O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales

by Kathryn Le Veque

  And such a small thing it was, too! He’d been terrified to touch the little thing for fear she’d fall apart in his hands. So he had stood back, while her mother followed her instincts and swaddled the child in the blanket he’d found in the attic—the blanket he’d bought for his own child. An insignificant object, but it had represented Edward’s failure to exorcise the ghost of Isabella. By preserving material possessions, he’d perpetuated the grief.

  But the dead didn’t care whether he kept their possessions hidden away in a shrine to their memory. What mattered was the living. Giving the blanket to Mrs. Trelawney and her child was the first step in washing away the pain of losses over which he’d had no control. The act of giving was the first step to the absolution of his soul.

  For the first time since Isabella’s death, he began to believe that he could forgive himself.

  He thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood in the doorway, watching the couple, so obviously in love. Not the love which existed on the surface, or one borne of need and desire—but the deep love of a soulmate. Though he might never find a soulmate of his own, it soothed his soul to witness the happiness of others.

  He smiled to himself as Trelawney attempted to scold his wife for venturing out into the night. Her bravery while enduring childbed pains had told Edward enough of her strength of will, and the futility of preventing her from doing anything she’d set her mind to. But nevertheless, Trelawney persisted.

  “Alice, what on earth possessed you to venture out? And for a dog!”

  She glanced at Edward and shame pricked at his conscience. She’d braved the weather because she’d feared he would harm her daughter’s little dog.

  Then she smiled at him, forgiveness in her eyes. “I believe Twinkle has taken a liking to Mr. Scrimgeour’s stables,” she said. “Perhaps you’d be so good as to find her, Ross?”

  “Let me,” Edward said. “The two of you need some time together.”

  “No,” Mrs. Trelawney replied. “Ross, go with him, please.”

  Trelawney opened his mouth to protest, then he nodded.

  “Come on, Scrimgeour,” he said, giving him a wry smile. “My wife’s wish is our command.”

  Edward led the way out of the house. Since he’d carried Mrs. Trelawney inside earlier, the clouds had cleared. The moon was almost full, and it hung in the sky, illuminating the landscape. The snow glistened, as if it contained tiny jewels, twinkling to mirror the stars.

  “This way,” Edward said, and Trelawney followed him to the stables.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Trelawney said.

  “You’ve already thanked me,” Edward replied. “There’s no need to do so again.”

  “But there is,” came the reply. “You see, I understand the pain of losing a wife in childbirth, having experienced it myself.”

  Edward’s heart sank. So the neighbors gossiped about him. Did they, too, think he’d murdered Isabella?

  A comforting hand rested on his shoulder. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn,” Trelawney continued, “but I know how you feel. I suffered with grief when my first wife died. And guilt, also—guilt that I had done nothing to prevent it, that I had not said goodbye…” he hesitated, “…and that I had not loved her as I should.” He shook his head. “I love Alice more than anything. But sometimes a love that strong can inhibit a man. The fear that I might lose her, that nothing I can do will save her. That fear grows inside a man when his wife is with child. It’s concealed by the joy of impending fatherhood, but nevertheless the fear of her confinement is there, hiding in the shadows.”

  “Your wife is well,” Edward said, his heart aching at the stricken tone in Trelawney’s voice. “She’ll make a full recovery. And the child seems healthy.”

  “Thanks to you,” Trelawney said. “And thanks to Alice, I learned to forgive myself over the loss of my first wife, and I can speak of her without pain.” He squeezed Edward’s shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. “When the hand of fate decides it’s time to take a man’s loved ones from him, there’s a time for grief and remembrance. But there also comes a time when he must forgive himself, then move on to live his life without them. To find happiness in a new beginning.”

  Before Edward could respond, a small cry rose up from within the stables.

  “Ah,” Trelawney said, more brightly. “I believe we’ve found the elusive Twinkle.”

  He disappeared inside the stables.

  “Well, I’ll be damned—look!”

  Near the back of the stables, nestled among an abandoned pile of hay, lay a pug—the same little dog he’d spotted yesterday. The animal was surrounded by a six puppies—tiny, sightless creatures which nestled against their mother, issuing plaintive cries. The pug was licking each puppy methodically, but as the two men approached, she stopped and lifted her gaze to stare at them out of soulful brown eyes.

  “It’s all right, little one,” Edward said. “We shan’t hurt you.”

  The pug’s tail twitched, then she resumed tending to her litter.

  “Well, that explains why Twinkle has been overly rotund of late,” Ross laughed. “I’d wondered whether she’d been getting a little too friendly with Mrs. Pelham’s pug when we visited her in London in October.”

  Edward smiled at the little animal, watching her tend to her puppies with just as much affection as Alice had shown when she cradled her baby in her arms.

  “What the devil am I going to tell Alice?” Trelawney sighed.

  Edward smiled. “You can tell her that there’s been a second Christmas miracle tonight.”

  Chapter Ten

  Pengarron, Cornwall, 25 December 1825

  “Ooh, isn’t she adorable!”

  “Such a sweetheart, and so like her mama!”

