Improper Christmas

by Reed, Kristabel

  No one stopped Mrs. Primsby; no one approached her to chat or ask for an introduction. They watched the other woman as interestingly as they did Lillian. Frowning briefly, Lillian scanned the room and wondered who Camilla Primsby truly was here in little Chesham.

  “As long as you don’t mind their soul-destroying, darkened mausoleum of a house,” Camila added.

  Taken aback, Lillian protested. She wasn’t quite certain why she did, given she had no real desire to become a companion to two elderly ladies. Or to anyone for that matter. But the words tumbled out of their own accord. “It cannot possibly be such a dire fate.”

  Camilla’s look, droll and honest despite the sparkling whisky-colored eyes, said it all. Apparently it was so dire a fate.

  Lillian swallowed. Before she had the chance to do more than imagine her future in a darkened, dreary, empty house, as alone there as she was in the Millers’ cottage, Camilla chuckled.

  “There might be a match for you in these rooms,” Camilla said. Her voice took on a humorous lilt. Not laughing — not at her, at least. But as if the other woman truly enjoyed herself. “Perhaps I can introduce you to a few potential suitors.”

  Lillian glanced around. A few groups of women eyed her sideways, but no one else took any interest in her. She shrugged that off as she had most things this night.

  “Most here seem otherwise engaged.”

  They stopped on the opposite side of the fireplaces, out of sight to the Lansdowne sisters but with a good view of the rest of the hall. To her left stood the buffet, and Lillian dearly wished for a drink.

  The music started, and several couples took their positions. Even with the entire country in mourning over Princess Charlotte, they enjoyed themselves.

  Lillian wondered if her father would be furious to discover she attended a ball so shortly after his death. The surge of anger surprised her — he’d left her with nothing, after all. It was quickly followed by the hollow pit of grief.

  She did miss her father, though the illness that eventually claimed him had lasted years. He was gone long before death finally took him.

  She sucked in a deep breath, the air cool yet somehow still stuffy. The noise swelled, and Lillian fought to control herself, to show no emotion, no grief or loneliness.

  Camilla Primsby leaned negligently on a pillar and surveyed the rooms. Lillian had the feeling, though Camilla did not look directly at her, that the other woman carefully watched her.

  “It always seems that way, does it not?” Camilla asked. “As if everyone is engaged in other conversations at a ball or soiree. However, there are always prospects among the crush.”

  “Is that how you met your husband?” Lillian asked boldly. “Ferreting him out from a crush?”

  But she smiled, and it felt natural and real. The act itself lifted her spirits and lightened her mood. Her father wanted what was best for her. And while he had not provided for her future, he had loved her. He’d want her to be happy.

  However she managed it.

  “I style myself missus,” Camilla confided in a sotto voce. “However, I have never wed. I find missus best for my occupation.”

  Lillian blinked. Before she had the chance to do more than that, or still her racing thoughts on exactly what Camilla’s occupation was, the other woman let out a small laugh. No doubt at Lillian’s wide-eyed look.

  “I’m a matchmaker.”

  Lillian breathed a sigh of relief. “You are fortunate to be so independent,” she said longingly.

  “I am.” Then Camilla stopped. “But my story is not dissimilar from yours.”

  Everything in Lillian stilled. Camilla Primsby knew more about her past than Lillian wished anyone to know. Oh, but she said she knew Edmund, had she not? Did Camilla know Edmund was to marry her but chose another?

  Lillian licked her lips, her careful mask cracking, the walls around her heart chipping with every shallow breath.

  “I found myself without the protection of a husband or prosperous family,” Camilla continued, as if she had not just knocked Lillian’s world on its axis.

  Lillian looked sharply at the older woman, but Camilla merely shrugged. However, her voice lowered, and the honesty in it spoke directly to Lillian.

  “The loss of our fortunes devastated many of my family members,” Camilla confided. She cleared her throat and shook her head. “Some were never able to recover. I, however, found my own way.”

  Their eyes met and Camilla’s, stripped down and open, touched a deep part of Lillian she never before acknowledged. Camilla smiled.

