“Why?” She couldn’t curb her desire to know more about his life. “Does he still mourn for your mother?” Was it possible Colin had truly fallen for someone other than himself? Her heart squeezed. She hoped it was so, though she wouldn’t wish grief on anyone.
“I’m not certain.” Ellen’s eyes took on a faraway look. “I think he did love her in his own way. They were not openly demonstrative by any stretch.” She sighed, and her expression held a rueful shadow. “Mother died seven years ago, but she and Father rarely spoke to each other. I recall childhood being quiet, as if I always had to tiptoe around so as not to put either of them in a temper.”
What a terrible way to live one’s life. Lucy remembered her son—the same age as Ellen—and his formative years where he had the love and support of both parents. Her chest tightened in sympathy for the girl next to her. “You miss your mother, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Ellen bit her bottom lip and sent her gaze to the window as her eyes grew misty. “Mother died in childbirth. Everyone in the family thinks I don’t know, but I do. I overheard their talk shortly after it happened. Don’t you think it’s something I should have been made aware of?”
“Of course. It’s part of your history.”
“I think so too. I’m not the fragile girl everyone assumes.” Ellen glanced at her and shrugged. “My brother died on that day, too. I would have liked having a sibling. It would have done much to take away the loneliness.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Her mother’s heart broke at the wistfulness in Ellen’s voice. On impulse, Lucy clutched the girl’s hand and squeezed. “You’ve grown into a remarkable young lady despite the circumstances. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you.” Ellen squeezed her fingers back, and Lucy liked the tenuous bonding they shared.
Still, questions bubbled through her mind. She had to know the answer to one in particular. She lowered her voice. “Is it true your father took a mistress?” It was scandalous gossip, plain and simple, and very much beneath her, but she couldn’t help it. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to hear that Colin had been a good person through his difficulties.
Ellen dropped her gaze. “I don’t know. If he didn’t, why else weren’t he and Mother close?”
There are many reasons, but none of which a child her age need know about. So Lucy remained silent, waiting. It was what she did with her children when they wished to talk but didn’t want led through the conversation.
“I believe my father could be a good man if he applied himself.” She gazed at Colin, who hadn’t stirred. “If he stops blaming himself for every bad thing that has happened in his life.” Then she turned to regard Lucy. “He’d be a different man if that occurred, and I’m anxious to see him at least try.”
Lucy gave her a smile of encouragement. “I think so too. I’d hoped long ago he would find his way, but it appears he’s still lost.” And she didn’t know how to help him, for he certainly hadn’t asked for assistance.
Perhaps he’d always been a lost little boy who sorely needed the magic of Christmas to show him the way home.
Her embroidery abandoned and resting in her lap, she looked at Colin again, this time not through the eyes of the innocent girl of her youth, but with experience and grief sharpening her vision. His creased brow showed he didn’t dream of pleasant things. She longed to smooth his hair away from his forehead, to stroke her fingers along the side of his face until he slept peacefully.
But she didn’t have that right.
Not anymore. He was as far from her reach as he’d been that long-ago day when she’d said no to a future between them. Oh, Colin, whatever has become of you?
He stirred in his sleep, turning onto his side on the bench, and both Lucy and Ellen jumped. His greatcoat flapped open. A slim packet of letters, tied with a length of black satin ribbon, tumbled from a pocket and to the floorboards.
“What is this?” Ellen leaned over and scooped them up. After yanking off the ribbon, she unfolded the first one with an exclamation that she bit off at the last second. “These are all addressed to Father Christmas.”
“From Colin?” Lucy gawked at the letters still in Ellen’s hand. “Er, I mean from Lord Hartsford?”
“No, silly. They appear to be written by children.” She handed a few letters to Lucy. “How very odd, don’t you think?” Her eyes sparkled with mischievous excitement. “I wonder how they came into Father’s possession.”
“Yes, I wonder that myself. He and Christmas don’t exactly go about hand in hand,” Lucy mused as she unfolded one of the letters. Her heart trembled at the innocent, childlike requests—prayers really—that someone had taken the time to write down. But who, and why?
