It Happened One Christmas: Christmas Eve ProposalThe Viscount's Christmas KissWallflower, Widow...Wife!

by Carla Kelly

  ‘No.’

  The sailing master’s eyes were mere slits and his cheeks alive with colour. ‘Lord Kelso, you are going to make this kind lady crawl to you each year for five pounds?’

  ‘The codicil does not say how I have to deliver her...inheritance.’ The earl spat out the word.

  ‘What...? Father, what is going on?’ the midshipman asked.

  ‘Oh, don’t...please don’t,’ she whispered to Ben, when the realisation dawned that her half-brother probably had no idea of their relationship, if he even knew who she was.

  Ben took her arm, even as she tried to pull away and get to that door that looked miles away. ‘Thomas, let me introduce your half-sister, Amanda Mathison.’

  ‘Please, no, Ben!’

  ‘You’re bamming me,’ Tom said and started to laugh.

  When no one else laughed, he stopped.

  ‘Your father married my mother over the anvil in Gretna Green,’ Mandy said, since there was no retreat now. She shook off Ben’s hand and moved closer to the door. ‘Your grandfather annulled it.’ She looked at her father, terrified at what she saw. His choler had been replaced by something worse—a cold stare that turned his eyes into specks of granite. ‘Believe me, Lord Kelso, I had nothing to do with any of this.’

  She couldn’t help herself in the face of her sudden anger, anger building over the years without her even aware of its breadth and depth. She pointed a finger at her chest. ‘I was the baby! None of this was my fault!’ She took quick strides to the desk and slammed her hands down, too, in perfect imitation of her father. ‘I wouldn’t take even a ha’pence from you now, you vile man. I hope you choke on your wealth.’

  She ran from the room, snatching up her cloak from the astonished footman and taking the front steps in one leap. She pounded along the lane. The wind had picked up, banishing the few leaves still clinging to the elms. The unfairness of the situation washed over her, drenching her with shame at actions not of her own making and sorrow for Thomas, of all people. He had no skill for mathematics and no interest in the career his father must have chosen for him. And now he had learned that he was brother to a woman who served people at Mandy’s Rose.

  With any luck, she could get all the way home before Ben came after her, as she knew he would. She ran across the field, taking a roundabout route that he didn’t know. You have made my life immeasurably more difficult, she thought. What told her that, she couldn’t have said, but she knew it.

  Mandy stopped, breathing hard, dreading what she would have to tell Aunt Sal. There wouldn’t be any little holiday to Brighton, as modest as it would have been. There would be no momentary easing of her dear aunt’s life of constant work. Maybe that was the lesson, she decided. Depend on no one, and for God’s sake, never count chickens before they are hatched.

  The sailing master had paid six shillings for three weeks. As little as she knew her father, Mandy knew he would not keep the sailing master near his son, even if it improved Tom’s chance of passing his lieutenancy exam. Ben would want some of his shillings back, before he returned to Plymouth, or wherever he had a mind to go. She couldn’t help the tears that filled her eyes.

  Mandy started walking, her chin up, the same way she had walked towards Walthan Manor. She slowed down even more, not eager to face her aunt. Her plans for a pleasant Christmas had evaporated. Whatever his motives—and she was not inclined to extend her surprising charity from Thomas to their father—Lord Kelso had reminded her of her own insignificance in cruel fashion.

  ‘What will happen now?’ she asked the geese high overhead, the last stragglers from the north of Scotland, bound for Spain or North Africa. ‘Take me with you, please.’

  * * *

  ‘Can this nonsense possibly be true?’ Thomas asked, his eyes unpleasantly pop-eyed. ‘Really, Father.’

  ‘Yes, it’s true,’ Lord Kelso snapped. He looked at Mr Cooper, who returned his levelling gaze. ‘I made my offer and she has refused.’

  You really are a bastard, Ben thought, disgusted. ‘I am done here,’ he said quietly, appalled at the scene he had witnessed and full of sudden dread for Amanda, a woman he admired. Oh, hang it—the woman he loved. He doubted supremely that she would ever speak to him again. By blurting out Amanda’s relationship to Thomas, he had muddied the waters beyond repair. Only a foolish woman would take him now and he knew Amanda Mathison was not foolish.

