Twelve Days in December: A Christmas Novella

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “Good for you, Vancer, for finding yourself a wife who cares for more than your pocketbook,” Mr. Astor said.

  “I have been most fortunate,” William said, bestowing a look of such tender affection upon her that Charlotte felt her confidence boosted in what she was about to ask of him. There might not be love between them, but there was respect and friendship and a strong attraction, and perhaps that would be enough— for a few minutes, at least— to pretend something more.

  “The night grows late, and we have yet to dance,” Charlotte said.

  William’s mouth lifted in a smile. “A situation we must remedy at once.” He

  gave a slight bow to their companions. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen.”

  Charlotte curtsied to them. “Good eve. It was a pleasure to see you again.” They offered similar sentiments, then stepped aside, allowing William to lead her toward the center of the floor, where couples were taking their places for the next waltz. Charlotte leaned in close to him as they walked. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she pled, “I have a favor to request.”

  “Anything.” He paused, glancing at her with concern. “What is it you wish?”

  “Please dance with me… as if you are in love with me.” The words sounded needy and desperate, but Charlotte could take no thought for her own pride at this moment— only his was at stake. She must show that Daphne woman that she had not crushed William, that he had moved beyond the hurt she had caused him.

  That he is so much better than she.

  William’s brows drew together with concern, and he reached his hand up to cover hers on his arm. “I care a great deal for you, Charlotte.”

  “I know.” She spoke hastily and as quiet as possible. “I will explain later. Just please. Pretend feelings beyond our friendship— for this one dance, I beg of you.”

  “You need not beg.” The tension between his brow ceased, and his gaze upon her turned tender once more. He brushed a straying hair from her face and allowed his hand to linger. “Only know this. I am not good at pretending, so do not mistake my actions for that. As I told you once before, when I begin something, I never change course. What I start in this moment, with this dance, is irrevocable.”

  Charlotte felt herself nodding slowly, so as not to break their gaze or to entirely give her word that she was in agreement or understood. Pretending to love me is irrevocable or… The other possibility was too frightening. Ours is a marriage of convenience. She’d been telling herself that for nine days now and believing it less and less.

  But she had reconciled her mind and heart to that course. To venture into deeper feelings would require further emotional distance from Matthew. He could not be her last thought at night if she allowed herself to love William. Already she struggled with that, with remembering Matthew often enough and the feelings she had for him. But it will become easier again, when our twelve days in December are over. William would return to spending his days at work, and she would settle into the routine of being mistress of his house, drawing on different memories— those of her mother when Charlotte was but a girl and they had lived on a grand estate in France.

  Friendship, nothing more. But for this one dance, for the remainder of the night, she must pretend otherwise.

  During her musings, William had guided them to take their places for the waltz. He faced her. “Of a sudden you have grown quite serious. Do you wish to recant your request?”

  “Not at all.” She gave him what she hoped was a coy look, peering up through her eyelashes. She should not have become discomfited by his words. That was all they were— words. And this was all pretending, and she must do it well. She cared for him and could not bear the things she’d heard Daphne say of him.

  Recalling those, and how much gratitude she felt to William for literally rescuing her and Alec, Charlotte placed her hand on his shoulder and lifted her head to meet his gaze. His eyes held no amusement, but rather a new intensity she had not witnessed before.

  His hand came to her waist, pulling her in closer than necessary, or perhaps decent. His other hand claimed hers, but not before he brought it to his lips for a lingering kiss.

  The first strains of music began, and William stepped forward and was soon leading her in flawless circles about the room. She wasn’t certain how he could guide them so skillfully, as his gaze never left hers to look elsewhere and judge where they might be going or the distance between other couples. Charlotte found herself unable to look away. The blue of his eyes seemed to deepen as they regarded her in a way they had not before.

  “You look beautiful tonight.” His gaze at last left her own to drop to her lips.

  “Thank you.” She sounded and felt breathless, though the dance was not taxing. “It is all I can do to appear fine enough to stand at the side of my handsome husband.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “Do you know that I cannot recall a time— before now— when someone told me that I am handsome?”

  “Well, you are.” Charlotte tucked that information away, telling herself she must remember to compliment him often.

  “Then we are both fortunate, indeed, as will our children be.”

  He squeezed her hand as he said this, both his action and words causing her heart to pound. Of course he would want children of his own. She’d known that when she agreed to marry him. But she had also believed it would be some time— years?— before either felt comfortable enough to broach that subject. What had she done in asking him to pretend love?

  From the corner of her eye, Charlotte caught a flash of yellow.

  She longed to look and see the face of the person attached to it but dared not. Neither did she need to, in order to confirm her suspicions. In the second she had been distracted, William’s face had paled. His jaw clenched tight, and his grip on her hand became almost painful.

  It is she. This woman who hurt him.

  Desperate to distract him, to save him further pain, Charlotte returned to the subject at hand. “William, how many children would you like?”

  “How many—” His gaze snapped back to her.

