by Regina Darcy
“Mine,” Christiana said, refusing to show him any sort of fear, even in the face of his obvious and fierce anger. “I believe Thayne’s men will return it to me in the morning, once they have discovered it.” She could see from Lord Archibald’s expression that the emerald pendant was back in his rooms, feeling herself grow slowly confident that she would have it back around her neck come the morrow. Thayne had been right to send his men out to Lord Archibald’s abode.
“And,” Thayne continued, his voice light and airy as though they were simply having a conversation about the weather or some such thing, “you may wish to remove yourself from where you stay very soon, given that I have written to one or two gentlemen in London, informing them as to where you are. The news will spread around London fairly quickly, and I can guarantee that those you owe money to will soon be on their way here. You must owe them a good deal of coin, Archibald.”
Christiana shivered inwardly as Lord Archibald fell back as though he had been slapped. His colour drained from him, and for a moment, Christiana wondered if he would faint right where he stood. Her sense of triumph grew steadily, making her whole being flood with delight. Thayne had proved himself to be the better man and, in doing so, had quite won the victory over Lord Archibald.
“You are to marry the man whose wife could not stand to be in this world?” Lord Archibald hissed, looking at Christiana through narrowed eyes. “Who would rather die than stay another day with him?”
She shook her head. “You are uncommonly cruel, Lord Archibald,” she stated firmly. “They are all lies, as well you know. I am not afraid of the Honourable Mr Thayne, for I trust him completely. You, on the other hand, are not worthy of being called a gentleman.”
His eyes narrowed all the more until they were nothing more than two dark slits on his face. Taking a step closer, he pointed one finger at Thayne, his expression ugly.
“She was found in the gardens, you know,” he continued, speaking only to Christiana. “Ask anyone you know. The red dress she wore pooling around her feet like blood. Dead and gone. All because of him.”
Christiana resisted the urge to slap Lord Archibald, hard, such was her rage. She wanted to protect Thayne in any way she could, but Lord Archibald simply would not desist in his attempts to push her away from Thayne.
“Now, how did you know that she was wearing a red dress on the day she died?”
Thayne’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, and yet, to Christiana, it sounded like a thunderclap. He took a small step forward, swaying slightly as he pointed one finger at Archibald.
“How did you know, Lord Archibald? No one knows about that, save myself and my staff.”
Lord Archibald’s eyes widened for a second, but aside from that, he did not react. Shrugging, he straightened his jacket, looking away from them both. “I heard about it.”
“From whom?” Christiana asked, slowly, realising just what Lord Archibald had said. “Even I was not aware of that.”
Again, Lord Archibald shrugged. “I was in the area at the time and heard the gossip. That is all.”
“You were in the area?” Thayne repeated, his voice a little tremulous. “What, pray, were you doing?”
Lord Archibald straightened his shoulders. “It does not matter, Thayne. I need not explain myself to you. Besides which, I was gone on the day of your wife’s death. You can ask anyone you please. I had a carriage arrive for me and I left.”
A sudden memory hit Christiana hard. “You had a carriage sent here?” she asked, slowly, pressing Thayne’s arm with hard, tight fingers. “To Nettlefold?”
Lord Archibald lifted his chin but took a small step away. “No, not to Nettlefold. I had some business nearby and stayed in a small boarding house. Again, none of this matters particularly, given that my business is nothing to do with either of you. I—”
“You killed her,” Thayne breathed, interrupting Lord Archibald. “You sought to marry her, and when she refused, she left you in the worst possible situation. There were no other young ladies who might consider you, and given that you probably owed money to a good many folk, you were thrown into the depths of despair.” Thayne’s voice was calm and quiet, speaking as though he had finally worked out the answer to a puzzle and was quite relieved that he had done so. “You took her from me as punishment for us both, did you not? Her, for refusing you, and so that I would be alone and in pain. I think you must have hoped that suspicion for her death would have fallen upon me, but due to the circumstances, I was always known to be innocent. Is that why you did it, Archibald? Is that why you took her from me?”
Christiana’s breath shuddered out of her, shaking her whole body as she waited for Lord Archibald to speak. He looked utterly terrified, his eyes wide with fright as he stared back at Thayne, shifting from foot to foot.
“I—I do not know what it is you are talking about,” Lord Archibald replied eventually, his voice thin and reedy. “I cannot understand a word of it.”
“I should call you out, but I know you will not honour such a thing,” Thayne retorted harshly. “You are nothing more than a coward, Archibald. I swear to you that you shall have your comeuppance, whether in this life or the next.”
Lord Archibald did not reply. In fact, he did not hesitate. He turned on his heel and strode away from them both, hurrying through the crowd as he made his way towards the door. Christiana watched him with wide eyes, hardly able to believe what had just been revealed.
Beside her, Thayne let out a long breath, his fists clenching.
“I—I need to be alone for a time, Lady Christiana,” he said, not looking at her. “Might you excuse me?”
