Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  How typically male to make up one’s mind to something and refuse to ever change it. So stubborn and pointless! And hypocritical, too, it seemed. “You’re not in chains all the time—only when you are protecting the pendant.”

  He shrugged. “I soon realized that if I did nothing, nothing would ever happen.”

  Isolde put her hands on her hips. “I am willing to bet that your wife would rather you just forgot the whole thing.”

  His expression turned mulish—no surprise. “When a man takes an oath, he must fulfill it. I hoped James, or even better, Gawain would notice that the pendant is only half of a piece of jewelry. Countless times, I spoke of sundered hearts in my poetry, but did either of them realize what it meant? No! Instead, James published my poems and didn’t even name me as the author.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. “No one would have believed the poems were written by a ghost. If James had published them openly, they would have assumed he’d written them. He is an honorable man who would not wish to take credit for work not his.” Actually, James wouldn’t be caught dead writing poetry. “Anyway, Gawain worked out what you were saying.”

  “Yes, after I fed it to him like a baby,” the Cavalier grumbled.

  “I don’t see why you didn’t come right out and say what needed to be done,” she said. “To my mother, to James, to me, or to whomever.”

  “Because everything had gone awry. What was the point of joining two trumpery pieces of gold if the two hearts they represented were not united as well?”

  “They don’t represent me and Gawain. They represent your daughter and her lover of long ago.”

  He gestured with one bloody hand. “Both,” he said. “Both theirs and now yours, which is my way of making amends.”

  She wondered if the blood on his hands today—usually, the blood was on his torso—represented the blood of his daughter. When he wasn’t lauding carnal knowledge in his poems, he maundered on, coupling blood with love and with loss. Such symbols, the stuff of poetry, were beginning to annoy her. She intended to get back to reality—that she wasn’t obliged to marry Gawain.

  “Just because you think you must unite the two families by way of a marriage, it doesn’t mean it’s so. Why not by way of friendship?”

  He crossed his spectral arms across his chest in a gesture reminiscent of her father. “Because I say so. You must agree to marry your lover first, and then search for the heart.”

  “Why? Surely you will not be so unreasonable as to demand that I marry only to serve your ends. That is as bad as my father’s plans. I can’t marry Gawain just because a ghost tells me to.”

  “You must marry him because you love him.”

  “I don’t…” But she did love him. She always had. “Maybe, but he has to love me, too.”

  An unpleasant male voice interrupted her thoughts. “Who has to love you, darling Isolde?”

  She whirled. Sir Andrew Dirks grinned at her from the attic doorway. He approached hungrily and put out a finger to caress her cheek. “At last, I find you alone.”

  She shrank away. “My future husband has to love me—and that is definitely not you.” She tried to pass him, but he blocked the way.

  “Cape and Nebley have conceded, and your father sent me to find you,” Sir Andrew said. “He accepted my offer for your hand.”

  Her heart thudded. “But I did not accept it.”

  “Come now, darling. All I have to do is tell your father I seduced you.” He smirked. “Right here and right now, I think.” He prowled closer. “We’re all alone. What could be better?”

  She jabbed him in the chest. Her voice shook. “Nothing you can do will make me wed you, and—”

  His gaze traveled past her. “What the devil is that?”

  The Cavalier rose from his bed, groaning, rattling his spectral chains. Sir Andrew backed away. Isolde dodged past him and tore down the stairs. Millicent was nowhere to be seen. Isolde hurried down the next flight toward people and safety. Behind her, she heard Sir Andrew tumble, then curse and howl in pain.

  The ghost followed her, invisible and cold as ice. “I will apologize to Lady Statham,” he whispered, “but I beg of you, consider my plight.”

  “Very well.” She didn’t have much choice. He had just saved her—for although she wouldn’t have allowed Sir Andrew to force her to marry him by rape or any other means, what would it have done to her newfound love for Gawain, and his feelings for her, whatever they might be?

  She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know, either. She ran into Marcus, coming up the stairs two at a time.

