A Very Romantic Christmas

by Lorraine Bartlett

  He smiled down at her as he recited his own vows. She was a smart woman, his Katie. She saw past his easy words of love and devotion. Instinct warned her he coveted her fortune rather than her heart. He could see it in her tight grasp on her bride’s bouquet of roses. She’d kept them throughout the ceremony, squeezing tight. Her fingers bore the marks of the thorns when she held out her hand for him to slip on the gold ring that would bind them forever.

  Roses. Sean thought of roses whenever he looked at her. His bride. Mid January was not the time for such delicate blooms--unless one had the Duke of Kerstone for a brother-in-law and he was willing to indulge your passion for roses with a well-staffed hothouse.

  He chided himself for the churlish thought--no doubt he was just jealous that she had a green thumb when he did not. He’d studied crops that could rival the potato, but so far, all his attempts to make his lands productive had failed miserably. While she, with the backing of her wealthy brother-in-law, had created a rose-filled fairyland in her both her greenhouse and her sister’s gardens.

  Not, of course, that Kate didn’t deserve such largess--her roses had taken prizes as far away as London. But they hadn’t fed anyone. And they never would.

  “You’ve done it my lad.” His uncle’s words hit him at the same moment as the man’s meaty fist pounded on his back.

  “I have, at that,” he admitted, with a touch of relish. He wished he didn′t feel the twinge of guilt, but he had no regrets about the marriage itself.

  His uncle said, a bit too loudly, “With that fat dowry and a duke in the family, we’ll soon see the castle in our possession, rebuilt, and the crowning glory to proclaim our rightful place restored, we will.”

  Sean shook his head, not wanting to disappoint the man who had raised him, along with his younger sister Bridget, when his mother and father both died. Kate’s dowry would do little to bring about that impossible dream. “At least those at the abbey will eat well for the rest of the winter.”

  “The harvest will go well this year, I can feel it in my bones.”

  The harvest hadn’t gone well in years, no matter his uncle’s optimistic bones. If it hadn’t been for the famine which had cut down his people like the most fickle of English kings, he wouldn’t be here, now. “I’ve been studying the latest techniques in planting, this time I feel certain I will get it right.” So many were depending upon him.

  “I don’t know if you can trust the things you’ve studied here--a place where they’ll cut an entire tree down for their foolish decorations.” Connor sneered. “Only a Sassenach would be so lavishly wasteful when, for the rest of the world, a few sprigs of holly and ivy do fine.”

  “I trust what I’ve learned and I’m eager to show the horticultural society’s papers to Paddy and begin making some of the necessary changes.” He looked at the large tree, bright lit candles and colorful bows of ribbon. “Besides, Uncle, I believe the Christmas tree custom is German in origin.”

  Uncle shuddered. “No doubt they’ll all be speaking German soon, the way that Prince is tainting perfectly good Christian customs.”

  Sean forbore to mention that Germans were as Christian as the English--perhaps even more than the wild Irish themselves. His uncle would never agree.

  “Have you signed the papers yet?” Connor asked.

  Sean tried to mute his own bitter annoyance at the further delay. “Not yet.”

  Connor, ever ready to find fault, scowled. “Don’t trust your word, do they?”

  Sean wished he could feel a righteous anger. But he could only think of Bridget and whether he himself would have handled the situation any differently. He didn’t think so. “I’ll sign the papers before the night is through, we both know it, so there’s no need to worry ourselves.”

  “In their good time.” Connor was not to be appeased so easily, not even with the truth.

  “Do you blame them?” Sean shook his head. “If any man were to climb in Bridget’s window, I’d be more inclined to hand him his head than I would her dowry.” Not, of course, that she had had one, before now.

  Connor grimaced at the unwelcome change of subject. As usual, he had harsh words of criticism to offer. “Then you’d best lock the girl up.”

  It was an old argument, and Sean answered wearily, “She’s only twelve.”

  “Twelve,” Connor agreed, with a sigh that indicated his heart was not in the argument any more than Sean’s was. “But unnatural pretty.”

