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

by Kasey Stockton

  Andrew turned his head away, sighing, despite the hope that surged into his chest. His fingers brushed her cheeks one more time, and he looked back into her eyes. “You are bound to be the death of me. You know this, yes?”

  She smiled softly, a radiant glimmer in her eyes reaching his heart. “I think I understand. But you know it is the right thing to do.”

  “Blasted conscience.” He stepped away, his hands dropping from her face as he shook out his limbs and tried to restore his pulse to normal. When he walked back toward her, Mary was holding the box, her door open.

  “I will see you downstairs in a bit?” he asked.

  “Yes. You will.” She smiled, and it was the loveliest thing he had ever seen.

  “Good.”

  She disappeared within her bedchamber, and Andrew moved toward the stairs, unable to dampen his grin.

  He was in love with a woman who had agreed to cancel her engagement, who agreed to let him love her. Nothing in the world could possibly ruin his happiness now.

  Voices in the entryway drew his attention, and he made his way toward them, startled to come upon Finch speaking to a gentleman in a vivid violet waistcoat and starched shirt points that reached his cheekbones. Mr. Lockhart.

  “The gentleman wishes to see Miss Hatcher,” Finch explained, as though the situation needed any explanation.

  “Of course. Allow me to see you into the library, and she will be down shortly,” Andrew said, his voice clipped. He moved to go, the heavy footsteps of Lockhart’s boots trailing behind him.

  Well, he needed to amend his earlier thought. Nothing could ruin his happiness, but Mr. Lockhart sure knew how to put a damper on it.

  Chapter 24

  Mary’s heart raced as she approached the library door. The organ had hardly been given the chance to calm after Lord Sanders’s confession when Finch had knocked to inform her that Mr. Lockhart was awaiting her, and anxiety made her pulse race again.

  It was all happening so quickly, and her heart battled trepidation with excitement. Lord Sanders’s words rang in her mind, his declaration of love bolstering her confidence. He was correct; contracts could be broken.

  She paused in the corridor, steeling herself against Mr. Lockhart’s haughty arrogance. He would not take to this kindly, of that she had no doubt. But it must be done. Theirs was a business arrangement, was it not? And one made two years before. Surely there were other young women with better entries into the ton who could easily serve his purposes.

  Mary had merely been a convenient option, her estate so near his and her father in such financial distress as to make marriage with her an easy arrangement.

  She pushed open the library door. Mr. Lockhart waited near the window, his hands clasped on the top of his walking stick as he gazed outside. She closed the door behind her and crossed the room.

  Mary could do this. She could be strong. She merely needed to remind herself of the look in Lord Sanders’s eyes when he had professed his feelings for her, and the warmth that had enveloped her when he’d cradled her face in his strong, capable hands.

  He’d nearly kissed her. And she’d nearly allowed him to.

  She shoved away her regret at forcing him to wait. It wouldn’t have been right. Not while she was engaged to another man. Mary cleared her throat. “Good morning, Mr. Lockhart.”

  He pivoted, facing her, and a brief smile flickered over his lips. “Good morning, madam.” He dipped into a bow, and she crossed the room to face him near the window.

  “I was hoping to speak to you today and ensure that we understand one another,” he said. “I will see you at the ball tomorrow night, of course, but then I plan to leave London the following morning. I will not see you again until we are both in Berkshire some time later.”

  “Do you not travel directly to Berkshire, sir?”

  “No. I have some business in Portsmouth which has recently been brought to my attention, and I must see to it before I return.”

  She nodded. None of this would be relevant to her soon. “There was something I wished to say—”

  “You know that part of our agreement hinged on your ability to introduce me to men of power and prestige so I might further my name and, of course, my business. I was recently in a situation where I had hoped our connection would smooth the road for me, but alas, it came to nothing…I cannot help but wonder what you’ve done during my absence to fulfill your part of this arrangement.”

  The invitation to the Brights’ summer house party. She had yet to secure an invitation. But if she was not going to marry Mr. Lockhart, then surely he would not wish for their acquaintance to last any longer. “There is something I wish to say—”

  “It can wait. I came here with the express purpose of discovering in what way you plan to help me. It was part of our agreement.”

  She swallowed. “Which is precisely why I need to speak with you first. I wish to dissolve our agreement.”

  Mr. Lockhart turned to stone, his mouth neither a frown, nor a smile, and his placid expression unnerving. His silence stretched, and she took that as a reason to continue.

  “We will repay the debts you paid on my father’s behalf. Surely there is a woman more qualified than I to lead you into the higher circles you wish to join.”

  “You cannot,” he said.

  She’d expected this. Of course he would not take kindly to a break in the agreement, but surely they could resolve this quickly and in a way that was agreeable to both parties. “I am not certain of the specifics of what our arrangement is, but if you would only agree to sit down with—”

  “No. You do not understand.” His smile was easy, too comfortable, and it unsettled her. “You will not break off this engagement. You have signed the papers, your father has signed the papers, and if you walk away from me now I have the power to throw you in prison for it.”

