Wishing Upon A Christmas Star (The Seven Curses of London Book 8)

by Lana Williams

  Wishing Upon A Christmas Star

  Book VIII of The Seven Curses

  of London Series

  A Victorian Romance Novella

  Lana Williams

  Wishing Upon A Christmas Star

  By Lana Williams

  Wishing Upon a Christmas Star...

  Violet Fairchild longs to follow in her sisters’ footsteps and make a difference with those less fortunate but fears she lacks the courage to take on the ills of London alone. When an elderly couple next door is in need of assistance, she jumps at the chance to fulfill their wish to recreate a Christmas from their past, for it answers a wish of her own.

  Might bring more than you bargained for.

  Baxter Adley has spent the past few years rebuilding his family’s fortune in India. He’s weary of foreign shores but reluctant to return to England. Not with the sting of rejection from a lady still fresh, and not until he replaces the fortune his father lost. His trip home is quickened when he receives an alarming letter from his parents about a do-gooder he fears intends to steal the fortune he’s rebuilt.

  Violet is shocked by the angry, if handsome, son her neighbors rarely mentioned who refuses to believe his parents are in dire straits. His kisses weaken her knees even as he insists his parents don’t need her help. She prepares to go to battle on their behalf only to realize more than a joyful Christmas is at stake.

  Violet is nothing like Baxter expected. She’s beautiful, if opinionated, and before he knows it, he’s agreed to help her give his parents a special holiday. Can a Christmas wish give this unlikely pair not only a memorable holiday but the start of a perfect future together?

  Other books in The Seven Curses of London series:

  TRUSTING THE WOLFE, a novella, Book .5

  LOVING THE HAWKE, Book 1

  CHARMING THE SCHOLAR, Book 2

  RESCUING THE EARL, Book 3

  DANCING UNDER THE MISTLETOE, Book 4, a Novella

  TEMPTING THE SCOUNDREL, Book 5, a Novella

  FALLING FOR THE VISCOUNT, Book 6

  DARING THE DUKE, Book 7

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  Table of Contents

  Other Books in The Seven Curses of London Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Other Books By Lana

  About The Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Bombay, India 1871

  Baxter Adley stepped onto the terrace of a bungalow in Bombay, needing a moment away from the party he attended. His nose twitched at the warm night air that was filled with exotic fragrances. Would his English senses ever grow accustomed to the sights, sounds, and humidity of this country even after living here for nearly three years?

  Thoughts of home pulled at him more and more frequently of late. Was it some instinct that called him back? Or merely a morose mood brought about by the idea of once again spending Christmas so far away from England. November would soon be here, and that had him thinking of the holidays, despite the lack of anything resembling mistletoe or snow in India.

  With a sigh, he set aside his glass of gin and leaned against the wrought-iron railing that lined the terrace to study the night sky. A banyan tree with its wide-reaching roots and impressive canopy blocked part of his view. Though he reminded himself that if he were in London, the stars would no doubt be covered by soot and clouds, it didn’t stop the ache in his chest at the thought of his mother and father and all else familiar that he’d left behind. Unfortunately, life as he’d known it in England no longer existed, stolen by a professional thief who’d convinced his elderly father to invest in a “fool-proof” plan.

  His parents had moved to a more modest residence shortly after his departure, his father determined to reduce expenses after the poor decision that nearly ruined them. Hence Baxter’s venture to India. As their only child, it was his responsibility to return financial stability to the family.

  Trading tea, cotton, and gemstones along with a few other select items had proven lucrative. Diversity was key. Never again would one poor choice put his family’s income at risk, even when presented by a schemer intent on tricking others. Worst of all, the ruse had stolen his father’s confidence and zest for life. He no longer trusted himself to make investment decisions or any others, it seemed. Baxter hoped that would return with time, and that his own accomplishments—along with the money he sent each month—gave his parents some measure of security along with happiness.

  While Baxter received letters from home, it was impossible to read between the lines to know their true status. His father had been so dispirited and his mother little better when he’d left. Were they truly enjoying life despite their reduced circumstances? He certainly hoped so.

  The two to three-week journey between the countries discouraged trips home. In truth, he worried a visit to London would tempt him to remain there, bringing an end to his business. He intended to move back eventually, but not until he’d refilled the coffers to the extent that his parents wouldn’t have to worry ever again.

  These years on foreign shores had forced him to determine who he was without the trappings of wealth. He didn’t know how he’d fit in when he returned to London as a businessman instead of part of the aristocracy. Though his father would probably never hold a title as the third son, their previous family wealth had held open many doors. The funds Baxter had earned didn’t compare.

  The uncertainty of his own future caused him to be in no hurry to return to London, despite missing his parents. Besides, going home meant the possibility of another rejected suit from a prospective bride. He’d fancied himself in love with Lady Alice Hayes and thought the feeling mutual. But word of his changed circumstances had spread like fire, and she’d quickly snuffed his budding feelings, leaving him in no doubt that he was not enough without money. The pain of that moment still stung.

