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

by Kasey Stockton

  “We’ve only just come from Floris around the corner,” Mrs. Dobson said. “I had a need for new perfume, and Mr. Lockhart was kind enough to escort me.”

  “How generous of you,” Mary said, earning a smile from Mr. Lockhart, though her voice was stiff.

  “I intended to call on you this afternoon and inquire after Lady Anne. Is she much improved?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, and the doctor believes she shall be fit for dancing by Twelfth Night.”

  “How relieved she must be,” Mr. Lockhart said. “I hope to claim one of those dances myself.”

  As the young lady in question was not there to accept the request, no more was said on the matter of dancing. But Andrew couldn’t help but think of the vase of expensive hothouse roses Mr. Lockhart had sent to Anne, and how she had refused to allow them into her room. When he’d questioned her on the matter she had refused to provide a reason, merely stating that she didn’t want the flowers or their strong scent to heighten her headache.

  He’d believed her, but now he wondered what she would say about dancing with the gentleman. If he just came from the perfume shop, would he carry a strong scent likely to heighten her headache as well?

  “We must be off,” Lord Sanders said, hoping he did not appear rude. “I must get these women out of the cold.”

  Mr. Lockhart nodded in agreement. The streets were still somewhat empty, the usually bustling roads only carrying a small fraction of the people it was used to. It was much too cold to stand around in this way for much longer.

  “We hope to see you soon, Mr. Lockhart,” Mary said, to her credit. “And I hope you stay warm,” she added, looking to Mrs. Dobson.

  “I shall, I thank you.” Mrs. Dobson glanced at Mr. Lockhart, turning with him after he’d raised his hat to them, and they walked away.

  Silence reigned over their party as they climbed into the waiting carriage and traveled home. Caroline unwrapped her book and examined the binding, the title page, the embossed title. She was silent, likely entranced with the prospect of a new story—something Andrew understood quite well.

  But while his heart warmed over their shared interest in reading, his gaze could not help but stray toward Mary, her furrowed brow creasing worry lines on her forehead as she watched out the foggy, snow-covered window. He knew she must be lost in thought, for the window was impossible to see through. He desperately wanted to ask her what troubled her, but not in front of Caroline or Miss Bolton.

  When they arrived home, Andrew waited in the entryway for Caroline and Miss Bolton to begin moving upstairs, his young sister’s nose already glued to the book in her hands, and then he put a staying hand on Mary’s shoulder. Water droplets clung to the material, wetting his gloves, and he pulled at the fingers to remove them.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Hatcher? You’ve become very quiet.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Yes, of course.”

  It was not of course to him, or he wouldn’t have asked. “You are certain?” he pressed. “I am quite adept at keeping secrets.”

  Her smile was warm, though her nose and cheeks still looked red from the cold. “I know.”

  Andrew dropped his head to the side, running his gloves through his bare hand. “How?”

  “You’ve never told anyone of your father’s special deliveries, have you?” Her grin widened, growing sincere. “Well, until you told me.”

  “Ah, yes. I suppose you can trust me for a total of fifteen years, and then I just may forget and dump your secrets on unsuspecting strangers.”

  “I am a stranger?”

  “Of course not.”

  She lifted an eyebrow, and he wanted to divulge just how familiar she had become to him, how he recognized the smell of the perfume she used, or how he was captivated by the familiar gleam in her eyes, how she was quick to smile and prompt to listen. “I only meant that I shared my father’s secret, and you are a stranger to him.”

  “It is funny because I understand that I’ve never met him, but I feel as if I know him well from yours and your sisters’ stories.” Her face lit up, mouth opening in a small gasp. “I have just the thing! What if we were to continue your father’s tradition, but bring your sisters into the scheme? We have a few days left before we leave Town. Surely that is enough time.”

  He enjoyed watching her expression shift as she thought through the concept. He nodded. “Yes, I am certain there is enough time.”

