O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Lady Wendt had behaved so much more like the lovely woman he recalled wanting to court as a young man. This was closer to the woman he had held in his dreams all those years ago, and far different from the woman he had known these last five years.

  The first time he saw her he had been a young lieutenant in His Majesty’s cavalry and she was making her debut into society. Of all the debutantes, she was the prettiest. He recalled everything about her. She was dressed in a white-spotted muslin with soft pink undertones and her blonde hair was pulled up into a soft, cascading Grecian style, with tiny pearls placed throughout. Her eyes shone like sparkling green emeralds. The sight of her forced him to catch his breath.

  Determined to know her, he gained an introduction through her mother. At first, he thought her quiet, but when they danced, he found her witty and utterly charming. As he prepared to ask her to dance again, he saw the mother catch her attention and make what looked like a signal with her fan, causing her daughter to startle, as if caught doing something wrong. Lady Agatha met his subsequent offers to dance with resistance, preferring to sit along the walls and watch. He felt sure her mother had informed her he was unworthy.

  Whatever the fan signal had meant, he was sure it had chased the light from her eyes.

  He could not help himself—he had been smitten. His Grandmama used to say, “You love who you love.” Rebuffed the following day by her butler, he had only the one dance – and the vision of her watching others dance – to remember. His unit, the 12th Regiment, Prince of Wales’s Dragoons, left a few days later for Ireland.

  Charles doubted she even remembered him. He had never seen even the barest hint of recognition in her eyes. When he returned from Ireland two years later, he found that she had married. With nothing to keep him in England, he resumed his position with the army and fought in the Peninsular War until injuries in Rolica forced his return to England. His family’s farm could not afford to employ him, so he searched for work, answering an ad for a footman. He discovered shortly afterwards that Lord Wendt, the man that hired him, was the same person who had married Lady Agatha. Feeling like an interloper, he had decided to resign when the old earl suddenly died and changed his mind when he noticed an immediate change in Agatha—almost a paralyzing fear of failing.

  Lost in his musings, he barely heard the bell ring for him.

  He went to her rooms, but hesitated, hearing voices behind her door when he knocked.

  “Please enter,” a sweet voice sounded from behind the door.

  Was that her? He could not be certain until he saw. Entering, he saw her sitting straight up in her bed discussing something with Mary, her new lady’s maid.

  “Bentley, Christmas will be here in two days. I would like to visit that orphanage you have quietly helped maintain,” she smiled at him for effect. “Do not deny it. I heard Mr. Hanson leaving and thanking you.”

  “L-Lady Wendt,” he started to speak, but found himself tongue-tied. She knew?

  “Pish,” she responded, cutting him off. “You had the moral sense to do something that I did not. But we will rectify that…quickly,” she said, smiling. “Ask Cook to prepare a large ham with all the accoutrements. We shall need puddings, biscuits, and fruit—foods that nourish growing children.” She took a quick sip of tea that had been by her bedside. “Please send Mrs. Stone and a footman to arrange that and have the carriage brought around. You and I must go to town. I plan to bring toys to the children, lots of toys and books. And cloth—lots of cloth.

  He stared at her.

  “You are gaping, Bentley,” she gently admonished. “The Christmas season is about kindness and people, is it not?” She leaned in and peered at him. “You do not look well. Are you ill?”

  “N-no,” he choked, trying to speak all his thoughts at once, and managed to sort through them before he uttered the first word. “My lady, I would be happy to do this for you. We have plenty of time. I will get this underway right away.” What has happened to her?

  “See that you do,” she said. “Take Mrs. Stone with you to see Cook. She understands exactly what I want.”

  Bentley realized she was watching him closely, and he laughed. “I assure you, my lady. I am fine.”

  “Bentley let us be off soon. I have much to purchase and time does not stop.”

  Smiling, he bowed and left the room. There had been no bolts of lightning to his knowledge. Damned if he could fathom what had caused such a transformation. However, he knew better than to question Providence, and instead, sent a small prayer to Heaven that she not change back. He gave instructions to have the carriage brought around and directed Mrs. Stone to see Cook.

