The Peace of Christmas Yet to Come: Sweet Regency Romance (A Dickens of a Christmas Book 3)

by L G Rollins

  “For sure. Rotten potatoes hurt when they hit.”

  Hugh chuckled and then bent down, kissing her lightly along the temple. “I best be going.”

  “What?” She turned and faced him fully. He normally spent the entire day with them. Truth was, she’d grown to expect it. It might not have been a long-standing arrangement, but it was one she was growing quite attached to.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll—see you later today.”

  “If you stayed now,” she tried, “you could go to church services with us.” She lowered her voice a bit. “I could really use the help with two captains who don’t like to sit still.”

  “We’re not captains,” Tim said. “We’re generals.”

  Martha shot Hugh a see-what-I-mean look.

  He laughed again and leaned in. “I’ve got something better in mind.” Then he gave her a quick wink and slipped out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Martha led Tim and Peter into the church house. What had Hugh meant earlier that morning? Perhaps he had a nice dinner planned for them later that day? It could very easily be that he was simply wanting to get out of attending services. He hadn’t ever gone as long as she could remember.

  “Well, well.”

  Martha turned at the voice and found Lord Comerford standing just behind her. She kept her displeasure at seeing him to a simple tightening of her jaw.

  “Good day to you,” she said, even while motioning for her brothers to take their seat. Since she had told him off that morning after leaving the church house, he hadn’t dared so much as speak to her. Whatever he had to say now, she felt certain she could handle it.

  “I must say,” Comerford eyed her up and down, “I had rather expected you to be wearing something a bit . . . more today.”

  Whatever did he mean by that?

  “After all,” he said, “you have His Grace so fully ensnared that he threw out his entire house party to save your good name. Yet you allow him off without so much as demanding a new dress?” He tutted. “I will never understand the emotional logic of a woman.” Without giving her time to respond, he slipped away to the seat his family claimed.

  She watched him go but hardly registered more than a blur of fabric lost between a swirl of colorful dresses and jackets. Hugh had thrown everyone out of Stonewell Castle for her? He’d stood up for her? Defended her good name? She’d heard whisperings around Dunwell, conjecture that she had agreed to be the duke’s mistress. It was such a ridiculous notion, she’d dismissed it immediately. Surely no one had the gumption to speak of such things in the duke’s home. Or had they?

  Martha shook herself and sat beside Tim and Peter. The memory of his angry yells took on a very different light now.

  The three of them sat, Tim and Peter already fidgeting and twisting about on the pew, Martha’s smile growing across her face. No matter that Lord Comerford spoke to her with the express purpose of putting her down by insulting her attire; his words had actually the exact opposite effect on her.

  Grandfather appeared, most unexpectedly, at Martha’s side, sitting himself down next to her.

  “This is a surprise,” she said. The day seemed to be getting better and better.

  He smiled. “Seems Mr. Scrooge’s new look at life extends far enough to allow his employee a chance to attend services.”

  Martha didn’t know what to say; there wasn’t a statement of surprise she hadn’t uttered in regard to Mr. Scrooge this past week. She’d never seen a man so changed, and after one night’s illness, no less. It was most likely a puzzle she would never piece out.

  Mr. Jakob stood, and the room quieted.

  He spoke of Paul. Of all the horrid things he did as Saul, and later the wonderful things he did as Paul. Mostly though, he spoke of change—the moment when the man against Christ chose to become someone different.

  It was an apt sermon. Most likely, Mr. Jakob either knew Mr. Scrooge or, at the very least, had heard of the man’s reform. Of course, Mr. Scrooge wasn’t the only man to do so this Christmas. Hugh, too, had changed. Or rather—though it was probably seen as an unmanly way of stating things—he’d bloomed. He’d allowed a better side of himself to come through.

  She loved him for having the courage to do so.

  Martha’s heart sped up at the thought of Hugh. She loved him for many other things as well. For the way he played with her brothers. For how he supported her and helped with her outlandish schemes. For how safe she felt when he held her.