  ‘I won’t pay you a pence,’ Lord Kelso said. ‘For all I know, it’s your fault that he cannot pass the stupid mathematics test! Why should this be a requirement, anyway? My son is Quality and you are less than nothing.’

  Ben heard Mr Cooper’s sudden intake of breath. There was far more at stake than his pride, however much the earl might wound it. The last thing Ben’s beloved navy needed was one more nincompoop with gold lace and epaulettes. He took a deep breath, trying to frame his thoughts carefully, because he knew every word out of his mouth would make Amanda’s life more difficult.

  ‘My lord, every midshipman must pass a test detailing his knowledge of navigation. He must also sit before a board of four captains or ranks above, who ask a series of questions, all for the good of the service.’ Ben spoke softly, even as he edged towards the door. Lord Kelso seemed a simple sort of spoiled man. Maybe out of sight, out of mind would ease Amanda’s way.

  But he couldn’t stop yet, not for the good of the service. He turned his attention to his unwilling pupil, who still needed to think about his own future. ‘Thomas, think this through.’ Ben hoped his words didn’t come across as bare pleading and then he didn’t care. ‘I have seen too many good men dead because of foolishness on the quarterdeck.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Lord Kelso stormed. ‘I will talk to the Lords Admiral about you! We’ll see how long you remain in the Royal Navy!’

  Ben shrugged, in no mood for another moment in such a poisonous place. No wonder Thomas was a weak excuse for a midshipman. He turned on his heel and left. He took his time gathering up his charts and navigation tools, certain that Amanda would be long gone.

  He was right. She was nowhere in sight. Ben walked down the lane, head bowed against the wind. On the way through the village, he stopped at the posting house and enquired about the fare to Kirkcudbright. He couldn’t face Plymouth right now—Plymouth and more duty, endless duty—and a return to the blockade. His plans for Christmas had settled around his ankles like trousers with no braces to hold them up. For the first time in years, probably since he had received a year-old letter telling him of the death of his mother, Ben Muir, senior warrant officer on one of His Majesty’s frigates, was desperate to go home.

  * * *

  He sat a long while in the kitchen of Mandy’s Rose, sipping tea with Sally Mathison. With sad eyes, she listened to his version of the events in Lord Kelso’s book room and the shame on her niece’s face.

  ‘Mandy told me as much,’ she said when he finished his recitation, and poured more tea for them both.

  ‘I would like to speak to her,’ he asked. ‘Apologise, at the very least. Lord knows I made a muddle of the whole business.’

  It was Sal’s turn to look uncomfortable. ‘She told me she would rather be alone. Let’s give her the evening off and all should be better tomorrow.’ She passed him a plate of biscuits. ‘Besides, what can Lord Kelso do, except fume and froth?’ She gave him a worried glance. ‘Do you fear for your own career?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ he assured her. He looked down at his cup, wishing absurdly that he could read tea leaves and have a medium tell him his own future. ‘It’s just... Miss Mathison, would you be surprised if I thought I was in love with your niece?’

  She gave him a genuine smile. ‘I’d be astounded if you weren’t.’

  ‘It’s out of the question, I know, but...’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  She caught him by surprise. ‘I a
m thirty-one,’ he said, casting about for a good reason.

  ‘Mandy is twenty-six.’

  ‘I’ll be gone all the time, until Napoleon decides to end this war, and he shows no such inclination.’ Even to his own ears, it sounded like a weak argument.

  ‘She has ever been a resourceful child,’ said the lady who had raised the woman he adored. ‘Mandy would be lonely, but she would manage. You would get amazingly wonderful letters.’

  Why that made him blush, Ben couldn’t have told a roomful of Mr Coopers, or even a chief magistrate. He stood up. ‘Some things are not meant to be,’ he told her.

  ‘Why?’ she asked so quietly.

  ‘What man in his right mind would marry, when the prospect of death in battle is so high aboard each Royal Navy vessel that plies the waters?’ There. That should do it.

  ‘Oh, I expect that a man who loves a lady would do precisely that,’ Sal replied, as calmly as you please. ‘P’raps it’s better this way, since you have no respect for the bravery of women in general and my niece in particular. Good day to you, Master Muir.’

