Regency Christmas (Holiday Collection)

by Jillian Eaton

  His mind made up to teach her a lesson – he had warned her to leave, after all – James stalked around the side of the chair and stopped short in front of her. The firelight bathed them in its glow, casting flickering shadows that climbed the walls in long, sinuous strokes of black edged with orange and red. Beyond the study faint strains of music could be heard, a reminder of a ball James had already forgotten about. His thoughts veered to Natalie and obligations better served elsewhere, but then Lily wet her bottom lip with a tiny flick of her tongue and he couldn’t think at all.

  She tipped her head back, her unusually colored eyes steady on his. The air itself seemed to hum, filled with an electricity so potent it set the hairs at the nape of his neck on edge. His hand clenched, muscles tightening and bulging beneath his overcoat. One step closer. Another. The lapels of his jacket brushed against the bodice of her gown. Lily drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes closed…

  Without warning his determination wavered.

  Like a ship whose rudder had been knocked askew James was thrown off course and left reeling in waves of self-doubt and indecision. What woman in her right mind would want to kiss him? What woman would want to be held by a man who was less than whole? None, came the immediate answer, and certainly not this one. She’s too good for you, James. You’re a crippled ex-soldier who is most likely more than a little half mad. Leave before you’re the one left, you bloody fool.

  Lily’s eyes opened. “Captain Rigby? What is the matter?”

  “I… I…” But words failed him and, without knowing what else to do, he shoved roughly past and fled the room as though the very demons of hell were nipping at his heels.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Well that had certainly not gone as planned.

  As she watched the door to the study swing back and forth, propelled into motion by James’ hasty exit, Lily made a soft humming sound of distress and sank into the nearest chair. All she wanted was a bit of conversation, and – if she were being honest – a kiss. The notion of James’ mouth covering her own had been a thrilling one, and it had taken all of her self-control not to launch herself at him while she waited impatiently for him to go about the business of putting his lips on hers.

  Never one to shy away from passion, Lily had indulged in her fair share of kisses since coming of age, although she’d minded her manners and never gone any further than allowing the occasional hand to cup her breast in the dark shadows of a garden. She was willing to do more, but it would have to be with the right man.

  Was Captain James Rigby that man? It was too soon to tell.

  The initial spark of attraction she so desperately craved and so rarely received was there, which was most definitely a promising sign. Lily could count on one hand the number of men who had managed to turn her head since her debut and there was no denying she’d felt drawn to James the moment she spied him across the room.

  It was rather unfortunate he possessed such a churlish temperament, but she supposed if she had suffered through the horrors of war and lost an arm in the process she would be rather churlish as well. It was what lurked beneath the rough exterior that truly interested her.

  He was someone who had experienced the world. Who had lived outside the four corners of London and seen the gritty, raw side of life never witnessed by lords of the manor living safely within the confines of their estates sipping port and discussing the weather.

  The door creaked open, washing light into the dark study. Lily looked up expectantly, her heart beginning to pound as she anticipated James’ return, but the tiny jolt of excitement subsided with a faint flutter of disappointment when she saw it was her dear friend Sarah, not the enigmatic captain, who had come looking for her.

  “Lily? Is that you?” Squinting into the study, Sarah pushed the door open wider and took two hesitant steps inside. Dressed in a stunning plum colored gown with her golden hair twisted into a demure coiffure, she managed to look equal parts bookish and beautiful. Always the shyer and more demure of the two, Sarah had finally found her inner confidence after marrying Devlin, and Lily had never known her friend to be happier.

  “Yes,” she answered with a sigh, “you have found me.”

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing sitting by yourself in the dark?” Her skirts swishing against her ankles, Sarah moved briskly across the room and lit two beeswax candles before sinking into a chaise lounge opposite of Lily’s chair with a little oof of breath. “I am quite tired,” she admitted. “Devlin has insisted on dancing nearly every waltz, even though I told him having one’s husband fill up their card is not at all de rigueur.”