  The vicar wrapped up his words and, beside her, Peter muttered a low, “Finally.”

  “Before we all leave to enjoy the rest of the Sabbath,” Mr. Jakob said, “there is someone else who wishes to address the congregation.”

  How strange. Martha had never heard of someone else standing and speaking like this. Perhaps a visiting bishop?

  The rest of the congregation seemed as curious as she was. Gentle whispers buzzed about the room. Even Tim and Peter sat up and paid attention.

  The door to the anteroom near the front of the chapel opened. From the shadows, out stepped Hugh.

  Martha’s jaw fell open before she was able to catch it and right herself. What in heaven’s name was he doing here? Hugh may have loved spending time in the church house, but that was only when no one else was present.

  He moved to the front, coming to stand beside the vicar. Mr. Jakob placed a hand on Hugh’s shoulder, gave him a wrinkled smile, and then walked away.

  Hugh stood, alone, in front of everyone.

  “Good morning.” He spoke loudly enough that Martha didn’t doubt even those sitting far in the back could hear. Then again, the sudden silence which had settled over the room the moment he’d opened his mouth no doubt helped.

  Martha couldn’t seem to make sense of what she was seeing. Of what she was hearing. Never in her wildest imaginings had she dreamed up the Silent Duke addressing so many people, and willingly, too.

  Hugh didn’t shuffle about, nor did his head drop. Instead, he stood with calm confidence. “I hope you do not mind my interrupting your sabbath for a few minutes, as I have a few things I—need to say.”

  The tension about the room was thick, yet it continued to wind tighter and tighter as Hugh spoke.

  “As the Duke of Pembroke, I have not always b-b-been the most generous master nor the most amicable. However, during this season of celebration and w-w-wonder, I make a promise to each of you that I intend to improve on this score.”

  No one even dared whisper as he spoke. Everyone, it seemed, was glued to their seats, their gazes unable to leave the intimidating man before them.

  Hugh drew himself up, his own gaze passing over the congregation. “That is all.” When his gaze landed on Martha the side of his mouth ticked up momentarily. Then, he gave a stiff bow to all present, turned on his heel, and disappeared through the side door.

  The instant he was gone, the room erupted. No one was whispering now. Some people spoke loudly to be heard over others, while some stood still in their shock. The cacophony grew and grew.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Grandfather said.

  Martha, her gaze still on the door Hugh had left through, nodded. “Most unexpected, indeed.”

  “He’s a brave soldier,” Peter said.

  Martha smiled and wrapped her arm around her brother. “That he is.”

  Tim picked up his crutch off the floor. “He’s brave because he isn’t lonely anymore.” Placing the wood beneath his arm, Tim pulled himself to a stand.

  “What do you mean,” Martha asked, “that he’s not lonely anymore?”

  “It’s like I told you before. Most people are mean because really they’re just lonely. But His Grace isn’t lonely anymore. He has us now.”

  Martha’s heart warmed at Tim’s comment, even while her stomach flipped at his unintended implication.

  Grandfather rubbed a hand over Martha’s back. “The boy is right. He does have us.”

  Martha could only smile and nod. She suddenly fe
lt too fragile for words.

  Could it be as her family assumed? As they shuffled out of their pew and from the church house, Martha glanced back at the small door Hugh had left through.

  Perhaps Tim and Grandfather and Peter were right.

  Over the past week, Hugh had weakened her defenses, promising her he would always be there for her. She believed she could trust him—that she should trust him. With the duke in their lives, their future wasn’t all weary bleakness, nothing more than an unknown she couldn’t trust, and which only brought her distress and worry.

  But dare she hope the duke might be even more to her than a source of support? Might he love her as she loved him?

  Hugh mounted his horse and rode back to Stonewell Castle as quickly as he could without appearing to be running away.

  His skin still tingled with apprehension from what he’d just done. His stomach was one large knot, and there was still a chance he’d lose his breakfast.

  The truth was out now.

