Karen Hall's Christmas Historical Romance Anthology

by Hall, Karen

  He looked up and his eyes widened . “Miss Barnwell?”

  “Good afternoon, Lord Brandon,” Cassandra said, still hesitating in the doorway. “I hope I’m not disturbing your work?”

  “Not at all. Please come in.”

  She stepped inside as he quickly rolled down his sleeves, buttoned the cuffs and pulled on a jacket he retrieved from the back of a nearby chair. Coming from behind the table, he met her half halfway and held out his hand. “I’m delighted to see you again, Miss Barnwell. Is Mrs. Barnwell with you?”

  “No, I’m here by myself.”

  This time it was his eyebrows that rose in question over startlingly green eyes. “Is that wise Miss Barnwell? You being here without a chaperone?”

  She smiled. “Aunt Laura won’t mind. And my great Aunt Tilda spends her Wednesday afternoons doing charity work. I’ll be home long before she is. “I should like to speak with you about a private matter, if you don’t mind.”

  “A private matter?” Brandon repeated and apprehension twisted his stomach ever so slightly. Young ladies did not usually call on gentlemen of a day’s acquaintance without a chaperone to speak about private matters. They did not even do so after six month’s acquaintance. But somehow he suspected Cassandra Barnwell was not the usual young lady, and accustomed to getting what she wanted.

  She looked quite striking today in her moss green coat and matching hat. The cold day had brightened her cheeks and intelligence shone in her dark, friendly eyes. No, Miss Cassandra Barnwell was not the typical young lady.

  What could she possibly want from him?

  “Perhaps we could go somewhere for tea?” she asked. “There’s a shop around the corner.

  “Very well. Just let me lock up.”

  A few minutes later found them seated at a table at Ivy’s Tea Shop After a smiling waitress took their order and left them alone, Brandon looked at his companion and said, “So, Miss Barnwell What is this private matter?”

  “I’d like to hire you to court me.”

  Brandon coughed violently, grateful he didn’t have a mouthful of tea. “You want to do what?” he gasped.

  “Just that. I’ d like to hire you to court me. You need the money, don’t you?”

  “Miss Barnwell, what the devil are you saying?” Good manners could go hang.

  She sighed as if annoyed by his seeming incomprehension. “It’s like this. My Great Aunt Tilda who means well, is the world’s biggest matchmaker. She is obsessed with finding a husband for me and the specimens-”

  “Specimens?”

  Miss Barnwell frowned Oh, very well. I mean the gentlemen-and I hesitate to call them that-she brings forward as possible suitors. They’re deplorable.She doesn’t even ask me if I want to meet them. She springs them on me and I’m forced to have tea with them. Yesterday she surprised me with three. All were dreary, vapid and stupid. You, on my first observation, are none of those things.”

  “Thank you,” Brandon said cautiously. “I think.”

  “You’re welcome. Here is my plan. I know funding for your next venture has been cancelled. I know your brother the Duke of Halstead disapproves of your work and also refuses to invest in it. I’m prepared to invest in your next venture provided you court me seriously enough to convince Society of your sincere intent. I have access to my money, you see. Later on, I’ll do something outrageous and you’ll have to break off the courtship to spare your family’s honor. You’ll have your money and I’ll be left alone, for no one would want to marry a woman whose behavior cost her a possible marriage to a duke’s brother and heir.”

  She paused as the waitress brought their order, and left. “What do you think?” Miss Branwell asked, as she filled their cups and picked up her own.

  “I think you’re mad.” Brandon expelled a breath before taking a grateful sip of Earl Gray.

  “I was afraid you’d say that.” Miss Barnwell put down her cup and propped her elbows on the table. “What’s wrong with my idea?”

  “Do you realize what you’re asking? “

  “Certainly,” she affirmed with a quick nod. “You need a backer and I’m prepared to supply you with the funds you need. All you have to do is pretend to court me until-oh, after Christmas when I’ll do something outrageous and you’ll break off the relationship. I’ll pay you in advance of course.”

  Her matter of fact tone chilled Brandon. “Do you realize what you’re asking? he repeated “ You’d be ruined socially if I ended this so called courtship. A gentleman would never do that to a lady.”

  “He would if she did something like get arrested.”

  “Arrested?” Brandon quickly put down his cup before it tumbled from his hand.

  “Oh, not for anything violent,” she amended. “I was thinking more of disturbing the peace at next year’s suffrage rally in Hyde Park. Your family would certainly disapprove of your courting a woman who did something like that.”

  “Is it your intent, then, never to marry?”

  To his surprise, color flooded her face and she lowered her gaze. She fiddled with her spoon for a moment before saying, “I would if I thought a man wanted me for me… and not just for my money. My parents married for love. So did my Uncle Bob and Aunt Laura. I refuse to marry for anything less than love.” The tremble in her voice only added to his confusion.

  “Miss Barnwell, I don’t understand. Why shouldn’t you be able to marry for love?”

