A Very Romantic Christmas

by Lorraine Bartlett

  “Of course, my lady. Scarlet would be very festive.” Thankfully, Hattie, who was a sensible girl, seemed to get over her nervousness with the reminder that it was Christmas Day. She dressed Kate’s hair without incident and was helping her into her gown when there was a scratching at her door.

  Sean’s prediction about how soon the consequences of the maid’s discovery would come down upon them was more than correct. Sarah entered, eyes downcast, most likely so that she’d not catch a glimpse of the Irish devil who’d compromised a lady of the house. She seemed to feel she had received a reprieve when she saw that only Kate and Hattie were in the room.

  Kate’s stomach knotted as she watched Sarah work up the courage to deliver her message. It wasn’t a good sign that Miranda hadn’t come herself.

  Sarah’s voice quavered when she informed Kate that her brother Valentine, her sister Miranda, and the duke wished to see her in the duchess’s parlor as soon as she was able to dress herself. Which was quite quickly, since Hattie wasted not a moment making her presentable.

  She felt as if she were going to her own hanging as she walked down the wide staircase and past the impassive footmen. Byron, the youngest and newest had a flush on his cheeks, but he did not move his head, nor meet her eyes as he sometimes did. Her heart sank. She’d known him since he was a scrawny stable boy of six.

  She wondered, for a brief moment, if anyone would listen to her protest that she hadn’t even known Sean was there until the maid woke her up. Most likely not, just as she’d told Sean. It wasn’t as if the family didn’t have a tradition of unusual circumstances that required hasty weddings.

  She squared her shoulders. She had survived the “talk” after she’d disgraced herself at a rout and everyone had been agreed she’d never find a man willing to marry such a hellion. She’d survive this. Though it wouldn’t be as easy. At least she’d been prepared to be a disgrace in society and remain the spinster sister forever.

  And then Sean had come. No longer on Diablo, but having grown even more handsome then he’d been at seventeen--when she, a mere child, had blithely promised to marry him if he let her ride his magnificent stallion.

  She supposed it was the way he had presumed upon that childish promise at first that had made her worry he wanted her only for her dowry. After all, most of her suitors fell away from her coterie because of the unfortunate incident during her first season.

  Her “difficult nature” had not beaten away all her suitors, of course. There were always those willing to put up with a spirited woman in order to take possession of her dowry. But she had not been fooled by the easy flattery or seemingly easygoing natures of those men. Their desire to please her would evaporate into indifference or cruelty once the vows were exchanged and she was just another acquisition to be shelved.

  Sean had stood out from the crowd, in her eyes, but his motives were just as suspect to her--especially when he made his claim to a prior understanding. She’d known him at once, despite the fact that the careless, almost arrogant, confidence of the boy had matured into a more sophisticated assurance.

  At their first meeting she’d been amused and alarmed by the fact that he had instantly tried to hold her to the promise she’d made as a child. She’d assume he was mocking her at first, using the silver tongue the Lord of Blarney was half-derided, half-envied for. She had only gradually realized that he was seriously wooing her. That he thought her a good wife for an ambitious member of the House of Lords.

  She’d half hoped, half feared, that her challenge for him to prove himself worthy of her would send him in pursuit of an easier, more docile heiress. But it hadn’t. His compliments had seemed sincere even as they struck at her heart. Still, she’d known that a man might be handsome and charming and still quite an unsuitable catch for a husband.

  She’d wanted to believe he was sincere, despite his damnably easy charm. The attraction she felt toward him was even stronger than the attraction she’d felt for his horse when she was just a child. That was saying quite a bit, although she had been careful to confide such an unflattering observation only to Betsey, her governess’ daughter and dearest friend, who could be trusted to understand.

