Christmas with THAT Duke: Regency Romance (Regency Scandals Book 3)

by Arietta Richmond

  “Buttons?”

  She sighed.

  “Yes, buttons, if you would.”

  He pulled the shutters closed, and came to her. She turned her back to him, anticipating the moment when he would touch her. A finger touched her spine.

  “Stays too? How very respectable. Should I tighten them?”

  His voice was light, amused, and Violetta clenched her teeth, frustrated that he took so much amusement from her plight.

  “A little, please. I am not so much a contortionist as to be able to easily do so myself.”

  “As you wish, pity that it is. I never thought to see the day when I would spend more time dressing you, than undressing you.”

  “You say that as if you regret what you did, regret the distance caused between us.”

  Perhaps, if provoked, he might explain his previous words, or provide at least some clue to what he thought to be the truth of the past.

  “There are few things I regret. I would have thought that, if either of us would regret our actions, it would be you. I have never regretted loving you Vee, although I do deeply regret what doing so brought to me.”

  They were doing it again – speaking as if they knew what the other meant, but delivering words which made no sense.

  “Kit, what you say makes no sense to me. I can only assume that you play with me, that you wilfully misremember the past. Can we simply leave it lie? If we potentially have the chance to leave here today, let us leave each other with some courtesy.”

  “I will consider your request.”

  At that moment, as he did up the last of the buttons, there was a tap at the door. He left her there, and went to open it. She missed the warmth of his touch.

  Chapter Seven

  His words made no sense to her? Hers made no sense to him. His thoughts of the previous afternoon came back to him – there was something odd about just how divergent their memories seemed to be. More than ever, he was convinced that there was something he did not know, some information he was missing which would, if known, allow it all to come clear.

  He opened the door,

  “Good morning Your Grace, my Lady. The snow stopped in the early hours of the morning, and they are working all along this stretch of road now, as well as on our Yard. The mail coach is due – was due yesterday – and we hope to have the road clear for it by shortly after midday. Will you be wanting to travel on as soon as it’s clear? Or will you be staying with us for another day, to get a good start early on the morrow?”

  “Today…”

  “Definitely today…”

  They had both spoken at once. Wryly, he wondered if ever two people had been so ready to kiss each other, whilst also being so enthusiastic about removing themselves from each other’s proximity.

  The footman nodded, obviously unconcerned by their manner.

  “Very good Your Grace. I will let the stables and your coachmen know of your intent. Should I bring breakfast?”

  “Please do.”

  The man nodded again, and left. Kit shut the door, and turned – Violetta was still standing where he had left her, looking oddly forlorn. He did not, he realised, want to argue with her, despite her earlier accusing words. There was no point. They would only go over the same ground again, and become mired in their incomprehension of each other’s statements.

  If he was to leave this afternoon, and not see her again, then he would prefer to do so with at least a semblance of amity. Then he could forget her again, and spend the Christmas House Party with friends, trying to enjoy Christmas, for once. He hadn’t seen Dash since they had both been in Italy, and the invitation had come as a surprise – but a pleasant one.

  He met Violetta’s eyes, and smiled.

  “Do sit – the breakfast will be here soon, and you can rest comfortably, knowing that you will not have to bear my company past another few hours.”

  “Indeed, I treasure the thought. You are far too domineering and unpredictable to be truly entertaining, Kit.”

  “Domineering? You wound me. My father was domineering, and I have done my best to be as little like him as possible.”

  She gave a snort of disbelief at his words.

  “Then you have failed.”

  He had failed at many things – that was truth, and he flinched internally when she stated it so baldly – he had been told that often enough in his younger years – but he’d be damned if he believed it, with respect to avoiding being like his father.

  He chose to say nothing more, and they settled into a somewhat awkward silence, waiting for the food.

  *****

  Three hours later, Violetta leant back against the squabs of her carriage seat, the carriage blanket wrapped around her. Outside, the countryside went by slowly, but steadily. The ground was icy, with drifts of snow on the sides of the road, but it was passable, with care. Her carriage had been ready before Kit’s, and she had bid him farewell in their little parlour, once the footman had carried her trunk away.

  It had been a bittersweet moment – for so much was still unsaid between them, and she remained confused by a great deal of what he had said. But he had hesitated, then pressed a light kiss to her forehead, and stepped back, as if somehow releasing her to live her life without him.

  She had lifted her hand to trace the lines of his face, one last time, then, without a word, turned and walked away.

  Which had been far, far harder to do than it should have been.

  Likely, she would never see him again.

  Perhaps at a distance, at some large social gathering, but never alone, never in a place where they might talk with each other, easily. She should be glad. Instead, she felt irritable and unsure. So she stared at the passing fields, so deep in snow, and thought of her destination, rather than what she was leaving behind.

  She had never been to her cousin’s country estate – all through her childhood, they had seen each other only in London, where their parents’ homes were close to each other. Longwood Peak was reputed to be a pleasant house – large, and quite old, on an extensive estate with gardens which were beautiful in Spring and Summer. It also housed some of Dash’s scandalous collection – the parts which were not on display in his Museum in London, and she was curious to see all of it.

