The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “Yes, we finally made it,” Lord Beckett grinned as he gathered several ladies’ outstretched hands.

  Before they could lead him to a chair, Lord Beckett turned to Frank.

  “Allow me to present our guest, Major Frank Collard,” Lord Beckett said, standing to the side so Frank was fully exposed. “Major, my family.”

  When the ladies took their seats, the Earl of Beckett walked around the room and introduced him to each member. Their welcomes were warm and effusive. They joked with Beckett and regaled Frank with countless family tales. The evidence of their Christmas cheer quite stifled him, so much so that he was capable of uttering only the simplest of responses.

  “And this is Viscount Dunstan, my sister’s husband,” Beckett said as they approached their host.

  “Lord Dunstan.”

  “And my sister, Lady Dunstan.”

  “Lady Dunstan.”

  A pretty woman rose from her chair and stepped to Lord Beckett and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here, John” she whispered so softly Frank was sure no one else heard her.

  “And you’ve met George,” he said walking past his nephew. “And this is George’s sister, Lady Halstead, and her husband, Bertram Kenley, Earl of Halstead.”

  Frank greet them with a polite nod.

  “And—ah, there she is!” he exclaimed as he moved to the occupied chair at the far end of the circle, “my niece, Miss Mathilde Rowley. You have her to thank for the abundance of Christmas decorations. We call her our Christmas angel, for she was born on Christmas Day.”

  Lord Beckett stepped aside and Frank’s heart shifted in his chest. He tamped down the strange emotion he hadn’t felt for more than eight years. Simply because Beckett’s niece had hair the color of spun gold, eyes as vivid a blue as a clear summer sky, a pert nose that turned up at the end, and lips so lush and kissable that he had a difficult time pulling his gaze from them, was no reason to react to her. Such emotions were a betrayal of everything he’d vowed never to feel again.

  “Miss Rowley,” he greeted, annoyed at the sour edge he heard in his own voice but unable to amend it.

  “Major Collyard. Welcome to Cherrywood Manor.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Not at all.” She rose. “Please, have a seat. Uncle John, we brought in your favorite chair. Do sit and I’ll pour your tea.”

  Frank sat in an empty chair beside Lord Beckett, then took a pastry from the sumptuous plate Miss Rowley offered. He tried not to notice her graceful movements, or the smile that lit her face as if it were a permanent fixture. He tried not to notice how she showed an interest in each person in the room, and hovered over everyone as would a mother hen watching her chicks.

  But most of all, he tried to ignore how her infectious laughter seemed to brighten the room. It was deucedly difficult.

  And it infuriated him because he couldn’t bear that she so enjoyed this time of the year when he hated the thought of suffering through another Christmas.

  And reliving all he’d lost.

  Chapter Two

  Tillie tried not to glance at Major Collyard too often during dinner, but her gaze continually shifted to where he was seated to her right. She would make sure not to allow such a problematic seating arrangement again.

  Even though he was an exceedingly handsome man, Tillie found Frank Collyard difficult to converse with. It wasn’t that he was rude, exactly, but that they seemed to have nothing in common. No matter what topic she brought up, he expressed that he either had no opinion on that subject, or that he preferred not to voice his opinion.

  Before they’d finished the main course, Tillie had given up all attempts at carrying on a conversation with him. It wasn’t until Uncle John mentioned that he’d known the major since the major’s days at university that curiosity got the better of her and Tillie made another attempt to include Major Collyard in conversation.

  “How exactly did you meet my uncle?” she asked.

  The major hesitated as he attempted to cut the meat on his plate. He breathed a deep sigh as if it was apparent he couldn’t ignore her question without appearing overtly rude.

  “I met Lord Beckett during my final year at university. I was studying law and was ready to start my own practice. Your uncle happened to be looking for a solicitor to take over after his solicitor died, and offered me a position.” He punctuated each statement with a wave of his fork, and stabbed it back on his plate, clearly signaling the end of his rather rote response.