  She tried to steady her hands by clutching the folds of her gown. “You will be repaid. I assure you that you will see every cent you gave my father for his debts.”

  Mr. Lockhart’s smile widened, and he took a step toward her. He was closing in on her much like Andrew had, only this time she felt threatened. She forced herself to stay where she was.

  “I did not pay any of your father’s debts, Miss Hatcher. He paid them himself.”

  Shaking her head, she refused to believe it. She knew this man saved her family from the poorhouse and her father from debtor’s prison.

  “What I did,” he continued, taking another step closer, “was purchase your house. With that money, your father likely took care of his own debts, but I did not pay anything on his behalf. I would never make so foolish a business decision as that.”

  Mary felt suspended, as though the floor had disappeared from beneath her. Father had sold this man her home? Mr. Lockhart owned the very place she lived, the place Mama was comfortable, at ease, where her anxieties did not rule her. She shook her head, unable to believe her father could do such a thing.

  “Will you not sell it back to us?”

  “Never.” The word was spoken so carelessly, so simply, that Mary flinched. “And I will not allow you to break the contract, so put the thought from your mind. I expect you to find a way to create an entry for me into the Fashionable World, and I expect you to tell me how you plan to do so. I do not allow my workers free rein to accomplish my goals. We have a plan, and we move forward accordingly.”

  So he considered Mary another of his workers. A woman he could command, who served a purpose in his life. She had suspected this but hearing it from his lips was like slamming a door on the possibility of anything else.

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Do you have a choice?” he asked.

  No. She did not. The life he painted for her was bleak, but it was what she had originally agreed to. It only appeared dimmer now because of the light Andrew had brought to her life. How he had shown her the possibility of something different. Had her hope truly soared only an hour ago?

  But it did n
ot matter. She could never displace her mother, not when it was in her power to keep their home. Mama’s struggle with leaving her house was great. She could hardly manage the outing to church every Sunday, and it had taken nearly six months for Father to convince her that a trip to London for Mary’s trousseau was necessary—Mary recalled well the week leading up to their departure and Mama’s fits of anxiety. How could she refrain from doing everything in her power to keep their home, for her mother’s sake?

  With a broken heart and a resolved spirit, Mary turned to Mr. Lockhart. “Very well. I will consider how I can achieve what you ask of me, and I will—”

  “No, that is not good enough. The ball tomorrow. You will make introductions there. That is a good start.”

  “I will do what I can, but you must know that I’ve hardly come to London and my list of acquaintances here is small.”

  He looked at her sharply. “You are staying in the home of an earl. Do not tell me you are unable to hold up your end of the deal. You will find a way to introduce me to those who might further my status or business.”

  Mary only nodded. He was impossible to reason with.

  “Good. Then until tomorrow.” He did not bow, but merely grasped his walking stick and strode from the room.

  Mary was numb, the whirlwind of emotions she’d gone through that morning running through her body and over and over in her head. Despair, hope, dread, resignation. Love.

  Oh, dear. How was she going to tell Andrew?

  Wringing her hands, she paced across the room, her gaze following the tread of the oak floorboards, when boots stepped into her way and she paused, trailing her gaze up his legs and to Andrew’s handsome face.

  “I have been eagerly watching out the window, waiting for his departure,” Andrew said, anxious eyes flitting over her.

  She shook her head, and the earl’s face contorted into one of concern. “What has happened?”

  “It will not work.”

  He crossed the space, reaching for her, but she pulled back, shaking her head. “No. It will not work.”

  “Do not underestimate my fortune, Mary. Whatever he has asked, I can pay it.”

  “If that were the only problem—but it is not.”

  “Then what is?” he asked, pleading. “I cannot help you if you do not tell me.”

  She shook her head. “He has bought my house already, Andrew. He owns my father’s estate.”

  He paused, his eyes shifting as though he was trying to sort out the problem.

  “And I cannot, I will not sacrifice my mother’s happiness for my own. She will not be happy anywhere else, and I will not submit her to losing the only place she feels comfortable. I will not do it.”

  Andrew said nothing, his mouth slack as he stared at her.

  She needed to drive home her unwillingness to budge on this matter. “My mother has anxiety of the acutest kind, and she would not survive if she was forced from our home. Mr. Lockhart made it perfectly clear that he will not sell the house, and that he will sue if I break the contract. I have made my mind up on this matter, and I refuse to change it. Put it from your mind, Andrew, please.”

  “Put it from my—are you mad?” He looked up, his face stricken. “How do you propose I do that? I confessed my love for you, Mary. You are everything that is good, and kind, and lovely in this world, and I don’t want you sacrificing yourself. I doubt your mother would wish it either.”

  “Of course she wouldn’t wish it. If I were to tell her where we stood, she would undoubtedly advise me to do whatever I needed to be happy. But what about her? What about her happiness? If she is allowed to sacrifice on my behalf, can I not do the same for her?”

  He looked stung. But what could Mary do about it?

  “I beg you to reconsider.”

  “I will not.” It was her turn to beg, for her voice to turn sad and soft. “Please, do not ask it of me. How could I be happy knowing I ruined my mother’s contentment?”