  She had him, even as he cringed inside at the complete truth of her words. ‘I’ll be leaving in the morning.’

  * * *

  Ben ate dinner in silence, wishing with all his heart that Amanda would come down the stairs. She did nothing of the sort and his forebodings grew. He knew how poorly he had shown himself to Sally Mathison, probably the one person that Amanda would believe. He had a greater worry. He had met vindictive men before and he feared what Lord Kelso might do.

  By the time he went to bed, he had convinced himself that his fears were unfounded. After all, what else could Lord Kelso do? Ben packed his clothes, took a long look at The Science of Nautical Mathematics, still untouched, then lay down to compose himself for sleep that he knew would not come.

  * * *

  He stared at the ceiling all night. In the morning, he got up, washed and shaved in cold water and dressed. He had already told Sal that he was leaving on the northbound mail coach before dawn and just to leave a pasty for him.

  His timepiece told him that he had better hurry. He opened the door to his room to let himself out quietly and there stood Amanda in her nightgown and shawl.

  He exclaimed something because she had startled him, but she didn’t step back. Without a word, she put her hands up on his shoulders, which made him stoop a little.

  She kissed one cheek and then the other. ‘God keep you, Ben Muir,’ she whispered, her eyes on Aunt Sal’s closed door. ‘I was a ninny yesterday and I apologise.’

  ‘I am the fool,’ he contradicted.

  ‘Bother it,’ she whispered and kissed him again.

  He picked her up and kissed her back, then set her down. Her body pressed against his had given him a bigger jolt, but he had to hurry to the mail coach. He touched her nose, which made her sob, then put her hand to her mouth to stifle it. Unsure of himself, he who was self-assured in every aspect of naval operations, he went down the stairs quietly.

  He turned back to look up at her, wanting to declare himself, wanting to propose to her, wanting to tell her the deepest feelings of his heart. A realist, he knew he could do none of those and still catch the mail coach, so he remained silent. No, not a realist; a coward.

  ‘Wait a moment.’

  Miserable, Ben stood still in the darkness of the hall that led into the dining room.

  ‘Catch.’

  He held out his hand as the love of his heart, the mother of children he would never have, tossed something soft to him.

  ‘I only had time to knit you one stocking,’ she whispered, ‘so it’s a poor kind of Christmas. Perhaps one is better than none.’

  With that, she blew him a kiss and disappeared back into the upper-floor gloom. He heard another stifled sob and then a door close on every one of the expectations he hadn’t known he possessed, until he went to Venable to tutor a miserable excuse for a midshipman.

  He tucked the stocking into his uniform front and let himself out Mandy’s Rose for the last time.

  He had forgotten the pasty, so he bought pasteboard and lint at the posting house and ate that instead. As he chewed and swallowed doggedly, he wondered if there was a more cowardly man in all of England. Someone else would make her a good offer some day. Besides, he didn’t even know how to propose marriage.

  He would have managed quite well, if the mail coach hadn’t passed Mandy’s Rose on its journey to take him briefly to Plymouth, and a change of coach onto the Great North Road. He should have known better than to look out the window.

  There Amanda stood in the rain, that shawl still clutched tight around her nightgown, her feet bare. She locked her eyes on to his and he could have died with the pain in his heart.

  ‘Shameful, forward piece,’ said the woman seated next to him. ‘She’ll come to no good end.’

  Ben closed his eyes in perfect agony.

  * * *

  Aunt Sal scolded her for standing in the rain, but Mandy could tell her heart wasn’t in it. She let her aunt lead her upstairs, strip off her wet nightgown and towel her dry, then wrap her tight in that towel and hold her close.

  Neither of them spoke. Sal finally turned to the door. ‘Get dressed, missy,’ she said. ‘We have a lot of work to do today and we have Christmas plans.’

  Mandy stared at the closed door for a long time, then did as her aunt had dictated. She had wasted a whole day yesterday. Breakfast seemed like a burden, so she shook her head over pasties when she came downstairs.

  ‘Amanda Mathison.’

