Improper Christmas

by Reed, Kristabel

  Improper Christmas

  Scandalous Encounters

  by Kristabel Reed

  Copyright © 2015 by Kristabel Reed

  Smashwords Edition

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  A Wicked ePub® Original Publication

  ISBN 13:

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Formatted by: CyberWitch Press

  Chapter One

  Chesham, England

  November 1817

  “I wish I wasn’t so cold.”

  Miss Lillian Norwood smoothed a hand down the black silk of her gown. It was entirely too thin for winter, but was one she knew would dye best — and one that laced up the front. She shivered in the coolness of her bedroom and looked longingly at the banked fireplace.

  Since arriving in this small cottage she felt the cold seep into her bones, wrapping around her in a frigid embrace. Even with the fire blazing, she found it difficult to warm herself. She could no longer afford a large stack of wood as she once had, and no matter how many blankets she used, she continued to shiver at night.

  Even now, with the shutters pulled tight against their windows, the cottage was draughty, and wisps of chilled wind wrapped around her ankles and slithered up her skirts.

  Seated on her vanity stool, Lillian wrapped the blanket more securely around her legs and tucked it under her feet. The too-thin silk gown would have to do. It was the only dyed dress she possessed.

  The entire country mourned the death of Princess Charlotte not two weeks before, and all dressed appropriately for the death of a royal.

  None here in her new home would suspect Lillian also mourned the death of her father. She kept that to herself, her private grief.

  Lillian looked once more at her reflection in the small looking glass and allowed herself to drop the carefully constructed walls around her heart. Her father died six weeks ago now, and in those weeks Lillian packed up what few belongings she owned and moved a hundred miles from Essex to Buckinghamshire.

  Away from the pitying looks and incessant whispers of neighbors and so-called friends. Away from the gossip that hounded her for years. And far, far away from the man she should have married. But Lord Granville fell in love with another.

  He chose the daughter of a merchant rather than Lillian, the granddaughter of a viscount. And now that woman trailed scandal and gossip in her wake.

  Lillian sighed. She felt a moment’s empathy for the other woman. No one deserved the vicious tongues of the ton or to be splayed across the broadsheets like that.

  Though she’d never had her name in print, Lillian knew all too well what it was like to ignore the gossips, to pretend she hadn’t heard their mutterings about her fortunes, her lack of marriage opportunity.

  Even if she offered Edmund a way out, she hadn’t done so for selfish reasons. She truly had not. Even if Edmund never married her, her timing, as always, had been impeccably misguided.

  She shook her head, forced those thoughts away, and focused her gaze on her reflection. Her features were pale and delicate, though she’d never been one to draw attention to herself. It had not been practical while attending to her father and expecting a proposal from Lord Granville.

  Tonight she did her best.

  Drawing a deep breath, she once more locked away the past, and all the conflicting emotions that came with it. She was in Chesham where no one knew her name, her past, her associations.

  With carefully steady hands, Lillian tucked a strand of dark brown hair into the simple style and secured her hair combs. She brushed her fingers beneath her hazel-green eyes, pinched her cheeks just a touch, and stood.

  She wore one of her nicer dresses, with now-black ribbons decorating the neckline. It was perfect for meeting new neighbors and attending her first ball in the new county that was now her home.

  Her fresh start. At four and twenty, there were not many months left before society considered her a spinster.

  Turning from the vanity, Lillian folded her blanket at the edge of her bed. Picking up her wrap, she walked downstairs. Her only possessions in the simple cottage adorned her bedroom. Everything else, from the barely passable watercolors lining the upstairs hallway and staircase to the threadbare rugs, belonged to her landlords.

  They promised to purchase new rugs, before the new year. And while the cottage was not necessarily fit for a pauper, it also did not suit her.

  Lillian ignored the furnishings. For now, they suited her needs and were not uncomfortable or painful to look at.

  She settled on the settee; the parlor was darkened save for a single candelabra on a side table. She banked the fire hours earlier, already locked the rest of the house, and now simply waited. With no servants to see to her needs, she needed to learn to see to her own.

  Tilting her chin up just the slightest, Lillian released a long, slow breath. The past was buried in Essex and could not touch her here. This was her new life, her fresh start. And she’d see it happen, one way or another.

  Lillian did wonder what sorts of prospects were available in this village. There were five villages in close proximity that shared the assembly hall; surely that offered a variety of eligible men who didn’t mind her… age. And then there was London — she could stay with a friend come spring. Have one final season.

  Yes, that was likely her finest prospect, London.

  She didn’t mind the need to change her home, not any longer. There were moments where Lillian wished she had simply stayed in London. Where she knew others and had friends and a social life.

  Here, in Chesham, the unknown spread before her.

  On the one hand, Lillian preferred the familiar. On the other, there truly was no choice, and she accepted that.

  She straightened, stood from the settee, and pushed those thoughts aside. That was not the way to start anew. Dark and discouraging, thoughts such as those only weighed her down.

  The clip-clop of horses sounded outside the cottage, and she turned for the door. Mrs. Alice Miller, her landlady, shouted for her in the high-pitched tone of a woman used to being obeyed.