  Alice cradled her baby in her arms, while her friends cooed and clucked. Frederica leaned over and tickled the baby’s cheek.

  Edwina. Named after the man who helped bring her into the world. When Alice had suggested the name last night, she’d thought Edward would burst into tears. Instead, he kneeled at her feet, took her hand and kissed it.

  “Such a beautiful child,” Frederica said. “But, Alice, what on earth were you thinking? First you go gallivanting across the moors to give birth in a stable. Then, not content with that, you insist on traveling within hours of your confinement! It’s a wonder your poor husband didn’t go gray overnight.”

  “Doctor Payne assured me this morning I was well enough to travel,” Alice said.

  In reality, the doctor had admonished Alice for her recklessness. But he’d also assured her that though Edwina had entered the world a month sooner than expected, she was a healthy child, for all that she was a little small.

  But she had a strong pair of lungs, which she proved with aplomb in the carriage ride home.

  “What do you think of your sister, Amelia, dear?” Jeanette asked.

  Amelia, who was sitting on the hearthrug with Georgia, next to Twinkle’s basket, looked up. “I love her!” she said. “Do you like Twinkle’s puppies?”

  Jeanette wrinkled her nose. Though fond of animals, she was a practical woman at heart who couldn’t understand the pleasure to be gained from loving a pet. Her sister Susan, however, crouched down next to Amelia and stroked the little pug.

  “I think they’re adorable,” she said.

  “Would you like one of Twinkle’s puppies, Miss Claybone?” Amelia asked.

  “That would be delightful,” she said. “I love babies.”

  For a woman who declared such a marked dislike of gallant suitors, Susan Claybone possessed a strong maternal instinct. Though Alice didn’t know her as well as the other ladies, Miss Claybone had been the one to rush to her side when she arrived home, and tend to the baby while Ross helped her out of the carriage. Alice had caught her once or twice looking at Edwina with longing, and she’d made up her mind to ask Susan to be godmother.

  The door opened and a footman came in.

  “Mr. Edward Scrimgeour,”
he announced.

  A hush descended over the party.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway, clutching his top hat nervously. He had to stoop to fit in the doorframe, which made his discomfort all the more obvious.

  Westbury and Stiles exchanged glances, but Alice’s heart filled with pride as Ross strode toward him, hand outstretched.

  “My friend!” he cried. “I’m delighted you were able to join us.”

  The ladies followed his lead and rose to their feet while Ross introduced them. Edward blushed as Ross related, once more, the tale of how he’d saved Alice’s life. Frederica and Jeanette held out their hands, and Edward took each one in turn and lifted it to his lips. Susan listened to the tale with interest, and when it came to her turn to be introduced, she moved a little closer, until they almost touched. Edward held her hand to his lips a fraction longer than the others. Their eyes met, then Susan colored and withdrew with a smile.

  Alice looked around the room, but nobody else had noticed the exchange.

  Amelia watched him, apprehension in her eyes. He approached her and crouched until he was at her eye-level.

  “And how are you today, young lady?” he asked. “I trust you’re taking good care of our little friend, here.”

  He stroked Twinkle’s head and a little pink tongue flicked out and licked his hand.

  “She likes you!” Amelia laughed.

  “That’s just as well,” he replied, “for I like her too. A brave little soul she is, just like your mama.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a biscuit. “I have a tidbit for her, if you think she’d like it. My way of apologizing for giving you—and her—such a scare the other day. Or would she prefer it if you gave it to her? I am, after all, a stranger.”

  “No, you should give it,” Amelia said. “You’re a friend now, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he smiled. “Yes, I am.”

  “And, perhaps, if you’d like, you might have a puppy?” Amelia said shyly. “You’re alone in that horrible big house and it would be company for you.”

  He let out a laugh, a deep sound, filling the room with warmth and mirth, then he stopped, his eyes widening, almost as if he’d discovered how to laugh for the first time.

  “I should like that very much,” he said.

  “Would you like one to take home with you now?”

  “I think they need to spend time with their mother first,” he said. “But when they are old enough, you shall choose one for me, if you like.”

  He patted Amelia’s head, then rose to his feet and approached Alice.

  “Mrs. Trelawney, I trust you’re not too tired after your journey?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” she replied. “I’m well, as you see.”

  “And baby Edwina?”

  “She’s in full health.” Alice smiled down at her child, who slept contentedly in her arms. “I’m so glad you could come, Mr. Scrimgeour,” she said. “Ross and I have something very particular we wanted to ask you.”

  “Ask, and it shall be yours, Mrs. Trelawney.”

  “I wonder…” she hesitated, “…I mean, if it’s not too much of an imposition. Would you like to be Edwina’s godfather?”

  He closed his eyes, and his chest rose and fell in a deep breath. Then he opened them, and smiled.

  “I’d be honored.”

  “Good!” Alice said. “Now, your first task shall be to take care of your goddaughter while I take a turn about the room. I’ve sat here so long, I’m at risk of losing the feeling in my legs.” She gestured to her husband. “Ross, darling, help me up, would you?”

  “Oh…” Edward hesitated, stepping back. “I don’t know, I…”

  “Nonsense!” she exclaimed. “Come on, hold your hands out.”

