Karen Hall's Christmas Historical Romance Anthology

by Hall, Karen

  Four years is a long time. She’s probably married with children by now. Probably doesn’t even live here anymore.

  But you would think a man with a Harvard education would insist his employer tell him where they were going instead of letting him keep it a secret.

  “Jackson! Have you fallen into a trance?”

  The raucous voice of his employer sent the memories shuttling back into place. “No, Mr. Higginbotham,” Jake said, forcing his thoughts to the day at hand. “Just looking at the area.”

  “I’ve heard tell it’s a pretty little place,” Cyrus Higginbotham tweaked his luxurious mustache. “Of course, I’ve only been to Nashville. May open a store there too.”

  “Is there a reason you chose Tyler instead of Nashville, sir?” Jake asked politely. At least if we were visiting Nashville, I wouldn’t run the risk of seeing Victoria Hawthorne again.

  “Heard Knoxville is a growing city.” Higginbotham beamed at him. “Thought with Tyler being just fifteen miles away it would afford the folks here a better opportunity to do their shopping closer to home, don’t you know. And get Knoxville folk to come here to shop. Boost Tyler’s economy and create jobs, don’t you know.”

  “Yes sir.” Jake contained his yawn at Higginbotham’s trademark phrase. The man had kept him up until past two in the morning, watching a shower of stars, convinced that Haley’s comet, his personal talisman, would appear as a sign of the success of his new adventure in Tyler, Tennessee. “Comet’s are like magic,” he’d - said, “making wishes come true.”

  Jake directed his gaze back out the window and listened to his late father’s voice shout back at him from the grave.

  Marry a girl from a hick town in Tennessee whose father is in trade? Have you lost your mind? Do you want to give your mother a nervous breakdown?

  The train’s braking pulled Jake out of the past. He watched the ever-silent Alfred, Higginbotham’s valet seated across the aisle, stand and begin unloading the smaller of their employer’s many bags from the overhead compartment. Jake did the same with his own, and waited for Higginbotham to put on his coat, hat, and scarf, step into the aisle and make his way briskly down the aisle.

  “Are we staying at a hotel?” Jake asked, trying to keep up. Despite being almost fifty, Cyrus Higginbotham was broad shouldered and fit, often leaving others behind with his brisk stride.

  “No room at the inns,” Higginbotham called cheerfully. “Appropriate for Christmas time, isn’t it? Don’t think we’ll have a white Christmas this far South. We’re going to stay with the man who runs the town’s largest department store. Met him at a buyer’s meeting years ago and keeps some of my stock at Tyler’s largest department store. Says his wife is an incredible cook. You like to eat, don’t you, Alfred?”

  “Yes sir.” Even at the suggestion of a good meal, Alfred’s permanently dour expression did not waiver.

  They followed Higginbotham out of his private car to step down onto the platform. A tall, -well-built man in dark blue overcoat and bowler hat, stood just under the awning leading to the station’s interior. Higginbotham waved in greeting and shouted, “Hello, James!”

  “Hello, Cyrus!” The man closed the distance between them in a few long strides, his hand outstretched – -. “Welcome to Tyler, Tennessee.”

  The men shook hands and Cyrus gestured over his shoulder. “This is my assistant, Jackson Dillon, and Alfred Bailey, my valet. Jackson, this is our host, James Hawthorne.”

  Hawthorne? Oh my God. Good manners required a different response instead of Jake’s silent petition to the Deity. “I’m very pleased to meet you Mr. Hawthorne,” he said, offering his hand. Hawthorne took it and gave it a hearty shake with a grin so like the blonde girl of recent memory that the old pain started in Jake’s chest.

  “My family and I are pleased to welcome you to our home,” Hawthorne told him. “I’ve hired a wagon to bring the luggage to the house. My carriage is waiting if you’ll just follow me.”

  “Excellent!” Higginbotham declared. “Can’t wait to meet your wife and family, don’t you know. Alfred, be a good fellow and see to the rest of the luggage.”The two older men headed toward the station and Jake looked at the powerfully built Alfred. “Do you need help?”

