All is Mary and Bright: A Christmas Regency Romance (Belles of Christmas: Frost Fair Book 2)

by Kasey Stockton

  To say nothing of the fact that Mary didn’t believe her mother would have had the courage to travel so far from home had she not had the escort of a dear, comfortable friend.

  “That reminds me of the Christmas we shared when Mary was still just a little girl. Do you recall the crimson crêpe de Chine?”

  “Oh, yes.” Mama’s face brightened. “Shall we do something similar for the children again?”

  The mothers looked at their children in unison and then shared a smile. Mother clasped her hands together. “It would be a joyous surprise, would it not?”

  “I believe so.” Lady Sanders got to her feet. “Come, Fanny. Let us leave them to their own company and we can plan.”

  The mothers huddled together, removing to the other side of the room and bending their heads close.

  “I am not certain I appreciate this acquaintance,” Lord Sanders said, leaning back comfortably in his seat. “In what other way would we be referred to as children?”

  “None,” Mary said, chuckling. “Alone, they would not have the gumption, but together they are a force to be wary of.”

  “Wary, indeed.” The earl slid his arm over the back of the sofa behind his sister. “What sort of plan do you think they are hatching, Anne?”

  “I haven’t the faintest, but I do hope it is exceedingly wicked.”

  Mary and Lord Sanders shared a smile. Lady Anne’s youth was refreshing.

  “What sort of holiday traditions do you have in your family?” Mary asked.

  Lady Anne sat up. “We play Bullet Pudding, of course. And Steal the White Loaf—though that is not quite as fun without a party, and Andrew is terribly good at catching me. And of course we are used to decorating with evergreen boughs, but I wonder if we’ll have to forgo that this year. And then we cannot forget the gingerbread. I believe gingerbread is among my most favorite things.”

  “We will make certain to accomplish each of those things,” Lord Sanders said. “And you, Miss Hatcher? Do you have any traditions in your family?”

  “Nothing you have not already mentioned. Well, I suppose…” She paused, looking to where her mother sat at the far end of the room. If she spoke of this, would Lord Sanders think she was asking for such an extravagance? She would do better to keep her mouth closed on the matter.

  “Yes?”

  “No, it is nothing. I do love the scent of evergreen at Christmastime, Lady Anne.”

  “Oh, isn’t it the most lovely scent of all time?” She turned to her brother again, her blonde curls glowing in the candlelight. “Do say you will find a way to procure some.”

  “I will do my best.”

  Lady Anne lowered her voice conspiratorially. “If our mothers are doing something special for us, do you think we should return the gesture?”

  Mary looked to Lord Sanders, his brow furrowed in thought. Lady Anne was increasingly thoughtful, and it made up for her impetuousness. But who would blame the daughter of an earl for being rash or used to getting her way? She had been pampered for the entirety of her life.

  Mary understood this. Until a few years ago when Father’s risk lost them everything, she had been spoiled in much the same way.

  But circumstances had driven her to understand economizing and restraint.

  “What did you have in mind?” Mary asked.

  Lady Anne scrunched her nose. “I need to think on it. Perhaps we all ought to consider our options and put our heads together tomorrow.”

  Mary nodded. “That seems the best course of action.” She stood. “Shall we reconvene tomorrow?”

  The siblings agreed, and Mary bid them goodnight. She crossed the room to kiss her mother on the cheek, and the older women quieted at her approach. She laughed to herself as she left them. They were quite the scheming pair.

  She drew in a fortifying breath as she left the drawing room, grateful the trouble with Lord Sanders was properly dealt with. And though he’d talked of the Christmas season, Mary was persuaded he would continue to make himself scarce after this.

  Or perhaps she merely wished for that to be the case. He was far too handsome and engaging, and the way his smile caused her heart to pound was frightening. She was engaged to Mr. Lockhart—she should not be thinking of another man in this way. Even if her short acquaintance with Mr. Lockhart before he left for India had never elicited such warm feelings from her.

  She made it halfway up the staircase when Lady Anne called to her from below, and she paused to wait for the younger lady to catch up to her.

