3 Charming Christmas Tales Set in Victorian England

by Michelle Griep

  “Let me go! My life is not part of that business.”

  “It could be, if only you would let it. I have your father’s approval. You have but to say the word, and you could be Mrs. Grimlock by Christmas. We will run this inn together someday, you and I.”

  The thought of marriage to this beast—especially the marriage bed—surged a strong revulsion through her veins, and she yanked from his grip, the force violent enough that they both staggered.

  She used the momentum to finally fly past him. “Good night, Mr. Grimlock.”

  An oily chuckle followed her down the corridor. “See you in the morning, Mina.”

  She dashed up the stairs and darted into her room, shut and locked the door, then leaned back against it. She’d not be able to hold off Mr. Grimlock for much longer. Closing her eyes, she forced away the awful image of his sweaty visage.

  If only Will had asked her to be his real bride.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Love her, love her, love her! If she favours you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces—and as it gets older and stronger it will tear deeper—love her, love her, love her!

  Great Expectations

  Will stared at the affidavit on his desk. Which barrister had requested this? Bagley? Whimpole? Snavesgate? As hard as he tried to remember, all that came to mind was a sprinkle of freckles on creamy skin, doe-like blue eyes blinking up into his, and a tremulous smile on lips that had been close enough to kiss. When had Mina Scott become such an enigmatic beauty—one he couldn’t get out of his head?

  “Come on.” Fitz’s voice pulled his attention away from the stack of documents. His friend shoved his coat and hat toward him, nearly knocking him backward on his stool.

  Will grabbed the things out of reflex and glanced at the wall clock, then frowned up at Fitz. “Where are we going? It’s only half past two.”

  “You need some air.” Fitz turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

  Rising, Will shrugged on his coat and clapped his hat atop his head, trying to make sense of his friend’s words. By the time he caught up to Fitz at the top of the stairs, he truly did need some air—and some answers. “What’s this all about?”

  Fitz paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You just sent that last runner to Harberry Court.”

  “So?”

  “Barrister Grovener’s chambers are on the other side of town.”

  The wind punched out of his lungs. Sweet heavens! That mistake would no doubt come back to sink teeth into him. Fitz was right. A walk in the air might do him some good. He yanked open the other door and beat his friend outside and down the stairs to the sidewalk.

  “I can only assume this is about your uncle,” Fitz said as soon as he fell into step. “Wasn’t that dinner last night? Oh … egad! How callous of me.” His friend shot ahead then walked backward in front of him, concern folding his brow. “You didn’t get the inheritance, did you, ol’ chap?”

  Will shook his head. “Uncle Barlow didn’t announce it yet.”

  “Whew. You had me worried there for a moment.” Stepping sideways, Fitz pivoted and once again joined Will’s side. “You haven’t heard from your mother, have you? Has she fallen into a worse state of health?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Well, if it’s neither of those things, then what has you so addlepated?”

  For a moment, he walked in silence, which was easy enough to do with the clamouring of peddlers and passing vehicles making more than enough noise. Fitz’s question rattled around in his skull like a penny being dropped into a tin and given a good shake. What was it that bothered him to such a degree?

  He glanced sideways at his friend. “I’m not sure, actually. For some reason, I can’t stop thinking about last night. I suppose because it was a perfectly awful evening, thanks to my cousins. You should have seen them, Fitz. They were both in rare form. Percy collected bogus evidence I can only assume he plans to use against Uncle Barlow, then he dredged up my past for all to hear. Worse, both he and Alice said horrid things about Mina, behind her back and to her face. Ahh, but Mina …”

  His pace slowed, and once again Mina Scott’s sweet face crowded out the real world. If he listened hard enough, he could still hear the magic of her laughter as she’d bantered with Uncle Barlow.

  A tug on his sleeve yanked him sideways, and he barely avoided stepping into a puddle of sewage and ruining his shoes. “Thanks.” He gave his friend a sheepish smile. “Looks like I owe you yet again.”