  “True.” There was a delicate beauty to Bridget, and her big green eyes had a way of commanding attention without demanding it. He had been very young when his mother died, but he remembered her best when he looked at his sister, who was so very like her.

  “And wild at that.” Connor seemed to be warming up to the argument, his voice sharpening.

  But sorrow and regret softened Sean’s answer. “She hasn’t had a mother’s gentling hand.”

  “A girl as fey as that one needs more than a mother to gentle her, she needs a father to lock her up in a tower so she can’t wander where she will, talking to the animals and the enemies.”

  Enemies. Wasn’t that what he was here to change? “She hopes to bring a truce with the boy. They are only friends.”

  Connor snorted in disgust. “He’s thirteen, now, lad. You’ve got to separate them.”

  True enough, he supposed. “Once the papers are signed and the funds mine, I’ll send for her. I don’t suppose that Kate will mind. She has enough sisters of her own.”

  “Pity you must keep yourself from home.”

  “I have work to do here.” Sean looked around the room full of powerful men, all of whom he needed to impress. He smiled when he saw Kate, laughing with the wife of a man he would soon need to impress. “Besides, my wife deserves better than a leaky roof and broken chimneys.”

  “Leave her here. Once you’ve signed the papers. Give up the impossible idea of changing minds that are set in stone. Put the girl’s dowry to good use at home. Unless you did all that tomfoolery because you do love her.”

  Sean sighed. Perhaps he should do as his uncle suggested. After all, he had never changed Connor’s diamond hard beliefs in all his years of arguing. “You would have me leave before I begin? Abandon my wife?”

  “She’ll cry at first, to be sure--especially as you were foolish enough to let her think she was more than a dowry to you.”

  He sighed. No, he could not change Connor’s mind. He would simply have to hope that those in parliament were not quite so stubborn as his uncle. “She is more than a dowry to me, uncle. She is my wife, and she will be the mother to my children--if we’re not separated by a width of sea, or did you not think of that?”

  “I suppose you must have a son.”

  The old argument was familiar, but wearying. “And I know I can do more in Parliament, with the duke’s backing than I can at home.”

  His uncle shook his head. “When you see I’m right, what will you do with the lass then? Or your children? Leave them here for the English duke to raise?”

  Children. Kate’s family would embrace them eagerly. Would they be more English than Irish then? Sean wished again he had set his sights on the orphan heiress. “Do you doubt me? You’ve always said I have a golden tongue, surely you don’t think I won’t woo Parliament with it?”

  “You do have a golden tongue lad, but those lords don’t have ears, just grasping hungry mouths. They’ll eat you up if you let them, you’ll see.”

  “Didn’t the king give my father an earldom for saving his life--and him an Irishman through and through, even if he was raised in France?”

  “Gave him the title of Blarney, didn’t he? Lifted him with one hand and slapped him with the other.” His uncle was not to be appeased, his voice grew louder, attracting attention from the closer guests. “And he wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t kissed the stone myself and managed to convince him the land I’d purchased, and that ramshackle abbey, would be entailed to the earldom. They didn’t give us the castle,
now did they, though it is ours by rights.”

  “Jeffreys might disagree, considering his family has held title there for two centuries.”

  “He wouldn’t have refused to sell it to the king. But did the king ask? No. He knew I’d pay for it, the money wouldn’t have to come from his pocket. But he wouldn’t. And he named your father Earl of Blarney--without the castle and half a jibe at me.”

  It was true enough. Blarney was a name that carried with it a hint of trickery and cunning and Sean had seen the resultant blink of uncertainty as to whether he was serious when he gave it. But that would change. He would change it. In London. With Kate by his side.

  Sean scanned through the crowd to catch a glimpse of his new wife. “I didn’t say it would be easy, Uncle, just that I would do it. Have some faith in me.”

  Kate glanced up at him from across the room and smiled. Her eyes caught his and held him, for a moment, mesmerized. He wanted to turn away, but remembered the part he played--at least for the rest of the evening--the love-struck bridegroom.

