What Happens At Christmas

by Victoria Alexander

  She breathed a sigh of relief. That was that, then. Any reservations she might have had about not marrying Nikolai vanished with the first touch of his lips to hers. She knew this decision was the right one.

  “What was that?” Grayson said behind her.

  She stepped away from the mistletoe and turned to face him. “Goodness, Grayson, surely you have seen a kiss before.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That was a very long kiss.”

  “Was it?” She shrugged. “It didn’t seem long to me at all. But then, it was an excellent kiss.”

  “It didn’t look like an excellent kiss. It looked rehearsed. ”

  “Perhaps from where you were standing.” She started toward the stairs. “But from where I was standing, it was excellent.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To my room. I am not in the mood to play parlor games tonight. Besides, as Nikolai has retired for the night, so shall I.”

  “Oh no, you’re not.” He grabbed her arm and steered her into the parlor. He fairly shoved her into the room; then closed the doors behind her.

  “What are you doing?” She glanced around. “Where is everyone?”

  “The general consensus was that it had been a long day and they were all ready for bed. Your mother and sisters all claimed to have aching heads—”

  “Probably something in the air.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t notice, but Mrs. Montgomery-Wells had a touch too much wine at dinner and could scarcely keep her eyes open. Mr. Henderson gallantly offered to escort her to her room. And Miss Murdock said she had a good book she was dying to get back to.”

  “No doubt.”

  “And Pruzinsky has gone as well?”

  She nodded.

  “Good, then we are alone.” He strode across the room, filled two glasses with brandy and returned. He handed her a glass. “Here. We have a great deal to talk about.”

  “Lord save me from men who have a great deal to talk about.” This might not be the best time. She was still out-of-sorts from the argument with her family. Or perhaps this was the perfect time. She took a deep swallow. “But you’re right, we do need to talk.”

  “About the past.” He nodded.

  “Oh, my. Yes, let’s start with the past, shall we?”

  He drew a deep breath. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  “At the beginning?”

  “Of course.” He thought for a long moment.

  Impatience washed through her. “Well? What are you waiting for? Go on. This is what you’ve wanted. This is what you’ve gone on and on about since you first walked in the door. Good Lord, Grayson, get on with it.” She tossed back her brandy, then crossed the floor to the decanter and refilled her glass.

  He raised a brow. “Another brandy might not be wise, Camille.”

  “No one has ever accused me of being wise.”

  “Still, it’s not like you—”

  “How dare you presume to know what is like me and what is not like me?” The anger she’d felt for him since he’d walked out of her life—anger that she’d thought had abated in recent days—now rushed back full force. “You have not been here! You have not been in my life for eleven years!”

  “I am well aware of that.”

  “I am so glad you’re aware of it. That makes it all so much better.” He was right, although she would never admit it to him. She did not drink excessive amounts of brandy. Fortunately, she had a few glasses left until she reached excessive. And she would need every one of them. “Go on, then. Talk.”

  “Very well.” His forehead furrowed in thought. “Eleven years ago . . . when I . . . well . . . that is . . .”

  “You seem to be having a great deal of trouble deciding exactly what you wish to say.”

  “It’s not easy.” His jaw tightened. “The right words are eluding me, and this is too important not to find the right words. I’m not exactly sure how to say what I want to say.”

  “Really? I find that most amusing.”

  “ ‘Amusing’?” He stared. “How is that amusing?”

  “Because I have known what I wished to say to you for eleven years,” she snapped. “Exactly what I wished to say.”

  “Then perhaps you should begin.” Caution sounded in his voice.

  “Perhaps I should.” She took another swallow of the brandy, then smacked the glass down on a table. “Eleven years ago, when out of nowhere you said you loved me, I didn’t know what to say, so everything I did say was wrong. But after you left, I thought, ‘He’ll come back. Any minute now, he’ll walk through that door and then I’ll tell him that I love him as well.’ I thought, ‘I’ll tell him I never dreamed there could be anything between us beyond friendship. ’ After all, there were expectations as to whom I should wed and how I should live my life. I never imagined he thought of me as anything other than a friend or a sister, but I have always loved him.”

  He stared in shocked silence.

  “But the hours passed and I thought, ‘Surely, he’ll be back tonight. Surely, a man truly in love would fight for the woman he wants. Surely, he couldn’t be so cruel as to announce his love and then go on with his life as if nothing had happened. And then I’ll tell him that I love him and I always have.’ But the night wore on and morning came, and my wedding drew near and he didn’t come.” She picked up her glass, took another quick swallow, then set it back down. “And even as I walked down the aisle, I thought, ‘When he comes, because surely a man who claims to love a woman would stop her wedding, and then, then, I’ll tell him that I love him as well. Then I’ll tell him that I always have.’ But, of course, he didn’t come, or rather you didn’t come.” She struggled to remain calm. “And then I realized it was too late, this man who claimed to love me had not done anything to prove that love, had not fought for that love. Indeed, had he even meant his words? Had he regretted them the moment they were out of his mouth? Was it nothing more than a rash statement uttered in impulse?”