  “And you would not have it any other way,” Lily said with a grin.

  Sarah’s cheeks brightened ever so slightly. “No, I suppose not. But enough about me.” She waved her hand in the air, causing the firelight to reflect off her gold wedding band. “Has something happened? Why are you in hiding?” A line appeared between her pale eyebrows as she frowned. “Was someone untoward? If they were, tell me their name and I will have Devlin—”

  “No, no, nothing has happened. Even if it had, do you really think I would be sulking in a room by myself?” Even though that is exactly what I am doing, she thought silently. Sulking because, for once in my life, a man did not go out of his way to please me.

  Lily had never put much stock in physical appearance, but she was an intelligent woman, and she knew her beauty was held in high regard. As a result men had been courting her favor since she was a girl of fourteen, which explained all the kisses. It did not explain why James had left her in the lurch, choosing to brave the crowded ballroom – something he clearly despised – rather than kiss her. Her nose wrinkling as she recalled his expression of disgust, she shifted her right shoulder back and gave a discreet sniff. Well, she didn’t smell. At least she had that in her favor, if not much else where the ex-soldier was concerned.

  “Lily, dear…”

  “Yes?”

  “What are you doing?”

  Lily let her shoulder drop and crossed her slender legs at the ankle beneath the voluminous folds of her gown. “Seeing if I stink.”

  Sarah released a startled laugh. “Why would you stink?”

  “I do not know.” Lily shrugged. “I just thought that I might and so I was checking to see if I did, but I don’t. At least I don’t think I do. Then again, perhaps one cannot smell oneself. You should do it.”

  But Sarah, her expression wary, was already shaking her head. “Do what? Smell you? Lily, are you certain nothing is amiss? You are acting very strangely.” Her countenance abruptly softening, she reached between their chairs to squeeze Lily’s hand. “I know you must still be mourning your father. I rather thought attending a ball this early might be too much, but you always seem to do best when you are the busiest. Do you want me to have a carriage brought round to take you home?”

  “A carriage is the last thing I need,” Lily said cryptically.

  “Well, if you don’t want a carriage, what is it you do want?”

  “A husband,” Lily said after a long pause. Gently extricating her hand from Sarah’s grasp she sat back, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked directly at her friend. “I want a husband.”

  Natalie watched her brother storm back into ballroom from the safety of the refreshment table. Wedged between plates of desserts and an oversized potted fern she was able to remain silently in the background, a true wallflower if ever there was one.

  It wasn’t that she did not want attention. In truth, she was starving for it. Unfortunately, it was when she received attention, especially of the male variety, that the problems began. Problems that had turned into symptoms of an illness she feared was ruining her life. An illness she knew the cause of, but not the cure.

  Shortness of breath.

  Perspiration on her palms.

  An embarrassing stutter.

  A deep, cloying fear that suffocated from the inside out.

  She hated that James triggered the illness. Hated tha
t she was afraid of her own brother. Hated the wounded look that flashed across his face whenever she flinched away. He had returned from the battlefield needing help, and all she had to give was hurt.

  But how could she ever explain the source of her fear? At the mere thought Natalie’s eyes pinched shut and her heart rate sped up. An icy chill raced down her spine, extending all the way to the balls of her feet and out to the tips of her fingers. If she told he would know, and if he knew… With a soft cry she curled her hand into a fist and pressed it hard against her mouth to contain the sickness that threatened to spill up and out. If he knew, it would begin all over again.

  Needing to distract herself from thoughts best left buried, Natalie opened her eyes and scanned the crowded room for James. Amidst the laughing faces his stern, unsmiling countenance was easy to spot. He was already looking at her, and when their gazes met his head tilted to the side, his eyes flicking towards the couples who were dancing in silent question.

