by Alexa Aston
“Viscount Carmarthan’s Midwinter Ball?”
He nodded.
“I received my invitation from Lady Abigail the day before yesterday,” she told him.
Julian smiled. “There you are, Lady Lavene, the Fates are at work again.”
*
The fabric merchants of Cheapside had not yet closed their shops for the evening. As Caroline’s carriage made its way slowly through the streets towards St. Luke’s Mission, she could see through a window into a shop where a mother and daughter examined a bolt of sky-blue satin.
It seemed bright colors were all the mode at the moment, Caroline observed. Behind the two women was a bolt in a shade of apple red. Such a shade would go well with a collar of garnets she owned…
I wonder what the fashionable form of headdress is these days?
The carriage jolted on the uneven cobblestones breaking her from her reverie and there was a shout as two drivers ahead of them argued about the right of way.
How strange that she should be as thrilled as she was over a piece of white card and printed words. It was an invitation to a ball, that’s all it was.
But no matter how many times she told herself that on the trip to St. Luke’s, she couldn’t quite make herself believe it.
After spending a wonderful day with Julian today, she knew this was the beginning of a new life if she was brave enough to take it.
And that was her dilemma – she wasn’t sure she was.
It was comfortable hiding behind the guise of the grieving widow. People let her be; they had no expectations of her. She could make her own decisions and, in truth, once the period of deep mourning had ended, although she bitterly missed Tristan, she relished the freedom she had.
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance…
She was ready to share her life with someone else; Lucas was proof of that. But as much as she adored the child, it was not the same as being held in a man’s powerful embrace, to be a lover as well as a wife and mother.
Lonely like you, Mama? Do you need a lion?
If a child of four could see it, how obvious must it be to others?
And there were other considerations, more private, intimate ones.
Although she had not long passed the age of thirty, she thought the time for carnal pleasure had passed her by. And she might have even been content with that, channeling her passion instead to more noble pursuits. But ever since Julian had come into her life, she wondered whether there might be more…
Perhaps it was Fate.
The hatch between cabin and driver opened, bringing in a swirl of cold air mixed with smoke.
“We’re here, my lady,” he said. “Shall I call for ye at the usual time?”
“Yes, please.”
The Mission was ablaze with light and the aroma of a hearty stew being prepared filled the air. That wasn’t all; there was an expectancy in the air.
St. Luke’s itself was lit so Caroline went in there first. She entered to see a group of men and women cleaning the church, which was busier than usual during the advent season – a time for preparation and reflection.
The hand-painted wooden nativity figures were now in place beside the altar. Mrs. Camp was putting the final touches on the display, bringing the statue of the Virgin Mary closer to the manger, closer to the son who was hers and yet was to be so much more.
“How did Lucas enjoy the visit to the Menagerie?” the vicar’s wife asked.
Caroline smiled “He has spoken of nothing else since. His nanny and I had to put him to bed surrounded by all his animal toys.”
“It was very kind of your young man to suggest it.”
“I think it might be too much to describe him as my young man.”
“I shouldn’t be too sure about that. My husband has already put him to work over at the Mission.”
Caroline shook her head, unsure whether she’d heard right. “Julian is here?”
Mrs. Camp nodded. “He told the reverend that he wanted to meet The Nightingale.”
Caroline sank down onto the front pew. “He knows I’ve written the articles for The Argus?”
“He’s a clever fellow and made an educated guess.”
She let out a long breath. Her flight of fancy was becoming all too real.
“Today, Julian said he wants to consider a future with me and Lucas,” she whispered.
Mrs. Camp patted her arm and drew her attention to the nativity. Mary stood close to the Christ Child while Joseph watched over them both.
“Your Mr. Winter would not be the first man to willingly adopt the son of the woman he loves.”
Chapter Nine
Julian sat playing draughts with an old Irish sailor called O’Toole.
He arrived at St. Luke’s a couple of hours ago on a whim. In fact, the truth be known, the idea had only come to him after he had seen Caroline and Lucas home after their excursion to the Menagerie today.
Lucas… St. Luke’s.
Hyde Park.
The choir.
The pamphlets.
The Nightingale…
How had he missed something so obvious? And once the idea had rattled around in his mind, it was just one small leap to make a guess at the identity of the writer of the stories that had the city abuzz.
When he arrived, he asked who was in charge and was told it was Reverend Camp who could be found at that moment in the kitchen. Julian went in there and asked a working man scrubbing a pot clean where the reverend was.
“I am he,” replied the man. “How can I help you?”
Julian was taken aback. The reverend didn’t wear his robes of office, just every day working men’s clothes, and here he was with sleeves rolled up doing the work of a scullery maid. He instantly liked the man.
“No, I am here to help you,” Julian had told the man. “I am at your service for the night.”
Julian was told, to his surprise, to simply sit and talk with those who came in.
“These folks don’t want pity,” the reverend said, “just a bit of dignity, a warm feed and a reminder that the good Lord sees everyone the same. Just spend time with them, then let me know I’m right.”
