All Things Merry and Bright: A Very Special Christmas Tale Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Did you find us a way home?” Frederick turned up his nose, as they sought an empty table. “Over by the window there is a place.”

  “When is the last time you rode a horse?” Mark braced for the response.

  “About five years ago, as I am a sea captain, not a cavalryman.” Frederick pulled out a chair and sat. “Why do you ask?” He glanced at Mark, then Clegg, and then back at Mark. “Whatever you have arranged, I get a peculiar inkling I am not going to like it.”

  “Well, this could be interesting.” Mark draped a napkin in his lap. “And I have a feeling you’re going to hate it.”

  FROM THE DRAWING room window, Amanda stood as sentry, awaiting Mark’s return. Based on his letter, she expected his arrival by the previous evening, at the latest. It was for that reason she had not slept much, and she grew more concerned by the hour.

  “Mama, please, do not worry.” From behind, Cara hugged Amanda. “Papa will be home soon, and he will be vexed when he learns how you fretted for him.”

  “It is understandable that he would be delayed,” Sabrina stated with an expression of sympathy. Heavily pregnant, she rested on a chaise. “The roads were positively dreadful, and—”

  “Clegg is the finest coachman in all of England.” Cara huffed a breath. “If anyone can navigate the turnpike, in any condition, he can, is that not right, sister?”

  “Oh—yes, of course.” Sabrina sputtered and swiped a piece of shortbread from the tea trolley. “That is precisely what I meant to say.”

  “Indeed, we arrived a day after Sabrina and Cara, and the lanes were a vast deal more than manageable.” Alex poured a cup of tea and reclined in a Hepplewhite chair. “Will you not come and sit with us?”

  “I appreciate what you are trying to do.” Wringing her fingers, Amanda joined Elaine on the sofa. “But Jason said the roads were treacherous.”

  “The man has no sense.” Alex waved dismissively but did not convince Amanda. “Besides, he is rather occupied with more important business, because he indulges in a new wager.”

  “Not another one.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “Really, Blake and Damian just finished their test of wills, with Lenore and Lucy offering evidence to that effect. What is it now?”

  “Actually, I planted the suggestion in my husband’s ear, because I want another babe.” Cara strolled to the hearth and warmed her hands. “So Lance and Jason are competing to see which of them can conceive a new addition with their respective wives.”

  A chorus of giggles erupted, and Amanda relaxed, as she enjoyed the company.

  “But Alex is already pregnant,” Sabrina blurted. Then she quickly covered her mouth. “Uh-oh.”

  “Sabrina, you promised you would not tell anyone.” Alex folded her arms. “And I am not entirely certain of my condition, so I would thank you to keep my secret.”

  “I do not understand.” Eileen, Sir Ross’s younger sister and new member of the family, tapped a finger to her chin and furrowed her brow. “If the wager is to conceive first, then Captain Collingwood is done, is he not?”

  “My dear Eileen, you know that, and I know that, but what my husband does not know will not hurt him.” With a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, Alex hugged a pillow to her belly. “Besides, I am enjoying this contest, and I would not dare interfere in his manly pursuits, because it inspires his poetry.”

  “Well said, Alex.” Cara raised her teacup in toast, and Amanda could not help but laugh, because Jason’s original, ribald compositions were the stuff of legend in the Brethren circles. “Likewise, I am quite enamored of Lance’s attentiveness and dedication to the cause. Who am I to disillusion him?”

  Another chorus of mirth filled the room, but Amanda could not forget Mark. As the Brethren wives discussed the benefits of married life, she realized that, in her preoccupation with her husband’s absence, she neglected Eileen, who seemed a tad out of sorts, given it was her first Christmastide with the large, extended family.

  “Eileen, I wonder if you might assist me in a minor task.” Amanda stood and flicked her fingers. “If it is not too much trouble.”

  “It would be my honor, Lady Amanda.” Eileen stood and deposited her cup on the trolley. “How can I be of use?”

  “Let us adjourn to the library, given the men congregate in Mark’s study, and I will explain what I need.” As they walked into the hall, Amanda signaled Hamilton. “How are the preparations coming for Stir-Up Day?”

  “We are almost ready, my lady.” The butler bowed. “Perhaps, we can gather in the kitchen, in half an hour?”

