A Christmas Bride

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Serenity wanted to deny what she was reading, but as the letter went on to describe her in close detail, she knew it must be the truth.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she whispered, “Helen Loughlin? My name is Helen Loughlin. I am Hel—”

  Hellie, come in! ’Tis time for your lessons, young lady. Your father will be angry if you do not finish your language studies before tea.

  The voice rang through her head like the echo of the tolling bells. Mimi’s voice. Mimi! Mimi had been first her governess, then her abigail. Mimi always fretted about the tiniest detail. That was why she had insisted that Miss Loughlin wear her costume on the way to the masquerade party, so she would not arrive late and be shamed not to be in costume.

  Serenity pressed her hand to her heart, which seemed unable to beat. Mimi had been in the carriage with her. Mimi and Ralph, the footman who had had a tendre for Mimi for as long as Serenity could remember.

  Tears burst from her eyes as a cascade of sobs surged into her throat. She dropped the letter to her lap as she wept. Mimi and Ralph were dead, dead and buried in graves with no names to mark them.

  She gripped the edge of the cushions while memories trampled her, each one more determined than the last to remind her of the terror of the moment when the carriage had teetered at the edge of the road. The crack of the breaking wheel, the curses from Ralph, the scream of the horses.

  Horses? There had been but one horse attached to the small carriage. If she had heard another, then there must have been another carriage or a rider on the road. Had her carriage swerved to miss it? She could not recall anything but that one moment they were laughing and talking, and the next was filled with horror and pain. After that, there was nothing but waking up in the inn.

  And before the journey to the masquerade … No, the memories were still uncertain. Half-remembered snatches of conversation, odd fragments of faces and rooms which made no sense.

  “Helen Loughlin,” she whispered. The name, save for that one memory of Mimi’s voice, was as unfamiliar as a stranger’s. Would she ever remember what had been?

  Mayhap something else in the letter would prompt another memory, the very memory that would tell her more about her life before the day the carriage accident had propelled her into this new life as Serenity Adams.

  She quickly read the rest of the letter. The paper crinkled in her hands as she stared at the final sentence over the solicitor’s signature. She wanted to believe she had misread it, but even after three readings, she could not mistake the words.

  It was as you suspected from the onset, and I trust you will tell Miss Loughlin the whole truth if it becomes convenient for you to do so.

  Seventeen

  The whole truth? If it becomes convenient?

  Serenity did not want to believe what the words suggested. This was not the first letter Timothy had received from his solicitor on this subject, for he had mentioned at least one other. Only in retrospect did she wonder why she had not asked to see that letter to seek some clue that might bring back her memories. Had she been so caught up in falling in love that she had not wanted to know the truth? Had he been so caught up in falling in love that he had not told her the truth?

  She lowered the letter to her lap and drew out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Knowing that the letter should have been delivered to Timothy instead of her changed nothing. The truth could not be hidden any longer. How long had he known—or suspected—that she was of the ton? Much longer than he had suggested during their conversation in the chapel earlier in the week. By the date at the top of the page, she knew this letter had been sent from London the day before that conversation.

  “What is amiss, Serenity?”

  At Lord Brookindale’s voice, her head came up at the name that she should not answer to now. She was Helen. Helen Loughlin. How many times must she repeat that to herself before she became comfortable with the name that must have been hers all her life, save for the past few weeks? Odd that she had found it easier to accustom herself to being called Serenity than this name she had possessed all her life.

  “I wanted some time by myself,” she said. That was not a lie.

  “By yourself? When you should be in the ballroom celebrating my birthday?” He lowered himself into a chair and snatched the letter from her lap.

  “That is mine, my lord!”

  “My lord?” His brows lowered. Holding up his hand, he ordered, “Do not lather me with any out-and-outers when I suspect this letter will confirm what I have guessed all along.”

  “You guessed—” She closed her mouth before she could betray Timothy further.

  Wanting to come to her feet, Serenity twisted her handkerchief. Serenity! She could not rid herself of this name that did not belong to her.

  The earl read the letter once, then a second time. He handed the letter back to her with a sigh. “You should have come to me with the truth right from the beginning, Ser—Miss Loughlin.”

  “But I did not know the truth, my lord.”

  As she addressed him formally again, he scowled, his bushy brows jutting toward her as fiercely as his chin. “But you knew that the boys were spinning a web of lies in hopes of trapping me in it.”

  “Timothy wanted only to avoid disappointing you.” She stood. “He lost himself so much in his factory-building project that he gave no thoughts to his obligations to marry and obtain an heir. I assure you that his thoughts were all for doing nothing to ruin this birthday celebration.”

  “You need not defend him to me. I can see the truth quite clearly. My legs may have slowed down with time, but not my wits.”

  “I did not mean to suggest that.”

  He patted her hand. “I realize that.” His thick brows suddenly rose. “Loughlin, did you say?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I would like to believe that the fact that your name is Loughlin is only a coincidence, but this is too much of a jumble for me to believe that.” He pointed to the settee where she had been perched. “You should sit, Miss Loughlin.”

