ONCE UPON A REGENCY CHRISTMAS

by Various

  His little housemaid? Since when?

  ‘Billy, pull a chair up to the stove in the meantime, would you? So that Captain Grayling can sit and warm himself.’

  As Susan flounced from the room, Billy grudgingly pushed a kitchen chair closer to the stove. Captain Grayling knew that he ought to offer the chair to the housemaid, since Isabella was like a dead weight in her slender arms. And yet exhaustion, or something he couldn’t define, had him meekly walking to the chair she indicated and sinking down on to it in gratitude. The maid came to stand next to him, so that Isabella was as close to the fire as Harry.

  There was a moment’s tense silence, during which Billy stood staring suspiciously at him, while his children, poor mites, must have been wondering what new horror their long-absent father was about to inflict upon them.

  ‘You haven’t told me your name,’ said the maid presently to Isabella, who was lying limp in her arms.

  ‘It’s Isabella,’ he said, since he hadn’t yet heard Isabella say a single word and wasn’t at all sure she could speak. ‘And my son’s name is Harry.’

  At this point Harry struggled from his father’s lap and made a stiff little bow.

  The maid smiled and complimented him on his manners, but they didn’t please Captain Grayling. At least, not the way they would have done if he’d seen any spark of real life in his son up to now. He was like a little marionette, drilled into saying and doing the correct thing at all costs. By God, if he’d known that leaving him with his grandparents would have resulted in having his spirit crushed like this...

  The greasy-haired maid, Susan, came back then, with a couple of cushions and a knitted blanket. She eyed the fist he’d clenched in his lap as his mind had returned to what he’d found at Meerings and tossed the cushions to the floor in front of the stove from a safe distance.

  ‘’Ere,’ she said. ‘Now the bairns can sit down comfy and toast their toes.’

  Harry held out his hand for the blanket. ‘I shall take that, thank you, miss,’ he said stiffly. Then he knelt on the cushions and turned to look up at the sweet-smelling housemaid. ‘I can take care of my sister now,’ he said firmly. ‘If you would just place her on my lap.’

  The moment Harry spoke, Isabella started to squirm out of the maid’s hold. She very sensibly didn’t attempt to restrain her, but rather sank down to her knees so Isabella could toddle over to her big brother. Harry enfolded his sister in the shawl as she clambered into his lap. She laid her head on his shoulder, then gave a little sigh, as if in relief that she’d come to a safe and familiar place.

  ‘What a good little boy, to take such care of his sister,’ said the maid who’d been holding Isabella, in evident surprise. He knew how she felt. Most boys of Harry’s age would regard girls of any age as targets for pranks and teasing. Not defenceless creatures in need of protection.

  Not that he intended to let his son think he disapproved. It was about time the lad heard some words of praise and encouragement for a change.

  ‘He knows it is his duty to look after those smaller and weaker than himself,’ he therefore said. ‘That is what the man of the house does.’

  And then Harry glanced up at him in surprise. And disbelief.

  Which smote him to the core.

  Chapter Three

  Alice only wished someone had taught Uncle Walter that a man’s primary function in life was to protect those weaker than himself. Then he might not have ended up the way he was.

  ‘Susan,’ she said, determinedly bringing her mind back to the task in hand. ‘Everyone will warm up faster if you could make them hot drinks.’

  Predictably, Susan pouted. ‘We got some milk we could heat up for the littl’uns, what I were going to use to make the custard. But what can we give the men?’

  She had a point.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t have the key to the tea caddy,’ Alice explained to the Captain. It was on Mrs Hughes’s belt, with all the other keys to the house.

  The corner of his harsh mouth lifted just a fraction. Of course, he was remembering her assumption that he’d come here to burgle the place. If he was really a burglar, then the lock on a tea caddy wouldn’t keep him out. He’d pry it open with...with a bayonet, or something. Or simply smash the flimsy lid with the butt of his musket.

  She felt her face flush under his sardonic gaze.

  But then, fortunately, Billy spoke up.

  ‘Mulled ale,’ he said.