  “Perfect. That will be all, Hamilton.” Amanda steered Eileen toward the back of the house. “Every year, when we observe the Christmastide tradition, I provide a quick summation of the holiday custom, because there are those among us who never took part in Stir-Up Day.”

  “Myself, included.” Eileen followed in Amanda’s wake, as they navigated the massive collection of books. “Upon my word, but this library is magnificent.”

  “It is my husband’s favorite place, and he spends hours in here, when he is in residence.” How she pined for her man, especially when she spied the two-seater bench, upon which her husband often seduced her. “I believe there is a book—”

  “Who goes there?” George queried in a tone to which she took great exception.

  “I beg your pardon?” Amanda stopped and rested fists to hips. “Who dares question my presence in my home?”

  “Aunt Amanda, my apologies.” George shifted, when she arched a brow. “And to Miss Logan, if I offended her.”

  “No offense taken, Viscount Huntingdon.” To Amanda’s surprise, Eileen curtseyed.

  “My dear, we are family here. We do not stand on formalities, thus we do not use titles within these walls.” On a table, Amanda located the reference she sought. “Ah, here it is.”

  “Do you read, Miss Logan?” George rocked on his heels, and Amanda viewed him in a new light, as he interacted with Eileen.

  “Of course.” Eileen narrowed her stare. “Do you?”

  “That is some cheek, Miss Logan.” George stretched tall.

  “Unlike yourself.” She half-smiled. “Why, you evidence the whole of polite society, from A to B, Viscount Huntingdon.”

  “Impossible woman.” George bared his teeth. “If you were my wife, I would poison your tea.”

  “Viscount Huntingdon, if you were my husband, I would drink it.” Then Eileen turned to Amanda. “But I ignore my hostess, when you asked for my aid.”

  Before Amanda could reply, her nephew stepped to the fore. “What does my aunt require?”

  “A brief review of the history of Stir-Up Day, if you can manage it.” She flipped to the requisite page. “But if you intend to help, then you had better comport yourself as I would expect of a nobleman.” She wagged a finger. “Do not make me write your mother.”

  “Yes, Aunt Amanda.” From her escritoire, George gathered a pen, an inkwell, and some stationary.

  When the two put their heads together, Amanda backed from the area, but she monitored their interactions, as they continued to hurls insults, neither sportive nor serious. But it was when Eileen began to write that George admired her and smiled. They would bear watching.

  Chapter Four

  December 23, 1816

  A BRAYING ASS startled Mark awake, and he lurched upright in a bed of hay, his meager accommodation when he could secure no room in town. Rubbing the small of his back, he winced, given the previous day’s ride in driving snow brought him low. But it also saw him to Rochester and that much closer to home and his Amanda.

  In the next stall, telltale snoring left him shaking his head. While he hated to wake his friend, because Frederick groused the entire journey to Rochester, Mark had to keep moving.

  Wincing, he stood and rubbed his abused arse. With a newfound respect for the cavalry, he stumbled his way outside. To his dismay, the snow seemed to have intensified overnight.

  “Good morning, Admiral Douglas.” Cuthbert, the stablem
aster, waved a greeting. “I brought you and Admiral Maitland something to eat. It is not much, just some bread and fresh milk, but you are welcome to it.”

  “I am grateful, Cuthbert.” Mark accepted the pitcher and the basket. “Any developments in regards to a hack that might deliver me to Faversham?”

  “Sorry, sir.” Cuthbert shrugged. “I suppose it is the weather that is keeping everyone at home. There are no horses for rent, and I had word that even the stage and mail coaches have stopped until the storm passes.”

  “Bloody hell.” Disappointed, Mark searched his mind for any solution. Then a vision of his Amanda flashed before him, as she paced before the drawing room window, and he shook himself alert. “Is there anything else you might think of, however far-fetched, that might see me safely to my family? Please, I am desperate. There is no price I would not pay.”

  “Sir, money is not the issue—wait a minute.” Cuthbert snapped his fingers. “My wife’s cousin operates a chicken farm a few miles outside town. He makes regular trips to Faversham, and I wager he would give you a ride if I asked him.”