  A delighted smile played on her lips. “We can do something for the family Dr. Kent spoke of with the sick father.”

  “They are not poor,” Andrew said.

  “The rich do not struggle or find themselves in need of friendship and support, too?”

  “No, of course they do, I only meant that my father’s scheme was designed to help those in need.”

  She smiled at Andrew, resting her hand on his forearm. “I believe this family is in need, and a small package left on their doorstep will likely feed their emotional needs right now more than their physical ones. Sometimes it is just enough to know that someone is thinking of us.”

  “That is true, isn’t it?”

  “And perhaps we can assemble some baskets to deliver to an orphanage, or another family you may know in the area with more pressing physical needs.”

  “We can bring Anne and Caroline into this decision, but I do like the idea of the orphanage.”

  Mary released his arm, much to his disappointment, and turned for the stairs. “I will check on Anne after I put away my bonnet and things. If she is awake, shall we begin planning?”

  Andrew nodded. His throat wasn’t working properly, and he was afraid his voice would sound awkward and raspy if he spoke, but Mary didn’t seem to notice as she shot him a smile and began ascending the stairs.

  Andrew’s legs wouldn’t move as he stood in the entryway, light streaming from the windows behind him and casting his shadow on the floor ahead of him. Mary’s kind thoughtfulness reached a peak, rivaling her beauty as the most striking of her features. She was intelligent, she was selfless, and Andrew was in a spot of trouble. Because despite her utter perfection, she was unavailable.

  And he was in love with her.

  Chapter 19

  Mary sat in a tufted chair pulled close to Lady Anne’s bedside, a small writing desk to her left. Dipping the quill, she paused, looking over the note she had penned wishing the Bartlett family a Happy Christmas. “What shall I sign the note?”

  Lady Anne’s nose crinkled. “Perhaps we ought to leave it blank.”

  “Or we could sign it, ‘Affectionately, your friends?’”

  “But are we their friends? I’ve never heard of this family before now, despite Mrs. Bartlett being a cousin to Lady Rutledge.”

  “No, but we could be.” Had it only been yesterday that they’d gone to the bookstore and decided to take a box to this family? Mary had never met the Bartletts before, but she was concerned about their wellbeing. “And we care for their plight, so I do not find it dishonest to sign the note from their friends.”

  Lady Anne nodded. She sat up in her bed, pushing another pillow behind her. “I am ready to leave this room. When are we delivering the box?”

  “Your brother would like to go this evening if you are feeling up for it. Or tomorrow, if you’d prefer to wait another day.”

  “No, let us go this evening. Now that my blasted headache has eased, I feel fit enough for an outing.”

  Mary raised her eyebrows, but Lady Anne didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Her language could not have come from her mother or her governess, so Mary assumed it had to be blamed on the girl’s brother.

  A knock at the door preceded Lord Sanders, and he stepped into the room, coming to pause at the foot of Anne’s bed. “The boxes are prepared.”

  “And the note is nearly finished,” Mary said, focusing on the letters as she penned them. She set down her pen and turned in her seat to face the earl. “And Caroline?”

  “She is still up in her room reading her ne
w book. She requested that we send for her when it is time to leave. We could probably wait until tomorrow night and Caroline would not notice.”

  Lady Anne scoffed. “You think she could read clear until tomorrow night and not realize a day had passed?”

  Lord Sanders looked to Mary, a smile quirking his lips. “Yes, I do.”

  Lady Anne sunk against her pillows. “I will never understand that.”

  Her brother chuckled. “Perhaps if you opened a book, Anne, you would understand. Just ask Mary. She read the book I got you last year, and vastly enjoyed it.”

  “It is true,” Mary said gravely, eliciting a laugh from Lady Anne. “Are we planning to go out following dinner?”

  “That was my thought.” The earl folded his arms over his chest.

  “What do we tell the mothers?”

  “I assumed we’d tell them the truth,” Lord Sanders said. “I can take care of it before dinner.”

