Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas (6 page)

“Why, sir! If you raised your voice an octave, you would sound exactly like me! However, as you wear boots and breeches instead of silks and satins, it is termed ‘letting off steam’ rather than ‘falling in a fit of vapors.’ But call it what you will, would you like the loan of my vinaigrette?” Anna gave a small shake of her reticule. “I am sure it is in here somewhere.”

His shoulders stiffened, and then he caught a glint of the merriment in her eyes. “Minx! Are you. . .”

“Teasing you?” Her peal of laughter rang delightfully musical to his ear. “Yes, I suppose I am. I have never dared do so with a gentleman before, but when you let yourself unbend, you are. . . different. So do not turn too starchy, Lord Killingworth.”

“Do not turn too saucy, Lady Anna.”

She stuck out her tongue. “What is good for the goose is good for the gander.”

Grinning, he made a last check of the luggage and took up the reins.
Different.
It was a start in the right direction. Though where it would lead, he could not hazard a guess.

“Let us hope we do not end up burned to a crisp, ” he murmured.

They set off through the windblown snow, and for a time both of them seemed content to let their thoughts drift, like the swirl of flakes kicked up by the horses. As he trudged through the knee-deep powder, Nicholas found himself simply enjoying the soft sounds of a winter’s morning. The muffled swoosh of his steps. . . the stirring of the snow-coated pine boughs. . . the musical tinkle of the brass harness fittings, which sounded a little like faraway church bells. It was peaceful. It was. . .

It was Christmas! Or nearly so.

“Good Lord!” His exclamation formed a whispery cloud around his lips. “Tonight is Christmas Eve. The holiday festivities will have to go on without us, for it goes without saying that we will never make it to Town in time for our engagements.”

He angled a look over his shoulder. “I hope that is not too bitter a disappointment.”

Anna’s eyes were downcast. “In truth, I did not feel much like celebrating.”

“Come, if you were in Spain, your eyes would be all aglitter on this eve as you wrapped sweetmeats in gold foil.” Wishing to lighten the look on her face, he said the first fanciful thing that popped into his head. “It is a tradition that all unmarried young ladies of the land prepare treats for the elfin folk who fly in on storks to leave a gift on the pillow of every sleeping child.”

Her lashes lifted ever so slightly. “How do they get into the houses?”

“They, er, fly down the chimneys.” A gust whistled through the trees. “While in Denmark, the celebration takes on a different form. The North Wind blows in through the cracks in the windows and leaves an ice crystal on the mantel for every member of the family. When the morning comes, the fire is kindled to a great flame and the frozen gift melts into a wish.”

Anna’s gaze had regained a bit of sparkle. “In Russia, a Baba Yaga is said to fly in on a mortar and pestle, leaving gifts for those who have been good all year and lumps of coal for those who have been bad.”

“Ah, that is nothing compared to the monkeys of Malta, who according to an old Templar rite are allowed to pelt miscreants with rotten oranges from dawn to dusk on Christmas day.”

A burble of laughter cut off any further fantasies. “Really, sir, how do you come up with such outrageous bouncers at the drop of a hat?”

“As a government official, I am expected to be creative with language.”

“You mean to lie through your teeth?” she demanded.

He managed to assume an expression of mock indignation but it quickly quirked into a grin. “Well, if you put it that way. . .”

“You have a wonderfully whimsical imagination, Lord Killingworth,” she said softly. “Thank you for lifting my spirits. I know everyone is expected to be happy at Christmas. But I find it. . . hard.”

“If you are thinking that something is missing, Lady Anna, you are not alone.” Nicholas cut around an outcropping of rock. “No doubt it sounds blasphemous, but the season has always left me cold. There is so much jolliness all around—the cheerful laughter, the festive decorations of evergreen and mistletoe, the smells of sugar and spice perfuming the air. One feels guilty about not getting into the spirit of things. And yet, so much of the celebrating feels forced, or superficial. It sometimes seems the true meaning of the holiday has been lost.”

“I hate Christmas,” she blurted out.

Nicholas halted, ostensibly to give the horses a rest. “May I ask why?” he said, his hand lingering on her knee after he had smoothed out the folds of her coat.

“Because it used to be a magical time of light.” She sniffed. “And love.”

“What happened to change that?”

Anna hesitated before answering. “I was in school here in England. My parents had been called away to St. Petersburg, but they had promised to return in time for us to share the holidays together, as we always did. However, the passage through the Baltic was a rough one, and by the time their ship reached Antwerp, it was running several days late.”

She swallowed hard. “They should never have set sail that night, but the harbormaster said my father was so anxious to reach Dover without further delay that the captain relented. A winter gale. . .” Her voice, which had grown brittle as ice, finally cracked.

