“I do still enjoy the holiday, but now it’s shadowed by memories both good and bad. I...” She sighed. “I struggle with them all.”
So did he. There was small comfort in knowing he wasn’t alone. “That is life, though, don’t you think? It’s made more rich by all of those memories, more dear, and over time, the emotions attached will fade. They leave behind the lessons, the stories.”
She nodded. “Perhaps there has not been enough time, for the upcoming holiday will also come with its share of both.”
There was no more time for conversation, for Ellen joined them, just as the band prepared to play a new song. “Will you dance, Father?” Her eyes twinkled.
“I haven’t danced in years, love.” In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d danced. Certainly not with her mother.
She stopped short of stamping her foot. “How am I supposed to learn such a societal skill if you don’t show me?”
Colin tamped down the urge to roll his eyes. “I shall hire a dancing instructor you can learn from when you’re not in class.”
“That’s no fun,” she complained as the first strains of what sounded like a waltz sailed through the crisp winter air.
As the song continued, Lucy grew sadder until tears shone in her eyes.
Concerned, Colin peered into her face. “Why the need to become a watering pot? Have I said something untoward?”
“No.” She released her hold on his arm in order to dab at her eyes with the edge of her cloak. “This piece reminds me of Jacob. He gave me a music box after Simon’s birth. It played this waltz, but its springs cease to wind now. I...” The look she bestowed upon him shredded his heart. “I haven’t heard this song in many years.”
Inspiration struck. With a wink at Ellen, Colin gently propelled Lucy toward the gathering of people who danced as if on a grand floor of a ballroom. He encouraged the widow into his arms while his daughter looked on, her eyes wide, and without words he guided Lucy into the steps of the waltz while sliding one hand into hers and the other to the small of her back.
He’d lied before; he’d known exactly when he’d danced the last time. Seventeen years ago, that memorable Christmas with Lucy, they’d danced together in his father’s ballroom to a song very much like this one, and afterward, they’d slipped outside on the frost-gilded terrace, where he’d kissed her, uncaring if anyone saw them. In that moment only they two had existed.
He revisited that moment now, except they weren’t sharing a kiss.
Perhaps they didn’t need to. Lucy was in his arms again and for the moment, only they two existed as he twirled her around and around. They went through the steps of the waltz as if born to it, as if the years apart had never happened, as if it were still that magical Christmastide holiday and they had the whole of their future ahead.
Nary a word did he utter; Colin didn’t wish to destroy the fragile moment. She squeezed his fingers, tightened her hand upon his shoulder, and she held his gaze, all the while it felt as if she searched his very soul, for what he couldn’t fathom. Perhaps she’d find it in him this time. And finally, oh sweet heaven, finally her lips curved upward in a smile. She laughed and he did too. He continued to lead her through the steps of the waltz, their bodies fitting together like long-lost pieces of a puzzle, and with every movement, languid heat built from each point of contact.
By the time the song ended, they had stopped spinning and they rested near to Ellen’s position, he remained staring at her and she at him, and they’d yet to utter a single word between them.
There was something deep in Lucy’s eyes that called to him, that reminded him of the young girl he’d once known and loved, that invited him to discover the woman she was now. Colin had the sensation of falling, and he leaned closer to her, their lips nearly touching. It would be so easy to kiss her, claim that little victory, but he didn’t want it on the heels of her remembering her dead husband. At the last second, he pulled away, and Lucy lowered her lashes.
Ellen huffed. She looked at him with narrowed eyes, and he couldn’t fathom why she was so upset. Then her expression cleared and she bounced her attention between him and Lucy. “That looked ever so fun. It was so romantic.”
“It was a dance, Ellen,” he drawled, and affected a stance of nonchalance, but he knew one thing beyond every doubt: Lucy might think he was part of her past, but he wanted to find out if they have a future together. A woman didn’t look at a man as she’d done when the waltz concluded if she didn’t wish to explore that too.