  The valet shook his head. “Go on.” He cast a baleful glance around the platform and added, “Do you think Himself could have dragged us any further from civilization?” His heavy New York accent suggested anywhere but that great metropolis was a barren wasteland.

  “Look at it this way,” Jake told him. “This far south, the chances of a snowstorm trapping us here are a million to one.” It was snowing when they left Manhattan.

  “Thank the Lord for that,” Alfred groused. “I best be seeing to the bags. You there, porter! Can you help me, please?”

  Jake left him to the business of the luggage and prayed that a certain young blonde woman who shared names with the last queen of England, would be anywhere but here in Tyler, Tennessee.

  Chapter Two

  Victoria Hawthorne locked her classroom door, eager to get home. More lively than usual because of the approaching holidays, her class of fifth graders had demanded every ounce of her patience this last day before the school holidays. A long soak in the claw-foot tub in her bathroom with an extra scoop of rose- scented bath beads to perfume the water would be just the thing to refresh her.

  Standing on the school’s porch, she glanced down the street for Henry, the family’s coachman and all around servant. Normally Victoria would have walked home, but a series of sneezes at the breakfast table this morning had convinced her mother--usually not given to “frets” about such things--that a cold was approaching and insisted Henry drive Victoria to and from school.

  “’lo, Miss Vicki!” Henry’s cheerful voice called, and she spied the little barrel-chested man driving the two-seater with D’Arcy, their black gelding leading the way. She hurried down the steps and climbed aboard when Henry pulled D’Arcy to a stop. Watson, the family’s cocker spaniel, thumped his tail in greeting.

  “Have our guests arrived, Henry?” she asked as they moved forward again. A breeze fluttered the fringes of the canopy above them, and Vicki clutched her coat. Cold weather had finally arrived. Even in December, temperatures in Tyler often remained higher than other places.

  “Yes, Miss Vicki. They arrived ‘bout two hours ago.” Henry turned D’Arcy around and headed back down the street. “And your mama’s had Minnie cooking as if the President of these United States himself was coming to dinner.”

  At his easy-going observations, Vicki gave the gray- haired man a fond glance. She couldn’t remember a time when Henry wasn’t with her family. He and his wife Minnie, the family cook, were the only ones who still called her ‘Vicki.’ “What are our visitors like?”

  “Mr. Higginbotham seems like a nice enough fella for a millionaire. Talks loud, but makes sense. The others--his valet and him that’s his secretary or some- such--hard to say. But--” the familiar twinkle started in Henry’s eyes. “The secretary’s not a bad -looking chap. Maybe you could get a beau out of all this excitement about the new store in town, if it does open.”

  “Hush,” Victoria commanded. She had sworn off beaus or any other romantic nonsense after her last year at Radcliffe. A broken heart was not exactly the kind of graduation present a young woman wanted or needed. Especially after being told her family wasn’t good enough.

  “Did you see any special stars or comets last night, Miss Vicki?” Like her, Henry was a devoted sky- watcher and they often spent evenings on the landing outside her bedroom, scanning the sky for celestial activity with her telescope.

  “No,” Vicki sighed. “This is the year for Haley’s Comet to be visible, but I don’t think we’ve spotted even a trace of it, do you?”

  “No, but maybe we’ll get lucky, seeing as how it’s a
lmost Christmas. Maybe that’s what the wise men saw.”

  “Maybe,” Vicki agreed. “It would be nice to make a Christmas wish on Haley’s Comet, wouldn’t it?”

  “It certainly would,” Henry agreed as they turned towards home. Lights flickered in the windows from the houses lining the streets, and Henry guided them towards the back of the Hawthorne home and the stable. They stopped, and Victoria climbed down. She came forward to stroke D’Arcy’s velvety nose, and he gently butted her hand with his head.

  “You rascal,” she chuckled, taking an apple from her coat pocket. “You never forget do you?” Giving apples to teachers was a school tradition in Tyler, and one firmly set in D’Arcy’s mind.

  The horse nodded as his mouth quickly took the apple from her hand and after another pat to his head, Victoria headed toward the back porch off the kitchen. Inside, Minnie waved in greeting with one hand, and kept stirring the contents of the pot simmering on the stove, with the other. Watson headed for his basket and a nap.