“What shall we do with them?” Ellen asked, and her excitement caught fire into Lucy’s veins.
“Let me think about it. There must be some way to use these to help show your father the holiday is about more than what he can reap from people or gain from their gifts to him.” Lucy gathered the letters, slipped the ribbon around the slim stack and then returned the correspondence to his interior pocket. When she caught a whiff of his scent—BayRum and cloves with a hint of citrus—her mind wandered, and she was transported back to their last Christmas together.
It had been magical. There was snow for the first time in a long stretch of years. They’d slipped away from the party out gathering holly and fir boughs to make snow angels in a hidden glade Colin had found during one of his rambles on the property.
They’d made ever so many of the figures, laughing when snow crept beneath their clothes to chill their skin. She remembered the tingle of cold fingers beneath mittens and numb toes in her boots, but with Colin, it hadn’t mattered, for he warmed her from the inside out.
When he’d helped her up from her last snow angel, he’d kissed her properly. Not the chaste pecks on the cheeks—or the one beneath the mistletoe—he’d given her before. Oh, no. This had been his mouth fully pressed against hers while he held her securely in his arms. It had been romantic and wonderful, and she’d had stars in her eyes and dreams in her heart for days afterward.
They’d lingered in that snowy glade for long moments, kissing, exploring each other’s mouths, tasting the first nibbles of the heady adult world of love and romance, and they hadn’t come up for air until the calls of his siblings and their friends intruded.
That first string of delightful kisses had been days before he’d brought her crashing to Earth with his plans for their future. Yes, even back then he’d managed to miss the point of Christmas even though he’d nearly embodied the holiday.
With a swift intake of breath, Lucy came back to the present. She flopped against her bench with a rapid pulse and an aching chest. When she pressed a hand to her heated cheek, that elusive scent caught in her nostrils. Back then, she’d mentioned she adored the smell on him, and he’d apparently never changed, all this time later. A tiny half-smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. Was it in deference to her, or did he prefer that aroma over all others found in the shops?
“Are you quite well, Mrs. Ashbrook, I mean Lucy?” Ellen asked, eyeing her with speculation. “You look as if you were haunted too.”
“Nothing but a memory that jumped into my mind, unbidden,” Lucy murmured and turned her face to the window. It wouldn’t do for the child to see too much in her gaze.
“A happy one? I hope so, for you are blushing.”
“Most definitely happy.” And heated. Even now she wished to fan her face, but she didn’t dare, for Ellen would want to know why. Lucy swore she could still feel—after all these years—the urgent press of Colin’s lips against hers as they’d shared an intimate piece of themselves that snowy day.
Memories such as those shouldn’t come with a heavy dose of regret. What happened between her and Colin couldn’t be changed, and those were happy, wonderful times, even if they hadn’t followed each of them into adulthood. Decisions had been made, and they brought their own lovely memories, p
erhaps more so for her than Colin. But it needn’t be that way. Surely he could recall joyous scenes from Ellen’s childhood at Christmastide.
I should help him down that path and out of the shadowy world he currently walks.
She glanced at him, and suppressed a sigh. Mayhap he needed permission to take out the memories and separate the feelings from them. Enjoy them for what they were in that one moment in time, when everything had been perfect.
Or perhaps he needed to remember more, for if he’d truly lost the spirit of Christmas, remembrances held the power to beckon him back.
Could she survive that herself?
Locking those precious memories away else her own guilt and regrets rise up, Lucy fished about the floorboards for her dropped embroidery. “We have much to do, Ellen, if we’re to help your father this holiday season.”
For she would bring Christmas back to him if only to see him happy once more, regardless of how much pain it brought her.
Chapter Six
A smart series of raps on Lucy’s bedchamber door brought her out of exhausted slumber.
Who the devil can that possibly be?