  She nodded, wondering again why it was taking her longer to become accustomed to her true name than it had to her false one. Although she knew she truly was Helen Loughlin, every fiber told her that her name was Serenity Adams. Lowering herself to the chair, she blinked back the tears that swarmed into her eyes.

  “I assume,” the earl said, “that this loss of memory you have suffered is the one facet of truth through the whole of this.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He scowled more fiercely at her formal address, but asked, “Do you recall anything of your family, Miss Loughlin?”

  “I recall that my mother died when I was not very old. My brother and sister—”

  “You are an only child, my dear.” He took a deep breath and released it through his clenched teeth. “This tale of a brother and a sister that permeates this letter from our solicitors, I own that I do not understand it.”

  “There was a letter in my apron when I was rescued from the carriage accident. Felix gave it to me. He said …”

  The earl nodded slowly as she gasped in disbelief and dismay. “No, do not lower your eyes. You do not need to hide the truth from me. I believe you were purposely misled, Miss Loughlin. Do you recall anything of your father?”

  “Only certain things that he spoke to me about. I cannot recall his face. Is he alive?”

  “Yes, he is alive and, last I heard, quite well. Your father is Sir Philip Loughlin.”

  “Sir Philip?” The name reverberated through her head. “Is he the Sir Philip who was your son’s friend?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Timothy told me how a man he called Sir Philip was his father’s friend and helped him design the Chinese folly in the water garden.”

  Again the earl nodded. “We are speaking of the same man. His estate borders Robin Hood’s Bay to the east of here. Although he seldom leaves his estate to go farther than Town now, which explains why you and Timothy never met as child
ren, before he wed your mother, who was the younger daughter of a baron, he traveled often in the East. His knowledge of Eastern art and culture is unparalleled in England.”

  “That explains how I knew what I knew of the temple lions and chopsticks.” Her eyes widened. “Did you suspect the truth when I knew about the temple lions?”

  “It did plant a seed of suspicion in my brain.” Again he sighed. “I sent a message to your father to ask him obliquely if his daughter might be missing. When I got no response from him, I decided my suspicions were wrong. Now I understand why I got no reply. The letter probably remains at his house, because there was no urgent request to forward it to Sir Philip wherever he might be.” He looked back at the page she held. “The poor man must be beside himself with fear for you.”

  The letter crinkled again as she clasped her hands. “Can I send him a note right away?”

  “Of course. As soon as it is written, I shall have it sent to him.” A hint of a smile returned to his taut lips. “What better gift could he receive in this Christmastide than the return of his daughter?”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “One thing I still do not understand. Although Timothy may not have recognized you, for as I said I doubt if you ever met, because of your father’s focus on his studies, Felix must have spoken to you during the calls his father made upon your father.” Again he smiled. “Not that I am excusing Timothy from any of this, but I am baffled about why Felix did not identify you from the onset.”

  Serenity recalled how she had suffered that strange sense of having met both Felix and his father previously. Had their odd expressions when she was introduced to them as if for the first time been because they knew she might recall their earlier meetings?

  “I don’t know,” she replied.

  “I don’t expect you to know, my dear, but I expect both Arnold and Felix to have a much better answer for me than that.” He pushed himself to his feet. “They do not have a bumped head as an excuse for forgetting what I doubt Arnold shall ever forget.”

  “What is that?”

  The earl refilled her cup with mulled cider, then took one for himself. “Your father, my dear, was foolish enough to let Arnold sit down at the card table with him. Your father graciously agreed to accept Arnold’s chit for his losses. They were massive losses. Apparently one of the things your father learned during his travels was to judge those around him with ease while hiding his own thoughts. That is an inestimable skill while playing cards.”

  “And he still owes my father this money?”

  He nodded.

  “And if Timothy had seduced me as Felix urged him to—”

  Lord Brookindale’s oath silenced her. “I shall disown that boy completely. No debt between gentlemen should include a lady’s honor.”

  She pressed her hand to her bodice. She recalled Felix’s triumphant grin as he had entered the ballroom with Melanda this evening. Had he been so sure then of getting his vengeance that he was enjoying his victory even before it happened? She did not want to believe that Timothy would be a part of such a thing, but he had lied to his grandfather to serve his own needs.

  “Do you mean that Felix wished to have me ruined to repay my father for besting his father at a game of cards?” she whispered.

  “It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  “To own the truth, I no longer know what to think about anything, my lord.”

  Sorrow filled his eyes. “My child, I hope you will come to call me Grandfather, as you once did.”

  “But—”

  “’Tis no different than it was before, for you never had any intentions of marrying my grandson, did you?”

