O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Ominous gray clouds blocked out any light; fat snowflakes drifted down, pristine white against the gloomy backdrop. His driver jumped down from the brougham to open the door.

  “All good, sir?” the man asked.

  “Yes, positive news for a change.” Gus wrapped the scarf around his neck another time and pulled on his gloves. A pair of chestnut horses snorted softly and pawed at the ground, their wide rumps covered in snow.

  Gus climbed inside, glad to be out of the cold wind. Coming home, for it was his home now, had been the right decision. He thought of the work ahead of him as the carriage swayed and bumped along the familiar road. There were purchases and repairs to be made, but the mansion and grounds were in decent shape.

  They slowed at a fork in the road. A right turn took them directly to Bliss. The opposite went through the village. As the driver headed toward the manor, the clouds parted momentarily. Something flashed silver. He squinted at the dark outline of a carriage perched alongside the other path. Then the moon disappeared once again.

  “Johns, stop,” he yelled, opening the wooden shutter to stick his head out. “I think someone might be in trouble.”

  The driver expertly turned the brougham around. “I don’t see anything, sir.”

  “I want to be certain. It’s a nasty night for someone to be stranded.”

  They found a small conveyance not far down the road, tilted with a broken wheel.

  “Whoa, there, whoa.” Johns held his lantern high.

  Gus jumped out as soon as the wheels crunched to a stop. “Hello!”

  A young girl with blonde curls, bright cerulean eyes, and a dazzling smile popped her head out. “We’ve been rescued!” The door swung open, and a petite female waved, a velvet reticule dangling from her wrist. With each gesture, the carriage wheels creaked and wobbled.

  “Careful, miss,” Gus said with a smile. “You’re in a precarious spot.”

  “A pot of what?” she asked. A small gloved hand pulled on her cloak from behind and she looked over her shoulder, nodded, and turned back to him. “Oh, yes!” she giggled. “Precarious, indeed!”

  The shutter opened again, and another face appeared. Gus tried to swallow, mesmerized by the loveliest eyes he’d ever seen. Large and golden-brown, they held his gaze and made his mouth go dry. Her dark bonnet was tipped sideways and a long sable tress fell over her shoulder. The accident must have been jarring. When she smiled, tiny dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth; her full lips revealed straight white teeth.

  “I will have to agree with my sister, good sir. You are a hero, indeed,” said the stunning creature in a honeyed voice. “Our, er, driver has gone ahead on foot for help. He thought we’d be safer inside while we waited.”

  “Wise man,” agreed Gus, finding his voice. “Johns, see to the trunks. I’ll tend to the ladies.”

  The door was a good distance from the ground due to the broken wheel on the opposite side. He held up his hands to assist the younger girl just as she jumped toward him. He caught her with a hmmph as his hat tumbled off. He set her on her feet and grinned at her high-pealed giggle. “Aren’t you a vivacious young lady?”

  “That’s a very polite way to say obnoxious,” the beauty said, drawing out the pronunciation of the last word.

  The blonde stuck her tongue out at her sister. Gus laughed and retrieved his hat, then moved to help the other sister. He placed his hands on her tiny waist while she lightly gripped his shoulders. He lifted her from the door and slowly set her down. As he did, the clouds parted again, illuminating her face. Creamy ivory skin, a pert nose, and those eyes flashing like faceted amber.

  Bloody hell, he wanted to kiss her.

  He didn’t even know her name.

  “Thank you, kind sir.” Her cheeks colored, and she peeked at him through thick, dark lashes. One hand touched her hat and she gasped. “Oh, my. We must look a fright!”

  “You’re lovely.” Gus closed his eyes, resisting the urge to smack himself in the forehead. He had not meant to say the words out loud. “I mean, Dr. Augustus Wharren at your service, ma’am.”

  She smiled. His heart melted.

  “I am Miss Henrietta Comden, and this is my sister, Miss Horatia,” she said, her head tipped toward the precocious imp whose eyes darted from one adult to the other.

  “Tia, please,” the girl added, pointing to herself and then her sister, “and Etta.”

  Miss Comden sent a warning glare to Tia. “My sister does not always follow proper etiquette. You’ll have to excuse her manners.”

