One Perfect Christmas (Short Story)

Dorking, Surrey

Southeast England

December 1813

Lord Lucas Cavanaugh stood on the steps of Castle Bascomb, a letter from his mother
in one hand, a lead rope attached to a disgruntled donkey in the other. The beast
of burden emitted a plaintive bray, his grizzled gray coat capturing the quickly falling
snowflakes in soft, plush hair.

Behind Lucas, the walls of his family’s estate soared upward to the expansive roofs.
Snow sifted over the sand-colored stone and piled on the window embrasures, drifting
in white piles at the corners where weathered towers jutted out from the main building.

Before him, the stable hand’s figure grew steadily smaller as he crossed the drive
and turned toward the stables, eaten up by the winter sky.

Lucas sighed, stepped down onto the compact gravel drive, and repeated the man’s explanation
out loud. “From Her Grace, my lord.”

The donkey brayed a second time; his plaintive call seemed faintly foreboding and
was perfectly timed. “Right you are, donkey. Anything to do with my mother is cause
for concern.”

Lucas squinted as he read the scarlet letters embroidered on the halter’s black leather
nose strap.
“Reginald? Rather stuffy name for an ass, wouldn’t you agree?”

As it seemed unlikely the donkey would reply, Lucas turned to the missive and broke
the wax seal, unfolding the creamy foolscap to reveal his mother’s grand, scrawling
handwriting.

Lucas Nathaniel
,

Reginald was discovered in the greenhouse, happily nibbling away on Cook’s parsley
and chives. Needless to say, Cook was not amused. The donkey must go. Please return
him to Jane at once
.

And Lucas, might I suggest you take full advantage of this opportunity to tell Jane
you love her? As your dear father (God rest his soul) was so fond of saying, “There
is no time quite like the present.” Besides, your moping about the castle is casting
a rather gloomy pallor upon the holidays, my dear
.

With the greatest of affection
,

Mother

Lucas hastily refolded the letter and shoved it into his vest pocket. Staring hard
at the long leather strap in his hand, he wrestled with the dark, cold regret that
had settled in his chest the moment he’d read Jane Merriweather’s name.

And with good reason. He’d realized Jane was the love of his life some seven months
past, then promptly escaped to the Hebrides, driven by wild panic and irrational fear.

Seven months, as it turned out, was not a sufficient number of hours, days, and weeks
to recover from such cowardice. Nor, unfortunately, was it enough time to forget a
woman. Especially not
the
woman.

Reginald brayed loudly and tossed his head, the lead bobbing and dancing about in
the gathering snow that was swiftly covering the gravel drive beneath a light blanket
of white.

There were days Lucas regretted telling his brother Matthew, the Duke of Bascomb,
the entire painful story. Because Matthew had confided in his wife, Matilda, who’d
then felt it necessary to inform the dowager duchess.

This was one of those days.

Lucas reluctantly recalled last spring. Having just returned from a fishing trip to
Scotland, Lucas had no more than settled in to the Bascombs’ London townhome when
word of Jane’s broken engagement reached him. They’d spent the following week together,
nearly inseparable as Lucas consoled his dear friend with leisurely strolls in Hyde
Park, ices at Gunther’s—anything and everything that London could offer to keep her
mind from dwelling on Baron McKee’s elopement to Gretna Greene with Lord Smelten’s
horse-faced daughter.

Their week together had been, in a word, revealing. Lucas could not recall a time
when they’d had only each other to focus on, with no clamoring family or well-meaning
friends to interfere.

Jane’s infectious smile had suddenly sent twists of happiness spiraling in his heart.
Fractured patterns of sunlight capturing the golden hue of her hair forced unexpected
sighs from his lips. The quality of her voice as she spoke of life, of their home,
of their triumphs and failures, soothed his senses and spoke to his soul.

Had Lucas really been so monumentally stupid for all those years? He loved Jane. There
was a distinct possibility this had been true for some time. And he’d mucked up perfection
in order to satisfy his wanderlust.

He’d mentally kicked himself for such foolishness, then gone straightaway to confront
Jane, only to find her in the most shocking condition.

Jane had been foxed. Thoroughly so.

Nothing could’ve surprised Lucas more, until she suddenly professed her love for him
and begged him to stay the night. The candlelight had warmed the room with a low glow,
the heavy intent in her sapphire blue eyes intoxicating.