  Alice broke free from the look in the Captain’s eyes that had made her feel as though they were holding a silent conversation, and turned to Billy in surprise.

  ‘I seen Mr Bayliss make it when he’s come in from driving Sir Walter home from market in cold weather,’ Billy explained. ‘He heats a poker and sticks it in his tankard.’

  Alice wasn’t at all sure it was a good idea to break out the ale and serve it to two strange men.

  But the Captain looked decidedly heartened.

  ‘If you could fetch me two tankards of ale, and set a poker heating in the fire, I can do the rest. And,’ he said as Billy made for the larder, where Mrs Hughes stored the ale, ‘perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking my coat and hanging it up to dry somewhere?’

  ‘O’ course, sir,’ said Billy with what looked like—but, no, it couldn’t be, could it? Not willingness?

  She’d never seen him obey an order with anything but sullen resentment before. But then, he’d scarcely taken his eyes off the Captain’s musket since he’d come into the kitchen. And once the Captain stood up and threw off his heavy greatcoat, those eyes went positively round in awe at the sight of all the gold braid and shiny brass buttons glittering on the man’s scarlet jacket.

  Though she could hardly blame him. The Captain was an impressive sight.

  She’d never been this close to a man in uniform before. She’d occasionally glimpsed officers from the militia who’d been training nearby swaggering along the high street. With boys like Billy scampering along behind them like a pack of slavish hounds. She’d thought them all very silly.

  And yet she couldn’t help thinking that Captain Grayling’s jacket did look rather splendid. Those buttons, marching down the front in double ranks, made his shoulders look broader, and his waist look more slender, too.

  And she’d already noted the way his light brown hair was cut in a style that was remarkably flattering, the moment he’d removed his hat.

  As Billy backed away, the coat held reverently over his forearms, Alice took herself to task. The Captain might have a certain sort of attractiveness, but only a fool would start admiring a perfect stranger just because his jacket fitted exceptionally well and he had a good haircut. And, she reminded herself, he was by no means perfect. He’d made his children undertake a journey in appalling weather. Children who didn’t appear to trust him. They were huddled together on the cushions, taking comfort from each other, rather than looking to him. Which made her wonder if, in spite of one or two signs to the contrary, he was the kind of man who expected others to obey his orders without question. Like her Uncle Walter.

  But then she noticed that his jacket was wet. As were his white cord breeches.

  ‘You are soaked through,’ she observed. ‘And covered in mud.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said stiffly. ‘My main concern was keeping the weather off Harry. And the snow was drifting. We lost our footing once or twice, ending up in ditches instead of finding the road.’

  And yet he’d managed to keep both the children dry, if not completely warm. He’d also expressed remorse about accidentally exposing them to a blizzard. Which told her that whatever mistakes he’d made with his children were not due to any hardness of heart.

  ‘Nevertheless, I apologise for dirtying your floor, and your furniture.’

  ‘That isn’t what I meant,’ she retorted, appalle
d that he’d thought she was making a complaint. ‘I meant that you must be cold. If you don’t get out of your wet things, you might take a chill.’

  His expression thawed, just a little. ‘I am unlikely to take a chill,’ he said. ‘If the winters in the Peninsula failed to harm me, a couple of hours in an English snowstorm are unlikely to do so. I have a strong constitution,’ he said with a wry twist to his lips. ‘However, I do have a change of clothing in my saddlebags and would be grateful to get into them when Sergeant Hopkins brings them in. If you would not mind showing me to my room?’

  ‘Oh, um...’ said Alice, clasping her hands together at the waist. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I mean, showing you to your room, that is.’

  Captain Grayling turned to look at her, raising one rather imperious eyebrow.

  ‘I told you that we are the only ones left in the house. That we are only keeping this one room warm, since there’s nobody to haul coal or logs up and down the stairs.’

  The eyebrow went down. Actually, both of them did.

  ‘I don’t expect you to wait on us. Hopkins and I are both able to do any heavy work required.’

