A Christmas Keepsake

by Janice Bennett

  Sounds of the boys reciting a dull lesson reached her as she passed the first-floor landing. She continued to the ground level and entered the sitting room she’d been in the night before.

  The major stood near the hearth, leaning over to examine a paper Mrs. Runcorn held out to him. Christy stopped in her tracks, and drew a slow, appreciative breath. That was one man who would never disappear in a crowd. The power of his presence wrapped about her, making her vividly aware of him. A tingling sensation danced along her flesh. Sheer animal magnetism, wasn’t that the trite phrase? At the moment, she couldn’t think of a better. The door closed behind her; he looked up, directly at her, and the penetrating assessment of his gaze sent her back a pace. Suspicion tempered yesterday’s concern, and an element of challenge lay in the depths of those marvelous eyes. A thrill of nerves raced through her, leaving a hollow sensation in its wake.

  His searching scrutiny rested on her a moment longer, then he awarded her a sketchy bow. “Good morning, Miss Campbell. I trust you are now rested?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Damn, the man unsettled her. She looked away, unable to meet the intensity of his regard. “Mrs. Runcorn, I’m really sorry about last night. I’d only meant to sit down for a minute, not fall asleep like that. Please forgive me.”

  “Of course, my dear. There is nothing to forgive. Now, the major has had the most delightful notion. He wishes to take you to the shops himself.”

  Christy cast an uneasy glance at him. “Do you? Are you quite certain? I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “It will be my pleasure. I am sure we have much still to discuss, Miss Campbell.”

  Even through that calm exterior, she caught the note of determination in his voice. Well, she couldn’t blame him. He’d acted on generosity of spirit yesterday afternoon. By now he’d had time to reflect—and ask himself a few questions about her. Like how she happened to turn up so opportunely in his path, and in such desperate straits as to instantly appeal to his chivalry. In his position, she’d be suspicious of herself, too. And be out to learn a thing or two about this protégée.

  That meant trouble time, for her.

  She ran back up the stairs and grabbed the borrowed coat, then slowed as she started back down. He’d had his friends take her in before he’d had time to reflect. Did that mean he might change his mind and have them throw her out? Or would he keep her here, where they could watch her for him? He’d probably feel safer knowing where she was—and whether or not she tried to hurl a few knives at him, herself.

  What was she going to say in response to the probing questions he must have planned for her?

  Stick to the truth, she reminded herself—at least, as far as possible. That way she wouldn’t trip herself up in a web of lies.

  He waited in the lower hall. His gaze ran over her, and he nodded as if in silent approval—or as if one of his nagging uncertainties had been quieted. Apparently, she’d passed muster—this time, at least. She’d have to study everybody she saw, and copy the appropriate mannerisms and figures of speech, if she hoped to keep him from guessing how very much out of place she really was.

  He escorted her outside to where a low-slung carriage stood before the door, with a little man holding the head of one of the matched gray horses harnessed to the rig. The major handed Christy into the seat, climbed up beside her, and started the pair. The man—a groom, she supposed—stepped back, then swung up behind as the carriage passed him.

  Fascinated, Christy looked about, noting details she had been—too upset to notice yesterday afternoon. A living museum surrounded her, with costumes, professions, and customs that would vanish with the coming of industrialization. And here it was, for her to see—and experience.

  Again, they made the abrupt transition into a better neighborhood, and she leaned forward, trying to take in so many strange sights and sounds. A man in ragged clothes swept snow from a crossing with a stick broom. Vendors wandered the streets, shouting their wares. And so many people rode horses!

  “Do you find London so very different from New York?” He cast a sideways glance at her. “That was where you said you were from, was it not?”

  The first of his tests. She swallowed, and settled more decorously on the seat. “No, I’m from a tiny town in Connecticut. And yes, it’s very different.” That much, at least, was the truth.

  Their carriage slowed behind a wagon filled with crates, and Christy swiveled about to watch the passing people. One of the horsemen behind them pulled up abruptly and turned away.

  “How many days did the crossing take?” Major Holborn whipped up the team, and they swept past the obstructing vehicle.

  “It seemed like forever.” How many days did it take, at this time? She couldn’t ever remember hearing. The Clipper Ships hadn’t been developed yet, of that she felt certain. But did that mean months—or just weeks?

  “You don’t remember the date on which you set sail?”

  Christy managed what she hoped was a convincing laugh. “It was postponed so many times. Our departure, I mean. The weather was bad.”

  He stiffened. “Indeed?”

  Bad answer. She bit her lip. “There was something about the cargo not arriving on time, and the captain refusing to sail without it.” That had a better sound to it. Most occurrences in life seemed to be motivated by finances.

  She returned her attention to the passersby, hoping he’d accept her hazy responses for abstraction rather than evasiveness. Everything did enthrall her, after all; it was so very different from the world she knew. She leaned out to watch a huddled figure with a scarf wrapped about her head, who sat before a cart on which a small fire burned beneath a huge urn. The woman poured a cup of steaming liquid and handed it to a boy in exchange for a coin.

  Christy craned her neck to look back, and out of the corner of her eye caught sight of a horseman pulling up short and turning away.