  “How can you be happy if you don’t?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “It is not meant to be.”

  Mary left the room, running from the man she loved before he could say or do anything to stop her. Climbing the stairs to her bedchamber, she let herself inside and locked the door behind her. Sliding onto the floor, her back resting on the door and her gown in a heap around her, Mary lowered her head into her hands and cried.

  Chapter 25

  Andrew had never been one to mope. When he lost a wager—which generally occurred half the time—he paid his debt and moved forward. What good did it do to feel sorry for oneself? It did nothing to change the circumstance.

  But as he woke on the twelfth day of Christmas, his heart was listless, his motivation absent, and he realized that this despondent feeling was likely what led most people to mope. He understood the temptation now. He would have liked to remain in his bed all day, reading a well-adored book and taking his meals on a tray.

  If only it was not his mother’s last day in London. Otherwise, he’d allow himself to do just that.

  Rising, his gaze flitted to the brown paper-wrapped package sitting on his dressing table. He had meant to gift the book to Mary as a surprise before she left London, but would she accept it now?

  He thought it unlikely.

  She had not been rude to him since the rejection yesterday, only mildly distant. Even going so far as to refrain from holding a conversation with him at dinner. Only when Caroline had begged the group to play her favorite game, Do Not Smile, had Mary claimed a headache and retired early. Andrew had a feeling that he or she would have won every round had they played the game.

  A knock on his door preceded his valet, and he welcomed the man to help him ready for the day.

  “You’ve got a note, my lord,” the man said, pointing to a folded sheet of foolscap on the mantel.

  How had he missed that? Hope surged in his chest, quickly to die when he recognized his mother’s hand.

  Come see me when you have a moment, if you please. Yours, Mother

  He dropped the note on his table and sat, tilting his mirror to begin his shave. He thought of breakfast the day before when Mary had made a joke about his nonexistent beard, surprising him. He hadn’t expected something so silly, and she had a fun way of bringing out her playful side when he least expected it. He quite liked that about her.

  He dressed quickly and went in search of his mother, pleased to find her alone in her dressing room. He wasn’t quite sure what he would say to Mrs. Hatcher when next he saw her. She usually kept her distance, quietly observing their group or linking arms with his mother and chatting softly. He hadn’t had much time for conversation with her before now. But he also hadn’t made time for it.

  “Andrew, please come in,” Mother said, lowering her teacup to the table beside her chair. She smiled warmly at him, and he tried to return the gesture, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  “You needed to see me? Is anything the matter?”

  She watched him with the precision of a mother who knew something was not quite right with her child. “The servants are already preparing our things so we might begin our journey home tomorrow with the Hatchers. I wanted to ask what the likelihood was that I could convince you to join us in Cheshire.”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t expected that.

  She must have read the emotion on his face. “Is it very distasteful? I admit I do not know what value you see in London that surpasses the appeal of Brightly Court.”

  “Friends, entertainment, and quite a lot to busy oneself with,” he said. But even as the words left his mouth, he found himself wondering where the appeal was in such empty gratification. At Brightly Court, he would miss the gaming halls and the theater, but he could ride, fish, hunt, and spend a good deal of time with his sisters. Perhaps those physical exertions were just what he needed to work through his feelings.

  “I will never understand what draws you to those things. There is entertainment to be had in Cheshire as well. Though perhaps it is too
stale for a young man such as yourself.” Mother picked up her teacup and took a sip, seeming to weigh her words before leveling him with a look. “I have never tried to persuade you to do that which you are not comfortable with, or not ready for, especially with regard to your title.”

  “I have always appreciated that about you, Mother.”

  She lifted a hand. “Then keep that in your mind when you hear what I am about to say. My purpose is not to extricate any guilt from you, Andrew, so please understand that I mean this with love. But I wonder if you might find more satisfaction in stepping into your role a little more, in filling your father’s shoes more fully.”

  “As the earl?”

  “I realize that you do your part in parliament and care for the tenants as well as you are able. This is not a criticism. But as a mother, you must see that I only want what is best for you, and I only wish for your happiness.”

  He reached across the empty space between their chairs and laid a hand over hers. “I know this, Mother.”

  “Then will you not return home with us?” she pleaded. “Be at the estate. Manage your own affairs. You may find that it brings you satisfaction the way it did for your father.”

  “But that is the trouble,” he said, pulling his hand away. “I could never fill Father’s shoes. I could never be what the people expect from me.”

  Her lips parted, her eyebrows drawing together. “Son, what do you mean? You could be every bit the leader your father was.”

  Andrew shook his head. It was impossible.

  She clicked her tongue. “I can tell you don’t believe me, but what I do not understand is why.”

  “I am not the paragon of virtue he was.” He dropped his gaze. “I do not put others before myself, fix roofs for tenants, and help estranged relatives get back on their feet. It does not matter what I do, I will never measure up to the example he set for me. I will be a disappointment.”

  “Oh, Andrew, how could you possibly imagine your father was a paragon of virtue?”