  ‘Oh, it isn’t that. Not entirely. It’s just...well, I really daren’t offer any of the family rooms for your use while the family is absent. And there is no guest room.’ Uncle Walter hated having strangers in his house and did all he could to discourage them. ‘If people come to visit, they have to put up at the Blue Boar in Tadburne. And dine there, too, as often as not. But I was thinking that perhaps you could make use of the front parlour. It backs on to the kitchen, so it will not be as chilled as any of the other rooms, anyway. It will heat up far quicker than any of the bedrooms.’

  His eyebrows lowered still further. Into a veritable scowl.

  ‘You had better let me see it,’ he said, tersely.

  ‘You had better remove your boots first,’ she insisted. Even though she felt terrible about not being able to offer him and his family proper hospitality, she still didn’t dare let him march over the best carpet in damp and muddy footwear.

  His eyebrows shot up again. But then he looked down at his dirty boots and gave a brisk nod. ‘Is there a boot jack somewhere?’

  ‘Outside the back porch.’ She pointed.

  He went across to the kitchen door, then through it to the porch. Harry followed his movements with narrowed eyes. The little girl just carried on sucking her thumb, drowsily.

  Captain Grayling soon returned, minus his boots. And socks. At least, they weren’t on his feet, but in his hand.

  ‘Is there somewhere I can hang these up to dry?’ he asked, holding the much-darned items aloft.

  Her stomach gave a funny little lurch upon seeing his bare feet. It proved very difficult to tear her gaze from them, in order to walk to the kitchen window, where the handle to the drying rack was located.

  ‘My thanks,’ he said as she cranked the handle to lower the rack.

  As soon as he’d draped his sodden socks on it, she raised it back up, swiftly, hoping he’d put her glowing cheeks down to exertion.

  ‘I feel as if I’m raising my standard,’ he said as he watched his socks mount jerkily towards the ceiling. ‘It’s making me start to feel quite at home, since that’s always among the first things a soldier does when setting up camp.’ Since he addressed the remark to his children, she assumed he was trying to help them get used to their predicament.

  ‘Harry, you won’t mind looking after your little sister while I go and get into some dry clothing, will you?’

  The little boy lifted his chin and met his father’s questioning eyes with a look that was all steel.

  ‘I know,’ said the Captain. ‘It is what you have been doing all along, isn’t it?’ He bent and ruffled the boy’s short flaxen hair. Then bent closer and murmured, ‘Things will be better now that I’m home, my boy. That is my solemn promise.’

  Since she was fairly certain he hadn’t wanted anyone but his son to hear that last remark, Alice kept her face as blank as she could, though his vow melted away the last of her doubts about him. Of course the children acted as though they didn’t know him. He’d been away, fighting for his country. By the sound of it, for most of their young lives. He was trying to do his best for them now, even if so far he had been making a bit of a hash of things.

  ‘Lead on,’ he said to her, a rather bleak expression on his face. ‘I am now ready to reconnoitre.’

  By which she assumed he meant he was ready to take a look at the front parlour to see how it would suit. So she took him there.

  He came to a halt in the doorway, his eyes flicking over the sofa, the high wing-back armchairs grouped round the hearth, the writing desk under one of the windows and the rather dreary pictures on the walls.

  ‘I know it looks a bit gloomy,’ she said apologetically, ‘but the fact that the windows are too small to let in much light means they don’t let in many draughts, either. And it will look much cosier once Billy gets the fire going. And once we draw the curtains. Honestly, when the family are at home, this is where they spend most of their time during the day, because it is the easiest to heat. I think it’s because it’s on the more sheltered side of the house.’

  She petered out in the face of his stern expression. But then, to her immense relief, he gave a brief nod. ‘This will certainly do as a place to change my clothing, but you are also suggesting we all sleep in here, is that correct?’

  She nodded, too ashamed of the way Blackthorne Hall was run to admit it aloud.

  ‘Well,’ he said, taking a step into the room, ‘I have slept in worse places. Do you at least have spare linen? Pillows?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said on a rush of relief. ‘And I can probably find a couple of mattresses, too.’