  “No.” She dampened her abruptly arid lips. When had she taken on Timothy’s horrible habit of lying in an attempt to protect this dear man from the truth? If she told him how she had hoped Timothy would speak of the dream in her heart and ask her to become his wife on Twelfth Night, the earl would denounce her as an air-dreamer. Mayhap she was, for she had dared to believe that Timothy might truly love her, too.

  Why had she convinced herself of that when everything around her had been woven of a tapestry of lies?

  “If you wish to retire,” the earl said, setting his cup on a table as a knock came at the door, “I will make your excuses to the guests.”

  “Thank you.” She added nothing else as a maid hurried in to clean up the spilled cider, which Serenity had forgotten in the morass of discovering a truth she never had expected existed.

  Serenity raced up the stairs to her room. Closing the door, she was glad to see Nan was nowhere about. Her abigail would not have guessed she would return so early from the evening’s entertainments.

  With a sob, she pulled the flowers from her hair. She opened the closet and grasped her cloak. Throwing it over her gown, she tied it at her throat. She kicked off her slippers and drew on her high-lows.

  She rushed back out into the hallway. No servants were in sight, so she paused by Timothy’s door and went in to place the letter on his desk. It should have come to him. Once he read it, there would be no need for her to leave him a note to tell him good-bye.

  A sob burst like a wretched bubble from her lips. She did not want to leave him—and her heart—but she could not stay. If she discovered he had known more than he had told her about her past, she would be shattered beyond repair.

  It was easier than Serenity had guessed to slip down the stairs without being seen. When she reached the foyer, she bit back an oath. She had not guessed that Branson would not be at his regular post. She should have realized he would be busy with a multitude of tasks for the ball.

  She motioned to a footman, who was rushing across the foyer. He paused and asked, “Miss Adams, is something amiss?”

  She wanted to bite her tongue as she prepared another half-truth, but she had no choice. “Is Branson nearby?”

  “Yes, miss. One moment please.”

  Although she wanted to rush out the door and put all of this behind her, she waited in the foyer. She stayed in the shadows, not wanting to chance being seen by Timothy or someone else in his family. She had no idea what she would say to any of them.

  Branson smiled as he came into the foyer. That smile faltered when his gaze alighted on her cloak. “The night is very chill, Miss Adams.”

  “I know.” She did not add how much colder she found the lies that had enmeshed her. “Do you know a Sir Philip Loughlin who lives near Robin Hood’s Bay?”

  “Loughlin?” He nodded. “Yes, I know the name, Miss Adams. Do you wish to have a message taken there?”

  “Is the house far?”

  He shook his head. “Not far, miss. If you were to start at dawn, you would be there before sunset.”

  “Will you have a carriage brought around?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Miss Adams, if you plan to drive all the way to Robin Hood’s Bay, you would be wise to wait until the morrow to begin.”

  She smiled tautly. “I cannot. Branson, will you please have a carriage brought?”

  For a long moment she thought he would refuse, but then he nodded. “At least allow me to take a message to my lord for you.”

  “I have informed the earl of my plans.”

  Branson lost his usual smile as his face dropped into a frown. He must believe that she had misunderstood him, and mayhap that was all to the good. If the butler thought that she and Timothy had had a falling-out, Branson would not rush to Timothy with the tidings of her leaving. He would leave that horrible task to the earl.

  The cold wind swirled into the foyer, bringing sharp flakes of snow with it as Branson sent a footman to have a carriage brought. The snow must be blowing up from the ground, because the stars pierced the sky with the intensity that they reserved for freezing winter nights.

  More quickly than she had expected, but much more slowly than she wanted, a closed carriage was driven under the porte cochere. Bidding Branson farewell, she hurried
down the steps and let the footman hand her into the carriage.

  She pulled the cloak more tightly around her shoulders as she settled herself on the carriage’s cold seat. She knew Branson’s counsel had been wise. She should wait until dawn to travel, but she could not remain a moment more in that house amid the lies and counterlies.

  Raising her hand to slap it against the side of the carriage, she took a steadying breath. She did not want to leave. She could not stay.

  Her breath burst from her in a scream as her wrist was seized. She whirled on the seat to stare through the window. “Timothy!” she gasped.

  “Where do you think you are going?” he demanded.

  Serenity slowly lowered her hand. She said nothing as Timothy threw open the door so hard that it crashed against the side, and climbed into the carriage. He sat on the seat facing her.

  “I was sure Mrs. Scott was mistaken when she told me that she had seen you stepping into a carriage in front of the house,” he said, each word as icy as the night wind.

  Mrs. Scott! She should have spoken to the housekeeper before she had taken her leave to allay Mrs. Scott’s mind as she had Branson’s.

  “She was correct.” She could keep her voice as emotionless as his, but she had to clench her hands in her lap to do so. Her fingers wanted to course along his strong face and slip up through the gold richness of his hair … just once more, while she believed that love was possible.

  Love? Her heart was witless. This had been just a masquerade, with the greatest hoax being played upon her. She had believed she was doing something kind to help Timothy, but that kindness could have destroyed her father.