  Mandy looked up, startled, as her dearest aunt took her chin firmly in her hand and gave her a shake. Wounded at ill treatment, she let Aunt Sal slap that pasty in her hand and obeyed her command to eat. She had the hardest time swallowing around the lump in her throat, but she managed because Aunt Sal expected her to manage.

  ‘Aunt Sal, why didn’t he declare himself?’ she asked finally, when she knew she wasn’t going to cry. ‘I believe he cared for me.’

  ‘He more than cared for you,’ Sal said finally. She hadn’t eaten, but there seemed to be an impediment in her throat, too.

  ‘Doesn’t he understand that the man has to do the asking?’

  Aunt Sal seemed to consider the question. ‘Perhaps he didn’t know how to declare himself,’ she said. ‘I doubt anyone teaches that in the Royal Navy, and didn’t he say a ship has been his home since he was thirteen? And there’s a war to consider. He probably convinced himself he was sparing you.’

  ‘That is utter nonsense,’ Mandy said, and her aunt nodded.

  They sat close together in silence, just breathing in and out, probably what women had done since for ever, when matters went contrary to desires.

  ‘Will I recover?’ Mandy asked finally. ‘We didn’t do anything to regret.’

  ‘I almost wish you had,’ her aunt whispered.

  ‘Aunt!’ Mandy put her hands to her face. ‘I wanted to, oh, I did.’ Miserable beyond words, she looked up as the morning light changed. The rain had changed into snow. She sat there and watched the snow fall, covering ugly woodpiles and ash heaps. If only there were such a remedy to disguise a broken heart.

  Mandy folded her hands in her lap. You can survive Ben Muir, she told herself. Look at Aunt Sal. She never married. Look how well she has done.

  She looked at Aunt Sal, shocked to see tears on her cheeks. She wondered if, years ago, there had been a Ben Muir for her aunt. She put out her hand and clutched her aunt’s balled fist. We’ll just sit here and breathe, she thought.

  * * *

  Just breathing never paid a single bill, so Mandy turned the horrible day into a usual day, with work and diners who expected her good cheer and happy commentary. By the time the last dish of the evening was dried and the dough set for tomorrow’s bread
, Mandy knew she could manage.

  * * *

  She wasn’t so certain next morning, when everything fell apart with an official-looking document delivered by Mr Cooper, more solemn than she had ever seen him. She wanted to offer him some refreshment, but she accepted the blue-sheathed document instead, with Sal Mathison, Mandy’s Rose, Venable, Devon, written in plain script.

  Sal had come into the dining room, wiping her hands and ready to chat with Mr Cooper. She stared at the paper in Mandy’s hand, then took it. Her face went white and she dropped the document. Mandy picked it up and read without permission. She read it again, then looked at Mr Cooper’s equally stricken face.

  ‘He can do this?’ she asked.

  ‘He can and did.’ The solicitor took the pages from her slack grip. ‘He has entered into verbal agreement with your landlord to purchase this row of buildings for the sum of three hundred pounds.’ His voice shook with emotion. ‘You will be gone by December the twenty-fourth, 1810.’

  Sal burst into tears and buried her face in her apron. Mandy watched her in horror, beyond tears because she had already shed all the tears in the entire universe last night in her bedroom. There weren’t any more, so she did not cry.

  ‘Do you have any money at all?’ Mr Cooper asked.

  Mandy knew the books as well as her weeping aunt. She shook her head. ‘Nothing beyond fifty pounds,’ she said. ‘How...?’

  Mr Cooper paced the room, his rage evident with each step he took. ‘Lord Kelso paid a visit to Mr Pickering. You know how foggy the dear old man is! I doubt Mr Pickering has any idea what he has done.’

  ‘Has any money changed hands yet?’ Mandy asked.

  ‘No, but Mr Pickering gave his word and I have been charged to draw up the papers, to be signed as quickly as possible. Mandy, I cannot tell you how sorry I am.’

  He let himself out of the tea room and Mandy held her aunt close. A wave of anger passed over her as she remembered the scene in the book room—from her father’s indignation, to her half-brother’s stupefaction, to Ben Muir’s fury and his ill-timed revelation to Thomas Walthan. She thought forgetting Ben Muir might suddenly become much easier. She could blame this mess on him, except that she couldn’t. After all, who had refused the terms of the codicil and stormed out of the room?