  Less than an hour later, Bentley and a footman were driving Lady Agatha into the village. A light snow had fallen the evening before, blanketing the village and making it appear festive as people bustled up and down the streets. The carriage pulled up in front of Nick’s Toys, and he assisted Lady Wendt from the conveyance. This trip to town was as much a treat for him as it would be for the children. Charles had been one of the luckier orphans. He had been adopted as a young boy—by a baron, no less.

  He was pleased she had requested him to attend her, even though a footman would normally have taken on the duty. Walters, the under butler he had been training, was doing a fine job which had been an immense help with the additional duties she was fond of creating. Hiring Walters had been an unexpected boon.

  “Bentley did Mr. Hanson mention the number of children with the orphanage,” Agatha asked, breaking his reverie.

  “No, my lady. But I recall his mentioning that ten children share a room. I figure, with the size of the building, there could not be more than three such rooms. ’Tis rather small.”

  “Ahh,” she nodded. “Then, let us procure a large assortment of toys. And books. There should be books.”

  Nick Clawes, the proprietor, was thrilled to see Lady Wendt enter his establishment, and hastily made arrangements to deliver all the gifts to Lady Wendt’s home that evening, so the staff could begin wrapping them. “Ho! Ho! I will add a stick of candy for each child,” he said as they concluded the purchase.

  “Thank you, Mr. Clawes.” A giggle escaped her. “This is the most fun I can remember having at Christmas time in an age!” Lady Wendt placed her hand on Bentley’s outstretched arm.

  An immediate bolt of awareness shot through his body. It was not unlike the feeling he had when they danced. Her face told him she felt something, but she stayed quiet.

  An hour later, they had accomplished the shopping. Charles and the footman loaded the carefully wrapped yards of cloth and fripperies into the corner of the carriage. He noticed the satisfied grin on Agatha’s face. “This will be a delightful Christmas for these boys and girls. Mr. Hanson will be astounded.”

  “Yes, I should think so,” she answered gaily. She smiled, yet she seemed pensive. “Mr. Bentley, would you mind accompanying me in the carriage? There is something that needs be discussed,” she added.

  “Not at all, my lady.” He assisted her into the conveyance and sat on the bench opposite her, taking the remainder of the room not already claimed by the pile of fabric.

  His hands felt clammy, and he realized his nerves had taken charge.

  Lady Wendt adjusted her pose and fussed with her pelisse and her skirts, wearing a look of impatience as they both waited for the carriage to move. Gazing at him, she took a calming breath. “I think you may have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Bentley. I have just . . . become aware that we knew each other once upon a time.”

  Chapter Five

  Agatha pretended interest at something outside the window while she struggled to think of what to say. She owed him an explanation, but there was more. She needed to know their connection. There had always seemed an unfathomable level of trust with Bentley, one she had never held with other servants. She had never understood why until now. “Bentley, I appreciate you assisting me and helping me secure these items for the orphanage.” That was a good start, she suppose
d.

  “You are welcome,” he returned, a note of puzzlement to his voice.

  Agatha had never excelled at whimsy and subtlety. “I expect I should get right to the point,” she said. The footman chose that moment to move, and the carriage took off in a lurch, causing the two of them to jolt back against the dark blue leather squabs. The air stilled between them. “I have recalled a few things . . . in a dream. And frankly, the dream has been more like a lifetime of memories—and after dwelling on the details, I recalled much more.”

  He started to say something but appeared to change his mind. “What things are you speaking of, my lady?” Charles finally asked.

  As a young woman, Society had opened her up to a wide circle of people. What had been so special about this man? “Did we meet at a ball?” she prodded, suddenly afraid he would not know of what she was referring.

  “Are you suggesting you may recall me from a ball?” he asked, confused.

  She dipped her head in affirmation, fearing what he might say next. Her heart beat a tattoo against the wall of her chest in anticipation.

  “We met years ago. I forget who hosted it, but you were the prettiest debutante there,” he whispered, taking a deep breath. “I secured an introduction from your mother and asked you to dance.”