She’d fallen asleep against his shoulder before he could answer. He reluctantly released
her into her maid’s care, and then proceeded to walk the streets of London until the
sun shone over Tower Bridge, acquainting himself with the idea that life, as he knew
it, would never be the same again.

When he’d returned to Jane’s townhome on the edge of Grosvenor Square, intent on telling
her what he should have
the night before, she’d gone. A letter explained that, while she was very thankful
for his kindness, Jane did not wish to keep Lucas from the undoubtedly thrilling adventures
he’d planned for the near future. He was not to follow her. She couldn’t bear the
embarrassment of facing him after the unfounded and silly pronouncements she’d made
in her “rather unsteady state.” But she would be well, she’d assured him. As she wished
him to be.

Silly pronouncements?

Had he imagined her sincerity? There’d been no way to confirm or dispel the painful
notion, other than chasing her down on the road to Surrey, which she’d specifically
told him not to do.

Lucas was both a coward and a fool for not going after her.

Avoiding Jane for the next two weeks would be impossible. Besides, Lucas didn’t want
to. When it came right down to it, he’d missed her terribly these many months. “Did
it have to be an ass? They’ve a large stable at Juniper Hall. Surely one of the draft
horses could have appeared? Would have made for more of a proud entrance, wouldn’t
you agree?”

Clearly affronted at Lucas’s insult, Reginald’s ears lay flat against his head and
his wiry tail swished back and forth at a menacing pace.

“He’s a crafty ass, that Reginald of yours.”

Jane Merriweather opened her mouth to argue with Robby Brown’s absurd statement, but
found she could not.

The dear man, one of only a small handful of servants who remained at Juniper Hall,
was right. Jane stamped her feet on the straw-covered ground of Reginald’s cozy stall
in an effort to ward off the cold. She and Robby had been in the stables since it
was discovered that the donkey had gone missing. Jane’s feet, toes, hands, and fingers
were either numb or chilled to the bone. Her disposition was in a similar state.

Returning to Surrey had been a mistake, she reflected with a sigh. Jane hugged her
arms about herself and briskly rubbed her hands up and down in an attempt to generate
warmth. The worn wool of her father’s greatcoat was rough beneath her fingers, reminding
her why she’d done such a monumentally stupid thing as return to Juniper Hall while
still unmarried. The painful truth was, she could no longer afford to stay in London
and hunt for a rich husband.

She eyed the height of the stall door as the distinct taste of humiliation filled
her mouth. There really was no point in pretending she’d been doing anything else.
Her father’s total lack of financial wisdom was something of an entertainment to the
locals and to the ton, known of far and wide. And besides, Jane had never been one
for regret. If there was something she needed to accomplish, she would—and then be
done with it.

“He couldna have jumped over the gate, even if he’d wanted ta,” Robby said as he checked
the lock on the stall door for the tenth time. “You do remember the donkey was knee-high
to Minstrel, miss?”

Minstrel. A shard of sadness knifed through Jane, her heart aching at the swift pain.
Big, beautiful, fiery Minstrel, the Thoroughbred her father had promised would save
them all. She pushed on the stall door with both hands, shoving as hard as she could.
When the heavy gate refused to move, she rested her weight against the rough-hewn
wood and looked down the aisle. Only three of the roomy stalls in the big stable were
being used. Minstrel had been lost to colic, the rest of the Merriweather horses to
debt. Only Reginald and the cart horses, a draft pair named Fancy and Fickle, remained.

Minstrel’s death had made the family’s dire financial situation real to Jane in a
way that no other defeat or setback in the preceding years had. She could no longer
pine away for her neighbor, Lucas Cavanaugh. She had to crush the silly hope that
he would come to his senses, realize she was the perfect bride for him, and offer
marriage.

Determined to save her family from looming financial disaster, she’d left Surrey and
any fanciful dreams of her childhood friend behind in order to find a husband.

A rich husband. In possession of all his teeth, if possible.

“Then how, precisely, did he escape?” Jane asked of Robby, continuing to stare down
the silent aisle, her thoughts still semi-focused on the past.

She’d found the perfect husband, or so she’d naively believed. Baron Angus McKee was
titled, relatively good-looking, only five years her senior, and had a full set of
teeth.