  Surely this longing for family and home would soon pass. He could blame the feeling on the gin. His current life might be lonely and filled with financial interests rather than personal connections, but he preferred it that way. Keeping business his priority instead of pleasure allowed him to send a substantial portion of his profit home for his mother and father, an ability that filled him with pride and satisfaction.

  He’d suggested his parents find a larger home in his last letter, but they insisted they had all they needed in their current residence. The idea of them once again living comfortably—if modestly compared to their former life—brought a smile to his lips, something that was a rarity these days.

  For now, his days were filled with purpose, which gave him a certain amount of contentment. Happiness would have to wait.

  He shook his head, aware he should be inside, making more of the connections that earned him business, not alone on the terrace with thoughts of home and Christmas.

  With a long, slow breath, he braced himself against the longing and attempted to stuff it deep inside where it normally remained buried. Where he needed it to stay, so he could focus on increasing his business.

  Yet his eyes betrayed him and wandered upward. An unusually bright star above the horizon caught his notice.

  And held it.

  The pure beauty
of it stole his breath, much like a brilliant crystal gemstone he’d recently traded. His mother would call it a Christmas star, an omen of how wonderful the holiday would be, and a reminder of the reason for the celebration.

  “I wish,” he whispered, yet he couldn’t bring himself to finish. Doing so out loud would release that longing, and he feared he couldn’t bury it again. Instead, he closed his eyes and finished the wish silently, unable not to.

  For a life as big and bright and as full of hope and joy as the star.

  Scoffing at his wayward thoughts, he opened his eyes, unsurprised to find nothing had changed. He reached for his drink and reminded himself he hadn’t expected anything. Life was much simpler when expectations were minimal.

  He glanced one last time at the Christmas star and returned inside, determined to forget it. After all, hope and joy were luxuries he could still not afford.

  ~*~

  London, England

  Miss Violet Fairchild placed a finger on her bedroom windowpane and traced a path around the unusually bright star visible in the crisp October sky.

  “I wish...” She paused, hesitating to finish the thought. The brightness of the star suggested it held a special power. She didn’t want to waste a wish like that on something trivial.

  What did she want?

  With a sigh, she realized she wasn’t quite sure. On the one hand, she had nothing about which to complain. She had a roof over her head, plenty of food to eat, and a warm bed in which to rest. As she’d learned of late, not everyone in London had those things that only a few years ago, she’d taken for granted.

  Yet a certain restlessness filled her. Did she wish for happiness? How could she when she wasn’t certain why true joy eluded her? Nor was she unhappy. Perhaps a better word was discontent.

  She’d seen this restlessness in her older sisters. Each of them had solved the problem by finding a purpose, claiming a cause. Why did the thought of doing so form a knot in the pit of her stomach?

  Though alike in appearance with blonde hair and blue eyes, she was different than her sisters on the inside, where it counted. She had a terrible flaw that she detested, and she’d found no way to overcome it—a lack of courage.

  The realization had come to her when her eldest sister, Lettie, had first become involved with a cause. Violet had been appalled to hear the details of her sister’s treks into the East End and what she’d done.

  Her other sisters, Rose and Dalia, had followed in Lettie’s footsteps in their own ways. Each had been rewarded for their efforts and found not only a purpose but the love of an amazing man.

  Logic followed that if Violet wanted the same things in her life, she needed to find a way to help others less fortunate. A difficult task when the thought felt so overwhelming.

  The East End was the most obvious place to offer assistance. But it was also an intimidating area, filled with people who lived in an entirely different version of London than she did. Desperation was a living, breathing entity there, and she didn’t know how to navigate it.

  All she knew was that she was ready for more in her life. Helping others was the obvious way to fulfill that need.

  But how?

  She studied the star more closely, hoping for an answer. Hoping for the right words to make her wish the best and brightest one, just like the star.

  Her breath caught as it came to her.

  “I wish for something new and meaningful in my life.”

  Somehow, those words felt just right, filling her with hope and anticipation.

  Chapter Two

  Violet smiled with satisfaction at the embroidery piece on which she worked. The festive holly design on the handkerchief was quite striking and would make an excellent gift for one of her four sisters for Christmas.

  While her parents didn’t do much to celebrate the holiday, Violet thoroughly enjoyed it. Christmas Day meant a festive meal, often held at one of her sister’s homes, along with the exchange of gifts. She promised herself that when she had a family of her own, she’d make a true celebration of the season and begin her own traditions.

  “Why do you think Mr. and Mrs. Adley next door don’t have more servants?” asked Holly, her younger sister by three years.

  Violet looked up from her needlework to see Holly nibbling on a biscuit and peering out the window. Again. “A better question might be why you insist on spying on the neighbors.”