  Lillian sighed but did not dawdle. They were kind to drive her to the ball and would no doubt provide commentary on those she’d meet once there. And, Lillian thought as she locked her front door and slipped the key into her reticule, proper introductions.

  The November wind cut through her clothing, biting and freezing. Lillian ignored it best she could and waited for the Millers’ footman to open the door for her. She smiled her thanks and entered the dimly lighted interior. The single lantern swayed as the carriage set forward.

  “Good evening,” Lillian said and settled on the bench.

  Alice scrutinized her gown, her eyes sharp even in the dim interior. The black gown peeked through her pelisse, and Alice’s gaze seemed to focus in on that.

  “We shall all be so somberly dressed this evening.” Alice sighed with more drama than necessary. “It’s such a tragedy, the princess’s passing.” She sniffed but did not give either Lillian or her husband a chance to speak. “Pity the ball is not two weeks hence. We’d all wear such brighter colors.” />
  Nigel Miller nodded but remained silent. Lillian wondered if that was his preference. Alice spoke enough for both of them.

  “I cannot wait until you attend a Chesham ball not shrouded in death,” Alice continued. “We certainly know how to host a festive evening.”

  “I look forward to that night,” Lillian said evenly. She added a small smile to ease her words and do her best to engage the couple.

  “Are you settling into the cottage well?” Nigel asked after a brief silence.

  She nodded. “Yes, thank you. It’s very charming,” she said with more warmth in her voice.

  She was not used to people asking such mundane questions. Her acquaintances in Essex often went straight for the juiciest gossip.

  “It is quaint, is it not?” Alice asked, nodding appreciatively. “We’ve ordered the rugs and they should arrive in a fortnight.”

  “Thank you,” Lillian said and relaxed into her seat. The rug over her lap provided warmth and allowed her to relax further.

  “Everyone in the village is so excited to meet you at tonight’s ball,” Alice continued and now eyed her speculatively. “The Lansdowne sisters are in need of a companion and I’ve mentioned your name.”

  Taken aback, all the warm relaxation she felt disappeared. Straightening, her back rigid, Lillian coolly eyed her landlady. She tilted her head and felt all her defenses rapidly rebuild.

  “Oh?” she asked neutrally.

  For several long heartbeats, the carriage rocked in silence. The wind whipped outside, sneaking through the door and covered windows. Its chill settled around her heart in a tight fist.

  Alice nodded decisively. “Yes, of course. I know you wouldn’t wish to burden Lord Granville’s estate forever. And a position of a companion is entirely respectable for a woman of your age.”

  Lillian stiffened even further, if that were possible. Her fingers ached from where they gripped the rug covering her lap, and she had to consciously unclench her jaw. Swallowing her harsh words, Lillian took a breath to school her features.

  “The men in this village prefer their marriage prospects much younger,” Alice continued, oblivious to Lillian’s discomfort. Or seemingly so. “Why,” Alice went on with a pat on Nigel’s arm, “Mr. Miller and I married when I was practically still a babe in my mother’s arms!”

  Lillian glanced at Nigel, who looked slightly pained but remained dutifully silent. With the way Alice Miller talked to and over everyone, she didn’t blame him. Clearly he’d be of no help in steering the conversation from topics she had no desire to speak of.

  She had to force her lungs to breathe, to accept air. Slowly in, hold, slowly out.

  She lived in this village for five days, and already strangers planned the next step in her life. Once more Lillian floundered, adrift in the fast-flowing river her life had become.

  Pulling back the curtain, Lillian looked outside. Mayhap it snowed. Or rained. Or there was a specter in the field. Anything to change the topic of conversation. Thankfully, they seemed to have arrived.

  “Is that the Chesham Assembly Hall?” she asked with forced cheer.

  “Oh, we’ve arrived!” Alice gushed. “Yes, yes. Is it not a handsome hall? Still,” she continued without a breath, “the roof needs mending, and the rear windows are cracked from a storm last winter. Do stay to the front of the hall if you prefer to stay warm.”

  Nigel grunted. It may have been a long-suffering sigh, but Lillian ignored him. It seemed he was used to that.

  “Anything by the fireplace,” Alice went on. “There you’ll be certain to survive the evening without a chill.”

  Alice banged on the ceiling of the carriage. “Do stop here, Fenton!” she shouted.

  The carriage rolled to a stop and Nigel hopped out, not bothering to wait for Fenton. He handed her out then Alice, who continued to ramble on about the best position to remain warm and the disgracefulness of the declining hall.

  Lillian ignored her. The November wind cut through her and bit at her cheeks. A hint of rain scented the air, but did not spill, not yet. She ignored that, too. Wrapping her pelisse tighter around her, she held her head high and masked her emotions.

  She’d been wrong. This wasn’t a fresh start; this wasn’t a new life for her. Already the gossips nipped at her heels.

  Nigel disappeared the moment they handed over their wraps, but Alice wrapped her hands around Lillian’s arm as if they were childhood friends, and she steered her into the crowded room. Where, of course, everyone stared at them.

