'Tis the Season: Regency Yuletide Short Stories

by Christi Caldwell

  The familiar vein bulged at the corner of his right eye. His cheeks had flushed with angry color. Oh, yes, he wanted to bellow. He wanted to shout down the residence, filled with now slumbering guests.

  Heath shoved back his chair. “I’m not entirely certain my being here—”

  “Sit,” Caroline ordered, ending any such hope of flight.

  Her son settled back in his chair.

  “Now,” she went on in more modulated tones, smoothing her skirts, “this requires attention from each of us. Whether you approve or not, Samuel, your son has married by special license.”

  A garbled groan and growl stuck in her husband’s chest. Oh, yes, this was dire indeed.

  “And the world is already abuzz with that news.”

  “How can the world be abuzz?” Samuel waved the fast-wrinkling scrap about. “By the accounts of this, he’s been married just three days.”

  Caroline forced a serene smile. “Because he took out a proper announcement, as he should.”

  She braced for it. One, two—

  “He did what?” her husband bellowed, slamming the page down.

  Well, that was quicker than she’d expected. Yes, dire, indeed.

  Heath winced and made yet another attempt at escape. “Perhaps I should allow you both—”

  Husband and wife spoke in unison. “Sit.”

  Yanking at his cravat, Heath fell back in his seat and muttered something under his breath that sounded very much like a curse aimed at his younger brother.

  Caroline abandoned all attempts at her usual affable demeanor. “I beg your pardon?” She turned a frown on first her son and then her husband.

  “He’s gone and married a widow with a scandalous past,” her husband needlessly reminded. “A…” He dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. “A… a… a…”

  “Bigamist?” Heath supplied for him.

  Both parents shot glares in his direction.

  “Bloody hell. What? According to the digging your man-of-affairs did and turned up, that is precisely what she is. Or… rather, was…?” Heath puzzled his brow. “Which is the proper tense for a bigamist? I suspect the title is one that always follows a person… unless it is ‘former bigamist’?”

  Caroline swatted him with the other note—still undisclosed—in her hand. “Enough. You’re upsetting your father.”

  “I’m upsetting him?” Heath arched an affronted brow. “I’m not the one who’s come with the tidings of Sheldon’s marriage to a big—”

  “Enough,” Caroline and Samuel spoke as one, interrupting the remainder of the factual statement.

  “So this is the reason for a house party after I just rid my household of guests,” her husband said flatly.

  “Our household,” she reminded him with a frown. “And yes, I’d thought throwing another house party at Christmas to welcome Graham and his new wife would help ease her way into Polite Society.”

  “His name is Sheldon,” her son pointed out, deliberately needling.

  She scowled. “He prefers Graham,” she stated, before returning her attention to the matter at hand. “Furthermore, you enjoy entertaining. Far more than I do.” She quite detested it. She simply put on a good show for her husband’s sake.

  “Bloody hell, Caroline,” her husband blustered. “I—”

  “Mm-mm,” she cut him off with a shake of her head. “Try again, Samuel.”

  His color deepened. “My apologies… dear heart.” Their son squirmed at the familiar endearment that his father directed to his mother. “I should not have cursed.” He turned his ducal displeasure on their son. “Nor should you curse in the presence of your mother… or any lady.”

  “You’ve both gone bl—” Heath caught himself. “Mad,” he finished. “You’d focus on propriety and manners in even this?”

  They ignored him.

  “We”—her husband gestured between himself and her—“were in agreement on protecting Sheldon from a mistake that could not be undone. We agreed to send Barclay, my man-of-affairs, to give her a sizable sum to leave Sheldon alone. We—”

  “That is enough. I know the rest.” Caroline brought her shoulders back. “I was of the belief that we should find out what sent our son running away for the holidays and making certain that he was happy.” Nonetheless, guilt found its proper mark. It didn’t matter that her husband had orchestrated the plan to free their son from the “tangles of a scheming woman.” All that had mattered had been revealed the moment that same lady had thrown that offer in Barclay’s face. Her refusal to take the money had said as much about Martha Donaldson’s integrity as it had said about the Whitworth family. Caroline could have, at least should have, attempted to quash her husband’s interference in their son’s life… but she had not. With that failure, she’d only hurt her son. But she would put that error to rights.