  “You cannot ignite my curiosity and leave me wondering so terribly.” Lady Anne grinned, her cheeks glowing. “What is the tradition in your family that you would not tell us?”

  “It is not a great secret,” Mary said, chuckling. They continued up the stairs, but she hoped Lady Anne wouldn’t press the subject. Lord Sanders and his mother were already going out of their way to host Mary and her mother for a few weeks. She did not want to ask anything more of them.

  “What is it?” Lady Anne was not going to give up. “Please tell me. I will not be able to rest if you force me to wonder. I have quite the imagination, you know, and the longer you refuse to tell me, the more I am convinced it is something very shocking or foul.”

  Well, it certainly was not either of those things. Lady Anne had a point—the longer Mary refused to speak, the more Lady Anne’s curiosity would grow. Mary swallowed her apprehension. “Oranges. My favorite part about Christmas as a child was having an orange on Christmas Day with my breakfast. I savored it. And my favorite part of St. Stephen’s Day was giving the servants each their own orange.”

  “That is not embarrassing.” Lady Anne’s nose wrinkled. “Why would you hide it?”

  “I didn’t want you or your brother to think I was asking for such an extravagance.”

  Lady Anne laughed. “Oranges an extravagance? How silly. Perhaps in Berkshire they are, but not here.”

  Mary knew the opposite to be true. The orangery at her home provided enough fruit for each member of the household, family and servants alike, and many more besides. The extras were used to decorate during the holiday. But the last few years had seen more hardship, and Father had opted to sell their oranges instead.

  She understood the necessity, of course, but missed the citrus dearly. Especially on Christmas Day.

  “Goodnight, Mary.”

  She smiled, watching Lady Anne skip away to her room. Lady Anne had yet to shed the innocence of youth, and Mary hoped that would long remain the case.

  Slipping into her bedchamber, she tugged the bell rope and waited for her maid to come and help her undress. Sitting at the dressing table to remove pins from her hair, she paused. A note sat on the table’s edge, a breath away from falling to the floor. She unfolded the paper to discover Father’s handwriting. It was a letter addressed to Mama, with a postscript for Mary. Her mother must have read it earlier and set it in Mary’s room for her to read.

  Mary— I am pleased with your willingness to serve your family. Do not forget the promise you made, or what we agreed upon. Yours, Father.

  Swallowing, she folded the paper and tucked it away. He needn’t fear. She would never forget.

  Chapter 4

  Lady Anne squinted at her cards before laying them down and glancing hopefully up at Mary. “Have I won, then?”

  “It would appear so.” Mary gathered the cards and stacked them in a neat pile. The curtains were drawn against the dark of night, and candlelight bounced from Lady Anne’s golden curls, shining on her tasteful sapphire pendant.

  Someone walked down the corridor, and Mary looked up at the door. Each set of footsteps that had sounded outside the drawing room door stole her attention, but once again it was only the butler, Finch, who passed by the open doorway.

  Lady Anne sighed. “I am finished with cards. Where has Andrew gone? I have not seen him all day, and after last night I was hoping he would be around more.”

  Mary had guessed this would happen. Men of such distinction co
uld hardly be bothered to remain around a party of women. At least, that would have been the case for her father had he chosen to accompany them to Town.

  She did not blame Lord Sanders in this situation, of course, but that did not mean she wasn’t disappointed. His conversation would surely have enlivened their evening.

  “Can we play the smiling game?” Lady Anne asked, a grin spreading over her face. “I’ll fetch Caroline if it is agreeable to you.”

  “Yes, let’s play.” Mary continued gathering and stacking the cards while her friend flounced away. They’d played the smiling game, as Lady Anne called it, many times since coming together a week prior. London’s cold weather and the recent snowstorms made it difficult to leave the house, and consequently, entertaining Lady Anne had become a chore that fell on Mary’s shoulders. Their mothers had become like schoolgirls themselves, stealing away whenever they could for a quiet coze.

