Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas) (16 page)

“I should like that ever so much.”

“When do you expect your sister to return?” the viscount asked.

“One never knows. She could be back very soon, but if the widow is low, Cathy won't leave until she cheers her.” She shrugged. “I don't know how Cathy can stand to go to that dingy little cottage! I would be afraid to sit down there.”

David eyed Lord Neely. “The woman's husband was a coal miner.” He did wish Elizabeth was. . . more like Cathy.

His lordship nodded. “Oh, I expect there's coal dust everywhere.”

“I expect it's the devil to get out of the upholstered furniture,” David said in defense of a woman he'd never met.

Elizabeth scrunched up her perfect nose. “Indeed. I, for one, will never set foot inside that cottage again.”

So, David thought, Cathy was not only the more mature sister, she was the more charitable. He looked to the aunt to see if she would chastise Elizabeth, but the woman merely cast an adoring glance at her niece.

“Changing the conversation to a happier topic,” Lord Neely said, “tomorrow's Christmas Eve.”

“I cannot wait for the assembly!” Elizabeth eyed the viscount. “I cannot tell you, my lord, how honored our community will be to have you attend.”

“The honor is mine, Miss Balfour. Would I be presumptuous if I asked permission to lead you out for the first dance?”

Who did he think he was, waltzing in here and claiming the prettiest girl in the entire shire? David felt like poking him in the eye.

Her lashes did that fluttering thing that made men's heartbeats accelerate. “I should be exceedingly honored, my lord.”

“It's I who am honored, Miss Balfour. Allow me to say how happy I am that I chose to spend Christmas with my old friend Michael St. Vincent.”

David's gaze swept again to the girls' aunt. She sat there with her sewing, looking for all the world like she'd just been crowned queen. If she were a man, David would like to poke her in the eye, too, for filling her niece's head with dreams of marrying a title.

Elizabeth sighed! David could not recall her ever sighing when he spoke to her. “Do you believe in fate, my lord?” she asked, looking dreamily at him.

“Before yesterday I would have said no.”

The audacity! They were carrying on a flirtation right in front of him. “I will own,” David said, “I thought it must be ordained by fate that when I returned from a six-year absence I found Miss Balfour still remained unmarried.” Good Lord! What was he doing? It sounded suspiciously as if he
were
declaring himself.

“I assure you,” the spinster aunt said, glaring at David, “my niece has had many opportunities to wed, but she was saving herself for someone more grand than is generally found in Ramseyfield.” Miss Kate Balfour cast an affectionate glance at Lord Neely.

But Miss Elizabeth Balfour bestowed a stupendous smile upon David. “You will surely turn my head, Captain! I declare, it's fate, too, that despite all the dangers that surrounded you, you survived that awful war and have now come home to us.”

In that instant, David forgot that she'd been flirting with Lord Neely. At that instant, he felt as if the beautiful Elizabeth Balfour had just declared her love to him.

Miss Balfour, the viscount, and the aunt continued to converse, but he couldn't have repeated a word they said. Only the words she'd just spoken to him, the way she had gazed so adoringly at him dominated his thoughts.

Then he recalled how she had also spoken so sweetly to Lord Neely. And was it not to Lord Neely that she had first tossed out her allusion to
fate
? How could one young woman feel so connected by fate to
two
gentlemen? Was it possible for a woman to be in love with two men?

He felt like a bird shot in flight. A woman could only marry one man. And David wanted to be assured the woman he married was in love with only him.

The front door to Stoneyway burst open, and since the door that separated the drawing room from the entry hall was open, he saw Cathy.

And he leapt to his feet. “What in the blazes has happened to you?”

Chapter 5

Miss Catherine Balfour could not believe one more piece of misfortune had been heaped upon her. The one day the door to the drawing was left open just happened to be when a pair of gentlemen callers—including THE only one she could ever care to impress—had to be witness to her bedraggled self limping into Stoneyway's entry hall looking for all the world as if a steady stream of mud had rained down upon her.

Which wasn't far from the truth of what had occurred.

