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

by Kasey Stockton

  He nodded. And surely the doctor had not shared anything she need not know—he’d seen her standing just a few steps behind them.

  “It was nothing overly personal.”

  “That poor family,” she said. “I will be sure to pray for Mr. Bartlett. I only met Lady Rutledge once, just last week, but I know she is a dear friend to your mother. I cannot imagine suffering such hardship during Christmas, for the holiday to be so tainted by grief and anxiety.”

  Lord Sanders stepped closer. “I wish there was something we could do for them, but I fear this is not a case where a box of charity will make much difference.”

  Mary stored that thought away for further consideration at a later time. “I was just about to go in search of Lady Caroline.”

  “Allow me to join you?”

  “Certainly.”

  He fell into step beside her as Mary began down the corridor toward the library. The mothers were both in their chambers, enjoying the afternoon in the same way Lady Anne was—asleep. It made the house unusually quiet.

  She chuckled. “I admit, I had assumed the two of you would already be together.”

  Lord Sanders sent her a wry smile. From the moment they went to Lady Caroline’s room to inform her of her sister’s fall a few evenings before, she had clung to her brother. Mary hadn’t seen the two apart since.

  “She left me to speak to the doctor in private.”

  “You know where to find her then?”

  He lifted one guilty shoulder. “I assumed she would come find me again when I was finished.”

  They passed a decorative table in the hallway holding a round vase full of hothouse flowers, bright red roses unseen in the natural gardens that were now covered in a thick blanket of white snow. But the sight gave her pause, and she halted in her steps.

  “Did Lady Anne not wish to have her flowers in her room?”

  Lord Sanders shook his head, leaning one shoulder against the mustard-colored wall beside the drawing room door and crossing his arms over his chest. “It was the oddest thing, actually. When I showed Anne the card that accompanied the flowers she asked that they be removed from her room.”

  Mary reached for a stem, careful to avoid the thorns, and twisted the flower softly in her fingers. “But Mr. Lockhart sent these. Does she have an aversion to roses?”

  “Not in the least. My mother told me they were her favorite. I passed that information on to Mr. Lockhart when he called yesterday to ask after Anne.”

  “Perhaps her tastes have changed.”

  Lord Sanders was quiet for a moment, watching Mary. She smelled the heady, floral rose and then straightened, dropping it back in the vase.

  His mouth was firm, his jaw set. “Perhaps.”

  “Why do I have the impression that you don’t believe that?” Mary asked. “What has Mr. Lockhart done to earn Lady Anne’s contempt?”

  “Nothing that I am aware of.”

  “You did not think to ask her?”

  “I did not think it was my place to do so.”

  Mary could not endure the earl’s stare any longer. She stepped around him to enter the drawing room but lit upon a thought and paused directly before the door, turning toward him. “If you or your sister were to learn something unsavory about my…about Mr. Lockhart, you would tell me so, right?”

  He pivoted against the wall to face her, his blue eyes stormy, almost gray. “If you wish it.”

  “Why would I not wish it?”

  “You spoke yourself of the benefits of looking at marriage as a business arrangement. I did not know how engaged your heart was in the matter nor how much you would care.”

  Her heart thumped wildly in her chest at the very mention of it. That Lord Sanders thought of her wishes or cares at all seemed to send a wild flutter through her body. She tried to stomp down her heightened nerves, to make her face plain and her voice steady. “I am still a woman, Lord Sanders, and I find that no matter how deeply I wish to smother my emotions, they have a way of crawling to the surface anyway. Whether I want it or not, my feelings are engaged in all matters.”

  “You speak as though you care—”

  The door to the drawing room opened, and Lady Caroline stood there, framed by the light from the tall, open windows behind her and making her blonde curls glow. “Oh, good! I was only just coming to search for you, Andrew. But, look!” She pointed up, above the doorway.

  Mary and Lord Sanders’s gazes followed her direction, and Mary froze. Hanging above them was the kissing bough she had made days ago, the very one the earl had hung above the door for her.

  “The kissing bough!” Lady Caroline clapped her hands together, her smile wide. “You know what this means, of course.”