  Fitz rolled his eyes. “If I had but a farthing for each time you said that, I’d own a matched set of high-steppers and a shiny new barouche. Now then, what about Miss Scott?”

  His smile stretched into a grin. “You should have seen her. A champion and a sport. She put up with Alice’s jabs and Percy’s slights—which as you know isn’t easy to do. And she’s completely stolen Uncle Barlow’s heart.”

  “Hmm … I’m beginning to wonder if she’s stolen your heart as well. I didn’t think it possible after the way Elizabeth … well, you know—”

  Fitz continued speaking, but his friend’s voice faded, as did the squawking of a nearby vendor hawking apples. All he heard was the rush of blood whooshing in his ears and the echoing repeat of Fitz’s words, “She’s stolen your heart as well. She’s stolen your heart as well.”

  His step hitched. So did his breath. Were Fitz’s careless words correct? Shoving down the thought, he shuddered. He’d never again hand over his heart to a woman only to have it sliced open and bled out. Once had been more than enough.

  “—announce?” The expectancy written on the curve of Fitz’s brow hinted he’d missed a question.

  “Announce what?” he asked.

  “Who’s to be his heir.” His friend looked down his nose at him. “This little walk isn’t helping, is it?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it is. Uncle Barlow has invited us all to his estate for Christmas, so I expect he’ll announce then.”

  Fitz’s eyes widened. “How on earth did you get Miss Scott to agree to that?”

  “I haven’t. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I see. Uh …?” Fitz hitched his thumb sideways, indicating the open door of the Brass Rail Pub.

  Will shook his head. A mug of ale would only muddle his already fuzzy thinking.

  Fitz frowned but kept on walking. “I suppose even if Miss Scott does agree, her father wouldn’t allow it. It’s not like you’re her beau or … well, there’s a thought for you, eh?”

  “How can you even suggest such a thing? No, I shall simply have to persuade her father, that’s all.”

  Fitz cuffed him on the back. “While your tongue is light and quick, I don’t think even you can talk your way into gaining his permission to let her go with you.”

  Tugging the brim of his hat lower, he looked up at Fitz. “You’re right. Maybe I do need to become Mina’s beau.”

  “A pretend beau … or a real one?”

  Exactly. His chest squeezed. So did his breath. “That, my friend, is a question I shall have to think long and hard on.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  My dear if you could give me a cup of tea to clear the muddle of my head I should better understand your affairs.

  Mrs. Lirriper’s Legacy

  Tea was life, comfort, all that embodied warmth and fulfillment … usually. But this afternoon, Mina stared into her cup, finding no solace whatsoever. Every creak of a floorboard outside the inn’s sitting-room door might be Mr. Grimlock on the prowl. Each footstep could be his. Dodging the man all day had stretched her nerves thin, and she just might snap if he dared to breach her weekly tea with Miss Whymsy.

  “What has you so preoccupied, my dear? Is it your father’s return?”

  “Hmm?” She glanced up at her old friend. “I’m sorry, but what were you saying?”

  “You see?” Miss Whymsy smiled, the skin at the edges of her eyes crinkling into soft folds. “Your mind is elsewhere.” />
  She stifled a sigh. There was no hiding anything from a former governess proficient at coaxing truth from naughty children. “I own I am a bit pensive, though it has nothing to do with my father. Please forgive me?”

  Her old friend patted her knee. “There is nothing to forgive, child. Sometimes life has a way of draping about our shoulders and pressing us down beneath the weight of it. Is there anything I can do to lighten your burden?”

  Her lips twisted into a wry grin. “I don’t suppose you’d want to marry Mr. Grimlock so he’d stop pestering me?”

  “I don’t think he’d be very interested in an old governess.” Miss Whymsy set down her teacup, then picked up a book she’d brought along. “Here, this ought to put you in a better frame of mind.”

  Mina took the novel and ran her fingers over the red cover with gilt type, thrilled yet confused. Had the older lady forgotten she’d already read this title? “Not that I don’t appreciate revisiting Mr. Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, but I must be honest and tell you I’ve already read it. Several times, in fact.”