  “Millicent fetched me,” he panted.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll go sit with my mother, where I’ll be safe.” Marcus accompanied her to the drawing room, dear man. Her mother, Mrs. Denton, and Jane were gossiping around tea and cakes.

  “Darling!” Her mother’s wide smile tore at Isolde’s heart. “Papa says you have agreed to marry Sir Andrew.”

  “No, Mama,” Isolde said firmly. “Papa and Sir Andrew are doing their best to force the issue, but they will not succeed. I will not marry him.”

  Lady Statham’s face fell. She dropped her teacup with a clatter. “But Isolde…”

  “I shall marry for love,” Isolde said, “and for no other reason.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Mrs. Denton said. “I don’t think you would have been happy with Sir Andrew.”

  “I think you should marry that handsome Mr. Burke,” Jane said.

  Isolde felt a blush rising to her cheeks. Hopefully, she was already somewhat red from exertion.

  “Jane!” Mrs. Denton cried. “You must learn to hold your tongue.”

  “But Mama, he is marvelously good-looking. I would marry him if he asked me.”

  Isolde composed herself. “Mr. Burke is handsome, isn’t he? But I don’t believe he has asked anyone. Perhaps he isn’t ready to marry yet.” The ghost hissed in her ear, and she ignored it, addressing Mrs. Denton and Jane. “I beg your pardon, ladies, but I must speak to my mother in private.”

  Mrs. Denton glanced at Lady Statham, who was fighting tears. “I quite understand. Come, Jane.”

  Isolde shut the drawing room door behind them. She sat next to her mother on the sofa and took her hands. “I’m so sorry, Mama.”

  “Oh, Isolde.” Her voice quivered, and now tears began to flow. “Your Papa said you agreed to marry Sir Andrew.”

  “He lied, Mama, and he should be ashamed of himself.” She passed a handkerchief to her mother and waited as she wiped her eyes. “The Cavalier confessed to me that he told you to keep the pendant.”

  “That evil, evil ghost.”

  “He is not evil, and he wants to apologize,” Isolde said. “Cavalier, are you here?”

  “Yes,” whispered the ghost. “I apologize.”

  Lady Statham glared—not that anyone could see him with daylight streaming through the window. “Speak up. You could at least have the decency to apologize out loud.”

  “I don’t think he can, Mama. He just exhausted himself saving me from Sir Andrew’s horrid advances.”

  Her mother continued to address the ghost. “Then go away.”

  “He will, once he has finished,” Isolde said. “It was an unkind and unreasonable request to make of you, and he regrets it. Is that not so, Cavalier?”

  “Yes,” whispered the ghost. “I should have known better.”

  “And when you didn’t want to do as he asked, he shouldn’t have pestered you.”

  “No, I shouldn’t have pestered.” The ghost sighed. “May I leave now?”

  Lady Statham’s face suffused with rage. “Didn’t you hear me? Go!”

  “Don’t forget your promise,” the ghost whispered in Isolde’s ear, and then was gone.

  Lady Statham blew her nose. “He did far more than pester,” she said bitterly. “He terrified me. He said I would lose you if I didn’t keep the pendant, so I did as he asked, but everything went wrong, and now you are in danger of your lif
e.” She wailed. “Why won’t you marry again?”

  “I’m not in danger,” Isolde said. “Papa would never allow me to be arrested. Surely you know that.”

  She frowned, twisting the handkerchief in her trembling hands. “Then why didn’t he say so? Why did he insist that you marry Alan Doncaster?”

  “Because he was worried about you, dearest Mama. He wanted you to feel comfortable and safe.” And also, she was sure, because of a beneficial financial arrangement.

  “If he wanted that, he would have given the pendant back. I want nothing more than to get rid of the horrid thing, and yet your Papa says no, we cannot.”

  Isolde took this with a grain of salt. Mama habitually tried to shift the blame. Witness how she’d insisted Lady Burke had given her the pendant, rather than simply pretending she’d lost it.

  “I wish I knew where it was, for I would gladly return it myself. But he says no, once a decision has been made, one must never change one’s mind.”

  “That sounds like Papa—stubborn to the core.” Just like the Cavalier.