  Of course they did. She was the new person here, the woman with the mysteriously secret past whom only Alice, her landlady, even knew a hint of. The charity case. She tilted her chin higher but forced her features to relax. As accustomed as she was to being stared at, and gossiped about, Lillian had never quite learned not to let it affect her.

  If she truly wished for a new beginning, today was the day she let everything wash over her. She drew in a deep breath, scented the cloying perfumes and moderately expensive candles, and nodded cordially.

  Alice nearly tittered beside her.

  Lillian refrained from licking her lips or twisting the reticule about her wrist. She held herself unnaturally still as Alice all but pulled her deeper into the assembly hall. She expected to be introduced to the groups of chattering women. After all, it was the polite thing to do.

  Instead, Alice Miller guided her toward one corner, nearest the fireplaces she’d spoken so highly of, and a pair of elderly women.

  Oh. The Lansdowne sisters.

  Her stomach churned in nauseous acceptance, and Lillian swallowed whatever comments she might have made. She wanted to look around, meet others here. Listen to the stories those gathered might share. Lillian wanted to be a part of Chesham, of the society these five villages offered.

  That was not to be tonight, and a wave of disappointment engulfed her. Alice Miller attempted to cage her in, though she no doubt saw her introductions as a kindness.

  Lillian shouldn’t resent it, but she did. She resented her situation and the fact so many knew of it. It was difficult to fall so far. To have one’s life changed so completely.

  The Lansdowne sisters looked nothing alike. One was slender, with dancing green eyes and gray hair streaked with black. The other was shorter, even sitting, and younger and heavy, set with light brown hair and the same green eyes.

  “Mrs. Miller.” A woman with tightly coiled brown hair and sparkling whisky-colored eyes stepped directly into their path. “I understand Mrs. Martins was looking for you.”

  Alice brightened. “Oh!” she said and immediately released Lillian’s arm. “Oh my, yes.”

  Without a backward look or a word in farewell, Alice disappeared into the crowd. Lillian breathed a sigh of relief. The nameless woman watched the retreating Alice for a moment then turned those sparkling whisky eyes on her.

  “Don’t take it as a slight, dear,” she said in a low whisper. “Mrs. Miller is always attentive to Mrs. Martins.” She leaned closer and grinned wider. “She always wants a position of honor at Mrs. Martins’s dinner parties.”

  Lillian returned the smile, pleased to note it felt natural. She cast around for a polite way to introduce herself to this stranger. It’d been many years since she didn’t know all in attendance, or at least enough people to forge an introduction.

  “Miss Norwood, I presume,” the woman said before Lillian hit upon a polite conversational opening.

  “Yes,” Lillian answered, only slightly surprised. “How — ”

  “Oh” — she waved a hand — “you’ve been the chatter all around the village. Lord Granville’s ward, come to live in Chesham.”

  She turned slightly and guided Lillian away from the fire and the Lansdowne sisters. She didn’t slip her hand through Lillian’s arm in an overly friendly manner, but did project an air of intimacy nonetheless.

  “Most of the chatter is simply speculation,” she continued. “Though I am acquainted with Lord Granville. And while you and
I have never met, I have heard your name.”

  Lillian nodded stiffly. What had this woman heard? Did she know all of Lillian’s past? Did she know Lillian should not be here, at this ball? That her father’s death was not as long ago as she may have implied?

  She refrained from muttering about gossips and rumors and remained silent. It was her only defense against such things anymore.

  “You have me at a disadvantage,” Lillian said nonchalantly. And with a possible hint of ice. Just a hint. “I do not know your name.”

  The woman’s eyes, alive with humor and secrets, watched her for several long moments. Then she smiled with a wide, charming curve of her lips that made Lillian want to trust her. At the very least, she wanted to know this woman who interacted so casually with Chesham society.

  “My name is Camilla Primsby,” she said with confidence, as if Lillian ought to know who she was. “And do forgive the intrusion, but no young woman should be subjected to the incessant chatter of the Lansdowne sisters.”

  Lillian’s lips twitched, but she didn’t give into the temptation of a smile. Mrs. Primsby acted kind enough, but Lillian knew the sort. Most likely, she wanted to be the first with all the gossip about the new woman in the village.

  “Mrs. Miller believes I should make an appropriate companion to the Lansdowne sisters,” Lillian said in that same unflappable voice.

  She began to wonder if it was possible for her to speak in any other manner. She missed the days of laughter and teasing with people she believed to be friends. Lillian bit back an angry sigh. That was in the past, dead and buried.

  “Oh dear heavens,” Mrs. Primsby said, and she sounded truly horrified.

  Chapter Two

  Lillian blinked at the other woman’s heartfelt horror.

  “Incessant chatter should be no determent against a woman’s employment,” she told Camilla with all the coolness she retained. “Is there some other malady the Lansdowne sisters possess?”

  “They’re perfectly lovely women,” Camilla told her. She continued to steer Lillian along the outskirts of the room, nodding here and there to whomever she passed.