And he’d do just about anything in this world to see a return of her smile, that tiny gesture that warmed him through and through, that made him think of snow and dancing and mistletoe... and hope.
“Well, if I ever am fortunate enough to dance like that, I’m sure you’ll spoil the whole thing and demand the boy looking at me as you did Lucy to leave the house,” Ellen said and yanked his attention back to the present.
He couldn’t help his grin even as heat crept up the back of his neck. The first few plops of raindrops hit his cheeks, but his ardor didn’t cool. “That is a discussion for another time, child.” Colin glanced at Lucy. A pretty blush had infused her cheeks and she offered him a tentative smile that tightened his chest.
“It was a lovely dance. Thank you, Colin. It improved my mood tremendously.” She lifted her face to the sky. A few drops of rain splashed onto her cheeks. “Perhaps we should start back to the inn. I don’t fancy getting soaked in this chill.”
“Agreed. If we can manage it, we’ll set out as soon as possible.” But part of him hoped the rain would keep on. More time in Lucy’s company outside the dratted confines of a traveling coach was all to the good.
Chapter Ten
Perhaps this day had been the longest of his life, but due to the rain turning to ice pellets that pinged off the window glass at the posting inn, Colin had deemed it advisable to stay the night there. Really, it wasn’t a fit night for man or beast, and travel in such weather was sheer folly. He wasn’t overly concerned, for he still had two full days in which to reach Lancaster Hall. Providing the weather cleared, they would arrive in good time.
Once more in the private dining room he’d rented, Lucy had settled by the fire, ensconced in one of the leather chairs, idly sipping fresh tea while staring into the dancing flames. The air of melancholy clung to her though not as heavily as before. Not knowing how to lift her blue mood, Colin thought it advisable to leave her be for the time being. When she was ready, perhaps she’d talk to him, genuinely, as he’d done to her earlier.
Was she thawing toward him? Hard to tell. He glanced at her, the woman who’d danced with him not an hour earlier. What would she have looked like if she’d thrown caution to the wind, abandoned all the memories and feelings that plagued her and weighed her down? His chest tightened with desire. If anyone needed the Christmas spirit, it was Lucy, but how to make that happen when they were stuck at a posting inn quite in the middle of nowhere in a village of which he couldn’t be bothered to remember the name?
Vowing to give the matter some thought, Colin joined his daughter at the opposite side of the room. If he’d left London with his grandmother, there was no doubt in his mind that right at this moment, he’d enjoy a mug of mulled wine or cider and perhaps he would have cajoled Cook for a pastry or a handful of small cakes as he’d done while a young man. Perhaps he’d prowl the property in the dark, drinking in the inky atmosphere and revel in the vast quiet of the fir trees and the acreage.
Yet... what good would it do? If he hunted up that long ago copse of fir trees where he’d first given Lucy a proper kiss, where they’d tarried and learned the art of such, he would only let memories get the best of him. Perhaps it wasn’t healthy to continue to dwell on the past.
“Father, may I ask you a rather personal question?”
The sound of Ellen’s voice, hushed as it was, brought him back to the present with a start, and he dropped into a chair near hers.
“Of course, love. A
re you troubled in some way?” God grant him the patience of a saint, for two women in his company bobbing along in brown studies would surely try even the best of men.
“No.” She dragged the word out. “But I do grow concerned for you.” She reached out a hand and clutched his as she glanced at Lucy. When she focused once more on his face, there was a glint of knowledge well beyond her fifteen years in her eyes. “Do you promise to tell me the truth?”
“To the best of my ability, yes.” He frowned. “What is this about?”
Ellen squeezed his hand. “Were you in love with Lucy in your youth?”
Colin gawked at her. “What makes you think that?” Of course, she might not have been fully asleep during all of the conversations he’d had with Lucy in the coach while on the road. Heat infused his chest. How much had she heard and how much had she deduced for herself? What a sticky wicket this was turning into.