  Mary hardly minded the chore; Lady Anne was perfectly delightful. And the better Mary came to know her, the easier it would be to hold up her end of the marriage deal. Father’s disapproving frown—all full, ruddy cheeks and scowling brow—danced in her mind. The last moment in her house before Lady Sanders’s equipage had arrived to convey Mary and her mother to London had been spent in Father’s study, and his strict instructions were just as clear now as they were when he was anxiously outlining them then.

  Mary must obtain an invitation to the Brights’ summer house party, or they would lose everything.

  They’d had nearly two years to come up with a way to introduce Mr. Lockhart to the elite members of the ton as per their marriage agreement. He was possessed of a generally amiable disposition—or that is what she believed from their short acquaintance—and he would be able to make his own way. All Mary needed to do was perform introductions. He’d chosen Mary based on her connections to the Fashionable World and her mother’s position as the granddaughter of an earl. It would take time and care to attain the entry he required, but it was possible.

  When Lady Sanders had written to Mama, offering to take them to London with her for Christmas so they might prepare Mary’s trousseau, Father hit upon the idea. The Bright family, led by the Earl of Sanders himself, held a summer house party every year stocked with men of distinction, titles, and class. It was perfect.

  The Hatchers had received invitations to the house party when Mary was younger, but since her mother struggled when faced with the prospect of leaving home, they had never attended, and the invitations had eventually ceased.

  A slimy dissatisfaction worked its way into Mary’s stomach, but she pushed it away. There was nothing inherently wrong with her objective to attain an invitation once again. It was only a party, and Lady Anne was growing fond of Mary. Extending the invitation was bound to be a natural product of their time spent together. Or, so Mary hoped.

  Footsteps came down the corridor again, and Mary tapped the stack of the cards against the table. “That was quick. Did Lady Caroline refuse?”

  “I am not sure.”

  Lord Sanders’s deep voice startled her. Mary glanced up quickly, and the cards flew out of her hands and scattered, fluttering around her, spinning down onto the card table, and littering the floor.

  Smiling ruefully, Lord Sanders crossed the room. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You were expecting my sister?”

  Mary knelt to gather the cards, and Lord Sanders bent to help her. “Indeed. She went to fetch Lady Caroline for a game.”

  “And where are our mothers?”

  She couldn’t help her grin. She tipped her head back to better see Lord Sanders, his light brown hair disheveled but the rest of his appearance spotless. That bit of imperfection—the disarray of his hair—humanized the earl and endeared him to Mary, like he was a young boy with a bit of jelly smeared on his cheek. She itched to correct the stray lock, to smooth it back into place, but shook the odd notion away. “They excused themselves after dinner to plot their mysterious surprise.”

  Lord Sanders chuckled. “You’d almost believe they were schoolgirls themselves.”

  Mary paused. “I had that same thought just a moment ago.”

  He held her gaze, his hand resting on a card near her. She hadn’t realized how close the earl had gotten until that moment, and her breath hitched. The scent of woodsmoke and the outdoors clung to him—not exactly what she would have imagined him to smell like, but she liked it. An easy smile bent his lips, and his gaze dropped to her mouth.

  “Caroline has agreed to join—oh! Andrew, I am so glad you’ve come home.” Lady Anne barged into the room, her younger sister directly behind her. “You are just in time to play a game with us.”

  Lord Sanders swept his large hands over the smooth wooden planks, gathering the remaining cards from the floor while Mary sorted the ones she held into a pile and focused on calming her breathing. “What is the game she wishes to play?” he whispered to Mary.

  “You’ll have to see.”

  He reached for her hands, stilling them over the cards. “I am not a fan of card games, Mar—excuse me, Miss Hatcher. Shall I escape now before it is too late?”

  She froze. A man had never held her hand before, not outside of the brief touches in dancing, and the feeling of Lord Sanders’s warm skin on her fingers went straight to her heart. He seemed to sense her discomposure, for he released her and put some distance between them before offering her a hand up. When she stood, she shook her head, hoping to sound completely unaffected. “You needn’t escape. Unless, of course, you are afraid of losing.”

  A sparkle lit his eyes, the color of a cool winter sky. “I needn’t fear on that account. I hardly lose.”