His hand found hers and clasped it tightly. Through the thick wool he could feel her fingers. They were clenched together, as if seeking solace from each other. “If your uncle were here, I would hit him with a thumping right cross, rather than a snowball. He must be as hard and unfeeling as a lump of coal to have you traveling on your own so close to Christmas.”

“He is not uncaring, merely unaware. At the time, he was away in the Far East. I don’t think he ever knew the exact date of the shipwreck. Or if he did, the significance did not quite sink in. You see, he is of the Orthodox faith, as are most Russians. By their calendar, Christmas comes in early January.” Her lips quivered. “In any case, he is too busy ordering important affairs to think about such small tragedies.”

Without saying a thing, Nicholas pulled her down from the makeshift saddle and into his arms. He sensed she did not need words, just the unspoken warmth of a heartfelt hug.

Ice crackled in the branches overhead. From a nearby stump, a solitary raven flapped up into the sky. Finally, at the sound of a frosty snort from one of the horses, Anna lifted her cheek from his collar with an answering sigh. “You are immensely kind to offer a shoulder to lean on, Lord Killingworth. Though I fear with all my sniffling I’ve left your linen rather wilted.”

“We both agreed it was better not to be too starchy,” he said. “And I would much rather you call me Nicholas.”

“ Very well. . . Nicholas.” Blinking away a last tear, she straightened her fur hat. “We cannot stand in one place forever. The horses are growing chilled. We really must move on.”

Though loath to let her go, Nicholas let her pull away. His gaze moved across the snow-covered pastureland to where the ruins of the abbey were just visible above the crest of a hill. “Would that I could make the journey an easier one for you.”

Like her, he was speaking of more than mere physical distance.

“I’m not sure how far I could have come without you,” she murmured as he helped her back onto her horse.

“Tell me,” he said, once they had gotten under way again. “What are the things you recollect most about Christmas with your family?”

“Lud, I have a myriad of marvelous memories.” Anna thought for a moment, a wistful smile curling the corners of her mouth. “I recall how Papa would search the woods for the biggest Yule log he could find. How Mama delighted in playing Christmas carols on the pianoforte—from English to Russian, and a whole mix of languages in between.”

A pause. “How she would have Cook decorate the dining table with cherubic angels carved out of ice, their chubby little arms filled with candles and sugared plums.”

“It sounds truly wonderful.”

Looking as though she did not quite trust her voice, Anna nodded.

He let the conversation trail off into the rhythmic crunch of snow. As the abbey walls came into sharper focus, an idea began to take form in his head. A crazy one to be sure, seeing as they were stranded in the wilds, with barely a crust of bread and bit of cheese between them.

But miracles could happen, Nicholas reminded himself, if one believed them possible. To go along with the cherished memories of Christmas past, he was determined to make the advent of Christmas this year an evening that Anna would not forget.

M
agic
.
Her wish upon a star must have bounced off Antares, gathered momentum as it circled Polaris and finally reached the ear of some powerful wizard or warlock. For nothing short of unearthly enchantment could explain the sight that now greeted her gaze.

Eyes wide with wonder, Anna looked around the remains of the ancient chapel. Barely half an hour ago it had been a dark, damp space, with wind whistling through the crumbling mortar, dead leaves and mouse droppings that had covered the worn stone floor.

And now?

Fatigue and hunger did strange things to the brain, and she was awfully tired and hungry. That, of course, had not stopped her from demanding to help make their temporary shelter habitable. So when Nicholas had asked if she would chip through the ice of a nearby stream while he gathered kindling, she had gladly taken up the old bucket they had found and stumbled off.

Setting down her load, she pressed an icy mitten to her brow, wondering if she was dreaming. But no, a peek through the wool showed that the vision was still there. In the far corner a blaze of merry flames danced up from a massive log whose rotund girth matched that of a brandy cask. Above it, a garland of evergreen branches festooned the entire length of the weathered wall, its needles perfuming the air with the fragrance of fresh-cut pine.

Her breath then caught in her throat as she spied a flickering of light set off from the main fire.

“It’s not quite finished.” Knotting a strip of linen around a twig of white birch, Nicholas smeared the cloth with sticky pine resin and added it to the other wooden candles he had fashioned. It burst into flame, illuminating the blocks of ice he had hollowed out to hold the display. “They are not the most elegant tapers, and my skills as a sculptor leave something to be desired, but—”

“They are beautiful,” she whispered. “Simply beautiful.”

“Come, let us make the last few ones together.”

Anna sat down on the blanket and took up a remnant of cloth. “How did you ever manage the Yule log?” she asked.

“With the help of the horses. I rigged a length of the reins as a crude sling.”

