Charmed at Christmas (Christmas at Castle Keyvnor Book 1)

by Claire Delacroix

  “Anthea!”

  “It is fearsome quiet at Airdfinnan, Alexander, especially at Christmas. It would be much merrier with little ones underfoot.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t miss you so much if there were half a dozen children here.”

  “Then you should accept a suitor and have children of your own,” Alexander suggested gently.

  His sister blushed and dropped her gaze, her expression like a dagger to his heart. “Not I,” she said softly, then forced a smile. “And it is you who must have a son to ensure the succession, after all. Is there a woman behind this speedy departure, or a damsel in distress?”

  As much as he liked the bright gleam of curiosity in her eyes, Alexander could not lie to Anthea. “There is no damsel, in distress or otherwise.”

  Anthea made a face, then stole his glass, taking a tiny sip of the port. “I do not believe your health is compromised. I suspect you simply want away from here.”

  Alexander laughed. “Away from Airdfinnan is the last thing I desire.” He could not keep himself from casting a longing glance over the library and its comforts.

  “Then you should wed. You’d have every excuse to remain home then and it could only improve your health.”

  “Perhaps I will wed after you do,” he teased.

  “Perhaps I should wed after you,” Anthea countered. “In fact, I will make you a wager, Alexander.”

  “Ladies do not wager, Anthea. Surely Mama taught you that.”

  “Surely she did, but I would like to, all the same.” Anthea had her stubborn look, which was all too rare these days. It seemed she seldom cared sufficiently about any matter to be stubborn, and just the sight was enough to make Alexander take her wager, whatever it might be. “You always wish for me to return to London and society, at least for a season. I will go with you and your bride, once you choose to wed.”

  “Anthea!”

  Anthea sat back, looking pleased with herself. “So, the sooner you wed, brother, the sooner I will follow go to London and find a husband.”

  “You mean to make a wager you will not be required to fulfill,” he jested. “For each of us are as set against marriage as the other.”

  To his surprise, Anthea shook her head. “No, that is not true, Alexander. I would love to marry and to have children.” Her tone was so wistful that he was prepared to find her a spouse this very night. “But it must be the right man, for I would have the same kind of love as Mama and Papa shared.”

  “Theirs was a rare bond.”

  “So, I must dream of what is mundane, instead of what is rare and precious?” she replied, her tone light. “Alexander, are you the brother I believe I know so well?”

  He laughed. “A man has more time to linger over such a choice than a woman.”

  “Indeed, and I am already twenty-five, Alexander. You had best hurry to find your lady wife.”

  “It is not so simple as that...”

  “No, it is not,” Anthea agreed, interrupting him. She leaned forward, her skirts rustling as she removed something from her pocket. “Mama warned me of that. She told me to find a partner who was honest, and one with no secrets, one whose nature I could admire and whose appearance gave me pleasure. She told me the rest would follow.”

  “Did she?”

  “And for you, I would add that your bride should be young, so she will have had less time to have cultivated secrets. You will be the one to teach her of many worldly matters, and she will adore you for it.”

  Alexander was amused. “Is that how a good marriage is contrived?”

  “It will be so for you, I am certain of it. Here, I have a token for you.”

  Alexander extended his hand. Anthea dropped something small and round into it. It was black and about the size of a pea. He held the small dark sphere to the light, suspecting that he knew what it was. “A seed?”

  Anthea laughed. “Not a seed, Alexander, the seed. The seed from the vine of Airdfinnan, from the last time it grew and flowered.”

  “That is a fairy tale!” Alexander had heard the fanciful stories about the thorned vine that covered the walls of his castle and home, that it was from a seed brought back from the crusades by a knight, that after its arrival at Airdfinnan it grew only when the laird of Airdfinnan met his bride-to-be. He certainly did not believe that its perfume abetted the laird’s courtship and conquest.

  But Anthea clearly did. “It is not! Mama told me that it grew when Papa courted her, and that she had never seen the like of it. She told me that its perfume was like an enchantment. Papa’s mother advised her upon your birth to save the seeds for your courtship.”