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath and plunged on. “The farming families where I lived in Virginia had quite a number of children— some as many as a dozen. But I imagine that here in the city it is different.”

  “I don’t really know,” he admitted. “I have not paid attention to such things, nor thought on them much myself.”

  That was reassuring, at least. “But you would— like a child of your own. At least one.” She could not quite believe they were having this conversation here in the middle of a crowded ballroom, just days after they had wed. But she could think of nothing else that might distract him enough.

  She dared a glance to her left and caught the woman in the yellow dress staring at them. Charlotte turned quickly back to William and found him watching her, a look of sudden understanding dawning.

  He drew her closer yet and bent to whisper in her ear. “I would like a child, Charlotte. Our child. No one else’s. Certainly not Daphne Hyde’s.” He circled them away, maneuvering, Charlotte suspected, to get them farther from his former fiancée.

  “However,” he continued, his face close to hers once more. “All in good time. I find that I should very much like to kiss you first.” Upon saying this he drew back, as if to gauge her reaction.

  Though she’d believed herself beyond blushing, Charlotte felt her cheeks heating. And she could not seem to keep her eyes from William’s mouth, from those inviting lips that were smiling at her in a knowing sort of way.

  She felt suddenly grateful for the pressure of his hand at her back, and for the strength of his arm supporting hers midair, for she felt weak and unable to think clearly.

  Looking into his eyes once more, a rush of emotion that had nothing to do with gratitude crashed over her. This man she was dancing with, this intelligent, kind, handsome man, was hers. Surely he could have had his choice of many women, yet somehow it was she who had the good fortune to be here in
his arms. To be his wife. To someday carry his child.

  She felt dizzy and overly warm and delightfully giddy all at once, as if she’d just awoken and realized where she was and who she was with. He is mine. I am his. It was more than the sense of security she had craved, more than the friendship that had grown in the past days. Frighteningly more. She felt like a schoolgirl again and, had she only closed her eyes, might have believed she was back in England, a seventeen-year-old girl dancing with a man for the very first time.

  Instead of closing, her eyes opened wide as she recognized the feelings, the intensity she had not felt for so very long. Matthew, forgive me. But it was a half-hearted prayer. Her thoughts were all for the man before her. The one whose gaze spoke of longing and need and… love.

  “There was no need to ask me to pretend,” he whispered as their dance came to a close. “I am enchanted by you, and more than that, am coming to love you more rapidly than I ever would have believed possible. You, Charlotte, are the miracle of my life.”

  “I have thought of you the same way,” she admitted. Only now it was a different sort of wonder she felt taking place. “Oh, William.” She lay her head against his shoulder, heedless of what others around them might think.

  He tucked his head close to hers. “I think I have had enough dancing for tonight. Let us go home.”

  December 30

  Charlotte woke the next day to find that Lady Cosgrove had returned, after seeing Marsali safely installed at Charlotte’s previous place of employment. Charlotte was sad to learn that Christopher had not yet been located, and she spent a moment of worry, wondering what would happen should he not be found.

  William spoke up from across the breakfast table. “We must continue to pray for them both, that they will find each other and be as happy as we are.” He exchanged a look with Charlotte, as if to remind her of the barriers they had crossed last night. He had not kissed her, as he had said that he wanted to, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he did.

  Before I truly betray Matthew. When dancing with William last night her path had seemed so clear. They were married, and she cared for him. What was wrong with allowing their feelings to progress? But with the rising of the sun and the snuggly little boy who more and more resembled his father, Charlotte had felt herself sinking into the despair of turmoil once more. How was she ever to be faithful to both Matthew and William?

  Lady Cosgrove remained mostly silent during this exchange and the duration of breakfast, but shortly afterward, she visited Charlotte in her room.

  “You do realize what you have been given, don’t you?” Lady Cosgrove marched past Charlotte, still standing in the doorway, and sat in one of the chairs before the fire.

  “Yes.” Charlotte closed the door. “I do recognize that I am most fortunate to be here— to be married to William, to have my child and myself provided for. To attend balls and dinners, to dress in fine clothes and live in a grand house. I have lived without all of that, so I do understand its worth.”

  Lady Cosgrove clucked her tongue. “I was not speaking of those things. They are all well and good, and believe me, I enjoy them. But I was speaking of your husband— of Mr. Vancer and the way he cares for you. To love and be loved is the greatest blessing.”

  “Coming from one who tried to deprive two people of that very blessing, I find your sentiment somewhat unbelievable.” Charlotte still could not forget the hurt done to Marsali; neither had she forgotten the way Lady Cosgrove had offered Charlotte herself up as a bride, without even consulting her first.

  “Bah.” Lady Cosgrove waved a hand in front of her face. “I did not believe Marsali and Mr. Thatcher were truly in love. They had known each other such a short time.”

  Not that short. Charlotte set about picking up Alec’s blocks. He would return from breakfast soon, and then the blocks would be scattered about the room once more; but until then, they provided her with something to do.