  Heath shot a hand up, and Caroline and Samuel looked over. “If I may redirect us back? I believe we were seeking clarity on the matter? Mother, it was your attempts to wed him off to Lady Emilia Aberdeen that resulted in Sheldon’s flight and current circumstances and subsequently our current circumstances.”

  Guilt sent heat rushing to her cheeks. “I don’t believe that is what sent him off to… to… Miss Donaldson’s. Regardless, who or what was to blame”—herself included—“there is no lamenting on what has already come to pass. Instead, we need to look to the future. First…” And most important. Caroline stuck a finger up. “Graham is in love with his wife, which indicates he’s happy, which is of utmost importance.”

  Samuel harrumphed. “Graham has known the woman less than a month. Given her economic situation, I trust desperation more than any true sentiments drove that love match.”

  “Yes, everyone knows based on your marital union that matches decided upon a child’s birth are the only ones that breed any true success,” Heath drawled, looping his ankle across his opposite knee.

  Samuel pounded his desk. “Precisely!”

  Heath’s lips twitched, and he hid his grin behind his hand.

  Caroline narrowed her eyes. Their son was enjoying all of this entirely too much. That was fine. She’d deal with him next…

  Actually, she’d deal with all of them. For now, there was the more pressing matter to attend: Sheldon and his wife, Martha.

  “Regardless of how you may feel, Graham is married, until death do they part. And though I’ve not”—yet—“met his wife, I’ve seen our son and can tell you without question that he is in love with her. Their marriage will, of course, be met with gossip.”

  “Of course it will,” Samuel mumbled.

  “But we are family, and as such, we should”—Caroline gave them each a pointed look—“and will do everything within our power to ease their way before Polite Society.”

  Samuel sat upright in his chair. “What have you done?”

  She went on without missing a beat. “I’ve gone and invited Graham, Martha, and their children for the remainder of the house party.”

  Her husband’s eyes slid closed. “Bloody hell. You’ve… you’ve…”

  Heath cupped his hands around his mouth. “She’s invited Sheldon for the holidays,” he boomed.

  With a frown, she favored her son with another thump on his arm. “First, your brother has long preferred being called by his second name—Graham. Nearly thirty now, it’s only appropriate that we honor that wish. Now, secondly, hiding Graham and his wife away without acknowledging them would only create further scandal.”

  Which Caroline couldn’t give a jot less about. The gossips could all go talk and then hang. She did, however, care as to how her children’s happiness was directly impacted by that gossip.

  “And has he accepted?” Heath asked, displaying that deep knowing of his younger brother.

  Caroline caught the inside of her cheek between her teeth. “I’ve not received word back.” Why should Graham come? Why should he wish to subject his new family to the family who’d threatened their happiness?

  �
�He won’t come,” Samuel said, and Caroline searched for some hint of what he was thinking or feeling, and yet, he remained coolly implacable. As much as she loved him, that impassivity was the one trait of her husband’s that she abhorred.

  “I suspect he shall,” she said with a confidence she did not feel.

  “All of this conversation was a hypothetical?” Heath asked as if her assurance meant nothing.

  “He’s coming,” she said firmly. That confidence came from one who knew her son, and the other men in this room, better than she knew herself.

  But you do not know Graham’s wife…

  Releasing a sigh, Samuel abandoned the note and fell back, deflated, in his seat. “You’re right.”

  I usually am. Caroline repressed her own smile.

  “If they wish to come,” he went on, “I’ll allow her to visit, but I don’t have to like her.”

  At that boylike bluster, Caroline resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “No,” she corrected. “I’ve invited her, and as such, she was always coming. You don’t allow or disallow anything in this marriage, Samuel. Second, to treat her with anything less than kindness and warmth will only stir the gossip.”