  Holly loved nothing more than a good mystery. Whether she found it within the pages of a book or in the world around her mattered little. The problem was that she often invented them.

  “I’m not spying.” She frowned at Violet over her shoulder. “Mother insists I restrain from such behavior. I prefer to think of it as taking an interest in the wellbeing of our neighborhood.”

  “Hmm.” Violet raised a brow, wondering if Holly truly believed her own excuse. All the same, Violet couldn’t resist setting aside her needlework to join Holly at the window.

  She’d noticed more and more signs of decreased circumstances next door as well. The older couple had moved in nearly three years ago, but they’d seen less of them as time passed. The Adleys rarely attended gatherings anymore. The paint along the windows of their home was peeling. Their gardens were in desperate need of pruning, but nothing had been done to halt the overgrowth.

  “I wonder if their funds have become tight,” Violet said.

  “I thought the reason they moved here from their previous home was that they’d fallen on difficult times.”

  Violet had heard that as well, but she didn’t confirm the rumor as she didn’t want to encourage Holly to share the information with others. Violet preferred to think of herself as above gossip, though she was as curious as her sister.

  “What if they’ve become so pressed for money that they’re starving at this very moment?” Holly glanced at the biscuit she held in her hand. “Perhaps we should bring them some of the cook’s treats. We could spare a cake or two.”

  “I hardly think anyone living in this neighborhood is so poor as to be unable to buy food.” But as Violet stared at the house, she realized it showed a definite lack of maintenance, more so than she’d previously noticed. Could there truly be a problem?

  The idea of venturing next door with a basket of treats intrigued her. She’d met the couple on several occasions, and they seemed nice enough. In truth, she’d been longing to help those less fortunate. However, she hadn’t managed to find the courage to go to the East End to locate someone in need, as her sisters had.

  Lettie, the eldest, had surprised her family by insisting on helping neglected children. That mission had taken her into several inappropriate places near the East End.

  Rose, the next in line, had caught the eye of a duke and now did some charitable work as part of her position as a duchess, though Violet didn’t think she’d ever ridden through the East End in her carriage, let alone stepped foot there.

  Dalia had saved their maid from certain disaster by convincing her not to become a fallen woman, which had placed her in danger on more than one occasion.

  Luckily, their parents hadn’t realized her sisters’ activities until they were over. Violet doubted they knew to this day just what Lettie or Dalia had done.

  Violet had concluded that she was simply not as brave as her sisters. This lack bothered her more than she cared to admit, and she was determined to remedy the situation.

  In truth, she was surrounded by brave women. Her cousin, Sophia, had confronted danger when she’d played a part in saving the Royal Albert Hall from anarchists. Even her friend, Lillian, had found the fortitude to visit some seedy apothecary shops to track down an unsavory character placing additives in alcohol with poisonous side effects.

  What had she, Violet, done? Nothing. Not one thing.

  The lack vexed her and left her feeling like a failure. It wasn’t as if she could purchase courage at a local shop. She’d tried researching the topic in several books, but they hadn’t helped in the least. She still
had no nerve for action of that sort. Somehow, she had to find a way to change that.

  She’d even read The Seven Curses of London cover to cover twice over, but no ideas on how or who to aid had come to mind. At least, not any that didn’t place her in danger. The book shared the author’s view of the seven worst problems facing London. Her sisters had found answers and ideas within the pages but reading the details the author shared kept Violet up at night with images of starving children begging for money and professional thieves ready to pounce on her.

  Could the small act of aiding the neighbors help her learn to be brave? Not all of those in need lived in the East End.

  “What are you thinking?” Holly asked, eyes narrowed as she studied her.

  “Nothing.” If she decided to do this, she needed to do it on her own. Bringing Holly along would be cheating. She couldn’t use her sister as a crutch for courage.

  “Holly?” Their mother entered the drawing room, reticule in hand. “Are you coming with me to the milliner’s?”

  “I suppose.” Holly didn’t care for shopping, but she enjoyed new things and already had good taste in fashion, assuming their mother didn’t manage to influence her overmuch.

  “Would you care to join us, Violet?” her mother asked.

  “No, thank you.” She pointed toward her embroidery. “I’m going to continue with my needlework.”

  Her mother glanced at the piece, giving a nod of approval. “Your stitches are nice and even. Holly, did you see how lovely her stitches are?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Holly said with a scowl at Violet. She disliked needlework. “They’re very good. Shouldn’t we be going?”

  Violet hid a smile at Holly’s attempt to avoid a lecture on how she should spend less time reading and more time pursuing the attributes of a lady, a favorite lecture of their mother’s.

  Luckily, Violet didn’t receive that particular lecture as she enjoyed needlework, drawing, and shopping, unlike her sisters. She feared that had something to do with her lack of courage. Could the two possibly be tied together?