  “Would you?” Then and there, Mark promised to return and compensate the young couple, because they had shown him immeasurable kindness. “I would be in your debt.”

  “Nonsense, sir.” The stablemaster shoved his hands into the pockets of his threadbare coat. “I was wondering if I might ask a question.”

  “Of course.” Mark nodded. “What is it you wish to know?”

  “Did you know Nelson?” Cuthbert inquired.

  “Indeed.” Mark smiled. “I served as his first lieutenant, aboard the Boreas, and I was honored to count him a friend.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Fierce in combat and in life.” Mark chuckled. “He was a seaman’s seaman, always leading from the front instead of the rear. But I appreciated his capacity for judging and advancing men based on their ability and merit, as opposed to their political connections, given I was but the second son of a viscount with little to recommend me except my tenacity and work ethic.”

  “You probably have fascinating tales to tell, and I would dearly love to hear them, but I should saddle the horses and prepare the sleigh, if we are to set off.” The stablemaster turned but then paused and peered over his shoulder. “The only problem we have is the sleigh has but seats two.”

  “Then I shall remain here.” Lingering in Mark’s wake, Frederick frowned. “Because I am not sitting in your lap.”

  “Well, sir, based on your weight, I would suggest Admiral Douglas sit in your lap.” Cuthbert snickered and then checked his stance. “But that is your choice. Eat your breakfast, while I make ready the sleigh, and I will be right back.”

  “All right.” Mark strode past Frederick. “Let us adjourn to the stable, where is it warm.”

  “No.” Despite his professed refusal, Frederick retraced Mark’s steps. “I will not do it.”

  “There is fresh milk and bread.” In the stable, Mark squatted and pulled a healthy portion from the loaf. “And we have no choice.”

  “You have no choice.” Frederick grunted as he plopped to the ground. “I can do whatever I please, because no one waits for me.” After shoving a huge piece of bread into his mouth, he slumped his shoulders. “First I shared your bed. Then you dragged me halfway across Kent on a horse, and my arse may never be the same again. Now I am to ride to god knows where in a sleigh with you in my lap? Brother, I love you, but that is where I draw the line.”

  “You will do no such thing, because you are coming with me, and if memory serves we did much worse as midshipmen.” Mark gulped down the milk and handed the pitcher to Frederick. “Finish your meal, because we must away.”

  “Why am I doing this?” He averted his stare. “I could have stayed in London.”

  “And been all alone.” Outside, bells jingled, and Mark scrambled to his feet. “Come, as I believe it is time to depart.”

  Groaning, Frederick stood and dusted off his breeches. “Something tells me I will live to regret this.”

  “Not at all.” Then Mark extended a hand. “I would have your word as a gentleman that you will never breathe a word of this again, as long as you live.”

  “You think I want anyone to know I journeyed with you in my lap?” Frederick accepted the gesture, sealing the pact. “Well, let us have done with it.”

  IT WAS NOT quite a minute after Amanda hung the kissing bough in the entry to the drawing room that the Brethren husbands lined up their wives to take turns claiming their boon. Grateful for the distraction, she tried not to obsess over Mark’s continued absence, telling herself he was delayed by some unforeseen assignment and would soon arrive.

  “Are they always like that?” Eileen loomed to the right and laughed, just as Sir Ross cornered Elaine. “Because I have never witnessed such displays of affection, and that goes double for my brother.”

  “Why, Miss Logan, don’t you know that all Brethren marry for love?” To Amanda’s surprise, George engaged Eileen in more verbal fencing, and she pretended not to notice that they still employed formal addresses, which she suspected they did to aggravate each other. “Or do you not believe in such fancies?”

  “I believe in many things.” Eileen turned to face him. “None of which would interest you.”

  “Is that so?” George stepped in her direction, and Eileen retreated, and Amanda immediately guessed his aim. “Just how do you know what does or does not interest me?”

  “Must I explain it to you?” Again, George encroached, and again Eileen withdrew, bringing her ever closer to the bough. “In order to care, you must first have a heart.”

  “Big words for a little lady.” He neared, and Eileen gave ground. A warning danced on the tip of Amanda’s tongue, but she kept silent. “Do you think me dim-witted?”

