by Regina Darcy
Did they go and tremble at the formality of the ducal household, knowing that their gifts of music would be met with thinly veiled contempt because they were amateurs who sang for the sacredness of the day and the joy of the music?
What a cold, sterile Christmas the Duke must celebrate, Cassandra thought. She had feared his retribution for her refusal of him, but James had been correct in his assumption that the Duke, unable to bear the thought of being rejected by a woman not of his rank, would revise the telling so that he was the one who had rejected her. It did not trouble her; she was free of him.
Pray, whither sailed those ships all three?
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day
Pray, whither sailed those ships all three?
On Christmas Day in the morning.
Her family would come to love James as she did. She knew that they were uncertain about him. He was a Londoner, the owner of a gentlemen’s club, the half-brother of a titled man. But they trusted her assessment of him, and they appreciated the help he had given her when she felt as if she were caught in a snare as a result of the Duke’s pursuit. Her sisters, she knew, would come to see him as a brother, and James, for his part, would return that affection. He would be an astute judge of their suitors when the time came for them to consider matrimony. For Delilah, there would still be a London connection, but one without the onus of the Duke as the link. For the other girls, whether they married from the village or from London, their affections would expand to include James and make him welcome.
O, they sailed to Bethlehem
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day
O, they sailed to Bethlehem
On Christmas Day in the morning
James came over to her side and took her hand. His face had lost the guarded look that had dominated his expression since they’d left for the journey to Dennington. He smiled at her, saying nothing, as they listened together to the carollers. His clasp was firm, comforting and reassuring. She looked up at him as he watched the singers, and aware of her gaze, he smiled again and pressed her hand.
And all the bells on earth shall ring
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day
And all the bells on earth shall ring
On Christmas Day in the morning
Then, Michael and Honora were standing on either side of James and Cassandra, a family united, sharing in a Christmas tradition which was powerful and cherished and stronger than the bad memories of Christmases of the past. Michael stood at James’s side, while Honora, humming along to the tune in a soft undertone, took her place beside Cassandra.
When the carollers went forth into the village, back to their homes and their neighbours, they would speak of this and tell others that Mr James had come home after being away a long time. Cassandra, wise to the ways of village life, knew that this reunion would be woven into the thread of the Dennington tapestry, its colours brighter than the faded regrets of the bygone days. James would no longer be the son of scandal, for that time would be put aside, replaced by this happier rendition of the family’s unity.
And all the angels in heaven shall sing
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day
And all the angels in heaven shall sing
On Christmas Day in the morning
The carollers seemed to draw vitality from the union of the Daltons.
As the carol came to its final verses, their voices grew even more robust, filling the room like the angelic chorus which had sung in the starry sky over Bethlehem.
And all the souls on earth shall sing
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day
And all the souls on earth shall sing
On Christmas Day in the morning
Then let us all rejoice and sing
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day
Then let us all rejoice and sing
On Christmas Day in the morning
On the last verse, Michael and Honora joined in, followed seconds later by James. Realising that this was part of the tradition, Cassandra too added to the singing and together, carollers and hosts delivered their paeans of praise to the birth of the Saviour.
When the carolling had finished, the servants brought in the mulled cider bowl to the delight of the singers, whose eyes followed the procession of beverage and food with rapt anticipation. They were encouraged to eat and drink, and they did, accepting the praise of the Marquess and his lady for their excellent singing.
“I’d forgotten,” James said, “how much I enjoyed Cook’s gingerbread.”
“When she learned that you were coming home,” Michael said, “she set herself to baking it to welcome you. She says that no one has ever appreciated it more than you.”
James nodded, his mouth filled with the delicious treat. Watching him, Cassandra felt her heart swell with love. He was finding himself here at Dennington, and he would no longer be lost.
The family sat down before the fire, enjoying the remaining baked goods which were left after the hungry carollers had departed.
“Neddie will be so disappointed that he missed the carollers,” Honora said. “But he will be somewhat mollified to see you. He is quite excited at having an uncle.”
“So he should be,” Michael affirmed, “look at all the presents that James brought for his nephew.”
“We shopped for them together,” James said, indicating his fiancée.
“I hope he will like them,” Cassandra said. “I have four sisters, and it was a new experience to shop for a boy.”
“He will be pleased,” Honora assured her. “Of course, nothing will do but that we must go outside at some point during Christmas day to build a snowman.”
“Michael has been telling Neddie stories of the snowmen that you used to build when you were a boy,” Honora said. “Neddie is quite certain that you will be able to provide the necessary expertise.”
Cassandra thought of James as he must have been as a child, red-cheeked and bright-eyed, unaware that his mother would leave him and his father would ignore him. She wanted him to feel that joy again, and what better way than to share the winter activity with his nephew?