  He’d stuttered enough in his few sentences to the gathered congregation that everyone in all of Dunwell either now knew of his struggles to speak, or they would know by nightfall. Being a duke had allowed him to stay hidden away, to be eccentric, when it suited him. But now that he’d chosen to speak out, it would only make talk of him more prevalent, more widespread.

  Once he arrived home, Hugh planned to call his staff together. He’d prepared a speech for them similar to the one he had given at the church house. Several members of his household knew of his struggle to speak, but not all. If he was going to let this proverbial cat out of the bag, he might as well do it right. Besides, he wanted the opportunity to apologize to them for not always having been the most generous master.

  His horse crunched through down the drive, and he had to duck more than once to miss being unseated by a branch weighed down by the heavy snow. As he rode, his nerves calmed, and his stomach eased. In their place, a new feeling grew. One of satisfaction. One of relief. One of peace.

  There would be no need to hide any longer. There would be no need to keep to himself or to stay silent when he didn’t wish it. Hugh slowed his horse. He shut his eyes and pulled in a deep breath of icy, winter air. There would be repercussions to what he’d done, but he’d felt it was necessary. If he wanted to prove to Martha—or to himself—that he was willing to change, letting go of his secret was what had to happen.

  Let the chips fall where they may, he was glad he’d done it.

  “Your Grace.”

  Hugh turned his horse back around at the call. A man was hurrying after him on foot, the capes of his greatcoat flapping in his hurry.

  Of all the people Hugh had expected might stop him in his retreat back home, Sir Roberts had not made it high on the list. Yet, here he was. Hugh dismounted and waited for the man to reach him. Their meeting just over a week ago had been unfruitful. Perhaps if Hugh had done more than scowl at the man, they would have reached an agreement.

  “Your Grace,” Sir Roberts repeated, even while bowing. “Please forgive me, but I wished to speak with you briefly.”

  Hugh almost nodded his consent before catching himself. Instead, he remained upright and spoke. “Very well.”

  “I must apologize for”—the man’s face pulled to the side—“some of the things I may have said in my previous correspondences. My concerns in selling to Your Grace were of a . . .”

  “A personal nature?” Hugh offered.

  Sir Roberts squirmed a bit again. “Yes. Only now,” he hurried on, “I see I was in the wrong. I believe I misjudged you, and I beg your forgiveness on that score. If you are still interested in buying the parcel of land, then I concede that you were in the right. I have not the means to do anything but let it sit and be wasted. There are, no doubt, many able-bodied men for whom it would be a blessing if given the opportunity to farm it.”

  “My th-th-thoughts exactly.”

  “Good. Very good.” The man seemed nervous, but not at Hugh’s stutter. In all honesty, he seemed simply nervous to be speaking with a duke, and one he hadn’t always shown respect to, at that. “I shall speak with my man of business at once, and we can draw up the papers for the sale.”

  With another bow, Sir Roberts turned and hurried off. Hugh watched him disappear between the trees but didn’t mount right away. It still did not feel natural to speak aloud—stutter and all—in front of others. But at this point, people knew the truth about him either way, so there was no reason not to speak up. With time, no doubt, he would grow used to it.

  Even with it feeling a bit awkward, Hugh could not deny that he already far preferred it to the silence that had reigned through previous years. What a fool he’d been. All this time, he’d been running from the one thing that would bring him so much happiness.

  Hugh knocked on the Cratchit’s front door. He had one last apology to give, and then one very big question. Peter’s voice echoed in the room beyond, but he couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. He and Tim were probably waging battle again.

  The door swung open and Tim stood before him, crutch beneath one arm and a smile on his face, like always. He took a couple hobbling steps backward, making room for Hugh to enter.

  Hugh stepped over the threshold, but instead of walking past Tim and into the room, he knelt before the small boy.

  “You know, I’ve been saying a lot of apologizes today, but the one I need to say the most is—to you.”

  Peter moved up behind Hugh but didn’t speak.

