. She cleared her throat. “If it weren't so bitterly cold, I would not ask, but you are aware that on a clergyman's living, the keeping of a carriage is beyond our family's means. Therefore, I shall beg that you borrow your brother's carriage to take me to look in on the unfortunate Mrs. Williamson—until her babe comes, and I expect it any day. I hate to ask. You must be looking forward to shooting with your brother and Lord Neely.”

He shook his head. “Killing of any creature has no appeal—not for one who's seen as many violent deaths as I have.”

To her astonishment, he looked upon her with great affection. “You are a remarkable young woman.”

“You surely mistake me for someone else, Captain.”

He shook his dark head. “No, Miss Balfour, it's you and only you who have made so strong an impression upon me.”

Her eyes rounded. “Pray, how could I possibly make a strong impression on anyone?” Certainly not with her sadly lacking appearance. She was, after all, the mousy sister.

“I have never known anyone—except possibly your late mother—who is possessed of a more benevolent nature. You are always thinking of the other person—or creature! The much-cherished cross you gave to me. The newspaper accounts for me. The solicitousness for Mrs. Williamson. Do you never think of yourself?”

“Of course I do. It's just that I derive my most satisfying pleasure when I am able to help others.”

“I pray I can learn from you. It will be my pleasure to collect you tomorrow and take you to the Williamson cottage.”

Chapter 4

“As much as I adore having the Balfour family here,” the elder Mrs. St. Vincent said when they removed to the drawing room after dinner, “I know you'll have to rush home before the snow falls any heavier.”

Georgianne's brows collapsed, and she effected a pout. “I was so hoping Miss Elizabeth and Miss Catherine would sing for us.”

“I have no intention of depriving us of so joyous an occurrence.” Mrs. St. Vincent bestowed a glowing smile upon Cathy, then addressed Elizabeth. “Pray, will you not honor us with a song?”

Elizabeth shyly peered into her lap ever so briefly, then rose and elegantly strolled to the pianoforte. Half way there, she spoke to David. “I beg that you play while I sing.”

He rose. “It will be my pleasure.”

Truth be told, all of the St. Vincent's were more musically talented than the vicar's musical family.

While they were selecting the music, Cathy took the opportunity to speak with Mrs. St. Vincent, of whom she was vastly fond. She could never be in the woman's company and not wonder how so small a woman had given birth to two such tall sons. Because of her short stature, Mrs. St. Vincent gave the appearance that she was. . .well, there was no polite way to say it. She was rotund. Had she a longer frame, she would certainly have appeared thinner.

Clearly, her sons did not favor her physically. But David, at least, had inherited his mother's intelligence and geniality. Michael was a dear, but David had always been Cathy's favorite. She wondered if it was because his personality so resembled his mother's.

“I understand you're just back from visiting your daughter and grandchildren,” Cathy began.

“Indeed. It was so difficult for me to leave the little darlings—I've three grandchildren now, you know—but the knowledge that my dear David would be home for Christmas was a perfect lure to bring me home.”

“It
is
wonderful to have him home.”

“I pray he never leaves again. If only he would purchase Belford Manor and settle down.” Her gaze flitted to Michael, and her mouth folded into a grim line. “I pray, too, that Michael and his lovely wife are blessed with children. It's been two years now, and still no sign of babes. At this rate, David will become a father before him.”

When Mrs. St. Vincent, a smile on her pink-cheeked face, turned to watch Elizabeth sing, Cathy felt a stab of jealousy. For the first time in her life, she was actually jealous of the sister she loved so dearly. All because Mrs. St. Vincent peered at Elizabeth almost simultaneously with speaking of David settling down and having a family.