'Tis the Season: Regency Yuletide Short Stories

by Christi Caldwell

  Now, all was well and the sun was setting.

  Christmas Eve had arrived, as had almost all their guests. The preparations were well underway for the evening’s festivities and tomorrow’s elaborate dinner. Cook had seemed in very good spirits, too. After years of cooking for only the family, or just the servants on staff, she was reveling in the large party and decadent meals she was preparing.

  While all this to-do did cause Harry great happiness, in the end, it was Rob’s reaction to her news and his general good cheer at his country seat that caused her to fly down the corridor. If ever she had cause to worry about this visit, that seemed to be gone now.

  It seemed almost foolish now to have doubted.

  She had always loved Christmas. It was a time of year that had filled her with so much joy throughout her life. But it was also the first Christmas she had not spent with her own family and, suddenly, she hesitated in her near skipping down the hall. She paused before a tall window which looked out to the frozen lake.

  She contemplated the still view before her, wondering what was transpiring at the Harley estate across the hills. Likely, they were all scurrying about preparing for minced pies and game fowl for their dinner. Certainly, there would be all sorts of games to amuse the children.

  Her mother and father had made every Christmas one of happiness for their children and their tenants.

  It had been quite a blow when her father had died. For he had always been the kindest of men. Every year, he and her mother had gone to the tenants, giving out presents which were dearly necessary. The baskets had been laden with provisions and oranges. She had taken up that very tradition herself at Blackdown, having gone out with Rob after breakfast. He had tried to protest, insisting she rest. She had scoffed and proclaimed a bit of bracing air would be just the thing. It had. For her spirits had felt light in continuing a tradition her parents had instilled in her.

  Now, she could still recall the feel of her family, all standing about the harpsichord, singing in Latin, as the candles flickered and Christmas Day drew close.

  Her dear brother was the duke now and married to her closest friend. And it felt so very strange to be so near to them, for the estate she had grown up on abutted her husband’s, and yet, not be with them.

  It was. . . the only ill thing in such a wonderful Christmastide.

  She lifted her hand and touched the cold glass. It was the oddest sensation coming over her. Part of her felt such joy at her new situation, and another felt the slight melancholy of memory.

  A wry smile tilted her lips.

  How lucky she was to have so much family and so many who loved her and that she could love. Yes, that was how she would manage those strange, slightly unwanted feelings at the loss of the past. She would count her blessing, and ensure the Yuletide spirit of those around her.

  “Harry?” Mary called from down the long corridor. “Are you well?”

  Harry turned to her sister-in-law and nodded. “I could not be better.”

  Mary tilted her head to the side, firelight from one of the wall sconces catching her dark hair. “You looked. . . sad.”

  Harry nodded, not bothering to deny it. “I was thinking of my father.”

  “He was a good man,” Mary said kindly before she added, “unlike mine.”

  “My father was exceptional, it is true,” Harry agreed and she extended her hand to her sister-in-law. “I wish yours could have been, too.”

  Mary sighed as she strode forward, the red silk skirts shot with gold braid swishing about her legs. “Indeed, I should wish it but cannot. For if he had been different, I would not be me. Who knows if Rob would have married you and then we should not be sisters.”

  “How true,” Harriet declared. “You bear your pain very well.”

  Mary merely smiled before she linked arms with Harriet. “When will the last guests be arriving?”

  “Any moment, I should think,” Harry replied as they began to head down the hall that led to the central stairs. “Can you imagine?”

  “What?” Mary asked.

  Harriet guffawed. “A house full of dukes at Christmas.”

  “It is rather surprising.” Mary squeezed Harry’s arm and said with exaggerated seriousness, “Thank goodness they’re all handsome, witty fellows. Not a crusty sot among them!”

  “Mary, for all your seeming quietness in the past, you really have the most marvelously wicked tongue.”

  “Why, thank you. I always wanted to unleash it upon the world.”

  “And now you can,” observed Harry as they turned and stepped out to the landing, the red and gold carpet stretching before them.

  Mary nodded. The unspoken words that it was the death of her father, a destructive and cruel man, which had prevented such a thing played in her mind.

  “Let us go down then and await them.” Mary waggled her brows. “For, in but a few hours’ time, the revelry shall begin!”

  Chapter 9

  While the house was not bursting at the seams, as some might say, Rob adored the sense of goodwill radiating from every hall, every corridor, every nook, and every cranny. It was so very far from the darkness of his life but a year ago that he could not cease smiling.

  Everyone was smiling. Even Heath and Drake were making pleasantries. The two were more alike than they’d ever likely admit but they both had a gift for cynicism, quips, and well. . . though they’d bash Rob’s brain in for saying such a thing aloud. . . they both had wounded souls.

  Their efforts to be, if not joyous, but good company was duly noted.

  It was hard to believe that Blackdown had been so. . . well, black such a short time ago.

  A year ago, one could not have paid him any sum which would have induced or compelled his presence here. After the death of his father, he had stopped coming and thought he might never come home again.

  Now? Now, he could imagine spending every Christmas here with his family.