  Lady Anne and Lady Caroline dragged four chairs into a circle. The sisters were nearly identical—the same pale blue eyes, blonde ringlets, and heart-shaped faces—but their personalities could not be more opposite. At fifteen, Lady Anne was a roaring wildfire, while Lady Caroline was a well-managed, contained lamplight. Both of them burned with life, but the twelve-year-old had much more control. Both sisters were beautiful.

  “I only agreed to play if Anne promises not to cheat,” Lady Caroline said, narrowing her eyes at her sister. “And I will be paying close attention.”

  “As will we all,” Lord Sanders said seriously. “I cannot abide cheating in this house.”

  Lady Anne scoffed. “As if I would do such a thing.”

  Lady Caroline shot Mary a telling look, and they both stifled laughter. Lady Anne’s record had proved otherwise.

  “What is the game?” Lord Sanders asked again, as both of his sisters took seats in the circle of chairs.

  “The smiling game,” Lady Caroline explained as Mary took her seat.

  Lord Sanders groaned as he sat beside her.

  “You cannot leave us now,” Lady Anne said seriously. “But you needn’t be the first to play.”

  He leaned back in his chair as Lady Anne eyed her sister. “How shall we break into teams?”

  “I want to be with Mary,” Lady Caroline said.

  “Drat,” her sister muttered. “No, on second thought, let us play without teams today. We can draw names and leave one person as the winner.”

  Lord Sanders chuckled. “I will try not to take offense at how strongly you oppose being on my team.”

  Lady Anne crossed to the writing desk where she ripped a paper into strips and wrote on the pieces. “If you could claim to have won this game at least once, Brother, then I would be happy to have you on my team.” She grinned unrepentantly and returned with a small bowl containing folded pieces of paper, which she held out to Lady Caroline. “You can begin.”

  Lady Caroline reached into the bowl and took a slip of paper, her eyes lighting up as she read it. “Andrew.”

  He turned to face her better, shaking out his hands. “I won’t need to go first, huh?”

  She lifted the paper with his name. “The paper decided, not me.”

  Shaking his head, he chuckled. “The rules?”

 
“No touching. And whoever smiles first loses. So you must think quickly.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “That is the only rule?”

  Lady Caroline nodded, her young face growing serious. The siblings faced off, staring at one another intently.

  Lady Caroline opened her mouth to speak when her brother cut her off.

  “What do you think about my new gown?” Lord Sanders asked, his voice as hard and plain as stone even as he spoke of ridiculous things. His fingers brushed along the opposite shoulder, trailing down his coat sleeve. “I rather like the feel of the silk. The pink ruffles at the bottom make my slippers look dashing. It has nice—er…puffy sleeves, and makes me look beautiful, does it not?” He lifted an eyebrow in question and Lady Caroline erupted in a bout of giggles.

  “Unfair playing,” Lady Anne said, annoyed, while her brother grinned in triumph. “I’ll go next.” She reached into the bowl and pulled out Mary’s name, then faced her friend.

  “Remember, no touching,” Lord Sanders said, and his sister shot him a glare before turning her attention back on Mary.

  Mary steeled herself against her adversary, clenching her teeth and breathing calmly through her nose. She held Lady Anne’s eyes, unsure of what to do. If she told a farce like Lord Sanders had, she would likely laugh herself.

  But it looked like Lady Anne struggled with knowing what to say, too.

  An idea formed in Mary’s head, and she rose from her chair, stepping around the back of it as Lady Anne meticulously watched her, straight-faced. Candlelight flickered around them, the roaring fire in the hearth warm behind Mary’s back. She brought her hands up slowly, as though she was partnering an invisible man in a country dance. And then she promptly began to dance, focusing hard on Lady Anne as she moved through the motions of a solo dance, her face void of all joy.

  Lady Anne’s lip twitched as though she fought a smile, but nothing further broke free. Mary made the mistake of glancing at Lord Sanders in the midst of a twirl, and the broad smile on his face made her falter. She tripped over the brick hearth, and a clang of chairs sounded behind her as Lord Sanders jumped to his feet faster than a racehorse and grasped Mary by the arms, pulling her away from the fireplace.