  Dash was her favourite cousin – the only one who was at all tolerable, but she had seen him only twice in the last ten years - once for a short time in Italy, before William’s death, and then earlier in this year, when he had married Mariel – who appeared to be a woman perfectly suited to him, and all of his rather unique interests. She envied them the relationship they had. It was so very much a picture of what she had once hoped to have with Kit.

  Dash was also the only one who knew even a fraction of the truth of what her life had been like at home, of what her father had done. He was much of an age with her, and, once he had realised what went on, what she did not tell him, but hinted at, he had made sure to be an influence on her younger brother, to balance the effect of her father’s nature. If she had not already loved him dearly as a friend, his actions then would have made her do so.

  When he had invited her for Christmas, she had been more than happy to accept.

  A week or so in his company, and that of his friends, should be good for her, might even make her believe that Christmas could be pleasant. Might even make her forget the feel of Kit’s lips on hers.

  She pushed that thought firmly away. She would not be dwelling on Kit Bourdain, or on the events of the last two days. She would be enjoying herself with grim determination.

  In good weather, Longwood Peak should have been barely three hours’ drive from that Inn – but with the mud and snow of the roads, and the icy patches, it was like to take them more like five. They would be lucky to arrive before the sun set. Still, she was glad to be moving, glad to be away from the constant awareness of Kit’s presence.

  She dozed for a while, even though the carriage bumped about on the rutted road and occasionally slid alarmingly sideway
s on corners, for the last two days had left her emotionally, if not physically, exhausted. When she opened her eyes again, the light outside had dimmed, and the moon was beginning to rim the clouds with silver, already brighter than the last rays of the sun.

  They turned through an imposing set of gates, and went up a long drive, lined with winter-bare trees. That must mean that they had arrived. Violetta watched as the drive curved, and a house came into view – it was, as she had been told, large, and elegant in an old-fashioned sort of way.

  She reached up, and attempted to put her hair to rights, replacing pins which had slipped while she dozed, and tied on the winter bonnet which had been lying on the opposite seat. Her gown was rather irredeemably crushed, but there was nothing she could do about that – Dash would have to take her as she was. She doubted that he would care.

  The carriage drew to a halt, and footmen came rushing out to collect her trunk, to let down the steps and open the door, and to assist her across the icy ground and into the house.

  Dash and Mariel came hurrying into the entryway as she stepped through the door, and she was soon engulfed in a welcoming embrace. Around them, Christmas greenery and ribbon decorated the walls and the stair bannisters, filling the space with the scent of pine.

  “Violetta – I am so glad that you have finally managed to get here! Your maid arrived two days ago, almost blown in by the storm, and we have been worried about you.”

  “I was trapped in an Inn for two days. We barely made it there in the blizzard – but far better trapped in an Inn than frozen on the roadside.”

  “Indeed! Jenny here will show you up to your guest suite, so that you can refresh yourself, and then you can find us in the parlour – it’s not long until dinner will be called, so your timing is perfect.”

  “Thank you!”

  Mariel smiled at her, adding her own welcome.

  “I can’t wait to finally get a chance to talk to you, Violetta – I seem to remember you promising to tell me things about Dash getting up to mischief as a boy…”

  “I did, didn’t I? I will have to dredge up his worst misdemeanours from my memory!”

  With that, she allowed herself to be led upstairs, and fussed over by Amelie. A bath, followed by clean clothes, with a maid to help her felt like the height of luxury.

  She nearly fell asleep in the heavenly warm water.

  *****

  Kit had watched Violetta walk away, and the thought that he might never see her again had weighed on him, suddenly seeming a dreadful thing. If anyone had asked him, three days earlier, if he would wish to see her, her would have laughed at them. But here he stood, part of him wanting to call her back.

  He was a fool. He had promised never to leave himself open to betrayal again, and thinking that she was anything but a self-serving deceitful hussy was the path to just that. He turned away, shutting the door, and went to finish gathering his things. Moments later, Carlo appeared in the doorway.

  “Leave that to me, Your Grace. I’ll have it done in a trice. The carriage is nearly ready – they’ve quite a queue down there in the yard, with everyone wanting to get away as early as possible.”

  Kit stepped back, and let Carlo do his work, instead going to the window to open the shutters and look down to where the Innyard now resembled an ant’s nest, with people and horses everywhere, all scurrying about with purpose. As he watched, Violetta emerged, went to one of the carriages, and climbed in. Moments later, that carriage rolled out of the yard, and away up the road.

  He wondered, vaguely, where she was going. She had mentioned a cousin, but nothing more. Not that it should matter to him. He would not see her again, and she meant nothing to him, anyway.

  Liar!

  The voice in his mind accused him, and irritated, he pulled the shutters closed, turning back to the room.

  Which only made him think of Vee all the more. Of the kisses they had shared, of the feel of her skin beneath his fingertip when he had done up her buttons, of the scent of her, which still lingered. Of everything he should not want, and did.

  Fortunately for his state of mind, at that moment, Carlo came out of the room, with Kit’s trunk in his hands.