When she had seen the sleigh in front of Stoneyway, she had instinctively known it would be David, and she had given serious consideration to hiding herself from view until he left. But she was absurdly uncomfortable. And cold. And miserable. She, therefore, convinced herself the drawing room door would be shut as it usually was when they had visitors, which would allow her to quietly enter the house and steal up the stairs without being seen.

How mortified she had been after she entered the house and her gaze swung to the drawing room—and to David's shocked expression.

“Cathy!” He bolted toward the stairway she was attempting to climb. “What's happened to you?”

Elizabeth followed on his heels. Her sister's cries succeeded in prying Mr. Balfour from his library. “Whatever has happened to my daughter?”
It was her father's pitying gaze that dropped Cathy to her mud-encrusted knees, hiding her weeping face in her cupped hands. How could she tell them how foolish she'd been? The always-pragmatic Catherine Balfour had been so despondent by the realization that the man she loved was probably going to marry her sister that she had been completely oblivious to where she was walking after she left Mrs. Williamson's. She did not see the drop-off of the lane upon which she was traveling. The drop-off went straight into a ravine that was scored with hawthorn bushes and which had been disturbed by burrowing badgers, who'd dug beneath the snow to expose wet, black dirt.

Lacerations from the hawthorn branches were the least of her woes. Every garment upon her bruised body was torn, wet, and muddy. Though she could not see it, she knew her face, too, was likely black—and bloody.

“Pray, it is nothing,” she managed between sobs.

“It most certainly is something,” her father bellowed. “I demand that you tell me what happened.”

By this time, Elizabeth had returned with a wet cloth and set about to gently remove the blood and mud from her sister's face—a face Cathy insisted on turning
away
from the eyes of the three men who gawked at her. “Mrs. Greenhampton is heating water for you a bath,” Elizabeth murmured.

“I wasn't watching where I was going, and I fell into the ravine that runs behind the Minton cottage.” Cathy fully expected the gentlemen callers to laugh at her foolishness. If not at her appearance.

Neither did.

“Pray, love,” Elizabeth asked, “have you broken anything?”

Cathy shook her head, still not desiring to meet David's gaze, praying he wouldn't see how terrible she looked but knowing he did. “I assure you, I am unhurt.”

“Why is she bleeding?” Mr. Balfour asked.

David came to settle on the lowest step. Through a slender gap between the fingers which covered her humiliated face, she saw that he looked up at her with concern, though all she could think of was how horrid she looked. “I perceive that you must have met resistance from a shrub of some sort.” His voice was incredibly gentle.

She sniffed. And nodded. “Indeed.”

“Allow me to examine the wounds,” he said. “I've had some experience with this sort of thing.”

There was no way she was going to allow him the opportunity to further observe her in the state she was in. Especially when her perfectly perfect looking sister was right next to her. She shook her head adamantly and attempted to regain the stridency to her voice. But she still would not look at him. “I assure you, most of the bruising has been to my pride.”

“Oh, my dearest!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “My poor sister does not want you gentlemen to see her looking so . . . so . . .” Elizabeth obviously did not want to state the obvious:
My sister doesn't want you to see her looking so ugly.

“So perfectly UNlovely,” Cathy finished for her polite sister.

“You are
not
unlovely,” Elizabeth crooned. “You need only to take a bath and get on fresh clothes.” She turned to address the gentlemen. “It doesn't look as if my sister and I will be able to go sleigh riding with you today. I am most anxious to assure myself my poor sister is not hurt worse than she says. She tends to minimize any injuries to herself.”

David stood. “Yes, of course, she will be much better once she's upstairs with you.”

Lord Neely came to stand beside David and peer up at the sisters. “It will be my pleasure to call for you ladies in my carriage tomorrow evening to take you to the assembly.”

“I should adore that,” Elizabeth responded, “but I have promised to come early and help set up.”

“I have no aversion to going early,” his lordship said.

“Then I will be ever so delighted to have you gentlemen call for us.”

Cathy shook her head. “Not me.”

“Now, pet,” Elizabeth said, “you don't know that you won't be perfectly well by tomorrow. You said yourself, you're not hurt.”