So, he did.
The longer he spoke to them, the more he realized he knew these stories, knew these men and women – he’d read their tales in The Argus.
Caroline was The Nightingale.
Confirming that made him fall in love with her just a little bit more. What a remarkable woman.
A chuckle forced him to concentrate on his game. O’Toole looked at him then took up one of his white counters and, with a clip-clip-clip-clip-clop, Julian found himself on the losing end of the game.
“Ye’re lucky the reverend don’t allow gamblin’ in here. Ye’d have owed me a quid,” the man chuckled.
Julian laughed and shook the man’s hand. “So, tell me, what’s an Irishman doing in London?”
“Most would say I’m up to no good.”
Yes, Julian was aware of the suspicion held of the Irish. Many of them had Jacobin sympathies and others openly supported Napoleon.
“But what do you say?”
“I says I’m just bidin’ my time until I’m well quit of the grog. It’s been three weeks since a drop of liquor touched my lips.”
“Are you feeling better for it?”
“Aye, that I am.”
“Is it hard?”
“It’s bloody hard. Hardest thing I done in my life. But harder still if I can’t keep a job. The reverend says he’ll find me a position if I keeps meself clean for three months and show up here regular.”
“How about another game?” Julian suggested. “You might let me salvage some of my pride and at least try for the best out of seven.”
O’Toole got to his feet.
“No offendin’ yer lordship, but I reckon old Ned over there will give me a better game.”
Julian chuckled, not in the least bit offended. He stood and shook O’Toole’s ha
nd just as Caroline came through the door.
She hadn’t seen him yet and had been immediately engaged in conversation. He enjoyed watching her unguarded, talking to one of the regulars who had become her friends. How would she feel about seeing him here? Would she consider it an intrusion? Did he presume too much?
After today, he hoped to convince her he was serious about them pursuing a future together.
Now Caroline searched for someone. Her eyes scanned the tables, then they fell on him. The smile she gave him was, indeed, a gift he desperately wanted to be worthy of.
He waited as she approached him.
“I understand you’re looking for The Nightingale,” she said quietly.
“I’ve found her, and I hope I’ve found much more.”
“How did you know it was me?”
He told her it started on the trip in the barouche. Suddenly, he could see things through her eyes and he found himself looking at London in a way he had never done before.
Once he started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. Caroline listened without interruption.
Julian told her of his harsh early childhood in Yorkshire, not one deprived of the immediate necessities of life, but deprived of familial love and affection. He spoke of how his father sent him to school in London to have his northern accent trained and beaten out of him. He supposed he ought to thank him at least for that, the blows notwithstanding, for his learned manner of London speech overcame the prejudices of those who discounted the accent – and intelligence – of the working class.
He told of his desire to do more than his father did. Yes, the old man worked hard – but it was only to enrich himself. There was more Julian could do by putting his skills to work for good.
He told Caroline about how Wheal Gunnis had revitalized the village of Stannum and the plans to help the Viscount of Carmarthan to create a model community with plenty of work and good housing.
“I’ve spent a good hour talking to Reverend Camp about that. He has a few firm ideas in that regard. Do you mind?” Julian asked. “That is, you’ve done so much work here, I don’t want you think that I’m stepping on toes—”
Caroline put a finger to his lips.
“Why else are we here, but to do good?” she told him.
At the end of the night, Caroline refused to let him search for a hansom cab on his own at so late in this part of London, which was how he came to be enjoying the warmth of her carriage – and his arm around her. The Horse Guards Tower Clock chimed eleven as they passed St. James’ Square.
He leaned in for a kiss. It was soft, almost chaste. The fact that she permitted it at all delighted him.
“I feel like Cinderella,” she whispered.
“Why do you think I kissed you at eleven o’clock?” he replied. “Carriages turn into pumpkins at midnight as I recall.”
“Does this mean I don’t have to worry about losing my glass slipper at the Midwinter Ball next week?” she asked as the carriage rolled to a stop outside her door.
Julian picked up her hand and kissed it.
“If you do, I know where you live, and I’ll deliver it personally.
*
“Mama! You look like a princess!”
Caroline turned away from the full-length mirror to look at her son, dressed for bed. It had been a special treat for him to stay up and see his mother dressed in her finery.
“Thank you, darling boy,” she said, dropping a kiss on top of his head. “Now, off to bed. If you go and don’t make a fuss for Nanny, I shall bring home some cake from the party.”
The promise was enough for Lucas to do her bidding.
Caroline did feel like a princess. For the first time since her husband’s grave illness that led to his death, she wore fine jewelry. Aquamarines that glinted silvery-blue shone in a choker about her neck.
Her hair was dressed and set with pearl-topped gold pins. The pear-shaped diamonds at her ears were pieces she had forgotten she owned, and she delighted in how they set off her blue gown and its shimmery white watered satin underskirt.
And any fears she had about the suitability of her appearance disappeared when she saw Julian who waited for her at the bottom of the stairs.