  “I meant every—”

  “Not that it mattered anymore, because I was married to Harold, who was a very nice man and did not deserve to be hurt the way I had been hurt. And I vowed he never would be. So I stopped thinking about what I would say to you. I stopped thinking about you at all, insofar as that was possible. I avoided your cousin. I forbid Beryl to speak of you. I was a very good wife to Harold and I did love him, although not in the way I had loved you.

  “And the years passed. And on rare occasions when there would be some reminder of you, I would indeed think about what I would say if I were to see you again. I thought I would be polite, cordial in an impersonal sort of way, as though seeing you again meant nothing. Or perhaps I would be hard-pressed to recall your name at all, should we come face-to-face.”

  “Camille—”

  “No, Grayson, you wanted to talk about the past. Well, this is my past!” Fury pulsed in her veins. “Then Harold died, and in spite of having pushed you out of my head and my heart, I thought, ‘If he had really meant what he had said, if he really loved me, surely he will come now.’ Perhaps, all those years ago, he had thought it was better for me to marry the sort of man I was expected to marry. Or perhaps he had thought it was somewhat dishonorable to ruin another man’s wedding.” She met his gaze directly. “Oh, I had all sorts of reasons why you did nothing after you made your grand declaration because as much as I wanted to believe you meant what you said, I wanted to forgive you.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish I knew.” She shook her head. “Perhaps because next to Beryl, you were the most important person in my life. Because I understood it was not your mistake alone. Because I realized I could have, should have, done something, gone after you perhaps. Instead, I did what I was expected to do. I was too weak or too young or too foolish to do otherwise.” She glared. “In that respect, I have changed a great deal.” She uttered a short laugh. “And you claim I broke your heart.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “If you’re quite done.
”

  “Quite.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you can now think of something to say, do go on.”

  “I, too, have thought of what I would say when I saw you again.”

  She snorted in disdain.

  “But it seems I have changed my mind,” he said slowly. “None of the things I had planned on saying to you now seem right.”

  “Oh?”

  “I had planned to apologize, of course, as I attempted to do when I first saw you.” He shook his head. “It was unfair of me to shock you the way I did or when I did. You had no warning, and God knows, I had done nothing to show my feelings before then.

  “Next to Win, you had always been my closest friend, and I thought you always would be. It wasn’t until you were betrothed to Harold that I realized I could—no, I would lose you. I realized as well that I loved you.”

  “I was engaged for several months before the wedding, Grayson. You could have said something, done something, at any time.”

  “I didn’t know what to do.” He shrugged. “So I did nothing.”

  “How very clever of you.”

  “It wasn’t clever,” he snapped. “I know that. I knew that then. It was stupid of me not to act. I was an idiot.”

  “Then we are agreed.”

  “And I was afraid, I suspect.”

  “Come now, Grayson. What on earth did you have to be afraid of?”

  “I was afraid that you didn’t feel the same, and if I declared myself, I would lose you as surely as if you married someone else. At least, if I kept my feelings to myself, it wouldn’t destroy what we had.” He drew a deep breath. “So I did nothing.”

  “We have established that.”

  “I felt helpless, Camille. I felt lost. I was about to lose the woman I knew in my soul was the only woman for me. And finally I decided I had to do something, or I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

  “So you did so on the day before my wedding.”

  He nodded. “I told you that I loved you, and you said I was being silly, but you did appreciate my attempt to save you from a marriage without the true love you had always wanted.”

  Her breath caught. “I remember.”

  “And then I kissed you.”

  “And then you kissed me.” She could barely say the words over the ache in her throat.

  “And that’s when I knew you shared my feelings.” He swirled the brandy in his glass and watched her. “I have never forgotten that kiss, nor will I ever, although you claim you have.”

  She shrugged. “It was just a kiss.”

  “Not to me.” He studied her closely. “Then I made the asinine comment that you would marry me if I had money. It was unfair of me and not very nice.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” She swallowed hard. “And I said the first thing that came into my head. Which, admittedly, wasn’t very nice either.”

  “I knew you too well not to have realized they were just words. I should have ignored them, but I didn’t. And that was when my heart was broken.”

  She stared at him. “Your heart or your pride?”

  “I don’t know,” he said sharply. “So I left.”

  She met his gaze and tried not to let all she was feeling show on her face. “And never came back.”

  He chuckled in a mirthless manner. “It seemed pointless. It seemed, as well, that you had made your choice. I couldn’t bear the thought of watching you marry another man, of seeing you as someone else’s wife. So I left England altogether and had no intention of returning.” He blew a long breath. “It didn’t take me long to understand what a fool I’d been. I should have seen how shocked you were and I should have ignored what you said. I knew you better than to accept your words, or at least I should have. I should have done everything you said you were hoping I’d do. I should have fought for you. For us.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  She chose her words with care. “If you’d had all these revelations, why didn’t you come back after Harold died?”