“You. . .” A shower of sparks shot up as she lit her candle from one of his. “You have worked miracles, Nicholas.”

“Abracadabra!” Making a wry face, he waved a branch at the burning log. “Now if only I could make a Christmas goose appear for a holiday repast.”

The fluttering in her stomach had nothing to do with hunger. Not for fowl. Or fish, for that matter.

Lud, she could feast on his smile alone and never feel an emptiness inside her again.

“I fear it will be the same sorry supper of bread and cheese—save for one small treat.” With a flourish, he produced a tin of tea from his coat pocket. “I found this in my valise. In my haste to take leave of my friends, I forgot to leave behind the special blend of Oolong that William requested from Town.”

“Any more magic up your sleeve?”

He made a show of looking up his cuffs. “I’m afraid that’s all for now. I shall just kindle a very ordinary fire for cooking, and use our tin cup for boiling water.”

As he stacked some branches and struck a flint to tinder, Anna began to rummage in her reticule. “Ha!” she exclaimed a moment later, extracting several mashed pieces of gingerbread. “I, too, have been carrying around some forgotten treasures.”

A second plunge brought up a handful of honey drops wrapped in brightly colored paper.

His brows rose. “I have always wondered what ladies carry in those things. Aside from vinaigrette, of course.”

“A great many useful things, as you can see, replied Anna. “Like. . . a spoon. . . a coil of twine. . . a pair of scissors. . .” She laughed as she added a tiny tin trumpet to the growing pile. “Oh, I had quite forgotten about that.”

“Good Lord, what else do you have in there?” Nicholas shook his head in admiration. “A regiment of hussars? We could arm them with shovels instead of sabers and be out of here in a trice.”

Turning the reticule upside down, Anna gave it a shake. “No soldiers,” she announced, as a last jumble of items spilled from its depth. “Would a bear do?” The wooden toy was painted a whimsical blue, with spots of scarlet for the eyes and nose.

“One of its legs is broken,” he pointed out.

“Yes.” Anna picked up a bit of engraved silver that had fallen to the ground with the bear. “So is the ring on this watch fob. Still, it is a very pretty design.” She hesitated, then reached for his hand and placed both the bear and the fob in his palm. “It’s a rather hodgepodge assortment of presents, but it’s the spirit that counts. Merry Christmas, Nicholas.”

His fingers closed around her offerings. “Thank you,” he said softly. The candlelight reflecting off his whiskered jaw seemed to ignite a thousand sparks of fire. “Your gifts, and your spirit, are quite special.”

Anna suddenly felt hot all over. “They are just. . . flights of fancy.” To hide her burning longing to press her cheek to his, she ducked away and began refilling her reticule. “Surely gentlemen must collect lots of serendipitous things during the course of their travels.”

Nicholas cocked his head to one side, setting off another flare of fire. “I never really thought about it. Let us see.” Fetching the leather document case from his valise, he emptied it on the blanket. Along with a flutter of papers, out fell a filigree penknife, a small book whose marbled cover had seen better days and a Spanish gold coin.

“This is from a tiny artisan’s shop in Lisbon,” he mused, fingering the silver blade of the knife. “And the coin—well, after escaping the French patrol, I considered it a lucky charm.”

“And the book?” she asked.

“Dante’s sonnets. Italian is a lovely language.” He opened it and angled the page to the fire. “Here, I shall read one aloud.”

The words were like warm honey. Anna closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness of his voice.

“How beautiful,” she whispered, when he was done.

A rustle of wool, and suddenly the book was in her lap, along with the knife and the coin.

“Merry Christmas, Anna,” said Nicolas softly.

Her lashes flew open. “Oh, I couldn’t—”

“The gift of friendship is what Christmas is all about.” His fingers twined with hers. “As is sharing. And caring.”

“And wishing good will to all men,” she added.

He chuckled. “A sentiment you did not hold dear when first we met. With good reason I might add. Though I hope we are now. . . friends.”

“I-I have come to think of you as that,” said Anna.

Nicholas snuggled her a bit closer. “I have read you poetry, now won’t you sing me one of the carols your mother played on this eve?”

Shrew drew in a deep breath. “S-Silent night, holy night. . .” At first the words were hardly more than a zephyr of breath, but they grew stronger as he added a bass note to her clear soprano.

“I should like to hear one in Russian,” he encouraged, when they had finished.

“Now it is your turn,” she said, once the lilting melody died away.

“Hmmm.” He rubbed at his chin. “How about
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
in Dutch?”

When Anna was done giggling at his off-key rendition, she had her own exotic suggestion. “Would you care to hear
Good King Wenceslas
in Polish?”