“But we have other matters to discuss,” Michael said. “The wedding.”
“Oh,” James said. “Yes, the wedding.”
“Have you thought of having it here?” Michael asked. He made the offer hesitantly as if expecting to be rebuffed.
James handled the question with adroitness. “We have given little thought to the wedding,” he admitted.
“But we would dearly like to have it here,” Cassandra spoke up, knowing that it was important for James to celebrate the ceremony here.
His marriage, a happy occasion, would breed happy memories for him of Dennington. The grief and pain that he had suffered as a child would always be part of him, but adult happiness would replace those earlier trials.
Her father would perform the service, but where it happened did not matter. In this house, where love ruled, she felt that their marriage would get off to the right start. Where they would honeymoon and where they would eventually reside did not matter. Dennington would become a home for James again. Eventually, James would learn what she had long known; it was the love they shared which would be their dwelling place.
The End
4. THE CHRISTMAS PROMISE
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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WARNING: The heroine has a
traumatic experience, not laid out in detail, but relevant to the plot. But the story ends in a very uplifting and happy ending. It is a stand-alone side story involving characters from “The St Bernadette Files.”
ONE
Miss Julianna Wade, only child of Viscount St James, looked up defiantly into the eyes of her old, unflinching uncle.
“No, Uncle,” she stated firmly. “I will not be married off to Lord Faversham, no matter what you might think.”
Her uncle chuckled, his expression dark. “You will do just as you are told, my girl. And I shall have a tidy sum for my troubles.”
Julianna lifted her chin. “I refuse. I shall not give my consent.”
Her uncle rolled his eyes and sighed as though she were simply being a little awkward instead of utterly defiant. Julianna felt herself wither inwardly, all too aware that she had very little choice but to obey her uncle’s demands but still quite certain she would not do so.
“I think, Julianna,” her uncle said slowly, “that you would do well to remember that you ought to be grateful for what it is I am offering you. I can see no gratefulness in your eyes, my dear child, and that displeases me.”
Drawing in a long breath, Julianna tried to steady her resolve. “That is because, Uncle, I do not believe for one moment that you are truly considering me. I think this is nothing more than a selfish ploy to gain some more money for yourself. Why else would you be so willing to marry me off to someone I barely know and who is at least twenty years older than I am?”
Her uncle’s expression changed. Instead of the rather bored expression, his colour began to darken. His grey, wispy brows lowered over his small, narrowed brown eyes. His jowls wobbled furiously as he pointed one chubby finger in Julianna’s direction. His cracked and broken teeth gritting together with rage.
“Now, you listen here, girl,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing. “You will do as you are told, and you will be grateful for it. Your father left me to take care of you, and that is precisely what I am doing.”
“I do not think, Uncle, that my father ever meant for you to simply marry me off to the highest bidder,” Julianna replied bitterly. “You are doing this for yourself, for your own ends. You need not pretend with me.” She did not see nor expect the hard slap to her cheek, which sent her staggering back across the room.
Her uncle glared at her furiously as she rubbed her face hard, hot tears burning in her eyes as shock overwhelmed her.
“Don’t you ever speak to me like that again,” her uncle bellowed, his voice filling the small drawing room and making her tremble with a sudden, fierce fear. “I am doing whatever I have to in order to get rid of my responsibilities when it comes to you. Do you think that I really want to be laden with a niece who has neither the intelligence nor the inclination to see a good match when it is set out before her?” He waved a finger at her again, his lip curling. “My brother was much too soft on you, Julianna. You should have been married off the first year you came out.”
Julianna dropped her hands to her hips. A sudden, fierce fire replaced her anger. “My mother made me promise to marry for love,” she stated angrily. “My father too urged me towards finding someone who cared for me so that I might have the same, wonderful life as my own dear parents. I believe that my father hoped that you would acknowledge his wishes in that regard.”
Her uncle threw back his head and roared in laughter as though what she had said was perfectly ridiculous. “Your father was nothing more than a fool,” he replied harshly. “As though love would make any difference in a man’s life. He was not even able to produce an heir, now was he?”
Julianna stood her ground, even as the insults about her parents rang in her ears. Her stomach twisted this way and that, her heart aching terribly over the loss of her beloved mother and, more recently, her father.
“Your year of mourning has come to the end, Julianna,” her uncle finished, walking towards the door of the drawing-room. “You will be wed within the fortnight. And I expect no more complaints or the like, my dear niece. Or it will be all the worse for you.” His small, dark eyes gleamed with a warning, sending a shiver all through her.
Forcing herself to remain exactly where she was, Julianna held her uncle’s gaze steadfastly, although she dared not say anything more to him. To do so would only incite his anger further, and she did not wish him to strike her again. It had come as a shock the first time, and Julianna now realised that her uncle would likely be more than willing to do so again, if not worse, should she continue to be defiant.