She nodded, her throat aching. “But of course, Thayne,” she replied, pressing his arm gently. “I will be quite all right here. You need not worry.”
Thayne did not look at her but turned around and walked away, melting into the crowd of guests and leaving her quite alone. Christiana felt hot tears prick at her eyes, her relief and her distress growing in equal measure. Her emerald pendant no longer seemed to matter, her own suffering nothing compared to what Thayne was enduring.
To know that it was, in all likelihood, Lord Archibald who had taken it upon himself to kill another was both horrifying and distressing. He had always wanted Ramona to marry him and had evidently been unable to accept the fact that he had been rejected. And yet to punish them both in such a terrible, tragic way was almost more than she could bear to think of.
The music and the laughter all around her seemed to fade away to nothing. Returning to Miss Wilcox’s side, Christiana did her best to converse with those around her. Her eyes continued to search for Thayne, but he was nowhere to be found. Her heart sank to her toes. After all of this, had he decided to turn away from her? Could he no longer bring himself to wed her, to make her his wife? It was the position that Ramona, his first wife, had once had, and mayhap talking to Lord Archibald had been too much for him to bear. She would have to return to London and simply endure all that would be waiting for her. At the thought, anxiety washed over her.
Hours passed. Christiana did not know what to do, feeling herself becoming a little frantic as Miss Wilcox danced again and again with various gentlemen. Christiana had not accepted a single dance, although she had been asked to take to the floor, choosing instead to wait for Thayne to reappear. She could not find any enjoyment in the evening, could not find any purpose when he was gone from her side. Soon, the music turned to classical Christmas carols, and the guests twirled around the dance floor singing at the top of their lungs.
How she wished she was home with her sister, Prudence, and her father. The estate would be decked to the nine’s by now, and the servants would be practicing Christmas carols for the church service later in the day. She sighed heavily and looked listlessly at the orchestra.
“Christiana.”
She turned at once, seeing Thayne standing in the corner of the room just behind her. His face was a little pale, and she wondered if he had been crying, suc
h was the redness about his eyes.
“Christiana, please.”
He was holding one hand out to her, and she went to him gladly, searching his face anxiously. As he drew her closer, the orchestra started playing Silent Night. Its soothing tones wrapping around them like a cocoon.
“I am sorry I left you alone,” Thayne said softly. “I had to consider what I had heard and what I had put to Lord Archibald.” Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze from her and drew in a long breath. “It feels as though I have been freed from a burden of responsibility, and I find that I do not quite know myself without it.”
Her heart ached for him, and, before she could stop herself, she lifted one hand to his cheek. “Oh, Thayne,” she murmured tenderly. “I cannot imagine the pain you are enduring.”
To her surprise, he shook his head. “It is not pain that I feel, Christiana. It is relief. It is a release. Yes, Lord Archibald may never face the consequences of what he has done—although I intend to ensure that he can never return to London or seek himself a rich heiress again—but it is not that knowledge that captures my mind. It is knowing that I had nothing to do with her death, and that the responsibility to find the man who did such a terrible thing has now gone from me. I feel both sadness and relief in equal measure.”
Christiana closed her eyes and nodded, her hand now resting lightly against his chest. “I am glad for you, Thayne.”
“It is a very strange feeling I will admit,” he added, reaching up to take her hand. “But it is as though I can put all that has occurred back into the past, where it belongs. As I said, I will ensure that Lord Archibald can never return to London without those he owes money to coming to his door, and I will give all that I know to those in Bow Street, but aside from that, there is nothing more I can do. Nothing more except look to the future.” His eyes warmed and he brushed one finger down her cheek, making her shiver with a sudden rush of anticipation. “A future that I hope to share with you.”
Her eyes shot to his, and she caught her breath.
“Did you mean it when you called me your betrothed?” Thayne asked, leaning a little closer to her. “Does that mean that you will give me your hand in marriage, Christiana?”
The answer was ready on her lips. “I will, Thayne,” she answered, seeing his face light up with a broad smile that caught his eyes. “Not because I have no other choice, but because I truly do want to become your bride.”
Thayne smiled down at her. “Truly?”
“Truly,” she replied, one hand pressed now against his heart. “You are the most wonderful gentleman I have ever known. You have shown me more compassion and care than any other of my acquaintance. You have looked past my faults and failings and have chosen to protect and defend me out of nothing more than your generosity. How could I turn away from such a gentleman?” Her heart was quickening, her anticipation rising steadily. “Besides which, Thayne, I believe that what I feel for you is the very beginnings of love.” The words were sticking to her lips, but she forced them from her regardless, wanting him to know the truth about what she felt. “I have been so afraid of what has been growing within my heart for you that I could barely allow myself to perceive it, but I will not turn from it now. I believe that I love you, Thayne, and it is that love that fills me with the hope and the promise of a life spent by your side.”
His lips were on hers in a moment, and Christiana found herself lost in a world of delight. It was the briefest of kisses, the gentlest of touches, and yet it set such a fire within her that she felt as though she might be completely consumed by it.