  “Should we invite them along?” Mary asked.

  Lord Sanders gave her a smile. “I have a feeling they will prefer to remain home, but I will be sure to extend the invitation.” He turned to leave but paused at the door. “I will see you both at dinner.”

  His heavy footsteps could be heard as he retreated down the corridor then closed a door behind himself.

  “I never did ask what you purchased at the book store,” Lady Anne said. “But in my defense, I have not quite been myself these last few days. I don’t believe I’ve ever slept so much in my life.”

  “There is nothing wrong with that. I heard the doctor recommend sleep as an aide in battling your headache.”

  “Then you forgive me? Now do tell me what you chose. I’m sure I’ve never heard of it, but one never knows.”

  Mary chuckled, slipping her fingers down the silky feather at the end of her pen. “I did not purchase a book.”

  Lady Anne’s face contorted. “But you love to read just as much as my brother does.”

  “And I have plenty of books. Now, will you explain why I found that lovely bouquet of roses out in the corridor? Have you taken a dislike to flowers since you hit your head?”

  She stilled, her face going pale, and her expression caused a thread of alarm to bind Mary’s chest. “What is it?” Mary asked.

  Lady Anne dropped her gaze, her fingers playing with the edge of her blanket. “Nothing, exactly. I only thought I saw something the other night, but it was late and those lamps on the street really do not cast a decent light, do they?”

  “What was it?” Mary pressed. She had thought it silly when she found those roses in the corridor, but now she was concerned.

  “I saw Mr. Lockhart—or, well, I thought I saw Mr. Lockhart outside the hotel when we arrived, and he was with a woman.”

  “A woman?” Mary’s heart beat a hasty pattern. She told herself it was nothing, but her body refused to listen.

  “Yes. They were walking together. She wore a violet cloak that was very fine, and Mr. Lockhart—”

  “A violet cloak? Well, surely that was Mrs. Dobson. We met her yesterday at the bookstore.”

  Lady Anne looked confused. “With Mr. Lockhart?”

  “Yes, they had gone to Floris together to purchase perfume. She is the widow of a dear friend of Mr. Lockhart’s from Portsmouth.”

  “Oh, I am so unbelievably relieved!” Anne said, dropping her head back and sighing. She glanced up, wide-eyed. “I was so worried, and I hadn’t the faintest notion of how to tell you what I saw.”

  “He was merely being a gentleman, but I am grateful for your friendship and concern. Now, I better go and change for dinner. I will see you downstairs tonight, yes?”

  “Yes, I will be there.”

  Mary stood to go, maintaining her composure as she left the room. But Lady Anne’s words stayed with her as she climbed the stairs to the next floor and went into her own chamber, closing the door softly behind her and sitting on the edge of the bed. She did not have cause for concern, not when all Lady Anne had seen was Mr. Lockhart and Mrs. Dobson walking alone together. Mary had seen that very same thing yesterday, and it had appeared completely innocent.

  Yet there was this niggling at the back of her mind, tugging at her and warning her. The expression Mr. Lockhart had worn when his gaze had fallen on her was so quick, such a flash of panic, that she wondered if she had seen it in reality or merely imagined it.

  His expression flashed in her mind again, and it was unmistakable. Dread pooled around her, closing in and squeezing her chest, making it difficult to draw a breath. There was something between Mr. Lockhart and the widow, something that he did not want her to see. But if he was hiding a woman from Mary, what could that mean?

  He had not given any indication of harboring a wish to break their engagement, and Mary was in no position to do so. What would her father do to repay the debts? Mr. Lockhart had made it perfectly clear: if the marriage did not occur between them, or if Mary did not maintain her end of the bargain and find her betrothed an entry into the ton, then he would call in Father’s debts and send him to prison. There was no other recourse for her, and there was nothing she could do.