  “No,” Natalie mouthed, suppressing a tremble. It was all she could do to stand in the same room with so many men and not scream bloody murder. To actually dance with one… To allow his hands to touch her body… Again the wave of sickness swelled within her breast, and again she managed to fight it back. No. No, she would not be dancing tonight, nor any other night, not if she could help it.

  She hoped if she attended the ball tonight things would be different. That she would be different, but now she knew there was to be no easy fix for her illness.

  James returned to his corner. Natalie remained in hers.

  What a pair they made, their current situation made all the worse by the fact that they hadn’t always been so miserable. Once they’d been happy, blissfully so, living in a world beyond war and nightmares and hot, breathy voices asking if you wanted a tickle before bedtime. Now their world was fractured, their happiness only a memory.

  What Natalie wouldn’t give to have things go back to the way they were. If not for her, then for James. He’d sacrificed so much. The life he knew. The family he loved. The future that would have been his if he hadn’t given it all up to go fight for queen and country.

  She wished she could be the one to bring him back from the brink of darkness, but she feared her own despair was so great she would only serve to tip them both over the edge. He needed someone stronger than she to show him the light. To show him how to live and laugh and love again.

  He had friends who wanted to help, but the ones who went to war with him had not returned and those who remained did not understand.

  No, he needed someone else. Someone who had not known him before. Someone who would not mind having their feelings hurt. Someone strong enough to ease his pain, but gentle enough to soothe his fear. Someone loud enough to drown out his past. Someone bright enough to help draw him into a future free from worry and regret.

  Someone, Natalie thought as a sudden idea took root, exactly like Lily Kincaid.

  Closing her eyes, she drew on what little faith she had left and wished for a miracle.

  CHAPTER SIX

  29 days until Christmas

  “We are ruined. Absolutely, positively ruined.” Clasping a hand to her forehead, Regina Kincaid staggered dramatically across the room and flung herself onto a chaise lounge. Reclining until she was flat on her back, she closed her eyes and moaned loudly. “Please have one of the maids fetch me a cooling cloth, Elsa. I fear a terrible headache coming on.”

  Lily’s sigh was long and suffering. “Elsa, remain where you are,” she said, directing her sister a narrow eyed glare that had the younger girl hastily returning to her chair. “Mother, you are not ill. It is your imagination.”

  “It is not,” Regina insisted even as she sat up on her elbow and opened her eyes. “I really do not feel well. A fever,” she said decisively. “I am most definitely coming down with a fever.”

  “And furthermore, we are not ruined,” Lily continued as if her mother had not spoken a word. “I will take care of everything. I promise.”

  The weight of that promise weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she kept her back straight and her chin up. She even managed a smile, although it was more for Elsa’s benefit than her own for the poor dear looked absolutely terrified. Crouching in front of her sister, she took both of Elsa’s hands in hers and squeezed tight. “Look at me,” she said firmly. Elsa lifted her head, her blue eyes clearly troubled. “Nothing will happen to us, do you understand?”

  “But Cousin Eustace said—”

  “Cousin Eustace is a pig.” And that is a compliment compared to what I truly think of him, Lily added silently.

  Yesterday evening Eustace and his wife Venetia, a stick like woman with dark squinty eyes and a penchant for cruel gossip, had joined them for dinner. Eustace made quick work of revealing the will to Regina, who had – as expected – taken the news quite poorly. It took all the self-control Lily possessed not to kick out the cousins on the spot, and she’d spent the rest of dinner plotting the most creative ways to throttle Eustace and his smirking wife.

  All through the night in the bedroom across from hers she had heard her mother tossing and turning. This morning Regina wasted no time in calling a family meeting in the library – the only room below stairs boasting a fireplace – and it was clear the contents of the will were weighing heavily on her mind.

  Lily hated seeing Regina and Elsa so worried. They were both sweet, gentle souls who looked to others to care for them, and now they were looking to her. Self-doubt nagged at her like a sore tooth, the source of the discomfort vague and relentless. What if she couldn’t find someone to marry before Christmas? What if everything they owned really did go to Cousin Eustace and the terrible Venetia? What if this was one problem she could not solve?