  “These are rather unusual circumstances.” He saw Johns lugging a large trunk. “How far is your destination? Perhaps we can take you there.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid our journey ends in Scotland. We planned to stop at the next inn for the night.” Miss Comden peered into the darkness. “I do hope MacIntyre is all right.”

  “Well, it seems I may be able to provide my damsels in distress with a knight in shining armor and complete your fairytale rescue.” Gus cringed inwardly at his bravado. “There is no inn nearby, but Bliss Manor is at your service. We can track your driver, and I’ll see the wheel is fixed on the morrow.”

  “We couldn’t impose.”

  A snowflake landed on her sooty lashes. He crooked his finger and gently flicked it off. “It’s better than a night in this carriage. My house is enormous, and it’s only myself and the staff. Mrs. Willoughby will make sure there are no improprieties.”

  Miss Comden chewed her plump bottom lip. He couldn’t take his eyes off her white teeth scraping against the pink flesh.

  “Sir?” asked Johns, still holding the large trunk. “Up or down?”

  “She makes the best marmalade in the county. Are you hungry?” The oddity of their situation suddenly occurred to him. Two unmarried females with only a driver for an escort, traveling at night with no prearranged plans. It was almost as if they were—

  “Yes, we will take advantage of your generous hospitality.”

  Johns gave a sigh of relief as he hoisted the trunk onto the top of the carriage and retrieved the other bags. Gus helped the ladies into the brougham. He sat across from them, and they set off to find the driver, MacIntyre.

  The Scot was trudging through the snow a few miles down the road. He eyed Gus suspiciously through chattering teeth but reassured his charges with a smile. “Are ye all right, Miss Etta? Miss Tia?” he asked gruffly. They assured him all was well, and he climbed up to sit next to Johns.

  “How far is your estate, Dr. Wharren?” Miss Comden asked as they passed the damaged carriage again.

  “Less than an hour. The roads will slow us down some.” He rummaged under the seat. “Would you like a blanket?”

  They both nodded, and he shook out the plaid wool and spread it over their laps.

  Miss Comden smiled gratefully and peered out the slats of the shade. “The wind is stronger. The snow is coming down harder.”

  “We’ll be stranded here for weeks,” said Tia gleefully. “I love adventures.”

  Her cheerfulness spread through the carriage. Miss Comden began to smile, a shy, endearing smile that made him want to take her hand and kiss her on the cheek like a giddy schoolboy. Gus couldn’t have wiped the grin off his face if someone pinched him. Hard. Why was he suddenly so ridiculously happy?

  Chapter Four

  Bliss Manor

  Etta was mortified. Intrigued. Smitten. A dark handsome man swooped down from the wintery sky to save them. Oh, horse feathers! She sounded like one of Tia’s romance novels. She studied Dr. Wharren from beneath her lashes. Thick, raven hair, a square chin with a slight cleft in it, and deep green eyes. Like a pine forest, cool and dark, where she could wander and lose herself. An elbow jabbed her in the side, and she gritted her teeth. Even Tia noticed her prolonged gape.

  “How long have you lived here?” Etta decided it would be best to avoid too many questions about their journey to Scotland. Mrs. Miller had told her a man’s favorite subject was himself.
r />   “I’ve been coming here since I can remember. It’s my grandmother’s estate, and I’ve inherited it.” He nodded at the wrought iron bars as the carriage passed through the gate. “We spent most of our summers on these grounds.”

  “So, you’ve returned to claim your inheritance?”

  “Yes, I’m on a retreat of sorts.” His gaze raked over her face, then settled on her mouth.

  The heat rose up her neck at the intimate look. Flustered, she struggled to find another question. “Do you practice in London?”

  He nodded. “In fact, I delivered my first nephew just before I left.”

  “The much-anticipated heir?” She smiled. “Your brother or sister’s?”

  “Pardon me, I expect you are wondering what kind of company you are keeping. My brother is Lord Bramer. I am the fourth son of the late Earl of Bramer, hence my career in medicine.” He tipped his hat. “And you, madam?”

  “Nothing so regal, I assure you. My father, Lord Comden, was a baron.”