  “Let’s save this talk for later, not my wedding day, uncle.” He forced an answering smile and moved toward her, just in time to hear a young miss sigh and say, “What a romantic story!”

  Kate laughed, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes held secret amusement as she glanced up at him. “A fairy tale come true, Miranda would say.”

  He smiled at his bride of three hours. “Trust the duchess to share the Irish fancy for the sidhe--that was how I knew I’d found my bride.” That and the ten thousand pounds the duke had put up for her dowry.

  “The Tuatha Da Danan have nothing to fear from me. I know the value of the land--be it English or Irish.” She smiled at him. She’d let go of her fear and anger at last. He wanted to crawl into a devil’s hole and hide deep in the earth with the fairy folk.

  “They would indeed adore your way with growing things, as I do.” Three months ago she had been certain he was only after her dowry, but now she looked at him as if he could hand her the stars.

  Her disappointment was inevitable, but he was determined to play the gallant for as long as he could--after all, he had forced her into the marriage sooner than she wished. He didn’t need to open her eyes to the truth of married life right away.

  As if she could read his mind, she said, “Respect, as well, I hope. I have ideas that your estate manager should hear.”

  “I don’t doubt it,“ he answered. Estate manager? Did Paddy O’Dean count? Sean suppressed a sigh and stretched his lips into a smile. Would this intolerable wait to sign the papers never end?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kate sensed the distance that had come between them in the scant hours since they had said their vows. He had been careful to keep to the other side of the room, though he had glanced at her often enough that her own worried eyes had caught his more than once.

  Now, standing next to her, smiling widely enough to show his dimple, she felt the tension thrumming through him. He didn’t want to be here. She realized, with a start, that it was now her responsibility to ease the way for him with the people in this room, to whom Lord Blarney was simply a somewhat infamous name.

  She tried to suppress her own doubts and confusion. She knew she had a tendency sometimes to make assumptions because she wished they were true, rather than because the facts suggested they were true. That was one reason she had insisted Sean prove himself to her before she agreed. Now it was time for her to prove herself.

  She pointed discreetly to a duke sitting in a corner nursing a lemon water. “He would be a good man to meet. Shall I introduce you?”

  He smiled, in approval she thought. “If you think him sympathetic to an Irishman, surely.”

  “If he is not, you will soon change his mind.” There was a warmth in her belly, lit by the gleam in his green eyes. “Am I a satisfactory wife, then?” she teased.

  “Surely you can’t expect me to say with any certainty until after tonight?” he replied, brushing her arm lightly with one finger as they hurried across the room.

  It was all she could do not to stop stock still in the middle of the crowded room, paralyzed by the thought that she was his now, in all ways. Just as he was hers. She must have faltered, though, because he swept her to the side of the room and glanced down into her eyes worriedly.

  “Did I frighten you?” His expression was shadowed. Doubt?

  “No.” She felt herself flush crimson as he stared down at her. “I’m not frightened.”

  He grinned. “I take it you’ve decided to forgive me.”

  She hadn’t spoken more than three words to him since Christmas day, so it seemed understandable that he might ask. “I have. Especially since I intend to be awake tonight when you come to bed,“ she added boldly.

  “Then by all means let us do our duty here, so that we can retire all the sooner.” His eyes shifted to the duke she had promised to introduce him to, an eager look in his eye.

  Part of her wished he would have decided to sweep her upstairs and forget the stuffy duke. She didn’t like to think she was more eager than he. Stop, she chided herself. She would not doubt his love. She would not. She had made him prove it, and she was no naive girl to be taken in by a handsome pair of green eyes and a roguish grin.

  No. He had proven himself to be a serious suitor, not one simply after her dowry, but after a partner, an equal. So why did she have a chill down her spine when she looked at him now? If she had made a mistake, it would be the biggest in her life. For there was no going back now; they were well and truly married.