“Hmph.” Her uncle pulled the door closed with the sound of his disgust lingering in the air behind him.
Julianna collapsed into a chair, her heart aching with grief. This was not what she had ever dreamed would be in her future.
“Oh, Father,” she whispered brokenly. “I do miss you so.”
It had been over a year since her father was reported missing, having been lost somewhere on the continent during an excursion to see his holdings there. She still had the letter in her bedchamber, the letter that had told her the dreadful news that she was never to see him again.
Not that they had ever found his body or been able to confirm that he was gone from this earth, but the fact that they had searched and found no trace of him was enough to write to Julianna and tell her that, as far as they were concerned, her father no longer lived.
Julianna had never felt more alone than in that moment, having lost her dear mother only a few years prior just before Christmas Day. Left alone in the house, surrounded only by her household staff and her companion, Mrs Black, she had been torn apart. Her uncle arrived a short time later, only to make everything all the worse.
He had dismissed Mrs Black, replaced a good number of the servants, and informed Julianna that, once her year of mourning was completed, she should expect to marry.
She had silently hoped that she would be given the opportunity to travel to London for the Season, but her uncle had never mentioned it, and now that the little Season drew near, she had prayed that this would be her opportunity to find a suitable match.
Her hopes had been dashed the moment her uncle had introduced her to Lord Faversham who, being fat, bald, lewd, and entirely disgusting, had turned Julianna’s stomach. The way Lord Faversham had looked at her, the comments he had made, and the way he had laughed as he saw her disgust had frightened her more than she had been able to say, but her pleas to be allowed to choose her own suitor had fallen on deaf ears. Her uncle had been quite certain that Lord Faversham was the perfect match for his niece, even though the man was surely twenty years older than her own nineteen tender years.
Leaning forward in her seat, Julianna buried her face in her hands and attempted to control her breathing. She could not find a way forward in this matter, not when her uncle refused to consider her feelings and was quite determined that she should marry Lord Faversham.
She had heard the two of them talking, with Lord Faversham promising to give some sort of financial reward to her uncle for her hand in marriage. Given that her uncle had only just taken on the responsibilities as the new Viscount St James, Julianna had been quite unable to understand the pull of wealth, only to realise just how selfish and greedy her uncle truly was. He cared nothing for her or her future. He was driven to have as much as he could for himself, and that included selling her to the highest bidder.
“Now, miss,” her maid, Florence, murmured, coming into the drawing-room and seeing Julianna so broken by her uncle’s words. “I’m sure it cannot be as bad as all that.”
Julianna sobbed quietly, comforted just a little by her maid’s words.
“I’m to take you to your room, miss,” Florence continued gently. “You’re to prepare yourself for dinner.”
Julianna looked up into Florence’s kind face but did not miss the anxiety lingering in her maid’s eyes. “He’s here, is he not?”
Florence hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Your uncle is to welcome Lord Faversham for dinner t
his evening, miss. That’s why he wants you ready.” Her eyes lingered on Julianna’s cheek, her face paling slightly. “Tell me he did not…?” She searched Julianna’s face, her eyes registering horror as Julianna turned her face away.
She did not want to speak of it now.
“I—I’ll get a cool compress for that,” Florence said with infinite gentleness. “Come now, miss. You must get to your room, else Lord St James will be angry.”
Resigning herself to the fact that she was going to need to do just as her uncle expected on this occasion, Julianna allowed Florence to help her to her feet and guide her towards the door.
“You are to wed Lord Faversham then?” Florence whispered as Julianna began to walk towards the staircase that would lead her to the confines of her bedchamber.
“I am,” Julianna admitted dully. She could not think of any way to escape the prison that was slowly being built around her. “My uncle has decreed it, and therefore I must resign myself to it, I think.” Even as she said those words, a flame burst to life within her, sending her a sudden new resolve. “But I do not see how I can agree.”
Florence shook her head to herself as she watched her mistress climb the stairs hurriedly. “What is it you intend to do, miss?”
“I can continue to refuse to wed him,” Julianna said slowly, even as the maid hid a gasp behind her hand. “I know what my uncle will threaten and what he might even do, but how can I bear to marry a man such as Lord Faversham?” The thought of what Lord Faversham might do to her as his wife sent both a wave of revulsion and a cloying fear crashing over her. “I promised Mama that the love I saw so plainly between herself and my father was the same kind of love I would seek for myself,” she whispered, pushing open the door to her bedchamber. “She told me that, if only I would believe in it, then such a love would find me.”
Sitting down carefully in a chair by the grate, she let her gaze rest absently on the small miniature of her mother on her dressing table. “To allow my uncle to force me into matrimony will only make my life even more difficult than it is now.”