  “Mama gave me several herself, before she died. They never grew, Anthea, which is proof that the tale is nonsense.”

  “It is proof only that you had not met the lady who could claim your heart. Certainly, Miranda Delaney, no matter how fine her lineage and how lovely her countenance, would never have held your affections for long. What a viper!” Anthea’s disdain was clear, though the very mention of Miranda’s name reminded Alexander what a fool he had been. “Her memory should not be of sufficient merit to keep you from happiness. That is why the seed did not grow.”

  Alexander tossed the seed into the air and caught it. “And what would you have me do? Plant a seed each time I meet a pretty woman?”

  “I would have you seek a suitable woman, one who is honest and true, and pretty enough to tempt you, just as Mama advised.”

  “And young.”

  “And young,” Anthea agreed. “And if she is amenable to your attentions, I would have you plant the seed, so that the vine might aid your suit.”

  Alexander drained his glass and set it aside, rising to his feet with purpose. “I suppose this errand cannot wait?”

  Anthea laughed. “I should not delay in your place, Alexander, not if I wished my only sister off the shelf next season.”

  “You are relying upon my taking this wager.”

  Anthea took a deep breath. “I am seeking inspiration, Alexander. I know I should wed. I know I should leave Airdfinnan.” He watched her pleat her dress with nervous fingers. She swallowed and he ached at the sight of her unhappiness. “I know I should return to London and put all the rumors to rest.” Her gaze met his. “But I am afraid, Alexander.”

  He dropped to his knee before her. “You know I would go with you, and defend you...”

  She silenced him with a touch. “I know, but it would be so much easier to go with you and your wife, if she is your beloved. Your happiness would give me strength, and she would be able to accompany me where you cannot go.”

  She was so lovely in her appeal that Alexander felt her will becoming his own. He had always been damnably susceptible to feminine beauty, and the malady had become more acute while he hunted the thief. The fire caught the red-gold of Anthea’s curls as if to toy with it, and her blue eyes were wide. She looked fragile and vulnerable and he wanted nothing more than to see her hand placed in that of a deserving and honorable man. Even her conviction in the truth of the tale of the vine was compelling to him on this night.

  He bent and touched his lips to her fingers. “I will try, Anthea.”

  She smiled. “That is all a person of sense can expect, Alexander.”

  Alexander had no sooner put the seed into the pocket of his waistcoat than his valet tapped once upon the door, then entered the library.

  Rupert Haskell was of an age with Alexander, the youngest son of a baron who had lost his father’s favor. He had chosen to earn his way and Alexander had been glad to give the other man a position. Haskell had a keen affection for travel and a similar loyalty to the crown. He had dark hair and a ready smile, but his wits were quick and his blade was quicker. He was a good man to have at one’s back, particularly in Alexander’s chosen profession. He was completely in Alexander’s confidence and when alone, they spoke as friends, not as master and servant, for they had been such at school.

  Haskell spared a quick glance at Anthea, as if surprised to find her
there, and color rose on the back of his neck.

  “I will leave you to your arrangements, Alexander,” Anthea said, rising to her feet. “Godspeed to you, for I’m certain you’ll be gone before I rise in the morning.” She kissed Alexander’s cheeks then left, barely sparing Rupert a glance.

  Rupert looked after her with an unmistakable yearning in his gaze, at least until Alexander cleared his throat. The other man then closed the door. “Where?” he asked, mouthing the word more than saying it aloud.

  “Cornwall,” Alexander said, replying in kind.

  Rupert crossed the room and noted the letter on Alexander’s desk. He smiled. “Your aunt?”

  “Just as planned.”

  “The full rig?” Rupert asked, referring to Alexander’s disguise.

  Alexander sighed and nodded, then sat at his desk to respond to his aunt.

  “Thank goodness those salmon and lemon striped trousers were delivered before we left London,” Rupert said more loudly. “You’ll be quite the sight, Your Grace.”