  “So you are Uncle’s solicitor?”

  “Yes. I have been in his employ for nearly ten years.”

  “And you also served in Her Majesty’s army?”

  “When the war broke out, I considered enlisting. Your uncle offered to buy me a commission, but I refused. Instead—” the major turned his head and Tillie saw the first hint that there might be a real human beneath Collyard’s marble façade. “I believe your uncle pulled some favors, and I was offered a position in Her Majesty’s legal department.”

  “Uncle has a way of making things happen,” Tillie said. “He’s a remarkable man.”

  “Yes he is,” the major said with something that almost resembled a smile, then returned his attention to the meat on his plate.

  “Mother mentioned that Uncle John invited you because you would be alone for the holidays.” Tillie made sure she kept her voice quiet enough that no one would overhear their conversation. “Is that the only reason you agreed to join us?”

  The major’s hand paused midway to his mouth.

  “I’m not sure I understand your question, Miss Rowley.”

  Tillie reached for her glass of wine and took a sip. She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of what the major’s real purpose in coming might be. What if her uncle’s reason for inviting him was exactly what he’d written them: that Major Collyard had no family and Uncle John invited him so he wouldn’t have to spend the holidays alone? Or if he was here because Mother had written that she was concerned over Father, and Uncle John had brought the major because he thought he could help? She suddenly realized how foolish her question was.

  Tillie nervously cleared her throat. “Never mind,” she said, setting her wine glass back on the table. “Please forgive me. I had no real purpose in my question.” She picked up her fork and concentrated again on her food.

  The meal progressed, and when all were finished, her grandfather rose from his place at the head of the table and indicated that the men should adjourn to the study for cigars and Port. The men rose, assisted their ladies, and followed her grandfather from the room, leaving the women to assemble in the drawing room.

  Tillie hung back. For some reason her nerves were all off-kilter. She would have enjoyed the fresh conversation an outsider might bring to the dinner table, but the major had unsettled her. She needed to be by herself for a moment, to regain her composure.

  She slipped to the hall door and walked to the long gallery where portraits of generations of Dennison ancestors hung on the walls. Her hands fisted at her hips as she paced the long hall. She wished she could take back the question she’d asked the major. Why had she mentioned that there might be a reason he was here other than that her uncle didn’t want him to spend Christmas alone? Her question implied that something was wrong. How could she have been so foolish as to share something so personal with a perfect stranger?

  She intended to hide at the far end of the long hall, but his voice stopped her before she’d taken a half dozen steps.

  “Miss Rowley?”

  Tillie stopped, then turned. “Major Collyard. I didn’t hear you . . .”

  He walked toward her, his long legs eating up the space that separated them far faster than she could slow her breathing and appear relaxed.

  “I apologize for making conversation difficult at dinner.” He paused and ran a hand through his dark wavy hair. “I . . . it’s . . . good of you to have me here, but I don’t wish to intrude . . . ”

  T
illie smiled. He was struggling so, his face contorted with both embarrassment and something akin to self-chastisement. Somehow it charmed her.

  “Not at all, Major. You are most welcome to engage in conversation when and if the mood strikes you.” She took two steps closer to him, drawing herself into a halo of light.

  The major stopped less than a foot away from her. Though the long room was not brightly lit, a bevy of sconces on either side of the portraits gave her adequate light to see him clearly.

  She should feel a sense of caution, or at the least wariness being alone with such an imposing stranger, yet she didn’t. There was nothing frightening about him. In fact, everything about him exuded a certain degree of safety.

  “Would you care to sit?” she asked, indicating a cushioned bench at the end of the room.

  Tillie walked to the bench and sat. He hesitated, clearly startled, then sat uneasily beside her and turned to face her.

  Now, instead of the side glances they’d shared at the dinner table, she was able to look him full in the face. An exceedingly handsome, rugged face. He was as dark as the members of her family were light. His hair was the color of rich coffee, kept neatly trimmed, and Tillie noticed that it waved slightly on the top and sides where it was longer.