  It was Betsey who had suggested that she only needed to set him some impossible task, as Hercules had been set, to prove his sincerity to her. The idea had taken root and bloomed when she heard the story of Maeve from Sean’s uncle. She’d known what to do even before she’d heard the end of the tale. Besides, Maeve had been the cause of her own undoing and Kate would not be so foolish. No, the Irish tale of a woman who wanted a husband who would be her equal had quickly decided Kate. She would ask Sean to prove himself suitable before she’d agree to the marriage.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have baited him for quite so long. But it had been enjoyable--until now, she thought, as she entered the Duchess’s parlor and came face to face with the three who had served as her parents since she was a child and her mother and father had died in a carriage accident.

  Their faces were stern and--a difference from her last disgrace--full of pity. She’d seen them impatient, frustrated, furious, and saddened before, but not this. Not pitying. The gravity of what she had done sank in deeply for a moment, before she roused herself to remember that she was wholly innocent. Except, perhaps for knowing what her husband-to-be looked like without his clothing.

  It was the pity, not the flanking of stern gazes which made her smile and say, “I suppose you have heard that I upheld the family tradition and you want to make certain that I will do the right thing and marry the poor man.”

  Valentine stood, a flush on his face, and she felt a moment of sympathy for her brother. “I would ask if you must be so flippant, Kate, but I already know the answer. So I will content myself with asking if you have any objection to being married on Twelfth Night?”

  Poor Valentine. He would so have preferred to have married her off in a more usual, respectable way. She shouldn’t have baited him, anymore than she had continued to do to Sean. Men had very little patience with such things, she knew that well enough.

  She considered objecting, but a quelling look from her sister decided her against it. Miranda had been through enough. Christmas morning had been a favorite of hers forever, Kate refused to let this foolishness ruin it. Despite events, this Christmas would be the same perfect holiday that it had been since she could remember.

  Even when they had been nearly penniless, Miranda had found a way to make the holiday special for her younger sisters--especially Kate, who had been much too young to understand how dire their circumstances truly were. If she argued against the marriage, she’d be presenting her sister with a very unwelcome dilemma as a gift.

  “Twelfth Night?” she repeated, in a delaying tactic. She couldn’t quite bring herself to accept that her decisions had been taken from her and that she would be a married woman in less than a fortnight. Oddly, there was a small part of her that wished the wedding would occur today—under the tree. Silly woman, no wonder Sean had become impatient with her.

  She heard the soft jingle of bells behind her and the question was answered before she could bring herself to do so. “Twelfth Night is acceptable.”

  She turned. Sean stood by the fireplace, holding a sprig of mistletoe that had been belled like a cat. He looked appropriately apologetic--as he had not in her room. Perhaps, she thought a bit snappishly, it was an expression he did not find natural unless he was fully dressed.

  Sean could see that she was feeling the strain of the consequences that were heaping upon her unwilling head. While he felt sympathy, he did not wish to show any weakness in front of her family, whose unfriendly faces had not changed, despite his conciliatory agreement. He needed the duke’s influence, or his seat in Parliament would be no more comfortable than a coach seat in a railroad car.

  She narrowed her eyes at him in irritation. “Please don’t presume to speak for me until after the wedding, my lord.”

  He smiled, as if she had tossed words of lov
e at him, rather than scorn. “I was speaking only for myself and my willingness, mo chroi. I well know that you are able to speak for yourself.”

  The duchess’s stern expression lightened for a moment as she fought a smile and he relaxed a fraction. If she was not unforgiving, the duke would come around sooner or later. “Yes, Kate. We all await your answer. Will Twelfth Night suit you?”

  When Kate remained stubbornly silent, the duchess added gently, “Everyone will still be here to help celebrate the happy occasion that way.”

  Sean detected a note of hope in her voice and felt a sudden spurt of sympathy for the duchess. He’d met most of her sisters, with the exception of the one who’d run away to America a few months earlier. He’d thought his own sister a handful, what would his life have been like if he had five such sisters to raise?

  At least, he appeased his own guilt, she’d have some respite from the folly of headstrong young girls for a good long time since her niece was a babe in arms and would not be able to carry on the tradition for at least another eighteen or so years. He thought of his little sister and felt a sharp pang of sympathy for the duchess. When would he be able to relinquish his worry for Bridget?