  “If you’ll just get your hat and your coat, Your Grace, I think that we will have everything – my trunk is already downstairs.”

  Kit checked each room, finding nothing left behind, set his hat on his head, and slipped into his coat, before following Carlo out into the hallway. Downstairs, he settled his account, handing the Innkeeper the key to the rooms. Everywhere he looked, he saw hurrying people – a few of the men tipped their hats to him, but most simply kept moving.

  Out in the yard, his carriage stood to one side, with Carlo and his coachman just finishing tying the trunks into place. The snow had turned to muddy slush underfoot, and Kit suspected that his boots might never recover, but he forged on across the yard, suddenly desperate to be gone from this place.

  Once settled in his carriage, he began to feel a little less annoyed with the world, a little less disturbed by memory. It was time to forget about Violetta, time to look forward to the Christmas House Party he was now days late for, time to set his intent on actually enjoying the festive season. Carlo joined him, and the carriage began to move, part of the string of other vehicles making their way out onto the road.

  Kit almost laughed – this was worse than London traffic.

  Still, it was only a few hours to Longwood Peak – maybe four or five with the roads so snow affected – he should be there not too long after dark. It would be good to see Dash again.

  They had met in Italy, some years ago, and Kit had felt an immediate sense of connection. Now, he was trusting that the connection would still be there, that he would still enjoy the man’s company. For if he had not come here for the weeks leading up to Christmas, he would have spent them alone. His mother had gone to stay with her sister, and Lustering Mount was echoingly empty, as was Bourdain House.

  The carriage was moving horribly slowly, and he peered out of the window, trying to see why – just the volume of carriages, it seemed. Finally, more than an hour later, many of them had turned off onto other roads, and his was moving at a better pace. Still slow, due to the slushy mud and remnants of snow, but better.

  The day was closing in, the short winter dusk turning everything to shadowy grey, and Kit sighed – perhaps he had been optimistic about his arrival time. They stopped on the roadside for a few minutes whilst the coachman lit the carriage lamps, then moved on again, through moon silvered snow banks.

  He slipped towards sleep, as Carlo snored lightly, propped against one corner of the seat, and that liminal place between sleep and waking brought him memories again, memories of Vee, of her kisses, of the words she had said, when he had believed that she loved him. He cursed the footpads who had set upon him that night, long ago, leaving him beaten and broken in the laneway, only a few short minutes from where Vee should have been waiting for him. Had she been there?

  The memories shifted to the haze he had lived in, for two weeks after that, after his coachman had found him, and dragged him back to the carriage, had taken him home to his father’s control, and the doctor’s drugs.

  What had happened, in those weeks? Why had Vee gone and married Caldicot, without once trying to contact Kit?

  The more he saw it all in his mind, the more strange it seemed. What had happened? What didn’t he know?

  What, more importantly, had his father hidden from him?

  That question remained in his mind, when the carriage stopped before Longwood Peak, startling him awake.

  Chapter Eight

  Kit groaned as he stepped out of the carriage, stiff from sleeping in an awkward position. Footmen rushed out to assist with the unloading, and he left them to it, making his way to the front steps slowly. At least the area in front of the house was gravelled, so that he was not wading through mud.

  A butler greeted him, and a footman scurried off into the house, most likely to
tell Dash that another guest had arrived. His host might be a Marquess, and heir to a Dukedom, but he was not a man who stood on ceremony from Kit’s experience – he would most likely come out to greet him here.

  The butler took his hat and outer coat, and issued directions as the footmen came in with his trunks, followed by Carlo. They set off up the stairs, and Kit went to follow them, but was stopped by a voice calling from down the hallway.

  “Christophe – I’m glad that you’ve managed to get here – I wondered if the storm had frozen you somewhere on the road.”

  Kit turned to the man who had spoken.

  “Dash- it’s good to be here – I wasn’t far from being frozen, but I managed to get to an Inn before the worst of the storm hit. It was overcrowded, and not exactly ideal, but still, an improvement on frozen. It looks like you fared far better here than a few miles back along the road.”

  “We did indeed. But come, you must be tired, and hungry. We were just sitting down to dinner – do join us while your man sees to your things.”

  Kit considered for a moment – he was rather rumpled from sleeping in the carriage, and the idea of a bath and a change of clothes was appealing, but the rumbling of his stomach reminded him how long it was since he’d eaten.

  “If your other guests won’t be offended by my travel worn state, food seems like an excellent idea.”

  Dash waved him in the direction of the hallway he had emerged from, and fell in beside him as he walked.

  “You are one of the last to arrive, the second this evening, who was caught in the storm. Hopefully, we’ll have better weather from now until after Christmas.”

  They reached a door where a footman stood waiting. The man opened it, and Dash led Kit through. The large table inside was laden with a veritable feast, and near twenty people sat around it, with footmen in the process of serving food onto their plates. They all looked up as Kit entered the room. Most of them, he barely knew, having met them once or twice at social events. He looked around the table, and, as his eyes reached the part closest to him, where the backs of the diners were to him, he felt his heart skip a beat.