  Lord Sanders looked to Mary, his gaze dropping to her lips. She could not help but do the same, to notice how soft and enticing his lips looked.

  Her body went completely still as guilt and hope warred within her.

  Lord Sanders cleared his throat and reached for her hand, lifting one eyebrow. “May I?”

  May he what exactly? Mary could not allow him to actually kiss her, regardless of how much the idea thrilled her. She was being disloyal from that thought alone and wanted to turn and run from the house, to give herself enough solitude to sort her feelings and put them all where they belonged. She was supposed to want to kiss Mr. Lockhart, not the earl.

  He lifted her hand; she did not resist when his fingers squeezed hers and he bent to place a kiss over her knuckles. Disappointment and relief swirled together in her stomach, and Mary forced a smile, reclaiming her hand as she turned to enter the drawing room.

  She passed an absolutely radiant Lady Caroline and sat down on the settee near the fire in time to see Lord Sanders pick a berry from the kissing bough and pocket it.

  “I have been waiting forever, Andrew. What has the doctor said?”

  He stepped around his eager sister and claimed a seat on the sofa opposite Mary, on the farthest cushion possible. Was he regretting kissing her hand? He was certainly putting as much space between them now as he feasibly could. She rubbed a thumb over her gloves where his lips had pressed, the warmth seeping through and staining her skin.

  “Dr. Kent has decided that Anne will make a full recovery within the next few days. She has had no lasting effects from the fall despite her headaches, and he expects them to wane with time.”

  Caroline came to sit beside Mary. “That is good news, yes?”

  Lord Sanders nodded. “Very good. It could have been significantly worse.”

  “Then what shall we do now?”

  “Wait,” he said with a shrug. “Hope she is past the worst of the headaches before the ball. For her sake, of course. I would be more than happy to skip it entirely.” He winked at his sister.

  “Please do skip it. Then you could remain here with me.”

  “Your mother would probably be sad to lose her escort,” Mary said.

  Lady Caroline groaned. “I do not look forward to balls in the slightest, but I do look forward to the day when you cease to leave me behind during your fun endeavors.”

  “We do not always leave you behind,” Lord Sanders argued. “Just a few days ago you came with us to Gunter’s, did you not?”

  “Yes. But what about the Royal Menagerie or Covent Garden or Hyde Park? I know Anne went to the Frost Fair, and she did not bring me then, either.”

  Mary’s head snapped around. “How did you learn of that?”

  “Anne told me.”

  “But I thought…she said it was meant to stay a secret. She was afraid of troubling your mother.”

  Lady Caroline looked at Mary as though she had spoken in Greek. “Well, of course I am not going to tell my mother. She would be very disturbed. She thinks it a place for lowborn people of no morals.”

  Mary’s body filled with relief. “Well, it was not anything like that. But you mustn’t repeat that I said so.” She glanced up and caught Lord Sanders’s smile, returning a hesitant one of her own.
>
  It was, after all, where they had met. Or perhaps collided was more accurate.

  “Well, what say you to an outing today?”

  “The Frost Fair?”

  Lord Sanders laughed, the low, deep voice penetrating Mary’s nerves. “It’s gone now, Caro. But even if it wasn’t, I would not take you somewhere Mother expressly forbade.”

  “But Anne—”

  “I did not take Anne,” he retorted, sending Mary another pointed look.

  In her defense, neither had she. She had merely gone along so her friend would not go on her own into a dangerous city.

  “Then to Gunter’s again? Or Hatchard’s?”

  “You’d like to go to the bookstore?” Lord Sanders asked. “I suppose that could be managed. If it is agreeable to Miss Hatcher?”

  Mary nodded. She would never refuse an outing that involved books.

  Lord Sanders stood. “Then let’s be off.”

  It took just under a half-hour to dress for the frigid, winter outing. Lord Sanders instructed Finch to have the carriage brought around, and Mary knew she only had a few minutes before she needed to be down in the entryway ready to leave.