  “Was? I’m sorry to hear that.” The carriage stopped and Tia poked her head out. “Let’s get you inside. Mrs. Willoughby, my housekeeper, will be beside herself with two young ladies to fuss over.”

  Beyond the window was a wide portico with steps that led up to huge double oak doors. It was difficult to see much of the shadowed structure, except that it was massive and rambled on in both directions. And welcoming. Etta felt an immediate affinity with Bliss Manor.

  MacIntyre opened the door, anxiously peering inside. He held out a hand and waited for his charges. With a wink at Tia, Dr. Wharren put his hand in the Scot’s and stepped down.

  “Thank you, good sir. Terribly long step down, you know,” the doctor said in a pompous voice. “Now if you don’t mind assisting the ladies.”

  The horrified look on MacIntyre’s face as Dr. Wharren squeezed the Scot’s hand sent the entire group into gales of mirth. They stood outside on the paved stone, the snow still falling, doubled over with laughter. Even MacIntyre reluctantly joined in.

  “Th-thank you,” Etta said, catching her breath. “You have no idea how much we needed some merriment.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Comden,” he acknowledged with a gallant bow.

  The door opened, spilling light onto the portico. A rotund woman with a mobcap and brown curls bustled down the steps. “Oh, Master Gus, er, Dr. Wharren, what have you brought home?”

  “I found two waifs along the road with a splintered carriage wheel and saved the day.” He chuckled at the housekeeper’s dismayed scowl. “Miss Comden and Miss Horatia are in need of shelter for a night.”

  “Goodness.” Her palms covered her rosy cheeks. “I’ll have Sally open the first two guest rooms in the main hall. They’ll be across from each other, then. Are you hungry, my lady, or do you prefer to go straight up? Would you like a hot bath?”

  Etta gave the housekeeper a grateful smile. “It’s Miss, not Lady, and please don’t go to any trouble. We would like to freshen up, and yes, we are ravenous. But a cold supper is all that’s necessary.”

  “Pish to that, after you’ve been stuck in the cold. Pardon my impertinence, ma’am. It’s been too long since we’ve had guests. Sally and I will find something warm and filling.”

  “Marmalade,” Tia said.

  Mrs. Willoughby beamed and nodded. “He’s told you about that, has he? I won’t forget.” She cocked her head, eyes narrowed as she saw the stranger unload a trunk and called out, “Johns, guest rooms one and two, please, and find a bed for your friend. Then send him to the kitchen so Sally can feed him.”

  MacIntyre sneezed as he assisted Johns with the luggage. Tia frowned, studying the older man’s lined face, then ran to him. She reached up and put the back of her hand on his forehead, then his cheek.

  “He’s fevered.”

  “I’m fine. Be off with ye, now,” he mumbled gruffly. “Ye dinna coddle a Scot.” He eased the largest trunk on his shoulder and waited for Johns to show him where to go.

  Etta swore Mrs. Willoughby’s eyes lit up. “A fever, you say?” She hurried over and did the same as Tia. “You’re burning up, Mr…?”

  “MacIntyre.”

  “Put down the trunk and come with me, Mr. MacIntyre.”

  “I’m no’—”

  “No argument. I don’t know what position you hold in your household, but I’m in charge here.” She put her fists on her ample hips, a stance Etta assumed would intimidate the bravest of souls. “You won’t be any good to these fine ladies if you’re sick.”

  Tia’s mouth dropped as MacIntyre set the trunk on the ground and followed Mrs. Willoughby. “She’s magical!”

  “More like a witch,” grumbled Johns as he shouldered the abandoned trunk and proceeded up the stairs unassisted.

  They followed Dr. Wharren inside.

  “A suit of armor,” exclaimed Tia. She touched the helmet and tittered at the silver plate it held. “Helloooo,” she called into the empty helmet.

  “You’re a man of your word, I see.” A knight in shining armor, he had said. Etta laughed and inspected the medieval weapons on the wall. “This is quite an entrance.”

  “My grandmother was obsessed with King Arthur and loved the dramatic.” He gestured toward the staircase and followed them up to the first landing. “This is the dining room, where I will meet you shortly. The next door on the right is the library, in case you need a good book to make you drowsy.”