  She lifted her gaze from the tablecloth and he saw her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Lord Brandon-”

  “Brandon,” he corrected gently. “My friends call me Brandon. “

  Her color deepened to a rosy hue, but she smiled at him. “Brandon, then. Look at me. I have wildly red hair, a face full of freckles, am outspoken to the last degree, and I’m plump. I am hardly the kind of woman to inspire love or passion in a man. At least-” her voice trembled again, “that’s what I’ve overheard on more than one occasion. They call me Freckles.”

  Plump? Trying not to stare, Brandon let his gaze travel over her. Miss Barnwell’s figure was luscious. She held curves in all the places a woman should have them. True, she did not resemble the dainty, porcelain girls filling London ballrooms each Season, but, Brandon had never wanted to hold porcelain in his arms. Too damn cold for one thing. And he had a particular fondness for freckles.

  “So you see it’s the size of my dowry that attracts the suitors,” she said with an air of finality. “Lots of zeros can inspire mock passion in a man. I know, for I’ve met a great many of them. But if scandal forces me off the marriage market, then the next time a man wants to court me, I will know it will be because he truly cares for me.”

  Still amazed by her suggestion, Brandon asked, “And you would really do this? To insure a man’s honest intent to court you?”

  “I’ve no other way. Will you help me? Please?’

  Brandon picked up his cup again, stalling for time. Her suggestion was wild, mad, and bordering on insanity.

  And itIt just might work.

  She would get the freedom to discern a man’s honest courtship, and he would have a financial backer. All for just spending time with her and pretending to court her.

  But what would happen after he was gone? Would she really be able to endure the censure that would follow her suggested plan for scandal? Only a rank coward would abandon her to such a fate and Brandon was not a coward.

  But still, to have his work endowed. . . “What did you have in mind, Miss Barnwell?”

  Her expression brightened. “Why don’t you join us at the opera tonight?

  Uncle Bob and Aunt Laura and I are going to see a special English production of The Magic Flute at the Lyceum with some friends. We’re having a late supper at home afterwards and we have an extra ticket. That is, if you like opera.”

 
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Brandon said. “Very well. Are you sure your aunt and uncle won’t mind?”

  “Not at all. They trust me, you see. “

  “What about your matchmaking great aunt Tilda?”

  Her laugh sent a wave of pleasure spiraling down his spine. “She will be so delighted that a duke’s brother is courting me, she will send away all other callers,” she said. “For that alone, I owe you thanks.”

  “Very well,’” he repeated. “What time shall I meet you at the Lyceum?”

  “Seven-thirty,” she said. “Thank you, Brandon. Oh, thank you.”

  She placed her gloved hand on his and warmth sparked through the silk

  and straight up his arm. The men of London must be suffering from collective stupidity not to see the charm in Miss Cassandra Barnwell. A faint warning bell rang in Brandon’s head but he only said, “I need to be getting back to work. Allow me to call you a cab.”

  He paid their bill and walked her outside. His whistle produced a cab and after she gave the driver her address, he helped her inside. After shutting the door, he bowed and said, “Until this evening, Miss Barnwell.”

  She smiled, lifted her hand in a gesture of farewell and the cab rolled away.

  ***

  If I thought you handsome in your shirtsleeves, it was nothing compared to now, Cassandra thought as her brain frantically searched for the memory of how to breathe.

  In immaculate black and white evening clothes that sculpted his broad shoulders, flat belly and long legs to perfection, Brandon Russell had quite literally stopped all conversation when he moved across the lobby of the Lyceum to greet her and her party. Aunt Laura greeted him with the warmth of two old friends meeting again, and Uncle Bob had accepted him as easily as if he met an aristocrat every day.

  In their box, she sat beside him trying to concentrate on the music, and not the faint scent of musk emanating from him, or the warmth radiating off his body. He was almost sinfully handsome, and more than once he turned his gaze away from the action on the stage and onto her. Her midnight blue gown showed a generous slope of shoulder, and more than a suggestion of a well-rounded bosom. For once in her life, Cassandra permitted herself the fantasy a man found her attractive. Heat threatened to scald her skin, but she kept the fan in her lap closed.

  Now, back at her family’s home, the evening was coming to an end. The other couple departed. Brandon-should she really be thinking of him like that so soon?-He sat one long leg crossed over the other, listening to Uncle Bob’s story about opening their third factory in Dundee. His eyes flickered over to her, and a smile hovered around the corners of his mouth. A single bead of perspiration escaped from under her hair to trickle slowly down her neck

  When Uncle Bob finished his story, their guest said, “I think your ideas for expansion are quite novel, Mr. Barnwell. Your workers should consider themselves fortunate to have such a benevolent employer. “

  “Treat your workers well and they’ll be yours for a lifetime,” Uncle Bob said cheerfully. “That has always been the Barnwell way.”

  “One that has obviously worked. And now there’s a question I would like to pose to you and Mrs. Barnwell.”

  “Of course, Mr. Russell,” Aunt Laura said. He had specifically asked them not to use his title at the first of the evening.

  He smiled again . “I should like permission to call on your niece while I’m I town. One seldom gets the chance to spend time with a young lady of her wit and sense of humor.”

  Her family exchanged glances and Aunt Laura asked, “Cassandra? What do you say?”