  “Lily?” Elsa’s timid voice cut through Lily’s dark thoughts like a beacon of light.

  “Yes darling, what is it?”

  “I am frightened,” her sister confessed.

  “Frightened?” Giving Elsa’s hands one last squeeze, Lily bounded to her feet and feigned her brightest smile yet. “Frightened of what, dearest?”

  “Of what will happen to us.”

  “Nothing will happen,” Lily said firmly. “Isn’t that right, Mother?”

  Regina may have been a woman of small courage, but she’d always stood strong where her daughters were concerned. “You know your sister always has an answer for everything, just like her father. We will be fine and you are not to worry.” Sitting up, Regina shook her finger at her youngest daughter. “You know when you worry you frown, and frowning is how wrinkles grow.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” Lily muttered. “Mother, Elsa does not have wrinkles. She is sixteen years of age!”

  “She doesn’t have wrinkles yet,” Regina said with a sniff, “but she will if she keeps frowning! Why, Lady Hatfield’s daughter is only fourteen and the poor dear already has crow marks! It is because she laughs too much. Giggling all the time, that one. Never a sober thought in her head.”

  Elsa’s fingers drifted to her face. “Do I have crow marks?” she asked worriedly.

  “Let me get my magnifying glass and see.”

  Regina sprang out of the chaise lounge with surprising zest given she had been on death’s door but a few moments ago, and Lily stepped neatly to the side, never one to get in her mother’s way when she was on a mission. She wanted to shake them both for being so ridiculous, but she knew it was better for Regina and Elsa to worry about make believe lines and wrinkles than the real problem at hand.

  “I am taking Mr. Betram for a walk,” she announced when Regina returned from the parlor with an oversized magnifying glass and promptly held it up to Elsa’s face.

  “A walk?” Regina said without looking up. “Lily dear, it is snowing out. You know Mr. Betram doesn’t like the snow.”

  Lily glanced out the window and saw that it was, indeed, snowing. White flakes spiraled lazily down from an overcast sky, slowly covering the frost tipped grass in a shifting bl
anket of white. “I will not take him very far. Just to the end of the lane and back. It’s good for him to stretch his legs.”

  Mr. Betram, so named because he bore a striking resemblance to their dressmaker’s husband, was the Kincaid’s family dog. A short, squat beagle with sorrowful brown eyes and a permanently puzzled expression, he lived in the barn behind the house and took his job of guarding the old, dilapidated structure quite seriously even though he was half blind and more than likely fully deaf. Time and again Lily and her father had tried to coax him to stay inside the house, but within an hour or so he always began to howl and scratch at the door, two sounds Regina could not abide.

  “You should not go by yourself. Take Aunt Fontaine with you. It will be good for her to move about as well. Oh, Elsa, I believe I have found a wrinkle!”

  Over her sister’s distressed squeals Lily said, “Aunt Fontaine is still fast asleep and likely to remain so until afternoon tea. I will not be gone for more than an hour.” She paused in the doorway, waiting for her mother to object, but Regina’s mind was on other matters and she waved her eldest daughter on with an absent flick of her wrist.

  Bundling herself up in a fur lined cloak, dark red scarf, and matching mittens Lily tuck her curls to one side, drew the hood up over her head, and hurried outside before her mother came to her senses and realized she was leaving the house without a proper chaperone.

  She walked briskly between the snowflakes, following a narrow footpath that led around the side of the house and meandered down to the barn. The metal latch was frozen shut, but after a few strategic kicks of her boot the door slid sideways with a groan. She found Mr. Betram curled up in a pile of straw, his deep, even breaths indicating he was fast asleep. A stray cat, its white fur sticking out in tufts, watched her with lofty regard from atop a bucket.

  “Good morning,” Lily said politely.

  The cat meowed, stretched, and leapt down to twist around her legs, butting her with its tiny head.