“I’m not a child anymore, Father. I can see what’s right in front of me.” She rolled her eyes, and when she tossed her head, he was reminded strongly of her mother—willful, independent, verging on wild. “In any event,” she lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “Sometimes you look at Lucy with regret and other times, there is raw need in your expression. It is quite uncomfortable to watch.”
“Yes, I suppose it must be,” he said, committing neither way, but he peered at her with new respect. “My apologies.” The heat of embarrassment continued to creep up his nape and warm his ears. How much to tell this child on the verge of womanhood? It was a maudlin tale at best, and a Banbury one at worst, wherein the hero didn’t win his lady fair.
Ellen launched on, sparing him the decision. “Because if you had been in love with her then, perhaps those feelings are still there.” She lifted a blonde eyebrow in question as she waited.
He laughed, but the sound was forced, even to his own ears. “I’m not certain that’s a wise course of action. Besides, Lucy is still very much in love with her husband.”
“Don’t be droll.” Ellen huffed in apparent frustration. “You cannot be in love with a memory or a ghost. Hasn’t Mr. Ashbrook been gone a handful of years?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts.” His daughter vehemently shook her head. “She might miss her husband fiercely, this is so, but there isn’t a physical man to love any longer. Memories are what she has left, and if she’s not careful—if you aren’t—you’ll both be lost to them instead of living in the present. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Papa?”
The truth in her simple statement hit him square in the chest, as did her continued use of the softer term of “papa.” Colin slumped backward against his chair as if he’d been punched. Was that what he was guilty of? Loving the girl Lucy had been all those years ago, hoping she was the same now? She’d changed, of course she had. But had he? In some way, yes. In others, no. It was a daily struggle, as Lucy could attest to over the course of their ponderous travels together. Perhaps he tried too hard to cling to what used to be instead of appreciating things as they now were.
“I think that I do,” he finally said, and it was as if another weight had lifted from his shoulders.
“Ah, splendid.” Ellen smiled. Her eyes twinkled.
“When did you become so wise, child?” he asked with a smile of his own.
“Observation. Plus, you deserve happiness in your life. Why do you make it so difficult to find?”
“Habit?” He shrugged. “What now, oh wise one?” For he’d wager everything he owned his daughter wasn’t done with her little talk. There had to be a purpose for it.
Her grin was decidedly mischievous. “Go talk to her, and not in the cocky, creepy, or aggravating ways you’ve done before.” When he began to protest, she held up a hand. “Ask after her health or her hobbies. Her children. Anything besides making her slog through memories and the past. Haven’t you both moved beyond that?”
“I’m not certain. Some of those memories are quite nice.”
Ellen huffed and the expelled breath ruffled the ringlets on her forehead. “I’ll stay over here giving you some privacy. After all, we still have two days of travel ahead. I’d appreciate less tension than we’ve experienced before.” She leveled her gaze on him, and he tugged at his suddenly too tight cravat. “I’d like to arrive at the Hall not hating my fellow man because my father is an arse.”
Did he even want a return of romance between him and Lucy? It had been a hard-won battle to reach this stage of tentative friendship. But was Ellen right? Had he shown his cards too soon? It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I’ll do what I can, but I make no promises.”
“Any sort of forward movement is a step in the right direction.” Then Ellen drew forth a dog-eared copy of La Belle Assemblée she’d brought with her and proceeded to ignore him.
As his stomach cramped with nerves, Colin left the temporary safety of the sitting area to join Lucy before the fire. She sat at the small, round dining table, refreshing her tea cup. “How are you faring?”
Surprise flitted through her eyes as she rested that gorgeous, ice-blue gaze on him. “I’m doing well. Struggling through memories attached to this time of year... to Jacob, to you.”
“I apologize our association ended so horribly. If I could, I would remove the bad memories and only leave you the happy ones.”
“The sentiment is appreciated.” She offered him a tremulous smile, and his heart lurched. “Would you care for a cup of tea?” Her hand hovered over an empty china cup, and when he nodded, she poured out a measure of the amber brew and then slid the vessel over to him as he sat upon the chair beside her.