When the sound didn’t come again, she rolled over and snuggled again into the bedclothes as the sound of steady rain fell upon the roof. Her eyes had just drifted closed and the knock came once more, frantic this time, and accompanied by a hissed whisper.
“Lucy!”
What was Colin doing in the hall at this time of night? Still, a tiny thrill went down her spine before common sense took over. He wasn’t on the other side of that door for a midnight tryst, especially not with his daughter in the room. Plus, he hadn’t shown interest or even admiration for Lucy throughout the trip.
Was it perhaps subconscious hope on her part?
Don’t be silly.
As another series of insistent knocks rained upon the wooden panel, she huffed a sigh and slipped out of the bed.
“What’s wrong?” Ellen asked in a voice garbled with sleep. “I thought I heard Father’s voice.”
So did I. Perhaps it was nothing but a foolish dream. “I’ve no idea, but I’ll find out.” Lucy slipped on a dressing gown of faded lavender silk. She padded over the worn hardwood and then cracked open the door a few inches...
...only to stare into the countenance of Father Christmas, or rather Colin dressed as that long-ago saint, complete with a ragged white beard she assumed was glued on as well as matching hair beneath a dark red cap that hung down and trailed over one shoulder.
Her eyes widened as she raked her gaze up and down his person. Where had he procured a robe of dark red velvet and gold brocade? And perhaps more to the point, was he even properly dressed beneath the wide-sleeved garment that hung to the floor? “What is the meaning of this? You do realize it’s the middle of the night and—”
“I am aware.” His eyes flashed in the dimness of the hall. “It’s about an hour before dawn, but we must leave now.” Urgency flowed through his voice.
“I don’t understand.” She crossed her arms over at her chest, and briefly he dropped his gaze to her bosom. Her heartbeat fluttered. “What is the hurry?”
“It’s none of your concern but trust me when I tell you that we must leave as soon as possible, before things grow worse.” He jerked his chin to indicate the stairs at the end of the hall. “Dress and then bring your bags down this instant.”
“I won’t, until you tell me what’s going on.” Lucy resisted the childish impulse to stamp her foot.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not reveal the reason.” He drew himself up to his full height of five foot nine inches and glared down at her, but the beard and false hair took much of the power from his glower. “Just do this for me.”
“Is the inn on fire, Colin?” she asked in a shocked voice as she opened the door wider. “I don’t smell smoke in the air.” When he narrowed his eyes, she continued. “Are we under attack? For I don’t hear the explosion of mortar shells.” A swath of hilarity swelled in her chest and she couldn’t stop teasing him. “Ah, I know. Perhaps there’s a highwayman on the prowl and he’s sneaking through the corridors in the attempt at separating guests from their valuables, and you wish us to flee into the night ahead of him.”
“Lucy!” Colin grabbed her shoulders and gave her a bit of a shake. “If I tell you the reason, will you pack and dress without further argument?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, not while his hands remained on her person and the warmth from him seeped into her skin.
“Very well.” The ire went out of his expression, and as if he just noticed his touch, he dropped his hands and took a step backward. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “I thought the innkeeper stared overly hard at me last night, but I didn’t remember ever making his acquaintance.” He kept his voice to a whisper, as did she.
“Had you?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Briefly and in passing.” Colin shifted his weight. “Turns out, he is the brother of a woman I might have had... relations with.”
“Might have?” She eyeballed him. “You’ve had so many that you cannot remember?” Why was she not surprised? And disappointed. Her stomach muscles clenched, and she cast a glance over her shoulder. Ellen sat bolt upright in bed, staring at them. It wasn’t to be helped.
“Spare me the lectures at the moment.” He tugged at the cravat buried beneath his robe, which, upon closer inspection, was a rather shabby affair and stank of... Lucy took a surreptitious sniff and reared backward. Ale and tobacco. “Yes, I had an affair with the man’s sister—more of a one-off sort of thing really—I’d come this way on a trip to visit a hunting mate of mine, stopped here, had a few drinks, saw the woman, things... happened—”
“Ugh.” Lucy held up a hand. “Skip that part.”