  The crimson circles splotched his chiseled cheeks again. “You want me to pretend to like her?”

  “He’s a duke,” Heath piped in. “No one would think anything amiss if he was as cool and aloof with her as he is with everyone.” His grin deepened. “Present company included.”

  “Precisely,” Samuel said with a nod.

  Caroline remained silent, all the while acknowledging that her son wasn’t altogether far from the mark. The bluster, the anger, the ducal pomposity were nothing more than an act. A veneer of falsity that Caroline saw through and under… but her sons never could.

  Nor should they have had to. Their father had owed them an unrestrained love and sincerity in his regard for them and their lives.

  “Now, for the second reason behind this family meeting…”

  Heath sighed. “Is any other reason truly needed?”

  “There is the awkwardly uncomfortable matter of Lady Emilia Aberdeen.”

  Heath’s dark brows snapped together. Yes, he’d always been clever. Alas, not clever enough to have gathered long before this moment the precise reason he was here.

  “What about her?” Samuel asked impatiently.

  “Well, all the guests have already suspected and whispered about our trying to coordinate a match between Emilia and Graham.”

  “You,” Samuel clarified. “You were the one who is responsible for this… What are we calling it now?”

  “The Reason for the Family Meeting,” Heath put forward in careful tones devoid of all his earlier bravado and swagger.

  “Either way, we’ve inadvertently made Emilia the gossip of the house party.”

  “Which will all be forgotten when Sheldon and his bride arrive,” her son quickly added.

  Tsk-tsk. Oh, Heath… How terribly predictable—and self-serving—he was.

  “Nonetheless, it stands to reason that none should suspect that she was here intended to be matched with Graham. After all, she’s already suffered a scandal no lady ought.” Betrothed to the Duke of Renaud, a notorious rogue… The gentleman had broken it off and instead hopped a packet and sailed off, leaving Emilia as Society’s favorite on dit of gossip in his literal and figurative wake. “I’d simply ask that you give Emilia some attention.”

  “Attention,” her son echoed back.

  “Some indication that mayhap it was you we’d intended for her to make a match with, and then…”

  Heath choked, the strangled cough cutting off whatever reply he’d intended. Coming out of her seat, Caroline went over and thumped him between the shoulder blades.

  “You want me to court her?”

  “I want you to simply act as though she is… someone you want to be around. It’s the least you can do.”

  Her son drew back. “What in blazes did I do?” he cried.

  “Your best friend is, after all, the one who jilted her.”

  “I didn’t jilt the lady.” Heath spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t even know the lady.”

  “All this I-I-I, Heath. Really. Furthermore,” she continued, “it speaks a good deal to your snobbishness. We’ve been family friends with the Duke of Gayle since before your birth. The least you can do is be friendly to the girl.”

  “The girl is nearly thirty.”

  “All I’m asking is that you be friendly with her. If she’s alone… see that she has company. Take the gossip off of Graham’s desertion and make Society question whether you, in fact, are the one with intentions towards her.”

  “Mad, Father. Tell her she’s gone utterly insane.”

  It spoke volumes about her husband’s frustration that he didn’t correct that affront.

  “You both have your instructions,” Caroline said, giving her skirts a snap. “Kindness… towards your son and his new family,” she directed at her husband. “And you towards Lady Emilia,” she said to Heath.

  “Where are you going?” Samuel called after her as she swept away.

  “To see that rooms are prepared for our son’s arrival.”

  As she exited, she drew the door closed behind her—and smiled.

  Caroline was hosting a house party for the holidays, and she’d be damned if her family didn’t have peace, love, and holiday cheer this season.

  Chapter 1

  London, England

  Winter, 1821

  After a miserable marriage to a man whose deception had left her children illegitimate, Martha Whitworth had despaired of knowing any true happiness for her and her three children.

  Life, however, had proven there was happiness to be had for widowed women with fractured families.