  “I quite liked Lady Burke, you know, and it’s my fault we’re no longer friends.”

  Maybe Mama really did want to give the pendant back—and now, Isolde and Gawain were in a position to do so.

  “He doesn’t understand me,” Mama said mournfully, dabbing at her eyes. “He never has. He decides what will make me happy, but often as not it doesn’t.”

  “Don’t worry, Mama. We’ll give the pendant back, and all will be well.”

  Isolde only wished she believed that herself. How could she help her mother and the ghost as well?

  Gawain and his father were leaving the stables at Burke Hall for a morning ride when they spied Marcus the footman, running across the snowy fields toward them.

  “Damnation.” Gawain spurred his steed forward. “What is it, Marcus?”

  “It’s Lord Statham and that Sir Andrew,” the footman panted. “They decided between them that Lady Isolde must marry Sir Andrew. She refused and ran to her ladyship, but there’s no telling what them two villains might do next.” He reddened. “Begging your pardon, sir, for saying such a thing of my master, but it fair burns me what he’s done to Lady Isolde.”

  “He’ll never do it again,” Gawain said. With a word of thanks, he galloped the short distance to Statham Court, Sir Wally by his side.

  “What the devil? No, you may not let them in. We no longer receive the Burkes.”

  Isolde paused outside her father’s library, stunned. That was her father’s voice. She had left her mother once more ensconced with Lady Denton and Jane, and was looking for Marcus. She would have him guard her while she searched for the pendant. Unlike Millicent, he wouldn’t run at the first ghostly moan, or obey a dastard—for that was exactly what Millicent had done. She’d left her post immediately when Sir Andrew ordered her to do so.

  But at least she’d had the sense to run for Marcus. Sir Andrew had twisted his ankle hurrying down the attic stairs, which should prevent any further overtures, but she couldn’t take the risk.

  “They are already in, my lord,” the butler said apologetically. “I tried to stop them, but Mr. Gawain pushed past me, Sir Wally right behind. They are waiting in the Great Hall.”

  “Throw them out,” Lord Statham said. When the poor butler dithered, he added, “Stop whining, man. Get a footman or two, and toss them into the snow.”

  Isolde continued to the Great Hall, where Gawain paced back and forth, eager to march into her father’s presence without further ado.

  “Isolde!” he cried, taking her hands. “You’re unharmed.” He blew out a breath. “Thank God.”

  She disengaged herself, trying unsuccessfully not to be exhilarated. He’d come to rescue her! Not that she really needed saving, but how dashing of him. “Thank the ghost, actually. He frightened Sir Andrew.” She curtseyed to Sir Wally. “Good morning, sir.”

  Sir Wally twinkled at her. “My son and I wish to speak with your father, but I expect he will refuse. What do you advise?”

  “Storm the bastions,” she said. “He has already ordered the butler to have you thrown out.”

  Gawain planted a clenched fist in his other hand. “He’ll agree to my demands or else,” he said and stalked toward the library.

  She hastened after him, Sir Wally following placidly behind. “What demands?” she asked.

  “Either he agrees to what I propose, or I shall take you to James,” Gawain said.

  “I don’t need anyone to take me to James. I can go on my own.”

  “While your father conspires with fools and villains to marry you off? God only knows what might happen, with no one to protect you but a servant or two. You’re going with me, even if I have to abduct you.”

  She blushed at the thought of this rough-and-ready approach, which was entirely improper and wonderfully exciting. She forced the excitement down, reminding herself that he wasn’t in love with her. He was a kindly childhood friend, nothing more. She’d known from the start that he wasn’t meant for her, regardless of what the ghost wished. She had to accept that.

  She hurried ahead and tapped on the door to her father’s library. “Papa, may I come in?”

  Her father barked a furious acquiescence, and she opened the door and went in. On the sofa by the fire, Sir Andrew sat with his injured foot on a stool, looking as if he would gladly strangle her.

  “Come to apologize, have you?” her father bellowed. “How dare you disobey my commands? I gave you to Sir Andrew. I shall not go back on my word.” He spied the two Burkes behind her and ceased one tirade to begin another. “Unspeakable gall! Get out of my house!”