  His family. What a remarkable thing. Soon, that would be more than his wife, his sister, and his mother. Soon, his family would include a child.

  His insides humming with amazement, Rob climbed the side stairs to a small but beautifully decorated study. Notes had been sent out about the house.

  Perhaps there would be no visit to Number 79 but the friends who had come together over impending dukedoms would still gather here in this house. They were almost all present, after all.

  As he entered through the soaring, arched doorway, and stepped into the golden-red glow of lamps and firelight, he could not help but inhale and bathe in a feeling of contentment.

  The deep, leather chairs studded with brass tacks were arranged before the cheerful fire. It was a room that was the height of comfort. It was quite simple without any fuss to it.

  Dark wood, green curtains, and paintings of the horses that had graced Blackdown’s stables made the room a refuge. As did the books. Hundreds of books lined the walls, their gold-titled spines facing the room.

  As he stepped inside, contemplating how the world could change so drastically in but a brief amount of time, the sound of male voices, laughing, filled the air.

  Royland, Raventon, and Drake charged in just behind him.

  Royland strode forward and clapped Rob on the back. “Brandy, old man. It’s deuced cold out this night.”

  Feeling all was ridiculously right with the world, Rob did as he was bid. He crossed to the grog tray by the fire, laden with crystal decanters of various spirits and glasses of myriad shapes.

  “Encounter any highwaymen, Royland?” Drake drawled, eyeing his fingernails before he gave Rob a mocking wink.

  Rob arched a brow.

  “Not a one,” intoned Royland.

  “Except the one who stands before me,” pointed out Raventon.

  “Those days are done,” Rob protested.

  “I did hear you kept your hat,” Drake said as he crossed towards the grog tray and collected a glass.

  Rob cleared his throat. The truth was, Harry liked
his hat, and well. . . he rather liked sweeping her away.

  “You’re blushing,” crowed Royland.

  “Don’t be absurd,” returned Rob.

  “No doubt, it is the fire,” Drake drawled.

  “Exactly,” Rob cut in. “The fire.”

  Despite their usual stoicism, his friends grinned, all knowing when to stop. Their jests were always in good humor and never meant to cause pain.

  Brandy was quickly passed about, the crystal snifters winking like diamonds in the firelight. Night had now truly fallen. The dark night sky would have left the park as dark as black velvet save for the countless shining stars and bright moon.

  But as the night progressed, the room had closed in to a warm, familiar glow.

  “Where the devil is Harley?” Royland asked.

  Rob frowned momentarily. “I thought he would—”

  And as if summoned by the words, the Duke of Harley strode through the door. His eyes were bright, his hair was wild, and his face was merry. It was the face of a man deeply happy with his wife. Rob knew it well.

  A chorus of “Harley!” went around and before they could think twice, there was a good deal of back clapping again and toasting. It had been too many weeks for Rob’s liking since they’d all been together.

  “Is that Scot, Ardore, ever coming back?” Harley challenged before he took a long drink of the rich French spirit.

  Drake shrugged. “Perhaps he has given up the aristocracy in favor of a republic.”

  Harley shuddered. “Americans.”

  Royland laughed. “They’re not so very terrible.”

  “And one must admit, they have a certain daring,” Rob agreed.

  “A sense of panache,” put in Raventon.

  Royland lifted his glass as if in salute of the rebels. “And they know how to write a damned good declaration.”

  A moment of silence fell as they realized that if any of them had been born just a decade or so earlier, that they would never be jesting like this about the former colony and Ardore wouldn’t be there to visit at all. It didn’t matter that their political party had supported the separation of the colony. As soldiers, they would have had to go.

  Raventon broke the reverie. “In all events, you’ll never catch me across the pond. Panache or no. Too many Puritans.”

  Royland rolled his eyes. “We all know you’re afraid of sailing.”

  “Oh, indeed. I’d clutch the main mast the whole of the way,” jested Raventon who was, in fact, an excellent sailor. One might have thought he’d been a naval officer rather than a rifleman but he’d fought on land, not on sea.

  “In all events, you and Harley looked damned pleased with yourselves,” Heath observed from the doorway, leaning against the frame.

  “Get in here, Heath!” Harley called, bidding him with a wave of his hand.

  Heath and Harley clasped hands in a firm shake and Rob handed the London man a glass.

  “Heath’s right. You both do look rather pleased,” Drake observed through exaggeratedly narrowed eyes.

  “It is Christmas,” Harley said over the rim of his glass.

  “It’s not that,” put in Royland. His eyes narrowed as he, no doubt, tried to assess what they were missing.

  Heath cocked his head to the side. “You both look like cats that have gotten the cream.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Drake began, his stoic face parting with a genuine smile. “We have a pair of fathers in our midst.”

  “I swear you pay my servants,” Harley breathed. “You know far too much.”

  “No need. Your face has always been an open book, Harley,” Drake informed.

  “Is it true?” Royland asked, stunned.

  Rob stared at Harley, amazed. Could he? Could they? Was it possible? Would they both be expecting at the same time? It would certainly make the whole of it easier with a friend to share his worries and anticipations with.