  “Your ma says you’re to go straight to the parlor, Miss Vicki,” she said. “I just sent in tea.”

  “Thanks, Minnie,” Victoria called, unbuttoning her coat. In the hallway, she gave it and her scarf to Liz, their housemaid and continued on to the parlor, smoothing her hair. Obviously her bath would have to wait until later.

  “--and of course, I would have dearly loved for one of my sons to follow me into the business but young people will have their own ideas and--ah, here’s - Victoria.” Her father’s words stopped as she entered, and her gaze went immediately to the tall dark-haired man standing before the fireplace, cup in hand.

  Oh my goodness. Make that two scoops of bath beads. No, three. Victoria’s heart began thumping at a rate more suited for making a mad dash from the room and up the stairs, which was of course, out of the question. What was Jackson Dillon doing in her home?

  “Hello, my dear.” Papa came to her side and kissed her cheek. “Come meet our guests.” His hand under her elbow hardly gave her any choice as he guided her to the fireplace. A silver-haired man rose from a wingback chair. Jackson Dillon remained motionless, but his eyes flickered in an uneasy dance, suggesting this meeting was not his idea either.

  “Cyrus Higginbotham, allow me to present my daughter, Victoria,” James introduced. “Victoria, this is Cyrus Higginbotham, founder of Haley’s Emporium and our guest for the next several days. The gentleman standing behind him is his assistant and secretary, Jackson Dillon.”

  “Delighted to meet you, Miss Hawthorne.” Mister Higginbotham bowed. “If I’d known there were such pretty young women in Tyler, I would have visited - long before now.” He chuckled at his own joke and her parents did the same.

  “Welcome to our home,” Victoria answered, folding her trembling hands together. Then silently apologizing for the lie, she added, “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Dillon.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Hawthorne.” So said his lips, but a similar lie shone in his cobalt- hued eyes.

  “You know each other?” Mama asked from the loveseat next to the teacart.

  “Yes, Mama. Mister Dillon and I belonged to the same debating society my last year at Radcliffe,” Victoria said, proud her voice didn’t wobble. “He’s very good with words and the turn of phrases.” Just like the words you used to capture my heart and then break it, you good-looking rat. And how incredibly unfair you’re still just as good-looking.

  “Well then, I’m glad I brought you along, Jackson,” Mr. Higginbotham said, rubbing his hands together. “Nothing like old friends meeting again, eh?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Victoria turned and went to sit beside her mother, returning her gaze to Jake’s face. How dare he come here? She’d bet that new hat in the front window of Stanhope’s Millinery shop he hadn’t forgotten she grew up in Tyler, Tennessee. He used to tease her about the alliteration.

  Might we one day have tea for two in Tyler, Tennessee?

  With tasty toast and ‘taters?

  Hush, or I’ll sing for you. Then you’ll never survive college to attend Harvard Law.

  She accepted a cup of tea from her mother. “Will you be in Tyler for long, Mister Higginbotham?”

  “Only until Sunday,” he said, seating himself again. “We don’t want to invade your home too much.” He picked up his plate from a nearby table, chose a scone and bit into it. “Delicious,” he pronounced. “Jackson, you’ve not eaten anything. Sit and try one of the sandwiches.”

  Nodding, Jake reluctantly joined his host on a matching loveseat opposite Mrs. Hawthorne and Victoria. Calling her Vicki as he once had somehow didn’t seem right.

  “How is your family, Mr. Dillon?” she asked, her tone as cool as a Long Island autumn breeze. “Are your parents well?”

  Her question scraped along his skin like steel wool. “I’m sorry to say they have both passed away, Miss Hawthorne. Three and a half years ago, to be exact. Only my sister and I remain.”

  Shock chased the ever-present rosiness from her cheeks and she put the cup aside. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Dillon,” she said softly. “I had no idea of your loss. Please forgive me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ve never been to Manhattan,” Victoria’s mother said quickly with the skill of a battlefield strategist. “Won’t you please describe it for me, Mr. Higginbotham?”