  “And so will you. Lord Granville,” she continued, “is not the only possible match for you.”

  She had no wish to speak of Edmund, of how she waited for him to propose, to marry her and keep her fortunes, her way of life intact. Of the distant cousin who inherited her family home instead.

  “I am aware,” she told the other woman. “I have had certain expectations with Lord Granville — ”

  “That were not met.” Camilla nodded sympathetically.

  Lillian murmured, “Yes.” Then she sniffed and raised her chin. Looking directly at Camilla she said clearly, “I know expectations are not always realized. I am capable of adjusting.”

  Camilla nodded slightly, her gaze steady. “We all must adjust at different times in our lives.”

  “Your occupation is matchmaking,” Lillian said with a curious tilt to her head. “Why have you not secured a marriage for yourself?”

  “My work would end then,” she said with a negligent shrug. “And I enjoy my work.”

  Lillian thought that statement falsely glib but did not comment. She was hardly the right woman to point out that marriage was the answer to Camilla Primsby’s problems. Lillian wondered if it was the answer to any problem.

  While it might have prevented her from losing all she knew, now she wondered what marriage to a man who did not love her would have been like. How she’d have survived decades with a man who cared naught for her.

  “To be a successful matchmaker,” Camilla said with a hint of pride now, “you must know everyone. Or know of everyone.” She smiled, slow and knowing. “It is not an occupation for all. However, you should not be thinking of occupation, Miss Norwood, but of marriage prospects.”

  “I am four and twenty,” Lillian said plainly. “Unless there is a widower or older bachelor who requires a wife, my prospects are now limited.”

  “Others will limit you,” Camilla said harshly. With that same suggestion of personal knowledge. “Do not ever limit yourself. Never accept what others put upon you. And never suppress your own desires.”

  “I am new to this village,” Lillian said slowly, haltingly. “And I am uncertain what my desires are any longer.”

  “Perhaps you need a task.” Camilla’s change from soft and knowing to bright and energetic caught Lillian off guard. “Something to keep you occupied for a few weeks, until you better adjust.”

  Lillian blinked at her. “I would not know where to begin.”

  “Then you are in luck!” Camilla grinned widely. “Because I do.”

  Camilla squeezed her hand — in reassurance or understanding or something else, Lillian didn’t know. Just as suddenly as the other woman touched her, she disappeared into the crowd. Confused, Lillian swept her gaze over the room, past the dancers and those who watched them, over the groups entering the buffet room, and around again.

  She simply disappeared.

  Lillian sighed. Perhaps she should make her way to the buffet for a drink. She was very thirsty. Since arriving, she’d spoken to only Alice Miller and Camilla. And while sitting alone at the long tables did not appeal to her, Lillian knew how to make conversation with strangers.

  Making up her mind, she stepped in that direction, only to see the Lansdowne sisters walking her way.

  Oh dear. Lillian licked her lips and froze. Turning slightly, she began to walk in a different direction, away from the sisters and still toward the buffet and her beverage, when Cami
lla reappeared.

  “There you are, Miss Norwood,” she said happily.

  In her wake followed Alice Miller, three other women, and four men. She’d been gone from Lillian’s side for less than three minutes. How had she managed to gather so many people so quickly?

  “I was just speaking with Mrs. Martins,” Camilla said with a nod toward the red-haired woman to her right. “Chesham’s most accomplished hostess, she presides over the assembly hall.”

  Lillian nodded and offered a shallow curtsey to the other woman in greeting.

  “We discussed a charity feast,” Camilla said with all the enthusiasm of a woman in her first season, “for the soldiers from the five villages who share this assembly hall. Would that not be a most charitable evening? And to host it on Christmas Eve would be decidedly special, yes?”

  “Yes,” Lillian agreed, eyeing Camilla. But she swallowed and offered a small, reserved smile. She glanced over each of the assembled, but made no eye contact with any of them. “A wonderful notion, and one I’m certain will be much appreciated by the soldiers and their families.”