“You look divine,” he said, taking her hand.
Yes, she did feel like a princess; not Cinderella, but Sleeping Beauty because it had taken one kiss from Julian Winter to awaken her from a five-year slumber.
She knew Carmarthan Hall was nearby. She’d passed it before, but she hadn’t appreciated the scale of the townhouse until she saw it all alight.
To her surprise, she was immediately met by people she recognized, delighted to see her returning to society.
“You do know I intend to monopolize all of your time, Lady Lavene,” Julian whispered in her ear.
“Have a care, Mr. Winter,” she teased. “Your reputation as one of this Season’s eligible bachelors will be over.”
“I think that was over the very first day we met,” he said.
Caroline wasn’t sure about that, but the fact they had spent every day in each other’s company since the excursion to the Menagerie certainly added to his claim.
Julian nodded over to the dance floor where Lydia Stonely danced in the arms of a dashing young Dragoon in his dress uniform. On the far side of the floor, Aunt Harriet could be seen looking on approvingly.
“And what of your young cousin?” Caroline asked. “She was hoping to make a match this Season, too, was she not?”
They searched among the crowd and eventually found Margaret in animated conversation with the young Laird Dougal McFife.
In their strolling about, Caroline had noticed amongst the decoration around the room were cut outs of small birds decorated in gold leaf. She wondered why and was about to ask Julian if he knew when David Manston, Viscount Carmarthan, commanded the attention of the room. He was joined by his viscountess, who looked beautiful in a sapphire blue gown, her curly black hair piled high and kept in place with a silver band. Nearby stood Sir Daniel and Lady Abigail as joint hosts.
“Your Royal Highness, Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight is a special occasion for my wife and me,” he said. “It is our first Season in London and you have graciously made us feel welcome. Our most heartfelt thanks go to Sir Daniel and Lady Ridgeway for helping to make this a memorable occasion.”
The viscountess now spoke up. “You may wonder about the decorations tonight,” she said. “They were chosen for a special reason. They are not canaries or the rare Gold Oriole as you might suppose. These are nightingales. It is rare to see them in London in the winter, but rarer still is the voice that sings so poignantly.”
The viscount took up the tale.
“As you know, the newspapers have been filled with speculation about the identity of The Nightingale whose voice has been given to drawing attention to those less fortunate in our fair capital. Each of our little gold birds has been crafted individually. If they take your fancy, they can be yours for a gold half-guinea which will be collected and given to St. Luke’s Mission in Cheapside for their good works.”
Caroline was grateful for Julian at her side, his arm around her waist, otherwise she feared she might have fainted.
“Is this your doing?” she asked.
Julian had a twinkle in his eye and raised his champagne glass to their hosts and then to Lady Abigail.
“I had assistance,” he said.
“Finally,” said their host, “due to popular demand, we do have gaming tables tonight and we encourage you to win well and donate a percentage of your purse. It’s a good cause this winter. Your generosity will buy blankets and food for others less fortunate – the orphans and widows, and the families of brave men on land and at sea who are fighting Napoleon.”
Applause filled the ballroom. The orchestra struck up for the next dance. Caroline watched guests taking a closer look at the ornaments and making selections already. Perhaps they would decorate a hearth for Christmas. They would certainly fill hu
ngry bellies in less opulent homes.
“Did you wish to dance?” Julian asked as couples took to the floor again.
Caroline shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m so out of touch with the current dances.”
“Good. I’m not sure how fine a dance partner I’d make. I badly injured my knee a few months ago.”
She’d noticed his occasional limp and it was on her lips now to ask about its cause when Julian offered her his arm instead.
“Shall we find somewhere quiet instead, Lady Lavene?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.
A blush came to her face easily. Flirtation and romance which she had thought gone, now returned, thrilling her as much as it once had as a debutante.
“Lead on, Mr. Winter.”
He led her upstairs along a gallery into a long candlelit library, where a small fire burned in the grate. On the table was a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Beside it was a small black leather box.
It was not happenstance that brought them here.
“Fate, Lady Lavene,” he said, as though he’d read her mind. He opened the box. Inside was a gold ring mounted with a large emerald surrounded with diamonds.
“Each of us have been searching for family and owning only one half of the whole. I’ve fallen in love with you, Caroline. Will you marry me and allow me to be your husband and a father to Lucas?”
Julian raised her hand to his lips to kiss it, and physical desire as well as love thrummed through her being. She was struck by how right this moment was, how good it was to feel whole again.
She realized her sigh was not an answer, so she gave it.
“Yes, Julian. Yes, my love. I will marry you.”
The champagne remained untouched. She slid off her evening glove for Julian to slip the ring onto her finger.
He leaned forward for a passionate kiss and she returned it readily. The act itself was not unfamiliar, but she enjoyed learning it over again. His lips and tongue traced hers, his embrace filling her with desire, love, joy – all the finest of emotions.
And outside the library window, above the melody of the orchestra below, Caroline fancied she heard the sound of a nightingale singing.