  “Tim,” Hugh said, “I am so very sorry I hurt you. I have no excuse other than I was frustrated and lashed out wh-wh-when I shouldn’t have. My anger caused you pain, and I’m sorry.”

  Tim pulled himself forward with his crutch and threw his arms around Hugh’s neck. The crutch hit against Hugh’s back, a hard contrast to Tim’s slender arm which wrapped around his other side.

  “I forgive you,” he said in a soft voice.

  Hugh hugged him back. If no one else forgave him of all his years of coarse interactions, Tim, at the very least, had proven to Hugh that there were people in this world willing to forgive and let go of past wrongs. There were people willing to let a man change and become someone better.

  Tim pulled back. “Does this mean I can be the dragon next year?”

  Hugh laughed. He stood, scooping Tim up with one arm easily. “Most certainly.”

  Both boys let out a cheer and, in the middle of it, Martha walked in. She wore a simple blue dress, one without ruffles or lace. Her hair was coming out of the coiffure she’d donned before services that morning, and there was a small streak of flour across her cheek. Hugh could not imagine her looking lovelier.

  “What’s everyone celebrating?” she asked.

  “I’m going to be the dragon next year!” Tim exclaimed.

  Hugh set the boy down and moved up closer to Martha. She watched him, her wide, dark eyes taking in each move he made. She was probably watching for a hint of what had happened to cross his face. But he was done making her wait and wonder at what he might say.

  Hugh reached for her hand, taking it gently in his own. There were callouses across her palm. He loved her all the more for them. Though, if he had his way, he’d see to it she would never again have to wake before the sun was up to wash draperies and dust rooms.

  He kissed the back of her hand. “Walk with me?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Not five minutes later, the boys were settled, and Hugh and Martha were out of doors, strolling away from the small rented rooms. Before they’d gone three strides, Martha brought up Lord Comerford—much to his surprise.

  “He said you threw them out to defend my good name.”

  He wasn’t about to repeat what Comerford and Birks had said about Martha. “I only did what any respectable gentleman would have done.”

  Pulling softly on his arm, she brought them to a stop. “Thank you.”

  “I will always stand—up for you, dearest.”

  Her cheeks g
rew pink. They fell into a comfortable silence, but it didn’t last long as Martha asked after his church services declaration.

  “But why do it?”

  Hugh, reveling in the feel of her arm looped through his, shrugged. “I felt I needed to.” He looked out ahead of them, at the snow-covered evergreens and the white clouds above. “I realized I didn’t want to be the man I was before.”

  They spoke for a bit longer on the topic. Of the gossip he surely had induced. Of Sir Roberts and his sudden willingness to sell a parcel of his land. In the distance, the spire of the church house came into view. Then the tall windows along one side. Finally, the main doors.

  “You know,” Martha said, “Tim had a rather interesting take on your confession today.”

  “Oh? And what might that have been?”

  “Well, Peter first said he thought it a very brave thing you did.”

  “As a general, he ought to know.”

  Martha laughed lightly. “Of a surety. Then Tim said you were brave because you aren’t alone anymore.”

  Hugh’s steps slowed, then stopped, a warmth spreading through him.

  Martha turned and faced him. “He said you aren’t alone anymore because you have us.”

  Hugh took in the sight of the curls encircling her face. Her dark eyes, watching him closely, beckoned him to her.

  “Do I?” he asked. “Do I have you?”

  “Always.”

  Letting her arm drop away from his, he instead took hold of her hand. “Then, c-c-come with me.”

  He hurried her forward and pulled open one of the church house doors. It was empty this time of day, despite being the Sabbath. He ushered her in, then led her up to his favorite pew.

  He motioned to it with a hand. “You could sit.”

  Martha’s smile grew—clearly she’d remembered those were the first words he’d ever said to her. She walked to the center of the pew and sat, Hugh following directly.

  As much as he enjoyed sitting on that particular pew, even more so when he had the opportunity to do so with Martha, Hugh instead dropped to one knee between the pews.