  “I’m certain it will be very much appreciated,” the tall, handsome man said, his voice rumbling over the gathered group. “And I shall be pleased to throw all my support behind it.”

  Lillian looked at him, and his deep blue eyes caught her. She blinked and tried to look away, to pull her gaze from his captivating one. Her stomach fluttered, a slight, foreign movement, at the way he watched her so keenly.

  Tearing her gaze from him, Lillian nodded again. What was Camilla saying?

  “A very notable endorsement, Mr. Pennington.” Camilla was all charm and smiles. Then she turned to Lillian, and she swore the other woman suppressed a knowing laugh. “Miss Norwood, allow me to introduce Mr. William Pennington, formerly a captain in His Majesty’s Horse Guards. Mr. Pennington, Miss Lillian Norwood, a new resident in Chesham.”

  Camilla turned and quickly introduced Lillian to the rest of those gathered. Alice Miller watched her carefully for all of a heartbeat. She was too busy catering to Mrs. Martins to remember she’d wished Lillian to become the companion to the Lansdowne sisters and leave her rented cottage.

  “We must let it be known through the villages,” Mrs. Martins said authoritatively.

  “Oh, yes,” Alice enthused.

  Camilla somehow managed to slip between Lillian and Alice, leaving Mr. Pennington by her side. Lillian blinked at the smoothness of the move.

  She looked up at William Pennington, only to find him watching her with that intense blue gaze. Her stomach flipped again. Quite unused to such a feeling, Lillian offered her small, cool smile.

  “It’s quite generous of you to throw your support behind such an event,” she offered in a low voice.

  His lips tilted up slightly, and he looked down at her as if she were the only other person in the entire room. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his posture was military straight. When he spoke, his voice remained low but did not disappear into the noise of the assembly.

  “I’ll throw more than my financial support behind this,” he promised, his voice still that rumbling sound. “I shall see the feast is done correctly. We should discuss a committee, one to attend to all the details regarding the feast.”

  Lillian nodded. “That is precisely how I would approach such planning.”

  Pennington’s eyes sparkled. “Good.” He nodded. “Good. I like someone with an organized mind. Shall we meet here tomorrow afternoon at two to discuss the particulars?”

  She agreed with a tilt of her head. “Two it is.”

  He turned to the others and offered a quick bow. “Ladies,” Pennington said just loud enough to capture their attention, “I think I shall retire for the evening. There’s much to prepare. Safe journeys home.”

  Lillian watched him walk away. She most certainly did not admire the gait of his step. Quickly rejoining the group, who apparently did not notice her distraction, she caught Camilla’s eye.

  The matchmaker noticed. Lillian was not surprised. She had the feeling Camilla Primsby noticed a great many things.

  Mrs. Martins followed Pennington and pulled him aside just before he disappeared out the door. Alice Miller was right next to her.

  “I’ll be leaving for London in the morning and will not likely see you again,” Camilla whispered just loud enough for Lillian to hear. “But I shall leave you with this: Do not close your eyes to what might be directly in front of you.”

  Chapter Three

  Lillian left her small cottage early and walked the five or so miles to the hall. She wanted to arrive before Mr. Pennington, not only to fix her appearance from her walk, but also to get a better sense of the hall.

  The cold wind buffeted her, and she buried her hands deeper in her muff. Five miles wasn’t a bad walk, but she was unused to doing so in such cold. She’d never been so cold in her life. Lillian sighed and walked faster, hoping to alleviate the biting chill with motion. But the wind lashed along her skirts, teasing through the wool of her stockings.

  Before, she had her carriage always at the ready, with a rug to warm her lap. Now she didn’t think she’d ever be warm again.

  Winter scented the air, but the sky remained clear, and the sun felt wonderful on her face. Despite the frigid wind and piercing cold now settling in her bones, Lillian enjoyed the walk, the stretch of her legs, the open fields around her, and the empty road. Better, she enjoyed being out of her cottage and grasped this opportunity with both hands.