  “So ’tis all true. We danced,” she whispered, feeling relieved and encouraged. “I was unsure I had not imagined it.” She paused. “You were handsome in your regimentals.” Agatha cast him a shy glance.

  He smiled. “The next day, I brought flowers, hoping to court you, but was turned away at the door. I tried several times with the same result. Unfortunately, my unit was called up, and we left quickly for Ireland.”

  Mother. Agatha felt guilty disparaging her mother, but she recognized Mother’s hand in this. Father had encouraged her to see where her Season took her, hoping that she would find a match. She realized now that both parents did what they felt was right. When her three Seasons failed to bring a suitor to scratch, Father arranged for her to marry. He did not understand that Mother had been screening and vetoing potential suitors from the dancefloor, ultimately forcing Agatha to hide among the wallflowers.

  “I returned,” he revealed. “When my assignment ended, I came back, but you had married. I resumed my army career until I was injured fighting Napoleon at Rolica and was sent home. My family’s farm was barely managing and had been inherited by my older brother. There was nothing for me there. I turned to service . . .”

  “And my husband hired you,” she finished.

  “When I realized he was your husband, I had planned to resign, but the earl died and you seemed to need me here,” he continued.

  Thomas had been right about everything. “I have always wished I had danced that second time with you. Mother insisted I aim higher and watched each dance as if it were a transaction. I should have followed my own counsel. I have often regretted that,” she lamented.

  He reached over and covered her hand with his. Awareness pulsed through her. She dared not move her hand, lest the feeling leave. She wanted more.

  “I saw her,” he said. His voice was low but held no hint of condemnation. “I saw your mother signal you before I could ask for a second dance. I had not understood.”

  “Yet, you are here now,” she murmured. Her mother had used her fan to signal her. “She was only trying to help me,” she said, unusually defensive of her mother. “I never saw you again after that night, and now I understand. I realize now that she was doing what she felt was best for me, even if it did not turn out to be.”

  Hope mingled with memory. She had danced little. There had been a few young men; however, her mind could not conjure the image of another. He had been here, with her, all this time, while others had abandoned her. No, she corrected herself. They left because I was mean and selfish. Agatha felt him squeeze her hand and looked down.

  “May I kiss you, Agatha?” he ventured.

  She could only nod, while her eyes misted.

  Charles moved next to her, not once releasing her hand. The masculine scent of bergamot and sandalwood thrilled her senses. She had never noticed his fragrance. He tilted her chin up with his finger and gently brushed his lips over hers, before he leaned in and covered them more forcefully. He teased her mouth with his tongue, beckoning it to open for him. When she did, his tongue possessed her mouth, delighting her as their tongues parried and touched. A small moan escaped her, and her hands moved to his neck, twining her fingers in his hair. Charles pulled her closer, and she felt his breath on her neck. Their heartbeats seemed to beat a single staccato. Every fiber in her being tingled with anticipation. It was a quick magical moment she wished could have lasted forever.

  The familiar sound and feel of gravel beneath the carriage forced her back to reality and reminded her they were home. Agatha attempted to pull away, hating the need, but his arm tightened around her.

  Wishing with all her heart she could stay in his arms, she gently broke free, feeling obliged to reinsert decorum. Both sat there, with chests heaving. “We are almost there,” she said breathlessly, as she repaired her hair. She had just experienced her first tempestuous moment in the carriage and loved it. Had she had proper wits about her, she would have ordered the footman to circle the grounds an hour longer!

  “Agatha,” he rasped, trying to catch his breath. “I have always carried you in my heart, and now I know it was right.” He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a locket. Opening it, he showed her a small carving. “For me, it had been love at first sight.”

  She stared at the carving, recognized it as her likeness. Emotion welled up and a tear escaped the corner of her eye.

  “It was from a drawing I made from memory. An artisan in a marketplace crafted it for me.”

  “You draw?”

  He nodded.

  “It is beautiful,” she whispered.