  “Oh, no.” She smiled far too sweetly. “You are as sharp as a marble, Viscount Huntingdon.”

  “Yet smart enough to corral you.” Gloating, he pointed to the kissing bough, which now dangled above Eileen’s head. “Well, Miss Logan? You know the lore. If you refuse me, you will not marry in the next year.”

  “George.” Amanda advanced, just as Sir Ross took note of the situation.

  “Huntingdon, do not accost Eileen, else I will box your ears.” The venerable head of the Counterintelligence Corps glowered. “I did not bring my sister to entertain you.”

  “It is all right, brother.” Eileen squared her shoulders and gained newfound respect from Amanda. “Yes, I know the lore, Viscount Huntingdon, and I am not concerned, because I have no intention of marrying anyone, ever. But I will satisfy you, not because I have any desire to join society but because I am a proud provincial.”

  Perched on tiptoes, she made to kiss George’s cheek, in full view of the family. At the last moment, he shifted, and their lips met for the briefest instant. Eileen drew back as if he struck her, and she touched her fingertips to her mouth. Then she ran across the foyer and upstairs.

  “Eileen.” When George would have given chase, Amanda stayed him, and it did not escape her notice that he at last dropped the formalities.

  “You arrogant ass.” Ross followed in his sister’s wake, with Elaine not far behind. “She has never been kissed.”

  “The study—now.” Amanda dragged her errant nephew by the arm and rued Mark’s absence, because upbraiding men in the family was his duty, not hers.

  “Aunt Amanda, I apologize.” At a side table, George poured a glass of brandy, and his hands shook. “I never meant to frighten her.”

  “But you did, in my home.” At the hearth, she paced to relieve the anger simmering just below the surface. “Eileen is family, and I will not have you enacting a seduction under my roof. Although she is no debutante, she is not out, and she is an ingénue.”

  “Do you think her unworthy of my attention?” The unmasked contempt in George’s query caught her off guard, because she never once considered him in earnest. “Do you believe her unsuitable?”

 
; “Of course, not.” She smacked a fist to a palm. Oh, where was Mark when she needed him? “If I thought you pursued her, in truth, with honorable intentions, I should applaud your choice. But you will not dally with her heart, because it is wrong, and I adore her.” Then she inclined her head and in a quiet voice asked, “Are you sincere?”

  “That is ridiculous.” He drained his glass and poured a refill. “Like Miss Logan, I have no wish to wed.”

  “But you will.” She met his turbulent gaze. “And when you meet your special lady, you will know it, as sure as you know your name.”

  “Is that how you felt when you met Uncle Mark?” He stiffened his spine. “Because I heard he insulted you.”

  “Indeed, he did, but it did not matter.” She recalled that magical if not so graceful introduction so long ago and clutched her clasped hands to her bosom. “I wish I could explain it in terms you could comprehend, but what I experienced at the Northcote’s ball defies efforts to define it, and no mere words could describe it. Suffice it to say I knew, beyond all doubt, that Mark was fated to be mine, as I was his, and no one, not even my father, could convince me otherwise. Is that what you share with Eileen? Because if it is not, then you have no business seeking her company.”

  “I am truly sorry, Aunt Amanda.” George speared his fingers through his hair, just as someone knocked at the door.

  “Come.” She whirled about to greet the untimely interloper.

  “My lady.” Hamilton bowed. “I apologize for intruding, but Viscount and Viscountess Wainsbrough, Sir Dalton and Mrs. Randolph, and Her Grace and Lady Beth are just arrived.”

  “Thank you, Hamilton. I will be right there.” Amanda rolled her shoulders and caught George in her sights. “You were raised as a gentleman, and you know what is expected of you, so there will be no more kissing for you beneath my roof. Am I clear?”

  Duly chastised, George dipped his chin. “Yes, Aunt Amanda.”

  Chapter Five

  December 24, 1816

  TO MARK’S UNMITIGATED gratitude, the owner of the chicken farm maintained a small cabin for seasonal workers, near the hen houses, so he and Frederick enjoyed their own bunks and a relatively quiet accommodation, after the miserable sleigh ride. Fortunately for him, Cuthbert’s cousin James planned a trip to Faversham the next day, because his wife had relations in the area, and they intended to spend the holidays with their family.