  “That’s the third time that same man has done that!” she exclaimed.

  “What?” Major Holborn glanced at her, a frown creasing his brow.

  She told him. “He’s about half a block back, now, but he’s been with us for some time. I don’t think I’d have paid any attention to him if he didn’t keep turning away like that.”

  “Indeed.” He sounded grim. “Kepp, did you hear the lady?”

  “Yes, sir,” came the response from the groom.

  “Will you keep an eye out for him? And can you contrive it so he doesn’t know you’re watching him?”

  “That I will, sir.”

  They started forward once more. The major swung left at the first corner, then again at the next. After a fourth jaunt down a side street, he pulled out of the flow of traffic and brought his pair to a halt.

  “Well, Kepp?”

  The groom swung down. “He’s still with us, sir. Begging your pardon, but it might prove mighty interesting if n I was to have a word or two with him. Mighty interesting, indeed.”

  “No.” A gleam lit the major’s marvelously dark eyes. “That is a pleasure I intend to reserve for myself. I’m tired of being followed about.” He inclined his head toward Christy. “If you will excuse me, Miss Campbell?” He tossed the reins to his groom, swung down from the carriage, and set off with a rapid, determined stride.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “What’s he doing?” Christy demanded of the frowning groom. “He’s not going to tackle that man alone, is he? What if he’s dangerous?”

  “The major can take care of hisself, miss.” Still, the groom directed an uneasy glance over his shoulder.

  Christy sprang to her feet, setting the carriage rocking. “He may need help.”

  “If you please, miss?” Kepp steadied the horses. “He’d rather you didn’t go getting yourself involved, like.”

  “Tough.” Christy cast him a scathing look and jumped to the ground, only to trip in the unfamiliar long, narrow skirt. With a muttered oath, she hiked it up and set off at a run after Major Holborn. Already, he was far ahea
d with his long, swinging stride. His height, though, made it easy for her to spot him. He was a very striking figure, she realized.

  And far too easy to follow. That thought left an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  She hurried on, jostling through the crowd. People stared at her, she suddenly realized. Apparently, ladies weren’t supposed to run through the streets.

  Standing on tiptoe, she tried to catch another glimpse of the major, but he’d vanished. Probably he’d rounded the corner.

  She increased her speed, reached the end of the block, and collided with him.

  He grabbed her and steadied her against his chest. For one breathless moment, she stared into his dark eyes, and the sheer power of the man slammed into her. Everything but the strength of his hands on her arms faded from her consciousness. Abruptly, he released her, and for a moment she floundered. “Did he get away?” she managed.

  He nodded, and the lines etched themselves more deeply about his mouth and eyes. “You should have stayed at the carriage.”

  “What, and let them pitch knives at you with no one to help you?”

  “No one threw anything.” His gaze rested on her, and after a moment, he added. “I am accustomed to being obeyed.”

  “That I can believe.” She pulled herself back together. “I’m not one of your employees or servants or whatever you call them, though.”

  A slow smile lit his dark eyes. “Aren’t you? I thought that was what you wanted, last night.”

  She swallowed. She could think of something else she was beginning to want, and it only confused the matter. She couldn’t ever remember being so forcibly aware of a man before. She took refuge in offense, and faced him squarely. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  He didn’t answer at once. He offered her his arm, and led her back toward his carriage. At last, he said: “I don’t know quite what to make of you. You warned me I was being followed.”

  “Just when you’d about decided I was one of your enemies? I’m not, though.”

  “What are you, then?”

  “A very lost person, who’s as confused by what’s going on as you are. Come on, let’s get on with this shopping trip. I’m in crying need of a toothbrush.”

  “And a number of other things, I should imagine.”

  She cast a sideways glance at him. “Why did you offer to bring me? I’ve never yet known a man who liked to shop.”

  “You have vast experience with the matter?” Again, that suspicious note crept into his voice.

  “Well, my father always refused to go, and so do my brothers. My sister’s husband only goes along to control how much she spends.”

  “You have a large family?” He fastened on this new topic.

  “There are five of us kids. We—” She broke off. She missed them, more than she had thought possible. If she were never able to see them again ... The thought sent an aching pang through her. She couldn’t bear it if she missed Jon’s and Melany’s wedding, or never got to see Matt and Shelley’s new baby...

  “Is your father a landowner?” His question dragged her back from her wallow in self-pity.

  “No, a minister in a small town. He died three years ago.”

  “And what brought you to England?” They reached the carriage and he handed her in.

  “I have a business—I deal in rare books and prints. I—”

  “Indeed?” He broke across her words, surprised. His assessing gaze rested on her once more as he climbed in beside her.

  “I came over on a buying trip,” she continued, trying to ignore the unsettled sensation that rippled through her. “But things got a little crazy.”

  The major took the reins, the groom once more swung up behind, and they set forth. He headed the horses down another narrow lane, and slowed.

  “The houses in this block are in a shocking state of repair,” he informed her.