  She opened the hall’s doors and was immediately greeted by a rush of warmer air; it was much warmer inside than out. In the noonday sun, the hall lost its air of festiveness. She saw what Alice Miller spoke of, the general decline apparent when one looked.

  Lillian pushed open the door and entered. Her walking boots echoed over the foyer, giving the impression of being much larger than it looked. Curtains were opened to let the sunlight in, and in the distance, she heard people cleaning.

  “Mr. Spriggs?” she called.

  One of the men in the center of the room turned smartly on his heel. The first thought Lillian had as to Mr. Spriggs was serviceable. He looked very useful, from his practical clothes to his quick, even walk. She wondered if anything surprised him, but doubted he allowed any circumstance to do so.

  “Good afternoon,” Spriggs said with a bow. “Miss Norwood, yes?”

  She returned the greeting. “Yes.”

  “I saw you, ah, the day you arrived at the Millers’, ah, Cottage by the Brook,” he said, and Lillian resisted a smile. Even his tone held a bit of droning functionality. “I’m sorry my, ah, my wife and I have not yet come by to um, to offer our welcome, but Mrs. Spriggs, um, has been under the weather. It seems the, ah, the winter winds started early.”

  Offering a gentle smile, she nodded. “Yes, the winter winds are certainly making themselves known. I’d be happy to make a pot of stew for your wife, if you’d like.”

  He looked startled. “Oh no, ah, no. Don’t trouble yourself, miss. It’s, ah, no bother. But,” he hastily added, “um, thank you.”

  Lillian smiled again and looked around the hall. “May I have a walk about?” she asked, effectively changing the subject. Spriggs started to look nervous.

  “Yes, um, yes, of course.” He nodded once and took her coat and gloves. “Please, ah, call if you need anything, miss.”

  Lillian nodded and turned from him. With long strides, she crossed to where Alice Miller told her the roof leaked. Looking up, she saw severe water damage. She frowned. Honestly, it should’ve been patched months back — possibly as long as last winter. Doing so now would cost twice as much.

  If she were home, back in Essex, she’d know exactly who to call and which carpenter offered the best price for the best work. Here, she knew no one.

  But she shook that off. This was her life now. She needed to move forward, not dwell on the past. Lillian breathed deeply and now scented what last night’s crush covered: the mildew and deca
y, the rotting wood of an old building.

  “Mr. Pennington!” Spriggs called.

  Surprised he arrived so early, as they were at least a half hour before the appointed time, Lillian turned from her perusal.

  “Good afternoon, Spriggs,” Pennington said in that same no-nonsense tone. Lillian watched him as he greeted the porter, but he didn’t so much as glance around the hall.

  “I wanted to arrive early,” Pennington continued, his hands once more clasped behind his ramrod straight back, “before the ladies do. Between you and me, we can inspect the old hall and make a list of what truly needs to be done.”

  “Mr. Pennington,” Spriggs said, sounding hesitant.

  “Mrs. Martins and her ilk may find the hall acceptable for their balls,” Pennington continued. “However, there are quite a number of deficiencies in this building that must be attended to. And we — ”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Pennington,” Lilian interrupted.

  She watched his face transform from masculine and take charge to utter surprise, and a little sprig of amused glee took root. It had been far too long since Lillian had the opportunity to surprise anyone, and she’d quite forgotten she enjoyed it, reminding people never to underestimate her.

  “Miss Norwood,” he greeted with a quick bow. “I had not expected you here so promptly.”

  Lillian purposely curved her lips into a soft smile. She took a moment to examine him, and Mrs. Primsby’s words from last night echoed through her. Pennington was still tall and handsome, but now she noticed how his eyes focused on her, how he turned toward her when he spoke.

  She wondered if he gave everyone that impression, that they were the only person he saw, but set that question aside. His mouth softened into a warmer grin, no longer the stiff politeness she witnessed last night.

  “Is it customary for appointments to be tardy?” she asked, unable to quell the hint of amusement in her tone.

  His grin warmed further, and his blue eyes danced with surprised mirth. “The women of this village tend to keep to their own special time.”