  He reached out and she dropped Edwina into his arms. In a clumsy, awkward gesture, he curled his arms and held the baby close. Edwina let out a wail.

  “Mrs. Trelawney, I’m not doing this right!” he said, his voice rising. “You must take her back.”

  “Good lord!” a voice exclaimed. Susan Claybone strode across the floor and grasped Edward’s arm.

  “You’re holding her head all wrong,” she chided. “You don’t want it flopping all over the place.”

  “You hold her then, Miss Claybone.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not going to shirk your responsibilities,” she retorted. She grasped his hand and moved it until the flat of his palm was against the back of the baby’s head. “All you have to do is hold your hand still, like this, see? Then she’s supported. Lord knows, your hand’s big enough.”

  “You speak as if large hands are an affliction, Miss Claybone,” he said.

  “On the contrary,” she said. “They can do much, but only if they’re being used to the best of their ability.”

  “Leave him alone, Miss Claybone,” Ross said, crossing the floor to help Alice up. “Those hands you’re quick to criticize were instrumental in bringing Edwina in to the world last night.”

  “Mr. Trelawney,” Edward said, a note of distress in his voice, “I’m sure Miss Claybone meant no harm. You shouldn’t…”

  “I can defend myself, thank you very much, Mr. Scrimgeour,” Susan interrupted, “I don’t need a man to fight my battles for me.”

  “Good,” he replied. “Women should be permitted to fight their own battles. In my view, gallantry’s overrated and often walks hand in hand with insincerity.”

  Miss Claybone’s eyes widened and the corners of her mouth lifted into a smile as they stared at each other.

  Alice exchanged a glance with her husband and smiled. “I believe Miss Claybone may have met her match,” she whispered. “There’s a sprinkling of love there, I think.”

  “What—our neighbor and Miss Claybone?” Ross shook his head. “You do talk nonsense sometimes, my love.”

  “Look at them,” Alice said.

  The subjects of their conversation had stopped arguing, and Miss Claybone was showing Edward how to hold Edwina properly. As they chatted, she reached up and brushed her hand along Edward’s arm, as if removing a speck of dust from his sleeve, and a slow smile crept across his lips at the gesture.

  “I think, with a little encouragement, the magic of Christmas will ignite the spark of love,” Alice said. “We’ve been blessed with two miracles this holiday and, as you know, miracles always come in threes.”

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily Royal

  Headstrong Harts

  What the Hart Wants, Book 1

  Queen of my Hart, Book 2

  Hidden Hart, Book 3

  London Libertines

  Henry’s Bride, Book 1

  Hawthorne’s Wife, Book 2

  Roderick’s Widow, Book 3

  About the Author

  Emily Royal grew up in Sussex, England, and has devoured romantic novels for as long as she can remember. A mathematician at heart, Emily has worked in financial services for over twenty years. She indulged in her love of writing after she moved to Scotland, where she lives with her husband, teenage daughters and menagerie of rescue pets including Twinkle, an attention-seeking boa constrictor.

  She has a passion for both reading and writing romance with a weakness for Regency rakes, Highland heroes, and Medieval knights. Persuasion is one of her all-time favorite novels which she reads several times each year and she is fortunate enough to live within sight of a Medieval palace.

  When not writing, Emily enjoys playing the piano, hiking, and painting landscapes, particularly the Highlands. One of her ambitions is to paint, as well as climb, every mountain in Scotland.

  Follow Emily Royal:

  Website

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  Past, Present, Future

  The Daring Dersinghams

  Lynne Connolly

  Chapter One

  Past

  Christmas, 1760

  Rhona MacKay gazed out of the w
indow of the highest tower of Bosven Castle. She started every day here in this tiny room, even though her bedroom was a floor below. Nobody else came here. She could take ten minutes for herself and plan her day.

  She didn’t care that fifteen years ago, a man who had tried to become king had cowered here, hiding from the soldiers who came to search. That was history now, over and done with. The handsome young prince had become a disillusioned drunk, drifting around Europe. He’d nearly taken the owners of this castle, the new, youthful Duke of Kilsyth and his family with him, but they’d held on, gripping the ledge with their fingernails at first, and slowly regaining what they had so nearly lost. They’d already lost the old duke, slaughtered at Culloden, and the new duke was determined that wouldn’t happen to him.

  She didn’t need to refer to the slate on the table at her elbow, but she liked having it. One day was much like another, and she liked that, too. She’d had enough turmoil for one life. Now, she wanted peace.

  Watching the gray-blue sea, the choppy waves tipped with white when the sea whipped it up, she planned her day.

  She’d have to make sure the hall had enough holly boughs. On Twelfth Night they’d have the villagers up for their ball. They looked forward to it all year. And she needed to check that she had enough little gifts for everyone. Lengths of cloth for the servants and some of the women, packets of ribbons and pins, firkins of beer, and the rest. Only meticulous planning produced the best results. Her mother had taught her that.

  A cloud of dust on the road at the far end of her vision attracted her attention. Someone was coming up the road from the village. One person on a horse. The minister of the kirk, maybe.