  She snuck into Lady Anne’s room with the intention of asking if she would like them to pick up a book for her. Creeping across the floor, she paused at the foot of the bed and peered down at the slumbering girl. Lady Anne looked so much younger with her hair down and cheeks pale, asleep against the mound of pillows.

  Her maid glanced up from where she was sewing near the fire, but Mary smiled, shaking her head. It wouldn’t do to wake the girl up from her nap, only to have her say her head hurt too much for reading.

  Besides, Mary told herself as she crept back across the floor, if Lady Anne wanted a novel, she could read the one Lord Sanders had bought her last year.

  She opened the door and stepped into the corridor, softly closing it behind her. Turning for the stairs, she collided with someone tall and firm, his arms going around her as they spun to the floor.

  Wind knocked from her lungs, her cheek rested against the thundering heartbeat of…great. Lord Sanders, again. Squeezing her eyes closed against her embarrassment, Mary tried to ignore how warm he felt below her, how strong his arms had to be to help lift her while he lay on the floor. Disentangling herself from his hold, she righted herself and stepped back, pulling at her sleeves and straightening her skirts.

  “Now this time I cannot take any of the blame,” he said, a smile in his voice.

  Mary couldn’t help but chuckle, her cheeks flooding hot. “You could have avoided it by refraining from materializing out of nowhere.”

  “I was coming to check on my sister, and I needed to hurry. We are supposed to be meeting downstairs now.”

  She stepped toward the stairs, and he followed. “I just checked on Lady Anne, and she is sleeping.”

  “We mustn’t bother her, then.”

  “My thoughts as well.”

  Mary tried to compose herself, but she could not deny what she had just felt in Lord Sanders’s arms—the warmth which had flooded her body, the fluttering of her heart. She wanted to assume it was the natural response to being held by a man. She had felt similarly when they’d collided at the Frost Fair and when he’d caught her before she fell into the fire when they played the smiling game. But this was different. This time, Lord Sanders clutched her to his chest tightly and she knew he did not want to release her. His reluctance was startling, but she understood.

  She’d felt the same hesitation to stand, to pull herself away from him.

  Swallowing her inappropriate thoughts, Mary made it to the entryway.

  “Have you seen Andrew?” Lady Caroline asked as she stood near the front door, pulling on her gloves, Miss Bolton waiting calmly behind her.

  Mary glanced over her shoulder to find the earl coming down the stairs at a much slower pace, his gaze darting everywhere but her face. She put her back to him, training a bright smile on Lady Caroline and the girl’s governess.

  She would do what she needed to get over the earl, and she would be quick about it. If he chose to pretend nothing happened, that a current of longing did not run between them, then she would do the same.

  Besides, what choice did she have?

  Chapter 18

  Hatchard’s was the haven Andrew needed, with its shelves upon shelves of books spreading over multiple floors. The roaring fire in the fireplace surrounded by dark wood-paneled walls gave the shop a comforting, homey feel. The only difference between his library at home and Hatchard’s Bookshop was that this building housed many books he had never before read. Anticipation burst within him; he could hardly wait to get his hands on a new, unread story.

  But where to begin?

  Caroline and Mary admired the books set in the window display before asking the shop worker to show them toward the novels they might enjoy. He led them away with a smile, Caroline’s governess meandering behind them. Andrew could hear them discussing books and options with the clerk as he perused the shelves. He had been in this shop just a fortnight before and had purchased enough books to last him through the new year and past January. If only Anne enjoyed reading as he did, then he would have someone in the house to talk with about literature after Mary left them.

  He paused near the base of the curved staircase, listening as Caroline and Mary spoke quietly together above him. He could not understand what they were saying, but he enjoyed hearing them, nonetheless.

  Mary’s voice reminded him of the hot chocolate they’d enjoyed at Gunter’s earlier in the week—had that really been nearly a week ago?—warm, smooth, and delightful. Her attention, soft and encouraging, was exactly what a girl of twelve needed. Caroline spoke freely with Mary, unafraid of censure or reproach. Many adults were kind to younger people, and Andrew knew that, but Mary appeared more than just kind to Caroline. She appeared interested, as if she was perfectly content to spend the day speaking to a young, impressionable girl and share in the conversation.