  He grunted. ‘I think, given the circumstances, that it would actually be better for us all to sleep close together tonight anyway. The children are...’ His face stiffened, as though regretting expressing so much.

  ‘I know. They must be frightened, after having such a horrid day,’ she said. ‘They are bound to be much happier if you all stay together, while they are being obliged to stay with strangers.’

  Something flickered across his face, before he turned from her, went across to the fireplace, and bent to examine the kindling in the grate.

  ‘Oh, Billy can see to that,’ she said.

  He looked at her over one shoulder. ‘I’m perfectly capable of lighting a campfire myself,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘I’m not disputing that. But you are, after all, guests in this house and...’

  ‘Guests who are not permitted above stairs,’ he said, reaching for the tinderbox. ‘Guests you mistook for brigands,’ he added wryly.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m sorry, but if you will go banging on people’s doors with muskets...’

  ‘Yet you took us in,’ he said, striking a spark. ‘For which I am so grateful that I hope you will no longer regard us as guests, but as...’ he leaned forward to blow the smouldering kindling to life ‘...an extra pair of hands about the place. Or two.’

  Flames leapt and crackled through the twists of paper and one or two of the smaller chips of wood began to smoke.

  ‘You are certainly very handy,’ she admitted. And not at all like most men she knew. Instead of demanding everyone drop everything in order to serve him and make him comfortable, he’d accepted their limitations without complaint and set to work with a will.

  He leaned forward and blew again, drawing her eyes to the way his breeches strained over a very neat posterior.

  At which moment a noise from behind her alerted her to the approach of Sergeant Hopkins. He had a saddlebag slung over each shoulder and a rather mocking expression on his face. She flushed guiltily. What on earth had come over her? She didn’t ogle men. Especially not their behinds. No matter how trim they wer
e.

  But how dare Sergeant Hopkins mock her?

  ‘Don’t come in here with those muddy boots on,’ she snapped, furious with him for catching her behaving so badly.

  ‘We have fallen into the hands of a regular termagant,’ said the Captain, looking over his shoulder at her with a grin, so that she knew he didn’t really mean it. ‘No muddy boots permitted in her front parlour. Not even mine,’ he said, wiggling his toes. ‘You’d better go and remove your offending footwear, Hopkins. Leave the packs in the doorway and I’ll fetch them in and start getting our clothes aired,’ he said, getting to his feet and striding towards them.

  With a huff, Sergeant Hopkins dropped the saddlebags on the floor and stomped in the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘You will need something to drape your clothes over, to dry when you get your wet things off,’ said Alice as he came to a halt right beside her.

  ‘And there I was planning to throw them over the good furniture,’ he said with a teasing glint in his eyes.

  My, but he was tall. And broad.

  And she was all alone with him. And his feet were bare. Which suddenly seemed highly improper. She didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the playful look in his eye when he’d wiggled his toes.

  Or the look in the Sergeant’s, when he’d caught her looking at his Captain’s behind.

  Whichever it was, she was starting to feel very...very...wrong. The Captain’s children were in the kitchen. Which meant he must be a married man. So she had no business admiring the fit of his breeches, or the shape of his behind, or the arch of his feet, or to respond to the teasing note in his voice, or the glint in his eye, or his nearness. Besides, it wasn’t the kind of thing she ever did. She had never been interested in men, not even if they were in uniform, and seemed very capable, and didn’t shout and bark orders and make her feel as though she was an infernal nuisance every time she drew breath.

  Good grief, had she been infected by Naomi and Ruth’s husband-hunting fever? She’d had to listen to endless prattle about their idea of the perfect husband during the past few weeks. She’d disagreed with them, in her head, about the need for a title, or wealth, or position, thinking it would be far more comfortable to live with a man who was kind and generous. Perhaps that had been her mistake. She shouldn’t have argued with them, even privately to herself. She should have let all the talk wash over her. Kept herself clear of it, the way they’d stayed clear of her the moment she’d started sneezing.