  “It is,” declared Harley. “Or at least, Eglantine is enceinte.”

  “As is Harry,” said Rob, fairly reeling. “Though I never should have confessed it without your guess.”

  “Why not?” asked Royland. “For we are all friends. And we wish to share your joy.”

  And as if on cue, Rob and Harley were surrounded by their friends, glasses raised.

  “To Harriet and Eglantine,” said Drake quite seriously. “Bringers of happiness. And to you two devils, who’ve found joy.”

  “To joy!” Rob’s friends toasted.

  He turned to Harley and they gave a quick clap to each other’s backs before they shrugged and then abruptly hugged each other, laughing. Then they were all loudly clapping each other’s backs and declaring how happy they all were.

  It seemed a perpetual grin had affixed itself to Rob’s visage.

  “Two down,” Harley said, waggling his brows and surveying the bachelors in the room. “Which one of you is next?”

  Rob nearly choked on his laughter at the look of horror on the other men’s faces.

  It was going to be a Merry Christmas, indeed.

  Chapter 10

  The festivities of the Christmas Eve party were everything that Harriet could have hoped for and more. To her absolute delight, her sisters, mother, and dearest friend, Eglantine, had come through the door in a burst of bright skirts, bouncing curls, and infectious smiles.

  The cries of “Happy Christmas” that had surrounded her had nearly done her in. Could there be too much happiness? She knew not, but tears of joy had stung her eyes as she had been enveloped in their embraces.

  “Why, you are here!” she declared as her young sisters bounced around her, their eyes dancing.

  “We could not stay away,” Marianne said brightly, her blonde curls bobbing.

  “You should see the state of the roads,” Calliope added oh so seriously.

  Her youngest sister, Edith, looked at her, wide-eyed. “You are glowing like the stars outside tonight.”

  Harriet knelt down and pulled her smallest sister close. Edith fit snuggly against her. Had she thought she couldn’t feel anymore pleasure at the Yuletide season? If she had, with her sister tucked against her, she realized she would have been most mistaken.

  Harry gazed into Edith’s eyes and said lovingly, “Because I am so very, very happy and happier still that you are here.”

  “Rob insisted we come,” her mother declared, clearly proud of her son-in-law. “And you will come to us in the morning before your Christmas dinner.”

  More tears stung Harriet’s eyes. Goodness, she was tearful quite often now. She imagined it was the emotions that came with the gift growing inside her. As she lifted her arm and circled it about her mother’s waist, she rested her head for a moment against her hip and savored the contentment flowing through her at being with her entire family.

  How had she been so full of good fortune in her choice of husband?

  How had Rob known that she would so miss her family? But, of course, he knew. He knew her. Knew her so very well.

  At that moment, as if her thoughts had summoned him to their company, her husband and his group of friends came into the room, their spirits high.

  She caught his eye and knew her eyes shone with her gratitude at his thoughtfulness.

  He smiled at her, a knowing smile. They needed to exchange no words for Rob to understand that this was truly his gift to her. No bauble could ever surpass it.

  She caught Heath and Mary exchange a quick glance before they both looked away and busied themselves with other activities.

  Harriet knew then that there was a deep connection between the two. And whilst all the world might not understand a man like Richard Heath with a woman like her sister-in-law, Harry did. Richard Heath was a hero of a man, even if he preferred the rest of society not to know it.

  As the gentlemen neared, wine was served and they all made merry about the room. They were playing cards, singing carols, and dancing when it pleased them for, as always, Drake chose his place at the pianoforte.


  It was not until the clock began to near the stroke of midnight that they all gathered around the pianoforte and began to sing together the ancient carol Good King Wenceslas.

  The rich tones of baritone and tenor blended with the ladies’ and children’s voices. And like bells, they rang through the room.

  Harry’s breath caught in her throat as she looked towards the windows.

  Some force she did not quite understand pulled her towards it. And as the tones of the carol reverberated behind her, she gazed up and caught sight of a single star, larger than the rest, a diamond in the darkness.

  Her heart swelled and, with all her might, she wished a Christmas wish. “Dear star,” she breathed, “bring love and joy to our friends. Every single one but, especially, shine your blessings on our good friend Drake. . . and Mary and Heath. Let them know joy.”

  “Whatever are you doing, my love?”

  She smiled softly as Rob’s arms encircled her waist. His hands came to rest on her belly, resting gently. “Oh,” she replied, her lips quirking in a smile. “Scheming, my darling. Scheming.”

  A low laugh rumbled from him.

  At her words, the golden clock above the mantel began to chime midnight and as if in answer to her wish, the star so high above winked.

  She gasped as she witnessed the sight, hardly daring to believe her eyes. Then she turned and slid her hands about Rob’s shoulders.

  “Happy Christmas, Rob.”

  “The happiest,” he whispered.

  And then he lowered his lips to hers in the sweetest, most passionate kiss they’d yet to share.

  As she leaned back, she added, “With many more to come, Rob. With many more to come.”

  The End

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