  The most casual glance would be sufficient to tell anyone that. Paint peeled back to reveal layers of earlier colors, holes gaped in steps, ready to trap unwary feet, smashed panes of glass in the windows alternated with ones which were merely cracked. The icy wind must blow right through the rooms. Everywhere, piles of filth sullied the snow, and the stench couldn’t be ignored. The children playing in the street wore such pitiful rags, they must be cold, always cold. And hungry ... Christy looked away, feeling ill.

  “It distresses you?” His voice held a curious, intense note.

  Her grasp tightened on the side of the carriage. “How can people be so darned heartless? Look at them, what chance have they got? From the time they’re born, all they see is failure and poverty. They don’t even know what it’s like to succeed.”

  “You don’t think this is normal? That if they worked harder, they could get out of this situation?”

  So that was what he was getting at. “Quit preaching to the converted,” she advised. “I’ve spent enough time working in homeless shelters to know every single person has a different story. Look, I’m all for doing something about living conditions, here and everywhere. You don’t have to convince me to see your side of it. I already do.”

  “I am pleased to hear it.” Still, skepticism sounded in his voice.

  He didn’t believe her. That meant, she supposed, she would be in for more of these tours while he tried to win her over. What would it take to convince him she was not in cahoots with his enemies, trying to silence his crusading voice?

  And she wanted to convince him. She wanted his trust. She respected the strength of his convictions, admired him for them, and wanted his good opinion in return. That was all. There wasn’t—there couldn’t be!—anything more personal about it.

  Major James Holborn cast a sideways glance at his companion, and fought against a tug of attraction. She was confoundedly pretty—though her appeal lay more in her lively manner and unusual charm than in any perfection of feature. Her gleaming hair massed in a riot of dusky ringlets about her rounded face. Today she didn’t wear that bright blue bow that had fastened her curls at the top of her head. Too bad. It had suited her.

  And what was he to make of her—enemy or damsel in distress? The neighborhood through which they passed honestly seemed to distress her. Was she, as she claimed, the daughter of a clergyman? That she was an American, he accepted without question. Being brought up in a savage land so far from the civilizing influences of London would explain the many oddities about her.

  It would also explain her lack of missishness, and her casual avowal of dealing in books and art. What a very strange place American society must be, to have produced a young lady of such decided opinions. He found her refreshing.

  Yet he fought his impulse to trust her. The possibility remained his nameless enemies had planted her on him. She might well be nothing more than an accomplished actress, hired to insinuate herself into his good graces. It behooved him to keep her near, watch her closely, and woo her support.

  Unfortunately, the prospect appealed to him a little too strongly.

  He wended his way through another poor district, and at last emerged into territory belonging exclusively to the elite of London society. She still evinced the same fascination, as if all this were new to her. She leaned from the curricle, staring about, eager to see every sight, distressed by the poverty, enthralled by the elegance. If he weren’t suspicious, he would be convinced she had never before been in London—or even any large city.

  He drew to a halt in Jermyn Street before the shop of a modiste with whom he had dealings before. The unconventional Miss Campbell would not alarm Madam Hendricks.

  Miss Campbell eyed the front critically. “It looks expensive.”

  “I am quite able to afford it.” He found her caveat irritating. Had part of him wanted to discover her as willing to dip into his pockets as the dubious ladies of his acquaintance? In a way, it would be easier to find this to be the case, to learn his first impression of her had been wrong, that the air of quality which distinguished her had been feigned
. Then at least he would know what to make of her.

  She regarded him with a troubled expression haunting her huge eyes. “I’m not able to afford it,” she said bluntly. “This is coming out of my salary, remember, and I don’t want to spend more than I’ll be able to earn.” She offered a smile, as if to soften her stubbornness: “Look, I’m only going to be teaching, and I don’t even know how long I’m going to be here. Isn’t there somewhere cheaper that would do just as well?”

  “Cheaper, if you mean less dear, certainly. But not just as well. Under the circumstances, I require you to dress as a lady, to avoid any unfortunate incidents.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He clenched his jaw. Was she truly so innocent he had to spell it out for her? That possibility both intrigued and disturbed him. “You will be residing in a less than elegant district, Miss Campbell. You will encounter men who might not behave toward you in a gentlemanly manner unless they are imbued with respect for you.”

  “You don’t think I can take care of myself?” Her vivid blue eyes danced with a challenge.

  He found it hard to resist. The devil! She stirred some very ungentlemanly impulses in him. “We will go in,” he said shortly.

  She clambered down without waiting for his assistance, which further irritated him. “Walk the horses, Kepp,” he snapped. The groom accepted the ribbons from him, though fixed such a reproving regard on him as to bring him up short. James raised a coolly inquiring eyebrow. “Is something the matter, Kepp?”

  “You shouldn’t ought to be taking a lady like her down some of them streets, sir. As well you know ”

  “She isn’t your usual sort of lady, Kepp.”

  The groom snorted. “You ain’t never said a truer word, sir. That’s one as is real quality. Not one of them simpering misses, but one with a bit of spirit.”

  “You like her?” He regarded his henchman in surprise.

  “She’s a right ’un, sir, no mistaking that.”

  “Isn’t there?” The major turned away, frowning. Kepp was not one to lightly bestow his approval.