  She left him with the duke, happily debating the custom of trees in the house at Christmas--a tradition the duke found abominable and apparently blamed on the Queen’s husband. Her sisters were clustered in one corner, and Kate hurried there, wondering when she would see them again, after she and Sean had set up house in London.

  Juliet smiled. “I think the story of your courtship should be added to the myths and fairy tales of Ireland herself--it certainly is the most romantic tale in our family.”

  Kate raised an eyebrow at her sister’s teasing. “More romantic than yours--Juliet and Romeo?”

  “Our story is hardly worth mentioning. A balcony. A moon. Ho hum. While yours…a silver tongued earl accepting challenges to prove his love for his lady…what romantic would not sigh over it.”

  Kate vowed she would not let Juliet’s teasing bother her, even as she replied sharply, “Why? Because he won me? Or because I let him?”

  “Because, from that childhood agreement you made--and the ride on Diablo that could have broken your neck--he knew you were no tame miss to follow his lead.” Juliet glanced at her husband, who was across the room, no doubt talking dull business he found fascinating, and her gaze softened. “It’s not every man who’ll take on a challenge like you.”

  “I was perfectly capable of riding Diablo--there was no danger I’d have broken my neck.”

  “Your words prove my point. You don’t realize, even now, that a young girl should not have been allowed to ride such a spirited stallion. Think of Margause on the back of a stallion.”

  Her niece, at three, already showed the signs of a poor horsewoman, but Kate didn’t think now was the time to make such a remark. “She is much younger than I was, but perhaps you have a point. Still, you cannot deny that I have grown wiser since then.”

  Juliet laughed musically. “Your reputation would suggest otherwise.”

  Kate might have been annoyed at the teasing on another day. But now the familiar banter warmed her, for who could say when she would see Juliet next. “I plead innocent--Lord Fitzwilliam deserved the bloodied nose I gave him for not adhering to the rules of a gentleman.”

  “We are supposed to keep ourselves above such interactions, Kate, not fight our own battles. But I suppose there is no worry for you now. You have your very own earl to protect you.”

  “I only require that he show me the respect and affection my own older sisters receive from their husbands.” Sh
e enjoyed Juliet’s faint frown at the ’older’ adjective. “I have done a fine job of protecting myself all these years and I certainly intend to continue, husband or no.”

  Kate was well skilled at swordplay and she was no mean shot--she had a set of pistols of her own. She had shown them to Sean once, and he had been shocked for only a moment or two before he complimented her on keeping them clean. One reason she had favored him.

  Juliet, however, was bored, and wished to make things a little more exciting, as was her wont. “I suspect you’ll have something to say about that, won’t you, my lord?”

  Kate saw that Sean had returned and now stood beside her. She wondered if he had overheard her assertion. “Indeed. Because my bride showed the perspicacity of Maeve herself by asking for the absence of meanness, jealousy, and fear from her bridegroom, I hope I have proved that I would lay down my life for the lady. I expect she will be happy to tend to her roses, now that she’s gotten the husband-acquiring business over with.”

  Lord Dinsworth, who had been eagerly listening in, no doubt so that he could accurately report the conversation at his club, chimed in. “Soon enough, if I’m any judge of these things, you’ll be keeping her busy raising your heirs and those pistols of hers will gather dust.”

  “I’ll never let them gather dust, my lord,” Kate replied. “I have to keep them in good condition to pass them on to my daughter.”

  Dinsworth didn’t seem to hear her reply, whether intentionally or because he had been going deaf for years. He turned to Sean and said heartily, “Kerstone says that you will take your seat in Parliament this year.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Good thing for you, not to have to go back to Ireland right now with all the nastiness.”

  Sean answered dryly. “Yes, it would be uncomfortable to see all those hungry, unhappy people.”

  Sensing that he had been a bit thick, Dinsworth added, “Though I’m sure it will turn out all right in the end. Just a bit more hard work and less deviltry should get the country right soon enough for you to safely visit now and again. But London, lad, that’s where you belong if you want to help those poor souls. No one will blame you for wanting a bit of civilization. Leprechauns and all that, eh?”