  Alexander gave Rupert a poisonous glance, knowing that his valet enjoyed his flamboyant clothing a little too much. “There will be stealthy work to be done, as well,” he said in an undertone. “Bring the black, and my favorite boots, too.”

  “You could just stay home, or leave it to another.”

  Alexander impaled him with a look for the very suggestion. “My chase. My kill.”

  “I know.” Rupert smiled then bowed. He raised his voice. “I shall see the portmanteau packed immediately, Your Grace, and be prepared to leave at dawn.”

  “Excellent, Haskell.”

  The other man left the library, admitting a cool draft that made Alexander think of cold carriages, draughty taverns and stone castles in Cornwall cold enough to freeze a man’s marrow. If he had a wife, he’d have warmth in his bed, to be sure.

  But if he had a wife, he’d have a wealth of other problems.

  Like having a wife. It was one thing to be less than completely honest with Anthea, but he doubted he could hide the truth of his profession from a wife.

  And that meant he would have to completely trust the woman he married. Given his experience with feminine deception, Alexander thought that unlikely to occur soon.

  Still, Anthea’s proposed wager was her first sign of interest in marriage in years. He removed the seed and rolled it between his finger and thumb, considering.

  It could not hurt to try again. He didn’t imagine for a moment that the old stories were true, but Anthea would expect him to make a report upon his return. Perhaps if he tried, even if the seed failed, that would be sufficient to coax her back to London for the season.

  It was more than worth a try.

  That prospect put a smile on his lips. He lifted his quill and dipped it into the ink, thinking of how best to use their established code.

  My dear Aunt Penelope—

  What a delight to arrive home and find your letter already awaiting me here. It appears the post does not dally as I do! And such news! You make me yearn again for London. I regret that I will not be back in Town soon, for my doctor, the excellent Dr. MacEwan, has insisted that I take the sea air in Cornwall this month. He recommends ten thousand deep breaths a day—ten thousand!—and I heartily doubt that will leave me sufficient time to pen you a single line...

  Chapter 1

  “I wish we could go faster,” Daphne complained, looking out the carriage window yet again. “Why are the horses so slow? We should have reached the next tavern by now!”

  Her younger sister, Eurydice, who was so oblivious to the marvels of the fashionable world that Daphne sometimes doubted they were truly siblings, looked up from her book. “Getting to Castle Keyvnor sooner won’t get us to London sooner. May is months away.”

  “But we’ll be in London for the new year,” Daphne replied, impatient to begin the adventure of her coming-out season. Her sister didn’t know that Daphne had made a wish on Stir-Up Sunday, a wish that by Christmas a year from now, she would be married to a rich duke. The further they rode from North Barrows, the greater the likelihood of there being a duke in the vicinity.

  London would be thick with them.

  “I can happily delay the expense of our upcoming venture,” her grandmother said with some acidity. Octavia Goodenham, the dowager Viscountess of North Barrows, raised a hand when Daphne’s alarm must have shown. “You’ll have your season, my dear, then Eurydice will have hers as well. A promise made is a promise kept.”

  Nelson, their grandmother’s maid, nodded and smiled primly at the supreme good sense of her employer. Jenny, the maid for the girls, watched and listened as always she did. The five women were packed into the carriage, for the weather was a foul mix of rain and wet snow, and Grandmaman refused to let Nelson or Jenny ride outside. Daphne sat beside her grandmother on the bench that faced forward, while Eurydice was opposite her. Nelson had the window opposite Daphne’s grandmother, and Jenny was wedged between Eurydice and Nelson. The young maid was sniffling and shivered at intervals, which was why she’d been given the warmer place in the middle.

  “I would rather go to the Continent and save you the expense of a season, Grandmaman,” Eurydice said. “For there are fine museums there, and I would prefer to visit them than find a husband.”

  “A husband will do you more good in the end than a glimpse of a statue,” their grandmother retorted. “If he is chosen well.”