He nodded. “Well, I recognized the chap the same time he did me, for that day a couple of years ago, he’d discovered me in his sister’s bed here—his married sister—and he none too gently threw my arse out in the street with the threat that if he ever saw me again, he’d kill me.”
Merciful heavens, did he not realize his indelicate actions would continue to cause him trouble if he didn’t change? Was warming the bed of a willing woman worth that? She blew out a breath that ruffled an escaped tendril of hair from her braid. “Why did he not follow through on the threat last night, for I assume you two came into contact in the tavern?”
Of course he’d been drinking again. Oh, Colin, stop destroying yourself.
“There were many people milling about. Rain brings in the patrons, apparently.” Colin’s shrug was everything negligible. “So I retired, but I’m sure he’ll be waiting for me at departure time.” He made a gesture with a hand meaning get on with it. “Anyway, here we are, so you need to dress and pack, and we need to go with alacrity.”
Perhaps it was time to face some of the demons of his own making. “I hardly doubt the man will kill you, and I will not flee into the night as if I were the guilty one.”
“Come on, Lucy. Please?” The puppy dog pleading in his lake-blue eyes wore her down more quickly than she’d like. It would seem that around him, she possessed no willpower. She’d do well to remember that for the duration of the trip. “If this man threatens violence, and something happens to me, what will you and Ellen do? Who will remain to protect you?”
A queer little tingle went through her lower belly. “Do you think you’re our champion?” When he didn’t answer, she offered a small grin. “I’m quite certain your daughter and I can look after ourselves. In fact,” she couldn’t resist teasing him. “If you are laid up, we shall simply continue our journey without you. Perhaps, she can even pick you up when she comes back after the holidays.”
Then her grin died. For I will not come this way again. London life is behind me.
“Do be serious, Lucy.” But his growl didn’t have the amount of bite it did before.
“Fine.” She relented, only because it was the height of sca
ndal to stand there, dressed as she was, with this man. “I’ll meet you in the common room in thirty minutes.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Outside. I’ll rouse the driver and help him with the horses.” He stepped away then paused. “Perhaps we’ll arrive at Lancaster Hall that much sooner.” His expression suggested that was the preferred plan.
Then he was gone, loping along the corridor and plunging down the wooden stairs like a man possessed. He certainly didn’t worry about maintaining stealth.
With nothing for it, Lucy closed the door. She spun about to face Ellen, who’d lit a lantern. “There are times I don’t think your father is quite right in his upper story,” she murmured as she crossed the room.
Ellen snorted. “It’s good that you’re finding such a thing out now, for it won’t come as such a shock to you later.” She cocked her head to one side. “We are leaving now?”
“So it would appear.” A trace of sadness cycled through her for a misdeed that still affected Colin’s life. Will he never learn?
“Why is Father dressed so bizarrely?”
“That, my girl, is a long story we do not have time for.” It wasn’t her responsibility to inform Colin’s daughter about his indiscretions.
“What about breakfast?”
Lucy chuckled. “Do you always think with your stomach?” In that regard, she was very much like Simon.
“Not always, but traveling makes me hungry,” the girl said with a grin.
“I’ll make certain your father stops somewhere so you can have a proper breakfast,” Lucy promised. “Now, we best dress, else he’ll come up here again, and I wouldn’t put it past him to spirit us away, fully clothed or not.”
As they dissolved into giggles, they accomplished the tasks at hand.
DECEMBER 22, 1821
They’d been on the road for less than an hour before they passed a sign that gave Lucy an idea, mostly because Colin had yet to remove the Father Christmas disguise.
She tapped him on the knee, startling him from a half-dose. Could she blame him for wanting to sleep since they were roused from slumber early and it still rained, which rendered the confines of the coach rather cozy? No, but it was his fault they were here with the dawn, and he could very well reap the benefits of an early riser, plus do a good deed. “Tell your driver to go back. I want to turn down that lane we passed.”
Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset Page 85