  “Come running back to the woman who didn’t want me?” Disbelief rang in his voice. “I had had my heart broken once before. I was not about to allow the same woman to break it for a second time. Although, admittedly, it might well have been pride.”

  “I never thought you to be a coward, Grayson Elliott.”

  “Love makes fools of us all.” He took a sip of his brandy. “As we are confessing, there is something else you should know.”

  “Go on.”

  “I tried to put you out of my thoughts, just as you put me out of yours. In that, I suspect you were more successful than I was. Oh, but I did try.” He smiled wryly. “I could go for days, weeks, months, without thinking of you. And yet, somehow, when I least expected it, when I wasn’t at all prepared, there you were. In a laugh heard across a theater. Or the first fresh breeze of spring. Or another woman’s kiss. Or my dreams.” His gaze met hers. “No matter how far I ran, you were always there.”

  “No, Grayson.” Her heart twisted. She ignored it. “I was here. Where you left me.”

  “I know.” He drew a deep breath. “I know it may well be impossible, but can you forgive me?”

  “Oddly enough, I thought I had,” she said quietly, then straightened her shoulders. “That’s it, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have nothing more to say?” Nothing about the wealth you’ve acquired? The fortune you’ve built?

  “No.” He shook his head. “I have explained my actions, or lack thereof.”

  “You have no additional confession, no revelations, nothing of that nature?” She studied him intently.

  “No, nothing.”

  “I see.” She picked up her glass, drained the rest of her brandy and hoped he would attribute the slight tremble in her hand to the liquor, and not to her heart. “We always did have honesty between us, didn’t we?”

  He nodded.

  “Then, in all honesty, it might be best if you were not to stay for Christmas. I shall think of something to explain why my cousin has departed, leaving the rest of his family behind.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “I left you once before, when I shouldn’t have. I’ll not make the same mistake again.”

  She sighed, abruptly weary of the conversation and the turmoil she fought to keep at bay. “This is entirely different.”

  “Is it?” His brow rose. “It strikes me as being remarkably similar. Once again, you are to marry a man you do not love—this time for his position, if not his fortune.”

  “Come now, Grayson, you know full well marriage is the only way a woman in this world betters herself.” She narrowed her gaze. “But then, that’s what we do in my family, isn’t it?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Little better than fortune hunters, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I know you better than to think that,” he said sharply. “Regardless, Pruzinsky is not the man for you.”

  “Why not?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “He just isn’t, that’s all.”

  “Excellent answer, Grayson.” She rubbed her forehead. “Very well, stay on for the final curtain of this debacle. It will no doubt be worth the price of admission.” She’d had enough of this. Enough of doing battle with her family, enough of Nikolai and more than enough of Grayson. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself on her bed and weep. For what might have been. And for the glimpse of what, if only for a moment, might still be. “You can’t make amends for eleven years ago. The past cannot be undone.”

  “And no one knows that better than I,” he said sharply. “I would turn back the clock, if I could. If I had that one day to live over again, I would do it regardless of the cost. But I can’t. I can only go forward from here.” He stepped toward her. “And I want to go forward with you.”

  She stepped back. “It’s been eleven years.”

  “Eleven years wasted because I was a fool. I
have no desire to waste any more.” He took another step toward her. “Nothing has changed for me, Camille.”

  “Do you know the biggest difference between the girl I was then and the woman I am now?”

  “I can see all sorts of differences.”

  “The girl I was then trusted you without hesitation, without question. She never dreamed you might hurt her. And she believed you.” She shook her head. “The woman I am now knows better.”

  He stared at her; and for a moment, the years fell away and it was the day before her wedding. The stricken look on his face was the same as it had been when she’d responded to his charge that she would marry him if he had money. And her heart cracked.

  “Good evening, Grayson.” She turned to the door and pulled it open.

  “Camille.”

  She paused but didn’t turn around. “Yes?”

  “The boy I was then was a fool to let what he wanted most slip away.” Determination sounded in his voice. “The man I am now will not make the same mistake. This is not over, Camille.”

  “I suppose that remains to be seen,” she said, and took her leave.

  It wasn’t until Camille had reached her room, changed into her nightclothes and collapsed onto her bed that she allowed herself to wonder exactly what he had meant. Certainly, he had said all sorts of things since his return that had been, well, romantic and perhaps indications of feelings that were far more than friendship. But he hadn’t told her everything; he hadn’t been completely honest; he hadn’t mentioned his money. And the question she couldn’t get past was why.

  Surely, he didn’t think that made a difference to her. It hadn’t eleven years ago—although, admittedly, given what they had said to one another, she could understand why he thought it would. But now she was financially independent. She could marry whomever she wished, without regard to the practicalities of finance. Still, he thought she wanted to marry a prince for very nearly the same reasons she had married Harold. Well, if he was so foolish as to believe that . . .

  She heaved a heartfelt sigh. She’d never known such confusion. All the anger, all the pain, she’d thought was far behind her now threatened to overwhelm her, as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. And yet it was somehow freeing to at long last tell him exactly what he had done. And how he had broken her heart.