“It's not that. I. . . w-w-ill. . .be. . . fine. It's just that I won't be able to go early with you because I plan to be returning from Mrs. Williamson's at that time.”

“Surely you aren't planning to go to that filthy cottage on Christmas Eve!” Elizabeth protested.

“If she feels up to it,” their father said, his voice stern, “I see no reason why she shouldn't go on Christmas Eve, and I see many reasons why she should.”

“Yes, of course, Papa.” Elizabeth's voice was barely above a whisper.

“Then I'll send my brother's carriage to collect you later, Miss Balfour,” David said to Cathy.

“I would be most appreciative for a ride on a cold evening.” With that, she scrambled up the stairs.

* * *

A warm bath, clean clothing, and a good night's sleep and Cathy was nearly recovered from the previous day's debacle. The skin on her left knee had suffered a good scraping, but if she didn't bend it too much, she ought to be able to manage the walk to and from the Williamson cottage.

Even though her face would never be pretty like Elizabeth's, she was grateful it had escaped the cuts which seemed to cover most of her body. She had told herself that if her face were bruised, she would not go to tonight's assembly and be a laughingstock. Despite that she expected to be somewhat of a wallflower, she greatly looked forward to attending the Christmas Eve assembly. It was always a festive and joyous occasion.

She bundled up as warmly as possible and set off for the Williamson cottage. How grateful she was the winds were not strong that day. As much as she enjoyed walking through the countryside, she very much disliked doing so when chill winds cut into her. Because she was a stout walker, Cathy could cover the four and half miles—which included a good bit of uphill walking—between their houses in an hour.

When she arrived at the Williamson cottage, there was no answer to her knock.

But she heard moans.

The babe is coming!
Cathy tried the door handle, and it opened. The sounds of a woman suffering were much more distinct once she was inside the house. Cathy's heartbeat accelerated. She was going to have to assist at the birth!

Only once before had she been allowed into a birthing chamber: just months before Mama had died, she had taken Cathy with her and calmly explained everything to her, alleviating her initial fears. Had Mama known her youngest daughter would soon be called upon to step into her shoes? “Mrs. Williamson?”

“I. Am. Here. In the bedchamber.”

Cathy began to tremble as she strode to the next room. It was still dark. She went straight to the rumpled bed and gazed down at the suffering woman. “How long has it been?” she asked as she stroked a gentle hand across the woman's moist brow.

“Since dawn.”

“My mother said first babes take longer than subsequent children. I pray yours doesn't take twenty hours—as did my elder sister.”

Mrs. Williamson tried to chuckle, but was seized by a gripping shot of pain.

Cathy took her hand and held it. “Everything will be fine. I am here with you now.”

She had never been so scared.

* * *

Miss Elizabeth Balfour was the belle of the ball. David had never seen her lovelier. After Neely claimed her for the first dance, David was honored to stand up with her for the second.

Oddly enough, it wasn't her beautiful face he wanted most to behold. He kept picturing Cathy, her sweet face buried in her hands, as she'd looked when he had last seen her. Now he was even more uneasy about her than he had been on the previous day.

Instead of standing with the army of Elizabeth Balfour's admirers gazing longingly at her, he kept finding himself watching the door. When was Cathy going to arrive? He had sent his family's carriage to collect her more than an hour ago. Stoneyway was less than a mile from the assembly hall. She should have been here by now.

What if she had fallen again while returning from the Williamson cottage? What if she had plunged into the frozen river? The very idea was like knife to his gut.

Then he would attempt to be logical. The reason for her delay could easily be explained. The most likely explanation was that Mrs. Williamson's babe was coming today, and Cathy was staying to assist the unfortunate widow.

Yet when he told himself that was the most plausible reason why she had not come, he still could not stop worrying about her.

It suddenly occurred to him this assembly was meaningless to him without the presence of Miss Catherine Balfour. He raced to his brother, who was talking to a group of male neighbors. “I'm uneasy about Cathy Balfour. I sent your coach to collect her at Stoneyway more than hour ago.”

Michael's brows lowered. “That's only half a mile from here!”

“I know. I'm going to see what I can find out.”