  “I will have a duke, Grandmaman,” Daphne said. To wed well, preferably to a wealthy duke, had been her ambition since the death of their parents. She ignored how Eurydice snorted. Her sister thought it was a vain and silly goal, but Daphne had sound reasons for her scheme. Eurydice didn’t remember very much of events after they had news of their parents’ death, but Daphne still had nightmares about those days of uncertainty. “You need not fear for my future.”

  Nor would she have to worry about Eurydice’s future. Daphne would take care of her sister forever.

  “You might be right,” the dowager replied. “You are pretty enough to tempt a man’s eye, that is for certain.”

  “If Daphne becomes that rich, then I won’t have to marry at all,” Eurydice said, as if she had guessed Daphne’s secret scheme. “I could become a governess, like Sophia.” She referred to Sophia Brisbane who had left their service after winning the affections of Lucien de Roye at Castle Keyvnor just months before.

  Their grandmother straightened and fixed Eurydice with a glare. “You. Will. Do. No. Such. Thing.”

  “But, surely it matters what I desire...”

  Daphne looked out the window to hide her smile, for she knew that Eurydice could not win this argument, at least not while Grandmaman drew breath. After that, if Daphne succeeded, her very clever sister would be able to make her own choices, however unconventional they might be.

  She had to wed a duke.

  A rich duke.

  Surely her wish on the Christmas pudding could only help?

  “Surely not!” Grandmaman said to Eurydice. “You will desire what you are told to desire, which can only be an affluent husband. After that, you may appeal to him to decide what you are permitted to desire. The matter will be out of my hands.”

  Eurydice looked as if she might argue that, but Daphne kicked her, hiding the move beneath her skirts. She couldn’t bear if they argued all the way to Cornwall. Eurydice’s lips tightened but she fell silent.

  Grandmaman shook her head. “Though all this racing about may end my days.” She appealed to Nelson. “We only just returned to North Barrows and caught our breath, and now it’s back to Castle Keyvnor again.”

  “Indeed, my lady,” agreed the maid.

  Jenny nodded, though she had not been with them on the last journey.

  “And not to celebrate Christmas at home.” Grandmaman sighed. “It does test one’s patience.”

  “But it might be quite lovely and festive, my lady,” Nelson dared to suggest.

  “A Christmas wedding is so romantic, n
ever mind a double wedding,” Daphne agreed. “What do you think the brides will wear?”

  “Does it matter?” Eurydice asked.

  “Of course, it matters! When I marry my duke, I will wear a dress the color of champagne,” Daphne said. She closed her eyes, perfectly able to see herself in the dress in question. It greatly resembled one she had seen amongst the fashion plates at her grandmother’s dressmaker, a confection of silk and lace that had haunted her imagination ever since.

  “You’ll be all yellow then with your blonde hair,” Eurydice said. “I will wear red when I marry.”

  “You will not!” Grandmaman declared. “If it’s not the rushing about that finishes me, it will be the pair of you!”

  “You will survive us all, Grandmaman,” Daphne said soothingly.

  Her grandmother harrumphed and rapped her umbrella on the floor of the carriage. “I will see you both married at the very least, though it may be the last deed I do.”

  “Let us not hope for that, my lady,” Nelson said with vigor. “I’m certain you would like to see each of the girls deliver their first son.”

  “You are right, of course, Nelson.” Grandmaman nodded with resolve. “Clearly, I shall have to live a good deal longer.” Her eyes flashed. “But I will faint with hunger if we don’t reach the next tavern soon.” She tapped her umbrella on the roof and roared with a vigor that indicated her demise could not be imminent. “Thompson! Why do we proceed so slowly?”

  Daphne wondered whether the driver would pretend that he hadn’t heard her grandmother. He would have to have been deaf to have missed that shout. She wiped the condensation from the inside of the window and peered out into the rain. The carriage leaned as they took a corner, and she caught a glimpse of the road ahead.

  She gasped, then polished the window a little more to get a better look. “There’s a coach and four ahead of us, with an insignia on the door.” All of the occupants of the carriage straightened a little at the prospect of a diversion. Even Eurydice looked up from her book. Unfortunately, the road had straightened and they had completed the turn, so one glimpse was all Daphne would have.