  Her heart hammering against her stays, Cassandra said, “I should like that very much, Aunt Laura.”

  “Well then the matter is settled, “ Uncle Bob said. “Please call anytime you like, Mr. Russell. “

  “Yes, do,” Aunt Laura urged. “We’re having an at home this Sunday night. Why don’t you join us?”

  “I’d be delighted. Now, it’s getting late and I still have a great many boxes of artifacts to unpack at the Museum tomorrow.”

  He stood and bowed to his hosts. “Thank you for a delightful evening. I look forward to seeing you on Sunday.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” Cassandra said, as she got to her feet.

  In the foyer, she gave him his coat and hat. “Bravo, Brandon,” she said softly.

  He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Do you think I made a good impression?”

  “Your including Aunt Laura in asking permission to call on me won you full points,” she replied. “She hates to be excluded in such things.”

  “Is she a suffragist like yourself?”

  “Yes. She’s organizing the rally I told you about.”

  Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Ah. The one where you will have yourself arrested and thereby ruin all future hopes for marriage.”

  “Yes,” she said again. “Thank you for agreeing to help me.”

  She took a small folded piece of paper from her pocket and pressed it into his hand. He opened it and his eyes widened nearly to the size of saucers. “Good Lord. This is a check for fifteen hundred pounds.”

  “I told you that I have access to my own money. Consider it a first installment.”

  “And you are really prepared to go to these lengths to discover a man’s true intent in courting you?” His tone was incredulous, as he pocketed her check.

  Something like sorrow crowded around her heart but she gave him a brave smile. “There really is no other way,” she said. “Marrying for anything less than true love is out of the question.” She held out her hand in farewell. “Good evening, Brandon.”

  To her surprise, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. His lips’ warmth flamed her skin and a heated flush swept over her body like a crashing wave.

  Then he stepped back, bowed slightly and said, “Good night, Cassandra.”

  And then he was gone.

  ***

  “Hold still,” Cassandra instructed as she carefully glued the cotton to Brandon’s eyebrows. “You can’t appear as Father Christmas with blonde eyebrows and a white beard.”

  It was a curious feeling to touch him. She had never done more than shake his hand, or put her own hand around his arm. But to touch his face seemed terribly, terribly intimate and she forced herself to concentrate on her work, and not look into his eyes.

  “I suppose not,” he said. “How are you going to explain Father Christmas appearing early to the children?”

  Laughing, Cassandra said, “I’m going to tell them that word has reached you that they have been particularly good, and you have come to thank them. As soon as the Christmas pantomime is finished, I’ll lead you on stage and you’ll pass out gifts and candy. Then we’ll have high tea.”

  This time she could not escape the mirth filled glance he shot her. “This is a Barnwell tradition for the children of their London employees?”

  “We’ve done it for years,” she said proudly. “But this is the first time we’ve ever had visit from Father Christmas.”

  “Whose idea was that?”

  Cassandra stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Mine, actually. But the gentleman we had originally hired turned his ankle and we could find no one else.” She took the false white beard and hat from the table and gave it to him. “I think you’re ready.”

  He dutifully put them on and stood. It had taken two enormous pillows stuffed inside the rented red and white suit to make him appear fat enough for a true Father Christmas. If she had not helped prepare him, she never would guess that hidden underneath the Christmas finery was the strongly built figure of the man with whom she was now hopelessly in love.

  It was beastly unfair, but she had no one but herself to blame. She had asked him, hired him to court her. It had all seemed so simple. C
ourt her and convince any other possible suitors to keep their distance-which they had-while he pressed his own suit. Over the past few weeks, they had viewed picture exhibitions, gone to the theater and attended parties with Uncle Bob and Aunt Laura and every day he had sent flowers. The gossip columns declaimed their doings on a near daily basis. Great Aunt Tilda was beside herself with joy.

  She had not expected to fall in love.

  “Penny for your thoughts, Cassandra.”

  His soft baritone intruded on her thoughts and she shook herself from her reverie. “Just mentally going over the gift list,” she offered. “Shall we go? Don’t forget the toy bag.”

  She led him from the back room and towards the Assembly Hall of Barnwell’s Fair Street factory. The excited shouts and laughter of children echoing from the hall showed the pantomime was already started.

  They stopped at the stage door and she put a finger to her lips. “Not a sound now,” she warned.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Are you nervous about tonight?”

  “Not at all,” she lied. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Tonight his brother the Duke of Halstead was hosting a grand ball for his half-sister’s approaching wedding. Great aunt Tilda had fainted dead away when the heavily embossed invitation arrived at the house. Aunt Laura and Uncle Bob received one as well. Cassandra’s ball gown had been delivered this morning and she could think of no better way to calm her nerves than by helping with this afternoon’s pageant.

  She opened the door and they silently climbed the stairs leading to the stage. The performers finished the final act to a much clapping and exited on the opposite side of the stage. Cassandra took a deep breath and walked out. “Good afternoon, boys and girls!” she called.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Barnwell” they shouted in return.

  “I’m so glad you are here today, “ she continued. “We have a lovely surprise for you. Because all of you have been very, very good, this year, someone wants to thank you. Father Christmas, are you there?”