  “Mr. Vancer has fallen in love with you,” Lady Cosgrove said. “And it is plain to see that you love him as well.”

  “I don’t,” Charlotte refuted swiftly. Then more softly, “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Lady Cosgrove demanded.

  Charlotte changed topics. “Did you know William had been betrothed to someone before Lydia?

  “You mean that woman in England?” Lady Cosgrove did not seem the least concerned.

  England? “No. She is here,” Charlotte said. “Last night I overheard her bragging about eloping with another man the day she was to marry William.”

  “Astonishing,” Lady Cosgrove murmured. “I had no idea. I knew that he had been betrothed some years ago, when he was still living in England. They planned to marry and immigrate to America.” She turned in her chair to better see Charlotte. “I don’t know how much William has told you about his family, but he is the fifth son of a baron— and as such stood to inherit very little and had limited choices for employment. He was not content with this lot and so had saved up to pay for both his passage and his fiancée’s. Then came the day they were to marry and sail to America, and she changed her mind. He went alone.”

  Charlotte placed the last of the blocks in the crate where they belonged, then sat on the bed and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “Then that means that four times he has lost a fiancée— for one reason or another.” No wonder he acted as if he expected me to change my mind about marrying him.

  “I am glad you were not the fifth.” Lady Cosgrove stood abruptly. “I am fond of William. Our families go back a long time. He is a good man, and I should like to see him happy.”

  “I am doing my best,” Charlotte said.

  Lady Cosgrove crossed to the door but did not open it. “You are not doing any such thing but are holding yourself back from him.”

  “Of necessity,” Charlotte insisted. “I do care for him.”

  “Then show it,” Lady Cosgrove snapped. “Let your dead husband rest in peace, and honor his name and memory by loving again.”

  Charlotte lifted her head. “It is not so simple.”

  “I know it isn’t.” Lady Cosgrove’s tone softened. “But easier for you than Mr. Vancer. He is the one who has been continuously rejected. You, on the other hand, were blessed with a loving relationship.”

  “Precisely what makes this so hard,” Charlotte insisted.

  “Not so.” Lady Cosgrove shook a finger at her. “Think of how you loved your first husband. Had something happened to you, would you want him to be alone— to raise your son alone— the rest of his life?”

  “Of course not.” It would have been impossible for Matthew to care for Alec and work every day at the mill. And who would have cooked for them, washed their laundry… cared for and loved them? Charlotte swallowed uncomfortably.

  “Mmm. Hmm.” Lady Cosgrove nodded her head, as if following Charlotte’s thoughts. “Can you honestly believe that he would want you to be alone? Or would he wish you to be cared for, happy— loved?”

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte lied. She knew Matthew better than that, knew how selfless he’d been and that, no matter what, he would want the best for them, for she and Alec.

  “It’s a hard thing asked of us. I’ve been where you are, and I remember,” Lady Cosgrove said kindly. “But I also know that having loved before, you can again. Look to the future, Charlotte and the gift that has been given you.”

  December 31

  Their magical twelve days were over. It was time for William to return to work, to refocus his efforts on expanding Vancer Furs, to get back into his normal routine.

  Three things he had no interest in or intention of doing— at least not as they had been done before.

  “Checkmate.” Instead of sounding smug that she had beaten him for the third time in as many days, Charlotte somehow managed to sound humble. “Thank you for the game. You are improving quite rapidly.”

  “Having someone to play with makes quite a difference in that.” William stood, then wal
ked around the table to assist Charlotte. But instead of pulling her chair out right away, he placed his hands on her shoulders and began rubbing gently. After a few minutes he felt her body relax. “That’s better,” he murmured.

  He pulled the chair out and helped her up but did not release her hand, leading her with him over to the picture window. Snow was falling again, huge white flakes twinkling in the lamplight outside.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  He found the lowered volume of her voice telling and put his arms around her, while encouraging her to lean into him as she had once before. This time she did not hesitate, but complied at once, sighing as she did.

  “What was that for?” he asked. Not a sigh of frustration or resignation or despair, he hoped.

  “It was a sigh of contentment,” Charlotte said. “I am perfectly happy and content with my life.”

  Also not what he wanted to hear. “Don’t you ever want— more?” he asked boldly.

  “Only since the night we danced.”

  It took him a second to register her response and what appeared to be a confession. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, so he might look into her eyes.

  “Charlotte—”

  “You have been so patient, William.”

  “I have not,” he said.

  “All right, you have not.” They laughed together.

  “How were we to know?” he asked her, continuing their dance of words around the

  unspoken topic of their deepening feelings for one another. Our love.

  “We weren’t.” Charlotte placed her hands on the front of his shirt. “Miracles are like that, I suppose.”

  He prayed he was reading her right. “I don’t want to take anything away from your past.” But I want you to be my future.

  “You won’t.” She smiled, and he recognized the look of serenity that he had glimpsed in her the morning they were married. “I know that now. Matthew first taught me how to love, but you have reminded me where to find it.” Her hand slid to cover his heart.