“Thank you.” The fact she’d remembered he liked his tea black pulled a smile from him. He looked at Ellen, who widened her eyes as if to say, “Get on with it.” Colin took a gulp of the tepid tea. “Tell me about the Christmas you envision for your children. Is it one like your childhood or something completely different?”
“Oh, I’m giving Beatrice a few embroidered handkerchiefs, a new pair of slippers she’s admired for months now, and a new hat. For Simon, he’s getting a new cravat, a chain for his pocket watch, and a particular fountain pen he’s wanted. The boy has a certain knack for writing.”
“Ah, you’ve raised a budding poet?”
“Rather he adores penning fictional adventure stories.” Her smile flashed as she warmed to her subject. “Jacob encouraged him wholeheartedly in this endeavor. There were many nights when Simon was home from school where the two of them would stay up until the early morning hours debating possible plots.”
“Jacob always had a creative streak.” Colin’s chest ached. “I assumed he would go on to great things once we cleared school. I had no idea he was a military man.”
Lucy shrugged. She cradled her tea cup between her hands. “He felt guilty when so many men were fighting and dying for what he considered a noble cause, while he was cooling his heels, protected because he was an only son.”
Hot guilt of his own lanced through his chest. “He was angry my father didn’t purchase me a commission like his did.” It wasn’t a question.
“If he was, Jacob never spoke of it. He cheerfully did his duty to King and country without complaint.”
“You and he exchanged letters during that time?” Though his chest still twinged with jealousy, it wasn’t as acute as it once had been.
“Yes. Jacob’s letters were as vibrant and entertaining as Simon’s stories now. In many ways I came to know him more intimately through those letters than in all the years of Christmases at Lancaster Hall.” Her lips curved with a small smile. “I miss him.”
“Understandable.” Colin remained silent in the event she might open up and tell him what sat heavily on her heart and mind, but she didn’t expand her story. In the awkward silence, he drained the remainder of the liquid from his cup.
She drew in a breath and let it shudder out. “I miss Christmases that were uncomplicated, holidays that weren’t marred by so many sad memories.”
> For once he and she were in perfect agreement. “Let us talk of the here and now. Perhaps we can infuse this Christmas with new, happier memories for the years ahead.”
She nodded, and when she lifted her limpid gaze to his, his chest tightened with the need to protect her, offer her solace from all the ills of the world. “I am giving Ellen the handkerchief I’m working on. It will be her Christmas gift.”
“Why?” Surprise hung on that one-word question. “You barely know her.”
“Except I’m beginning to know her through our trip together.” This time Lucy’s smile widened. “She’s your daughter, and I’ve grown fond of her.” Her gaze twinkled as it had in years’ past. “I shall see her on Christmas with you and your family, so it’s only natural I give her a little something to remember me by.”
“That’s wonderful. Thank you for such a nicety. Perhaps Ellen will learn a few of them from you before the holiday ends.” He refrained from rubbing his chest over his aching heart. Once they reached Lancaster Hall, would fortune shine upon him and gift him with time alone with Lucy? Probably not, for his siblings and their broods would descend and he’d never have a moment to himself, Lucy notwithstanding. He glanced at Ellen, who paged through her magazine. Then he looked again at Lucy, who peered into her tea cup. His heart squeezed.
I must make the best use of the time I do have with her.
For in the back of his mind, he hoped for a renewed chance.
“What of you?” he asked softly. “You spend so much time making certain everyone around you is taken care of. What is your hope for this Christmas?”
Emotion clouded her eyes, unreadable in the low light. “I wish to find peace, to find happiness in this new world I’m about to enter, one so different than what I’ve ever known that it leaves me breathless with fear every time I think about it.”
Daring much, Colin laid a hand over hers atop the simple pine table. “If anyone can do it, you can. You’ve always been strong, Lucy. It was one of the things that attracted me to you in the first place.”
Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset Page 89