  She shook her head. “I think we’ll sleep well tonight with so much excitement. It’s been quite a day.”

  He led them up to the second floor and opened the door to their rooms. The first was decorated in pale pinks, from the satin counterpane and bed curtains on the fourposter bed to the drapes on the window.

  Tia’s eyes grew wide. “Mine.”

  “Of course it is.”

  Dr. Wharren showed her the other guest room, similar to Tia’s, but ivory with a gold embroidered diamond pattern. “Will this do?”

  “It’s lovely. We are so thankful you came by.” Kindness emanated from his green eyes. He was meant to help people, she thought, it’s in his soul.

  A young girl rushed into the room with a pitcher, bobbing a quick curtsy. “Warm water, ma’am,” she explained.

  Placing it next to the wash bowl, she set out a small and larger towel, then turned down the sheets. “We’ll have a repast ready in the dining room in thirty minutes. Mrs. Willoughby said if that’s not convenient, we’re happy to warm it up again later.”

  “Thank you, Sally,” said Dr. Wharren. He turned to Etta. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Poor MacIntyre, I hope he’s not too ill.”

  “I’ll check on him straight away.” He paused at the door. “I have a feeling it would take much more than a fever to keep that man down.”

  The door clicked shut, and Etta fell back upon the overstuffed ticks. She was stranded, in a stranger’s house, and had no inkling what the future held for them. Yet, for the first time in months, her heart was light and she was… happy. When she closed her eyes, the laughing emerald eyes of Dr. Wharren greeted her, and the butterflies took flight again. She suddenly hoped it would take longer than a day to fix the carriage. Fate had not smiled down on her family in so long.

  Gus drummed his fingers on the linen tablecloth while he waited for his guests. MacIntyre had provided limited information. Both parents dead, a distant cousin inheriting the estate, and on their way to Scotland to visit friends.

  Alone with no ladies’ maid. Like a badly tallied column of numbers, something didn’t add up.

  “Good evening, Dr. Wharren.” In the doorway stood a stunning creature in black bombazine; the high-waisted dress clung to her womanly curves as she moved. The sheer black lace across her chest revealed just a hint of the creamy swells beneath. Her umber waves were freshly combed and pulled up in a simple chignon. Behind her stood an adorable blonde perched on tiptoes to see over her sister’s shoulder.

  “Welcome.” His face flushed and that rid
iculous grin curved her mouth again. He stepped forward to take Miss Comden’s fingers and bent low, his lips brushing the back of her bare hand. He turned to Miss Horatia, who giggled as he extended the same courtesy.

  Gus pulled out their chairs and then took his place at the head of the table. Sally appeared with a delicious soup of leeks and thinly sliced potatoes, and a loaf of bread. The sound of metal against china filled the silence as the three sipped their broth.

  “How is MacIntyre?” asked Miss Comden. “I hope we can see him soon.”

  “He’s in better hands than mine, I hate to admit. His fever is already subsiding with Mrs. Willoughby’s cold compresses. Though, I would suggest he rest a day or two. I’ll send a man out to have the wheel fixed on your carriage and bring it here. That will take at least all of tomorrow.” He paused at the panic in her eyes. “I would be happy to send word on to your friends. You could write a note—”

  “I’m afraid we really need to be away,” Miss Comden said in a thready voice.

  He dipped his spoon into the soup and raised it to his lips, wondering what question he should ask next to provide a hint to their predicament.

  “We’re fugitives,” blurted Miss Horatia.

  Gus coughed and spit out his broth, covering his mouth with the linen napkin. His eyes watered, and the liquid ran up his nose as he spluttered and tried to catch his breath.

  “Tia!” Miss Comden jumped from her chair. It fell back with a crash. She smacked him on the back several times and then offered him his glass of wine. He took it and swallowed quickly, taking in deep breaths and wiping at his face.

  “My sincere apology,” said Miss Horatia politely as her sister retrieved the chair from the floor, “but we are fugitives, escaping my abhorrent guardian.”

  “Tia!”

  “He might as well know. He might be able to help us,” huffed her sister.

  The rest of the dinner included sliced beef, small potatoes, and multiple explanations as both sisters tried to talk over the other.