  Nay, life had not taught her as much… rather, her husband, Lord Graham Whitworth, had shown her that love was real and that she was deserving of it.

  Her family, once divided, had been brought together by him. He’d married her. He’d given her and her children, at last, a name—an honorable one.

  And much like the romantic tales she’d read as a girl, Martha might have said that hers was the happily-ever-after that young women dreamed of and most never attained.

  For, everything was perfect.

  Almost.

  Hovering outside her husband’s office, Martha lingered in the hall… uncertain in ways she’d not been with Graham since their first meeting. But that had been before, back when he was a stranger. Back when she was still jaded and hadn’t trusted his motives for coming to her village.

  And yet… in the middle of the boisterous din of the laughter and discourse between her children at the dining table, a note had arrived. Graham had read it. Pocketed it. And though he’d smiled and laughed in all the right places, attending whichever questions her daughters, Iris and Creda, had put to him, or taken part in whatever stable talk her son had for him, he’d been… different.

  There had been a remoteness to his enthralling smile.

  She brushed her fingertips over the brass door handle and then drew her hand back. Martha lifted her knuckles to knock.

  “What are you doing?” she mouthed into the quiet. The long-familiar habit of speaking to herself had started after her late husband’s death and her daughters’ departure, still too recent to be vanquished. “This is Graham.” Before she faltered once more, Martha gripped the handle and let herself in.

  “I was wondering if you were going to enter,” her husband said with his devilishly wicked half grin. Tossing his pen down, Graham unfurled all six feet, three inches of his towering, wiry frame.

  Closing the door, Martha pressed her back against the oak panel. “Mr. Whitworth,” she greeted, testing the name that was now her own and, after just two days of marriage, so very foreign still.

  His grin deepened, meeting his eyes and making her heart flutter. “Mrs. Whitworth,” he murmured, taking long, languid steps forward.

  Let that be
enough… Do not borrow trouble and concern where there is none.

  And yet… she knew this man. As such, when Graham stopped several steps away, the earlier distance between them now erased, Martha identified the absence of the slightest dimple in his right cheek.

  Fighting back the unease needling around her lower belly, she forced a smile of her own.

  They spoke at the same time.

  “Is everything—?”

  “Are the children—?”

  Martha and Graham both ceased talking. Bowing his head, Graham motioned for her to continue.

  “The children are… fine.” Though the girls they’d retrieved from Mrs. Munroe’s Finishing School had become miniature versions of adults in the nearly two years Martha had been away from them. Strangers she barely recognized.

  Of a sudden, she wanted to cry.

  “What is it?” he murmured, cupping her cheek, and she leaned into that touch, strong, and yet, tender at the same time. “Are they… not happy?” he asked, and there was a hesitancy there from this man who’d only ever been more confident than God himself.

  “No, they are happy. Very much so,” she rushed to assure. As confident and fearless as Graham had proven to be, Martha appreciated how foreign it was for him to go from being a bachelor to being a stepfather with three children—two of whom had been strangers until just yesterday. “They are… excited to be here.”

  Some of the tension eased from his frame, and capturing her hand, Graham lifted it to his fingers. “I am glad,” he said, pressing his lips to her knuckles.

  A delicious shiver radiated from the lingering caress. Some of her fears melted away as he continued those sensual ministrations, caressing his lips along the inside of her wrist. “So there is… another reason you’ve come,” he whispered between kisses, his breath tickling and tempting at the same time.

  A breathless laugh escaped her. “You are distracting m-me, Graham.”

  “Distractions are good,” he murmured, and his lips teased at the corner of her mouth.

  Martha’s head tipped back, rattling the door panel. “Th-they are,” she agreed as his lips covered hers. The heat of the kiss brought her eyes closed, and she climbed her hands about his neck, turning herself over to his embrace. Meeting each slant of his mouth. Allowing herself to feel. Letting herself forget that there’d been a reason he’d shut himself away from his offices, while she’d gone on to bed.