  His eyes studied her with an intelligent assessment, as if he was used to evaluating what he saw. She thought perhaps she’d see a hint of humor in his gaze, but was disappointed to see nothing but a serious expression that left no hint of approval.

  Tillie cocked her head in his direction. “Why do I have the feeling that the Christmas season isn’t your favorite time of year?” she asked.

  The second the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. His reaction indicated that she’d more than hit the mark. She’d opened a wound he was trying to hide.

  “Because it isn’t,” he answered. His words seemed to scrape the darkness. Quiet, but harsh. “Christmas holds no fond memories for me.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “I’d prefer not to speak of it,” he answered in a voice that held more pain than Tillie had ever heard. “What I’d rather discuss is why you thought I might be here for a reason other than just to accompany Lord Beckett.”

  Tillie dropped her gaze to her lap. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “But you did. Now I’d like you to elaborate. Is there a reason you believe I may have accompanied your uncle? Something with which you thought I might be of service?”

  Tillie hesitated for several moments. “There may be. But I cannot discern what it is.”

  “I see,” he answered. “And does this problem have something to do with your father?”

  Tillie lifted her head. “I believe I’ve said enough on this subject.” She forced herself to look away from him. Whatever was troubling her father was a private matter. Uncle John would see to it. Not some stranger they’d only just met.

  She rose. “I’ve been absent long enough. I must rejoin the family.”

  Frank rose and extended his arm. “You will let me know if I can be of assistance to either you or your father, won’t you?”

  Tillie nodded. “Thank you. But I’m sure your help won’t be needed.”

  Tillie placed her hand on his extended arm. The moment her fingers touched his sleeve, a shiver raced up her arm and traced a path to her heart. Was it shame at her rudeness that she felt? Embarrassment? Or something else entirely?

  She lifted her gaze until her eyes met his. His face had changed. It seemed kinder, yet somehow confused. The muscular hardness in his arm flexed. Ready for what? Battle? Dancing? She’d never felt such strength. But instead of frightening her, she found herself grateful for it.

  She walked with him back to where the family was gathered. With each step she told herself she needed to stay away from the major. His nearness caused her to face too many unsettling emotions.

  Frank crossed his arms beneath his head and stared at the ceiling in his bedroom. Bloody hell but she was a conundrum. One minute her eyes and voice exuded such excitement it was difficult for him to fight against it. The next, she was serious, almost calculating. Try as he might, he found it difficult to fight the connection he felt for her.

  And more frightening was that he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He’d battled the pain for so long he wasn’t sure he had the will to fight any longer. For the first time since he’d lost everyone he loved, he felt a spark of life flicker inside him. Something about her caused an awakening. Except he wasn’t sure he wanted to experience those feelings again. He wasn’t sure he wanted to risk his heart again.

  Frank closed his eyes, pretending that he might be able to fall asleep, yet knowing he wouldn’t. The sound of her laughter and the excitement in her eyes refused to leave him.

  She was dangerous. She could destroy the barriers he’d erected to protect his heart. She had the ability to insinuate herself into the defenses he’d constructed and thaw them. For as long as he was here, it was important that he stay as far away from her as he could.

  Chapter Three

  It was Christmas Eve, the night Frank had dreaded since he’d realized he would have to spend the holidays with the Earl of Beckett’s family.

  He’d suffered through the agonizing hours of decorating the tree. Each member of the Rowley family placed the new ornament they’d either made or purchased for this year’s Christmas tree. Then they all gathered around the tree and placed more ornaments on the swiftly laden branches.

  Frank’s height forced him to help the shorter members of the Rowley family decorate on the higher branches of the tree. There was laughter. Too much laughter. And gratitude. So much as if the simple act of hanging an ornament was an immense blessing he’d favored them with.