  “It would mean a lot if you would keep it. I brought it home when I returned from Ireland, but when I found out you were married, I kept it. It has always reminded me of our dance.”

  Astonished, she held out her gloved hand, numbly watching as he tucked the locket inside and folded her fingers over it. Not trusting herself to speak, she gripped it tightly as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the manor.

  Charles exited first, and stood, waiting to assist her down. Holding his arm out, she laid her fingers lightly upon it, and he escorted her inside. It felt right.

  This day had been wonderful. For once in her life, she wanted her brother to be right.

  Charles felt as if he had transitioned to a different world. It was not that he felt unworthy. After all, he was raised as the son of a baron, even if they had adopted him. He had been accepted in society years ago and had an unblemished military career as an officer.

  Agatha had mentioned a dream. He wanted to know more but did not probe. Whatever had happened to her had given him hope, and he dared not question it. He sent another silent petition that it would continue.

  “I was looking for you, my lady. Mr. Clawes arrived a few minutes ago, and we have unloaded the toys, books, and sweets for the children. I have placed Mrs. Stone in charge and asked a footman to carry in the fabric. She is already organizing and preparing to wrap gifts,” he reported, when walking towards her parlor.

  “Excellent.” She was carrying Pretty and stopped, wearing a wide grin.

  “My lady,” he continued. “Cook has the food ready in baskets. She plans to help Mrs. Stone deliver it.”

  “That is wonderful,” she exclaimed.

  “I also sent a footman to the orphanage, asking the Hansons if we might visit in the morning. ’Twill be Christmas Eve and the perfect day to deliver your gifts, if that suits.”

  “It all sounds perfect,” she returned. “You have, as always, handled things splendidly. I have always appreciated your insights on my behalf.” She paused. “Might we meet in my parlor? I have a few more things to discuss.”

  “Yes, my lady,” he answered, suddenl
y feeling uncertain.

  “I wish this to be private,” she said, nodding towards the door.

  The door clicked behind him, and he stood as she took her seat.

  “Sit,” she urged, tapping the cushion next to her. Insulted, Pretty jumped down from her mistress’s lap and moved to her nearby basket. Giving a quick meow, she curled into a disinterested ball of fur and went to sleep, eliciting smiles from both of them.

  “Bent . . . Charles. Is it permissible to call you Charles?”

  “Yes, my lady . . .”

  “Agatha,” she inserted. “Please call me Agatha.”

  “Agatha,” he repeated, enjoying the sound.

  “Charles, I am sure I have you at sixes and sevens with my behavior these past two days.” She inhaled a steadying breath. “However, so you might not think me crazy, let me say, I have been shown that my life needed to change.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “I had such vivid dreams,” she muttered. “I have recalled events from my past and my present that have quite frightened me.”

  He felt lost with her explanation, but stayed quiet, allowing her to speak. His mother had always encouraged him to let others go first, and he had seen the wisdom in that adage, time after time in his life. Agatha appeared frustrated.

  “I see from your face that this is going badly. Permit me to just ask. Do you believe in ghosts?”

  He startled. Most assuredly, he believed in ghosts. “Yes, Agatha, I believe in the spiritual world,” he said, hesitantly, still uncertain of the direction they were headed.

  “Perfect. Thomas visited me.”

  She appeared to scrutinize his face as she spoke.

  “I hope you will not find me mad. I do not feel mad. I feel free,” she pronounced, gazing up at him. “My dead brother’s ghost showed me times from my life that I did not make me proud. He spent what seemed like forever, dragging me to events from my past and making me see things I no longer wished to see, or had forgotten, or had never seen as others had. However, before he would leave me, he showed me what my future would be if I did not change and made sure I understood the need for . . . modification.” Her voice became softer. “And I do. I did not have the right of things. I had misjudged many so badly. Yet, you have always supported me, and I appreciate that. I had misjudged you once, so long ago. And for that, I have paid a price. I ended up married to a man that demanded only duty and gave little of himself. I became bitter. These are not justifications for my nasty behavior. They are my truth.”