  Valentine, suffering from the same hope as the duchess, no doubt, grew impatient with Kate’s hesitation. He sighed loudly and then asked sharply, “Well? Would you prefer a ride to Gretna Green instead?”

  Like a trapped animal, Kate’s gaze shifted from face to face before she snapped back a denial that was as sharp as a fox’s bite. “Of course not, Valentine, although you might find Lord Blarney willing enough--if only the roads were passable.”

  “They are not.” He smiled into her eyes, as though he did not realize how angry she was. “But even if they were, I would prefer to seal my vows here, among family.” He allowed his gaze to slip from the duke to Kate’s brother to express his sincerity as he added, “I would not want anyone to doubt my desire to cherish my bride.”

  Her scowl indicated his words had not quite reached to her heart to charm away her bad mood. He was pleased to see a slight rise in color flushing up her neck, though. As if he had not spoken, she said, “As for myself, I am certain Twelfth Night will serve as well as any other day as a wedding day.”

  “That is a wise decision, even if you don’t realize it at the moment.” Miranda, the duchess, again. Her eyes held sharp sympathy and a hint of weariness.

  The duke added, “Very true. I will announce the happy news at dinner. I trust you will conduct yourself as if you were overjoyed at the announcement, so that the children’s pleasure in the day will not be diminished.”

  “Rest assured I shall smile brighter than the sun itself,” Kate said sharply.

  She turned, not waiting for them to dismiss her. Her eyes were bright with tears, so she did not slow before she ran full into him. He put his arms around her for a moment, despite the frowns of her family. He wished he could ease things more for her, but that was not possible in the circumstances.

  “Before you go, Kate, I think you owe your sister an apology.” The duke, of course. Proper as always. Too proper to realize how hurtful his words were to Kate, who stiffened and pulled away from Sean’s side.

  She turned, her smile much too bright to be authentic and walked a few steps toward where her family sat lined up like a small, inflexible, jury. “I should, I suppose.” She gave a deep curtsy to the duke, and another, even deeper, to Sean. “I am ever so sorry the maid came into my room at such an unfortunate time.” Before he could guess what she would do, she rose from the curtsey, snatched the mistletoe from his hands and, bells jingling wildly, stood on tiptoe to kiss him full on the lips.

  She didn’t stay to listen to the exasperated murmurs of chastisement that followed her frustrated broadside, but simply turned and strode away. Fortunately, he managed to suppress the shocked laughter that threatened to erupt at her defiant apology.

  She was more than angry, she was frightened and hurt. Her kiss had been cold and punishing. How badly had he miscalculated. Would she be resigned to the marriage by Twelfth Night, or not?

  He felt the need to defend her, since he was the one who had put her in this situation in the first place. “I assure you, that all blame for this unfortunate circumstance rests upon my head. I would not see Kate lose the trust of her family when she is blameless.”

  Valentine drew in a sharp breath, half laugh, half cough. “That is an interesting concept. Kate. Blameless.” He shuddered. “I hope you are simply taking her part out of loyalty and don’t believe that, because she’ll be your responsibility very soon now and such naivete could prove disastrous.”

  Well, he had expected harsh words for himself, but had not anticipated that her family would be angry at Kate--of course, if she hadn’t baited them, circumstances might have been different. “Your sister may be a bit impulsive and prone to arranging things her way, my lord, but she will be an asset by my side.”

  The duke nodded. “I’m relieved to hear you know that.”

  “I do indeed. She will be a jewel in my scabbard when I take on your government, so to speak.” He smiled to take the bite from his words—and to remind them that he had tried the conventional method of obtaining a bride first. “I would never have offered for her if I thought we would not do well by each other, I assure you.”

  Kate’s brother and the duke exchanged a speaking glance before the duke nodded once again and said stiffly, “And I trust you will understand if we agree to sign the final settlement papers after the ceremony on Twelfth Night.”