The winter night was long, but the hours passed quickly as they filled them with songs in a gaggle of other languages. Shared laughter filled the gaps of missing words or melodies. Anna did not quite realize how quickly until Nicholas pulled out his pocket watch and thumbed open its case.

“Good Lord, it is a few minutes past midnight! This calls for a holiday toast.” He found the flask of brandy in his bag and passed it to her with a wink. “We must keep the body as well as the spirit warm.”

Anna did not need strong drink to feel a delicious heat curl down to her toes. Still, she took a small swallow. And shivered as fire filled her mouth.

Would a kiss from Nicholas taste. . .

Handing it back, she scrabbled to her feet. “Let us go outside for a moment. I-I
should like to see if I can spot the Christmas star.”

Overhead, the sky was a canopy of black velvet
alight with the infinite sparkle of hope. “I wished on
a star the night of the storm,” she said, as Nicholas came
up behind her.

“Make another wish,” he murmured.

She bit at her lip. It was cold. “You aren’t supposed
to say such dreams aloud. Else they won’t come true.”

He nodded solemnly. “Then how about this—let us both make a wish, and keep
it secret.”

Silence stretched for several moments. Drawing in a deep breath, Anna spun around and kissed his
cheek. “May all your wishes come true, Nicholas,” she
whispered, then turned and hurried back to the abbey.

But not before slanting a last, longing look at a
certain point of light that seemed to twinkle just a bit
brighter than all the others.

* * *

A
nna awoke
to early morning sunlight filtering in through the crumbling stone. She smiled as its pale warmth suffused her face, recalling a memorable night.

“Good morning, Nicholas. Now we can truly say Merry Christmas,” she called softly.

Hearing no answer, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and turned to the fire. The coals, rekindled at some point during the night, crackled with a cheery red glow, but the rumpled blanket where he had slept looked stone cold.

Perhaps he had gone to fetch more water, or forage for food. . .

The sheet of foolscap, stark as snow against her folded cloak, told her otherwise. Her name was scrawled in the same leaden hue that had recently darkened the skies, and she had no doubt the words inside would weigh just as heavily on her heart. She knew, of course, what they would say.

Nicholas was gone.

Drawing the blanket around her shoulders and coaxing the last of the firewood into flames did nothing to ward off the chill seeping into her bones.

Dear Anna
, it began. The lettering was smudged and looked to have been written in a hurry.
I am truly sorry that you will awake to find yourself alone on Christmas morning. I should like to have shared one last carol and
. . . He appeared to have crossed out a word or two.
However, having spent most of the night mulling over the situation, it became clear that I must be gone before anyone sees us together. As soon as I reach an inn, I shall see to it that a rescue party is sent
.
Stick to the following story, and I am confident you will weather any threat to your reputation. Your servants will support whatever account you give, so there is no worry there. . .

She slowly read over the advice, which detailed how she was to tell everyone, including her uncle, a carefully edited version of the truth.

Say only this
, advised Nicholas.
You tried to beat the storm, but the coach suffered a mishap and the storm caught up to you. Your driver went for help, leaving you stranded in the wilds. The snow forced you to take refuge in the abbey ruins, where you decided to wait for the weather to clear and a search party to find you. No one, not the highest stickler or the strictest guardian, will find fault with such actions.

Anna looked up. Not if she remembered to never,
ever make mention of a gentleman companion. Skimming
the last few lines, she looked for the ending.

Your friend, N.

A dear friend indeed, she thought, blinking back the
pearls of moisture clinging to her lashes. If she had
been thinking clearly, she would have realized long before
now that the solution he had come up with was
the only way to avoid a terrible scandal. But her reason
had been clouded by more than a passing
snowstorm.

She knew she ought to be very grateful for his unassailable
logic and his practical skill at putting a plan
into action. And yet a small part of her could not help but
regret that he had moved with quite such a show of
efficiency. A tiny voice in the back of her head echoed
the disappointment, whispering that there had, in fact,
been one other alternative to his sudden departure.

But seeing as he had not proposed it, there was no
point in dwelling on what might have been. . .

It would only make the future harder to bear.

No, Nicholas was right—it was best that the parting
be swift and sure.

Her fingers closed around the small gold coin in her pocket. She would treasure the memory
of this Christmas, and the coin’s burnished hue would always be a special reminder of a certain blond gentleman. For a glimmering interlude, they had warded off the bleakness of winter with shared friendship.

How could anyone wish for a better gift than that?

Anna smiled through her tears, hoping that he taken away with him something more meaningful than a chipped wooden bear and a broken watch fob. She wanted very much to believe they did not lie discarded by the roadside, along with all thoughts of the time they had spent together.

However, the truth was, she knew so little about his personal life. For all she knew, he had a fiancée waiting to welcome him back to Town.