  Isolde closed the door. “Papa, Gawain intends to speak with you whether you like it or not. As for your promise to Sir Andrew, you have no right to betroth me without my consent.”

  “You promised that you would consider your suitors. After Cape and Nebley proved themselves unworthy, you have no choice but to take Sir Andrew.”

  She strove to speak calmly. “I promised to consider them, which I did. It would be rude to say exactly what I consider them.”

  Gawain snorted, and Sir Wally laughed out loud. Papa shouted, “Go, damn you!” but neither of the Burkes moved.

  How lovely to have two such staunch supporters. “Suffice it to say that none of them were acceptable to me. You will just have to go back on your word, which you had no right to give in the first place.”

  Her father grew purple with fury. Fortunately, this prevented further shouting, at least for the moment. He glared at Gawain, who took this for consent to speak.

  “Lord Statham, I have come to ask your permission to court Lady Isolde,” he said.

  What?

  “Needless to say, this is only a formality, as Lady Isolde’s consent is all that matters. However, my father and I agreed that I should attempt to approach you politely, regardless of the anticipated response.”

  Sir Wally nodded, looking amused.

  Papa regained his ability to shout. “To court her? You?”

  Gawain bowed. “Lady Isolde is understandably reluctant to marry again, but I hope to convince her to take a chance on me. If she accepts, I shall love and cherish her for the rest of our lives.”

  What in heaven’s name had possessed Gawain? He didn’t want to marry her. He had never considered such an outcome of their intimacy, and nor had she expected it.

  “No,” Lord Statham said, “I do not consent. Such a match would devastate Lady Statham.”

  Not to mention your pride, thought Isolde. Why was Gawain doing this? Perhaps to make it more acceptable for her to agree to his escort to James…?

  Did that make sense? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps not. But why…?

  Oh, God, what to do?

  “There is no need to make a decision now, Lady Isolde,” Gawain said. “I simply wished to make my intentions clear before you were pushed into making another unhappy alliance.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. Gawain was g
iving her a way out, while at the same time saving her from Sir Andrew and others like him. “Thank you, Mr. Burke,” she said politely. “I shall consider your offer.”

  She hoped her emphasis on that one word made it clear to him that she didn’t mean to accept it.

  Gawain did his best to hide his dismay. Not that he’d really expected Isolde to leap into his arms, but she was so plainly aghast at the thought of wedding him that it tore his heart.

  Sir Andrew’s snarl broke into his somber thoughts. He jabbed a finger in the direction of his host. “You owe me the ten thousand, Statham. You gave your word.”

  “Apparently my word carries no weight with my daughter,” the Earl said savagely. “As you well know, I cannot legally force her to marry you.” He scowled at Gawain. “Or prevent her from marrying some scoundrel.” He narrowed his eyes at Isolde. “A scoundrel who was in her bedchamber last night. You lied to me, daughter.”

  A telltale flush rose to Isolde’s cheeks.

  Statham’s accusing glance swung toward Gawain. “And you, foul libertine—you imposed on my hapless daughter!”

  Before Gawain could muster a response, Sir Wally intervened. “My son is no libertine,” he said softly. “I suggest you unsay those words, Statham.”

  Isolde put up a hand. “Don’t let my father’s ill-mannered outburst disturb you, Sir Wally. He is merely unused to being gainsaid. He was willing to let any one of my suitors seduce me, so playing the Puritan like this is absurd. Gawain is an honorable gentleman, worth a thousand of them.”

  “Thank you, Lady Isolde,” Gawain said glumly, for what was the use of being so worthy if she didn’t want to marry him?

  Unsurprisingly, Statham ignored his daughter and sneered at Gawain. “If you think your licentious behavior has won you the ten thousand, think again, Burke.” He gave a little crow of a laugh. “Now tell me if you want to court her.”

  “I don’t want your money,” Gawain said. “I want Isolde—but only if she wants me.”

  Sir Andrew struggled up from the sofa. “Fine, take the bitch, but that money is rightfully mine!”