  Reality slammed on Mary, and she shut her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples. Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out slowly, counting as she did so to calm her racing heart. She would marry Mr. Lockhart, she would obtain the invitation from the Brights to their summer house party, and then she would retire to Berkshire and live out the rest of her days in solitude, hopefully finding some companionship in her new mother-in-law.

  Opening her eyes again, she sat up straight, determined. She could do all of these things, of course, but she deserved not to be blindsided by whatever it was that Mr. Lockhart was hoping to keep from her. She had only a handful of days left in London before they returned to Berkshire, and she would use that time to discover what she could.

  Chapter 20

  Andrew’s mother believed their plan to deliver a box of Cook’s fresh gingerbread with a kind note and oranges to the Bartlett family was splendid, but she in no way wished to partake in the outing, and Mrs. Hatcher soundly agreed. They had a surprise for the children that they were planning to present to them the following day, but they needed to add the finishing touches.

  Whatever that could possibly mean.

  Andrew met Caroline, Anne, and Mary in the library after dinner, their winter cloaks, gloves, and muffs prepared and ready for their departure.

  “This is exciting!” Anne said, a brilliant smile on her face. The last three days of rest had done wonders for her, and she did not appear any worse for having taken the fall outside of the Clarendon Hotel. “Am I supposed to feel such anticipation?”

  “I would think so,” Caroline said. “Though I’ve never done anything so clandestine before.”

  “It is the thrill of doing our utmost not to get caught,” Andrew explained, coming to stop before the sofa of excited women. “Shall we deliver the orphanage boxes first? Or the Bartletts’?”

  “I would like to do the orphanage one first. I do hope the children are awake.”

  “It won’t matter,” Anne argued. “It is not as if we’ll be able to witness their reaction.”

  Caroline seemed to consider this, tiny lines forming between her eyebrows. “That hadn’t occurred to me.”

  Mary rose, taking a step back to avoid colliding with Andrew. “Shall we?”

  “Yes, let’s be off.”

  They filed downstairs and out into the cold, dark night. The servants had loaded one end of a bench in the carriage with the boxes and the interior of the vehicle smelled of warm gingerbread, despite the chilly evening. Mary sat between the sisters, Andrew opposite them, and he could not help but feel as if something was off.

  Mary had not been rude, but she seemed distant. It was strange behavior, and nothing like he was used to seeing from her in the short few weeks he’d known her. They rode along the bumpy London streets until they rolled to a stop, and Andrew looked at each of the women.
<
br />   “Who shall deliver the first box?”

  “Not Anne,” Caroline said. “We don’t want to risk her falling again.”

  Anne scowled at her sister, but Andrew noticed that she did not disagree with this. “Caroline, would you like to go first? I can come along if you wish.”

  She smiled, and he could see her teeth gleaming, the faint light from the building casting a glow on them through their window.

  Caroline and Andrew climbed out of the carriage and up the steps toward the orphanage. She set the box at the base of the door and looked up at him. “And now what do we do?”

  “We knock,” he whispered. “Would you like to?”

  She shook her head. “I am afraid of falling.”

  He chuckled but waited until she made it down the slick stairs before knocking on the door and hurrying to his carriage. Light spilled onto the steps as the front door opened, but Andrew’s coachman had taken off the moment he closed his door, and they would probably not be recognized in the dark.

  “That was immensely satisfying!” Caroline said, and Mary smiled. “Can we do it again?”

  “Yes. We have two more orphanages to stop at.”

  The warmth within the carriage grew and expounded as the small party continued on their way, leaving boxes of gingerbread and oranges at the next two orphanages. The coachman drove them to the Bartletts’ house, and they found themselves stopped in front of a white stone townhouse, the streets well lit—when compared to those belonging to the orphanages—and the area clean.

  The carriage continued around the corner of the building as Andrew had instructed, so they might sneak away if the servants were close enough to open the door quickly.

  “Would you like to take this box?” Andrew asked, looking at Mary. She had remained within the carriage during the previous three drop-offs with Anne, but this particular house had been her idea.