  Whether he recognized his hostess’ gambit or not, Cyrus Higginbotham plunged into a description of the area around his office, not far from Hyde Park, giving Jake the chance to remain silent and watch Victoria without -appearing to be staring at her. Her lush figure filling out her ivory shirtwaist and blue narrow skirt was just as he remembered. Frail, delicate women had never appealed to Jake. Victoria had been equal to any suggestion he offered - - - to row, ride or ice-skate, leaving all the other girls he knew in the shade.

  He had never met anyone quite like Victoria Hawthorne.

  “And the best thing about autumn in New York are the chestnut vendors,” Cyrus sighed, finishing his description. “There -are nothing like roasted chestnuts.” (Or you could write:…”there is nothing like a roasted chestnut”

  “Which is why our cook has prepared a chestnut stuffing for dinner tonight,” Mrs. Hawthorne said shyly. “James recalled it as one of your favorites. Do you like chestnuts, Mr. Dillon?

  Chestnuts. Another memory pierced its way through Jake’s invisible armor as the remembered taste of Victoria’s lips filled his mouth. “Yes to both, ma’am,” he said, draining his cup. Would it were something stronger than Earl Gray.

  Before he could ask for more, Victoria rose and crossed the carpet to take it from him. Her long, slender fingers brushed his, sending a blast of heat jolting up his arm. Her green eyes sparkled with the energy he recalled during their debate against a co-ed team from Yale and Vassar. He had often thought if one could harness her passionate energy, the world would have a new source of power. Victoria’s arguments had helped carry the day, and his heart quickened as he recalled the impromptu kiss they shared under a chestnut tree as he walked her to her dormitory at Radcliffe after the train ride back to Boston.

  She paused, deliberately- keeping her fingertips on his, pinning him to his seat with her gaze before turning to carry the cup back for his refill. Her return visit to him and back to rejoin her mother was far quicker.

  “Well, as soon as Jake has finished his tea, I’d like to freshen up before that fine meal you’ve promised us,”

  Higginbotham said. “Are you done, Jake?”

  “Yes sir.” Determined not to let her think she had won, Jake drank the rest of the Earl Gray, rose and carried the cup to his host’s daughter. He held it out, forcing her to touch his hand again. “Thank you, Miss Hawthorne,” he said, mimicking her gesture of fingertip to fingertip, and he recognized the minute movement of her teeth catchi
ng the edge of her lips between them. He had unsettled her. Good.

  “Then we’ll see you gentlemen at six-thirty for before dinner sherry,” Mrs. Hawthorne announced as the men headed for the door. Jake’s last glimpse of Victoria as he stepped into the hall was of her sitting, head slightly bowed, staring into his cup. Today was only Monday. It was going to be a long three days.

  Chapter Three

  December 21

  “And so, since he was born in the same year Haley’s Comet last appeared, Grandpappy decided he would name his first store after that event,” Mr. Higginbotham explained over breakfast. “He always said, ‘Hard work, honesty and thrift will take you far in business, but it doesn’t hurt to have a little heavenly help. Like I told Jackson, comets bring good luck.”

  Victoria’s parents laughed, and she managed a smile at the tycoon’s story. Jake sat in silence, sipping his coffee. Obviously he had heard the story more than once.

  “So, James.” Mister Higginbotham reached for his fork. “What do we have planned for today?”

  “I thought today we’d take the train out into the country,” Papa said. “Once we’re there, we can rent a cart and drive out to a Christmas tree farm.”

  “A Christmas tree farm?” Jake asked politely. “Do such things exist?”

  “They’re all over this part of Tennessee,” Victoria said with forced sweetness. Being near him the past few days--thank goodness her job gave her the perfect excuse to leave the house--had been an agony. Having to pretend the only thing between them was they had once belonged to the same debating society instead of being a couple in love was the hardest thing Victoria had ever had to do.

  And his smug, formal manner didn’t help one bit. Mama’s whispered comments to Millie about how beautiful his manners were didn’t help either. Victoria made a mental note to pray very hard at church tomorrow that the snow the Knoxville newspapers were predicting stay on the other side of the Cumberland Plateau, or at least until a certain too high-in-the instep personal assistant to a millionaire was long gone.