  “Ahh, but you’ve not read this one.” Miss Whymsy reached for the book and opened it to the title page.

  “Oh, my.” Mina sucked in a breath as she stared at the fine, black penmanship scrolled across the paper. “How ever did you manage to come across a signed edition?”

  “It’s not mine. It is merely on loan from the director of the institute. Which reminds me …” Setting the book on the cushion between them, Miss Whymsy folded her hands and leaned forward. “I was wondering if you might speak with your father when he returns today. The institute is fair to bursting with women in need, and much to my regret, I have seen several turned away for lack of space. I know I’ve asked you before, but I feel I must inquire once again. Is there any chance your father would open up a room or two to house those who are ailing?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think—”

  But her friend cut her off with a touch to her knee. “Allow me to explain. It wouldn’t be for those who are contagious but for those who are on the mend and not quite ready to go home yet. By relocating those women here, it would open up beds for other women in need.”

  An ache settled deep in her soul, not only for the thought of the sick women being turned away, but for the way Miss Whymsy’s faded blue-green eyes glimmered with hope. How awful it would be if her friend fell ill and had nowhere to go.

  But no. She steeled herself. Father would never allow it.

  “I am sorry, my friend, but especially at this time of year, what with the annual Christmas Eve party, there will be absolutely no space whatsoever at the inn. I would love to help, truly, but I am afraid housing women here is out of the question.”

  “Posh, child.” Miss Whymsy sank back onto the cushions. “I figured as much, but on the off chance, thought I’d ask. And don’t sell yourself short … you have helped. The money you donated went toward more bandages and dressings. I suppose we shall just have to increase our time petitioning God. Shall we?”

  “Of course.”

  They bowed their heads—but a rap on the door jerked them back up. Mina’s heart pounded off rhythm. Had Mr. Grimlock come to further torment her? But surely he wouldn’t have knocked. Nor would Father have employed such a courtesy if he had returned.

  “Oughtn’t you answer that, my dear?”

  Miss Whymsy’s voice prodded her into action. She stood and crossed to the door.

  “Just the person I was looking for.” William Barlow, hat in hand, entered, looking far too handsome in his royal-blue cutaway suit coat and buff-coloured trousers. His smile warmed her, as did his gaze. “Good afternoon, Mina.”

  Across the room, Miss Whymsy cleared her throat.

  Mina bit her lip. Had the older lady heard the way he’d spoken her Christian name?

  Will turned toward Miss Whymsy. “My apologies, madam. I did not realize Miss Scott entertained company.” He dipped his head in respect. “William Barlow, at your service.”

  “Miss Whymsy.” Mina swept her hand toward Will. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Barlow. Mr. Barlow, my friend, Miss Whymsy.”

  “The pleasure is mine, madam. I am sorry to have interrupted. I promise this shan’t take long.” His gaze swung back to Mina. “But if you don’t mind, might I have a quick word with you and your father?”

  Her eyes widened. “My father?”

  “Yes.”

  “I—I …” Her words stalled. What in all of God’s great goodness could Will possibly have to say to her father? “But he is not—”

  “Go on, child,” Miss Whymsy interrupted. “Tend to your young man. I shall wait here, for I have a friend to keep me company until you return.” She reached for the book.

  Will crossed to the door and held it wide. “Shall we then?”

  Curious, confused, but mostly nervous Mr. Grimlock might see them, she led Will down the corridor to a small alcove at the end. The space was occupied by a single chair and an end table. A window graced the nook with perfect reading light, and it was a favorite haunt of hers when the weather turned too inclement to be outside.

  Will stepped next to her, and she peered up at him, but oh how hard it was to think, let alone speak, when he stood so near. She edged back a bit, until her skirt brushed against the chair. “Why do you wish to see my father?”

  He fidgeted with his hat, his fingers playing with the brim. Was he nervous too? “You can’t very well spend Christmas at my uncle’s estate without your father noticing your absence. So I thought I’d have a word with him.”