  Then, when all the ornaments were hung, Miss Rowley opened a box of gingerbread cookies, and they were hung where the youngest members of the family could reach them. Tillie’s brother George provoked great hilarity by accidentally eating several.

  Although he tried not to stare at Miss Rowley, it was impossible not to. The lady simply glowed. He’d never seen anyone who enjoyed the holiday season as she seemed to. The smile on her face didn’t fade once, but only seemed to broaden with each ornament she placed on the tree.

  When the decorations were all hung, and ribbons of red and white velvet and lace and satin were draped on the branches, it was time to place an angel on the top of the tree.

  “Are we ready?” Miss Rowley said. The excitement caused her eyes to sparkle.

  “I believe we are,” Miss Rowley’s sister, Lady Halstead, said rushing to the door. A few seconds later, she entered the room with two babes in tow. Two nursemaids followed with a set of infant twins. The twins were given one to the Countess of Dennison, and one to Viscountess Dunstan.

  But it wasn’t on the babes that Frank concentrated. It was on the two other children; a boy of about five, and a girl of about three.

  Frank’s heart ripped apart, stricken by a thousand shards of cruel memory. His blood crashed inside his head and thundered in his ears. Sheets of lightning exploded behind his eyes and the room spun around him. The little boy everyone called Willie, and the girl they called Zoe were so like his children the last time he’d seen them.

  Frank stumbled to his feet. The floor shifted beneath him, but somehow he managed to stand upright. He staggered to the opposite side of the room and leaned against a window frame.

  It was snowing, as if Frank’s frozen tears were falling to the ground.

  “I know this is difficult for you,” a voice said from beside him.

  Frank turned to face Lord Beckett. “I thought I could handle it.”

  “You are handling it, Frank.”

  “Ha,” Frank scoffed. “Why did you ask me to accompany you, my lord? Why have you put me through this?”

  “Because I need you. And you need this.” Beckett indicated the celebration that was going on behind him.

  Frank shook his head.

  Lord Becket
t’s hand clasped reassuringly on his shoulder. “You need to step back into the world.”

  Frank couldn’t answer Lord Beckett. Instead, he turned back to watch the gently mounting snow.

  “Stay here as long as you like. Join us again when you can.”

  Frank heard the commotion behind him, then a rousing cheer when the angel was securely settled atop the tree. He took several deep breaths, praying that his heart would not shatter inside his chest.

  Next, he heard the clinking of glasses, and turned to see a servant following Miss Rowley who was handing out mugs of warm cider. She came to him last.

  “Would you care for a mug of cider?”

  “Thank you,” he said, reaching for the cup with a trembling hand.

  Frank took a long sip, then another.

  “Oh!” she cried as she turned to see what he was watching. “Yes! I’m going to do it!” She thrust the tray onto a table and opened the glass-paned door. “It’s perfect,” she sighed. “You simply must come out!”

  Frank drained the cider in his cup. “Isn’t it too cold for you?”

  A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Is there anything more perfect on Christmas Eve than walking in winter’s first powdery snowfall?”

  “No, I suppose there isn’t,” Frank answered, even though he didn’t feel there was anything perfect about this night. There hadn’t been for eight years.

  “I won’t need a wrap. Come!”

  Frank stepped onto the terrace. He didn’t turn to see if any of her family gave them looks of disapproval. If the did, he might turn around and escort her back into the room. And for some reason he failed to comprehend, he wanted to follow her. Into the snow.

  He needed someone tonight like he hadn’t needed anyone in eight years. He needed someone to tether him, lest he drift off into the expanse of white.

  Tillie led the way across the terrace. There was a light dusting of snow on the surface and she took Major Collyard’s arm when he offered it. The steps could be treacherous when snow-covered, and her slippers weren’t designed for walking in the snow. It would have taken too much time to change into walking shoes, and the moment would have passed. She’d seen the desperation to escape in the major’s eyes and knew that cloak or no cloak, shoes or no shoes, she was going to step into that snowy garden with him.