  Andrew left them to their perusal, slowly walking the various rooms of the bookshop as the women chatted upstairs. When they finally made their appearance, he helped them to the clerk’s desk. Caroline laid her book on the counter, and Andrew waited for Mary to do the same. He could not give her much—nay, he did not have it in his power to shower her with praise and gifts as he would like to do—but he could do this one small thing for her. He could purchase her book.

  “I believe I will spend the rest of the day reading,” Caroline said, shooting a look at her governess, who stood demurely behind Mary. Miss Bolton gave the girl a reassuring nod, and Caroline beamed. “The family is shipwrecked in this book, Andrew. Can you imagine such a fate?”

  The clerk cleared his throat behind the desk and Andrew glanced to Mary’s hands, surprised to find them empty. “You did not find anything interesting, Miss Hatcher?”

  “Oh,” she said, startled. Her cheeks bloomed with color, making her otherwise pale complexion rosy. “I just—no, I did not. Not today.”

  She was embarrassed, and she was lying. Andrew debated pressing the matter, but the way Mary dropped her lashes and stepped away gave him pause.

  “Not true,” Caroline said. “You told me you would love to read Evelina.”

  Mary’s blush deepened, and Andrew longed to brush his fingers over her warm cheeks and soothe away her embarrassment. She toyed with the reticule on her wrist, and it occurred to him that perhaps she might not have the funds to buy a book. They were expensive, and she had confessed her father’s ruin to him only days ago.

  “Perhaps later. Why should I buy any today when your brother has a library full of books I’ve not yet read? I can purchase Evelina next time.”

  “Or you may purchase it today to take home with you. It could help pass the time in the carriage when we travel home next week.”

  Next week? Shock coursed through Andrew’s limbs, freezing him in place. Surely the women would not return home so soon.

  Mary retreated
further, her steps backing her away from Caroline as she softly shook her head. “Not today, Lady Caroline. But I thank you for your sweetness. I am eager to learn what you make of your new story, however.”

  Caroline’s face brightened. But then her eyebrows drew together. “But surely—”

  “Caroline,” Andrew said, hoping he balanced authority in his tone with kind rebuke. She must learn when a subject was meant to be pressed, and when it ought to be dropped.

  She seemed to take his meaning, however, for she said no more as the clerk accepted the money from Andrew and wrapped their package in brown paper and twine. Their party moved toward the door, bracing themselves for the cold, and Andrew held it open for the women to precede him outside. Mary paused on the walkway before the shop, Caroline nearly running into her, and elicited a small gasp.

  “Mr. Lockhart!”

  Andrew’s body clenched, and he dropped the door, letting it swing closed after he and Miss Bolton had passed through it. The cold rushed up, assaulting his exposed skin, and prickling his nostrils.

  Mr. Lockhart paused on the walkway ahead of them and glanced over his shoulder, a woman on his arm. His eyes lit on Mary, and he seemed to freeze as if the snow falling lazily around him had molded him in place. But as quickly as he froze, he thawed. He said something to the woman on his arm, and they turned together.

  Andrew stepped forward, coming to a halt directly behind Mary.

  “Miss Hatcher, what a fortuitous circumstance.” Mr. Lockhart’s eyes were unblinking, set on Mary. “What are you doing out in this wretched weather?”

  “We have just been browsing books in Hatchard’s, and I believe now we will return home to thaw.”

  “Of course, of course,” Mr. Lockhart said. He cleared his throat, his gaze darting to Andrew and then back to Mary. “Please, allow me to introduce Mrs. Dobson, the widow of a friend of mine from Portsmouth.” He turned to her. “And this is Lord Sanders, the Earl of Sanders, Lady Caroline, his sister, and Miss Hatcher, my betrothed.”

  The woman’s dark eyes glanced to each of them in turn, and she dropped into a curtsy. Her thick, violet cloak and matching bonnet covered what appeared to be rich, auburn hair, and her cheeks, dusted with freckles, were red from the cold.