“And my heart yearns for you in return,” Thayne murmured against her lips. “I have a happiness growing there that I have not allowed myself to feel in some time. Christmas was once a hated time for me, and now, I find that there is more joy within the season than I ever expected. To know that you will be my wife fills me with such delight that I feel as though I cannot contain it.” He kissed her again, hiding them both in the shadows. “My love for you will grow with each passing day.”
Christiana sighed happily to herself, looking up into Thayne’s face as the music for the waltz began to swirl around them. “It looks as though this is to be our dance.” She smiled, seeing how his eyes twinkled. “What say you, Thayne? Will you waltz with me?”
“I can think of nothing better,” he replied, before leading her onto the dance floor and, once more, taking her into his arms.
Christiana sighed contentedly. She might not be with her family in this very moment, but she was certainly home for Christmas in Thayne’s strong arms.
EPILOGUE
The Duchess of Essington should have been on cloud nine this Christmas. Not only had she married the man of her dreams, but this had all happened through an arrangement gone awry. She had her sister Lady Christiana to thank for this good fortune, but she had recently found out that Christiana was missing. The Duke had promised to save no expenses in the search for her sister. But as the new year approached, and the estate was set to cater for the best party across three counties, all the duchess could think about was her lost sister.
“Hm—Your Grace.”
The duchess turned around at the sound of the butler. “Yes, Henry?”
“You have a visitor,” the butler announced.
“At this hour? They are a tad early for the new year ball. Why do you not show them to the drawing room, and I shall attend to them in a couple of hours once I have prepared myself?” the Duchess replied.
“Your Grace, I believe this is a guest you will want to converse with face to face.”
Prudence frowned, confused by the butler’s peculiar behaviour.
“Who is it?”
“It is the Honourable Aaron Thayne and his wife, Lady Christiana.”
“Christiana?!” the Duchess exclaimed as she gathered her skirts and rushed to the door. At the sight of her sister safe and sound, they fell into each other’s arms and cried like they hadn’t done in years.
That night, no one was as happy or excited about their future as the duchess and her sister.
The End
2. THE CHRISTMAS REDEMPTION
Copyright © Regina Darcy 2020
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
For queries, comments or feedback please use the following contact details:
reginadarcy.cleanandwholesomeromance.com
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ONE
The snow was falling outside, sending soft, frigid flakes from a brooding dark sky down to the streets below. Dusk had just descended and the streets and rooftops, swathed in the white blanket of snow, appeared as if they belonged to a magical world, a quiet, hushed world where nothing could intrude upon the peace of the scene.
Henrietta Jamieson stood at the window, watching the flakes flutter down from high above, slowly and patiently covering everything in sight and giving it all a pristine beauty that daylight could not grant.
“Have you ever thought, Madame, about how fraudulent the snow is?”
Madame Elsevier chuckled. “How so, petite?”
Madame had never been married, but she had claimed the title as a courtesy when she left her home years before to become the lover of the Comte de la Blois, a man who had been faithful to his much-younger mistress as if they were wed.
He had provided handsomely for her, but Madame had been too young and far too interested in men to move to the country as if she had been widowed. She had discovered l’amour was much more to her liking and, having realised that fidelity was not, after all, in her nature, she found herself transformed into the most desired, most famous co
urtesan in all of Paris.
“Come drink your tea, petite. Soon, you will be among the English and you must adapt to their customs.”
Henrietta let the drapery fall back into place and turned around to look at her hostess. Madame’s private sitting room was cosy and warm, the heat from the fireplace emanating an inviting domesticity.
It was odd, Henrietta reflected as she accepted the cup of tea that Madame poured, that some of the happiest moments of the last ten years of her life had been spent in the house of a Parisian courtesan.
Madame was alone tonight. As the holiday season approached, many of the men who found comfort in her arms returned to their wives and children. Madame was not possessive. She regarded herself as a businesswoman who plied a most unique but much-desired trade.
“English men are cold,” Madame said when she and Henrietta were seated on the settee. “Perhaps, the snow suits their natures. A man who uses a woman for sport is not a man of warmth.”
Madame was forthright in her speech. She knew she did not have to pretend. She was well aware of the events, ten years ago, which had left Henrietta an orphan.
The Duke of Farringdon had seduced Henrietta’s mother until she had lost all reason to gain his love. Then once she had succumbed, he had abandoned her.
The abandonment robbed Mrs Jamieson of her senses, and she plunged into the depths of despair. Shortly after, she had tragically done away with herself. Within two years, Henrietta’s father, unable to endure the tragic loss of his wife, had fallen into a decline and also passed away, leavening Henrietta an orphan.
Henrietta’s uncle, who resided in France, had raised her.
That her uncle had an intimate but none exclusive relationship with Madame had been to Henrietta’s benefit, for the maternal and comforting courtesan was like a mother to the bereft girl.