  Sean felt the sting of the duke’s unbending words, though he knew they were deserved. “Perfectly,” he lied, careful to hide his chagrin. “That would have been my suggestion, as well.”

  “Excellent.” The duke rose, taking his wife’s hand to help her to her feet. “Then let us enjoy the rest of this day, as it is meant to be enjoyed--with family.”

  Family. Sean thought of his sister Bridget and wished fiercely that he was home at the abbey. There was where his family was. At the very least he wished he had not listened to his uncle and had brought her here. He had been swayed by his uncle’s fears that seeing Bridget might give Kate’s family a reason to reject him. But once the marriage and settlement were sealed, he would bring his sister here. If he had to exile himself for the greater good, he would at least keep her safe with him. No matter his uncle’s protests.

  Sean, taking Kerstone’s words to heart, though perhaps not as he meant them, hurried to let his uncle know what had transpired.

  “Excellent.” Connor McCarthy was more than pleased. “I am not fond of this land and I will be glad to be gone from it soon. Too bad you could not convince the girl to run off to Scotland with you.”

  Too bad indeed, since he was now forced to endure a family Christmas without his sister—and without the customs their small family had come to treasure. “If I had done so, I suspect the duke might have delayed the signing of the papers even longer. Haven’t you told me yourself that I need the funds from Kate’s dowry with as little delay as I can manage?”

  Connor frowned. His color, which had begun to lighten after his initial anger, began to grow red again. “What delay is that?”

  “There was some distress over the circumstances, naturally,“ he said, bracing for his uncle’s full blown ire. “It was agreed--by all of us, that we wait until after the ceremony to sign the papers and transfer the dowry.”

  “Damned Sassenach.” His uncle did not hide his feelings, despite the servants who moved about the house. “He’d never have suggested such a thing from you if you weren’t Irish by birth. The money matters should be settled before the wedding, just as they’d do for one of their own.”

  “I don’t believe the duke was concerned with my heritage as much as my character.” Sean had felt the sting of the words and wondered if it was a reflection of his birth for a moment, but somehow he didn’t think so.

  “What else would make him insult you so grievously?” Connor would not giv
e up his grudge that easily.

  Sean tried to reason with him, though he doubted there was any hope of Connor understanding anyone’s viewpoint but his own. “I think it is only the fact that Kate was on the verge of accepting me for months that has softened his heart enough that he will not delay our marriage even longer. After all, Uncle, it is not an easy thing to forgive--a man climbing into a young woman’s bedroom.”

  His uncle contemplated what he had told him for a moment, frowning and then nodded. “Even so, it is an insult. You could refuse--you’re in the position of power.”

  “Power?” Sean failed to see how being poor as a church mouse and caught in a woman’s bedroom gave him power.

  Connor grinned and rubbed his hands together. “If you don’t marry her, she’ll be ruined.” He seemed to find the idea satisfying somehow, considering how his smile grew as he spoke. “Never find a husband.”

  His uncle’s ruthless streak sometimes shocked him. But it was that very ruthlessness which had allowed Connor to convert a monarch’s gratitude into a title for Sean’s father--an Irishman, at that.

  Though Sean’s father had allowed his brother to maneuver him into an earldom, he had not wanted to further the rebellion, as Connor did, but to make a diplomatic effort to right things in his own country. Despite his elevation, Sean’s father had not wanted to encourage his son to be as cold and calculating as Connor. He had told him so more than once before his death.

  Almost as if he were there, Sean heard his father’s words--“A man who takes violence and hatred into his heart has already lost the battle and, unless he changes, will lose the war.” It was so often a question of judgment for Sean whether to take his uncle’s advice.

  He thought of his sister Bridget, still a child at twelve. Of what he might do to anyone who would hold her ruination over his head so cavalierly. His decision seemed clear, in that light. “Fair enough, uncle. We both know I am going to marry her. And what need is there to quibble over a few hours more or less before the papers are signed?”