  She shook her head. “As much as I’d like to help with keeping your uncle out of an asylum, there is no chance my father will allow me to go.”

  “Then I will persuade him, that is unless …” He set his hat on the small table then straightened. Gathering her hands in his, he looked deep into her eyes.

  Her breath caught in her throat. This was a moment she’d read about in stories. Dreamed about at night. Was this real? The heat of his body standing so near sure seemed it, as did the touch of his fingers against hers.

  “Mina, I need to know. Do you want to spend Christmas with me? If you don’t, say so, and I shall walk away and not trouble you further.”

  Trouble? She gaped. Did William Barlow not know the effect he had on her? Could he not feel the trembling in her hands? She did want to be with him, Christmas or any other time of year—but without the lie that both bound and kept them apart.

  Swallowing back emotion, she steeled herself for what she must say. “There is nothing I’d like better in all the world, but I cannot—”

  “That’s all I needed to hear.” A brilliant smile deepened his dimples, and he squeezed her hands, pulling her close, wrapping her in his excitement. “Now then, where is your father?”

  “He’s not yet—”

  “Unhand that woman!”

  Will turned. She shrank.

  “Excuse me.” Will’s voice hardened, belying the apology in his words. “But the lady and I are having a private conversation, and I will thank you to leave us to it.”

  Afternoon light highlighted the glisten on Gilbert Grimlock’s brow as he scowled at Will. “Who do you think you are, ordering me about?”

  Will advanced a step, his jaw clenched. “Not that it signifies to you, but I am Mina’s beau.”

  Her—what? She sucked in a breath.

  So did Mr. Grimlock. “We’ll just see about that,” he spat out, then his gaze slid to hers. “Mina, your father has returned.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Why, on this day, the great battle was fought on this ground.

  The Battle of Life

  Will stared at the man stomping away down the corridor. Judging by the pound of his steps, if the fellow had been clutching a gun, Will would be bleeding out on the floor right now. Why such animosity? And why had he allowed that animosity to goad him into such a defense? Declaring to be Mina’s beau. Of all things. Not that he hadn’t intended to speak to her father
about the possibility, but what would this unfavorable start lead to? He’d gone about things the right way with Elizabeth, and that had ended horribly. But this? There was nothing even remotely right about the muddle he’d made of things with Mina.

  He turned to where she stood deathly still, her fingers pressed against her mouth.

  “Mina?” Closing the distance between them, he gently lowered her hand. Her skin was cold to the touch. “Who was that man?”

  Cavernous eyes sought his. “Mr. Grimlock. He manages the inn when my father travels. And if Father has returned—oh, Will!” A little cry caught in her throat. “I am afraid of what kinds of fabrications he’ll tell Father.”

  A surge of protectiveness tightened his gut, and he wrapped his fingers around hers. “Then we must reach your father before he does. Lead the way.”

  She needed no more encouragement. His legs stretched to keep up with her furious pace. She led him along one passageway, cut through a storage closet with two facing doors, then scurried down a short flight of stairs and turned left, stopping breathless in front of a door—

  Where the striped coattails of Mr. Grimlock disappeared.

  “I think it best if I go in first.” He squeezed her hand then released his hold. “Wait here.”

  “But—”

  “Mina.” He pressed his finger to her lips. “All will be well. I vow I shall make things right. Will you trust me in this?”

  Her blue gaze held on to his, and slowly, she nodded. The fear, the hope, the shimmer of tears all did strange things to his heart.

  “Good girl.” He wheeled about. Now, if only he believed his own brave words.

  Lord, though I don’t deserve it … For a moment, his silent prayer faltered along with his step as the truth of his words slapped him. Of course he didn’t deserve the ear of God or His help. The Creator of all shouldn’t even listen to him after not only being involved in such a great deception but dragging Mina into it as well.

  Yet was God not the author of mercy? Of grace? Of second chances?

  “Will you trust Me in this?”