Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas)

by Bolen, Cheryl

  “It was terrible the way Johnny Oliphant came home from the war!” Elizabeth scrunched up her nose in distaste. “If it wasn't bad enough that he lost his leg, he lost an eye, too. Poor thing. He was so handsome before.” She shook her head. “Now I don't suppose any woman would have him.”

  Her words turned his stomach.

  “That's a terrible thing to say,” Cathy chided. “Johnny's still the kindly person he was before the war, though God knows he's endured enough to have changed him. And he gets around almost as well as a man with two good legs.”

  “Indeed he does,” Michael added.

  Elizabeth's brows lowered. “But the disfigurement!”

  “Dearest,” Cathy said, eying her sister, “I pray that just because you had the good fortune to be born beautiful doesn't mean that you put great stock in appearances.”

  Her lashes lowering in that unique way she had, Elizabeth tossed a quick glance at him. “I am sure I'm not that great a beauty! My nose could certainly be a bit straighter, and I do wish my hair would curl naturally.” She shrugged. “It would make life so much easier.”

  Had she completely missed her sister's point? It was becoming abundantly clear to him that in the Balfour family the younger of the sisters had inherited their father's uncommon good sense while the elder possessed the mother's beauty—tenfold. To his utter disappointment, he had to admit The Beauty also seemed to have inherited her aunt's want of good sense.

  Nevertheless, his heart still accelerated when he beheld her.

  Since his return, he'd once again sensed that connection that had been between them before he left. As an adolescent lad, he had known by her flirty actions toward him Elizabeth favored him over all the others. Even then, she'd been proficient at lowering those eyelashes seductively and at favoring him with sultry gazes that caused his breath to grow short. Which it still did.

  “Oh, dearest,” Georgianne said to her husband, “don't forget we must invite the girls to dine with us tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yes. My friend from Oxford, Lord Neely, will be stopping by for a few days. The poor fellow has been orphaned, and being an only child, he has no family to visit at Christmas. Several of us that ran together at university have asked him to come spend Christmas with us, but it was I who was so singularly honored.”

  Georgianne smiled. “Because Lord Neely lives for shooting, and the shooting in Ramseyfield is very good.”

  “How delightful!” Elizabeth said. “Is. . . his lordship bringing his wife?”

  Michael shrugged. “He has no wife, either. No family whatsoever.”

  Elizabeth smiled at her sister. “What great fun it will be to meet Lord Neely.”

  The sense of wellbeing that had buoyed him since his return vanished like the snuff of a candle. Yesterday he'd been fairly confident he would not have to compete with an aristocrat for the lady's hand.

  And now he realized there would be no smooth sailing to marriage with the girl of his dreams. Why did that bloody viscount have to come before David secured Miss Elizabeth Balfour's hand in marriage? The viscount was sure to fall in love with so beautiful a maiden.

  The very thought of Lord Neely put David in a foul mood.

  When they arrived at Belford Manor, he was pleased that Elizabeth stood beside the carriage until he stepped out, then she possessively settled a hand upon his arm. Together, they led the way along the stone path to Belford's neoclassical portico.

  He'd been told that staff no longer resided there, but the caretaker would see to it that the door was unlocked. As he stood there looking up at the substantial stone blocks of which the house was constructed, he was completely awed. He had never dreamed that the second son of gentleman farmer could ever afford such a residence.

  By comparison to other country houses of the nobility, Belford was small. More like a dowager house. It had never been a seat but had come to the present earl through his grandmother, who had been the daughter of a duke. When David's mother was a girl, she had been a guest here and loved to reminisce about the fetes Lady Eleanor had held there. How happy his widowed mother would be to have her own chamber here.

  He drew in a breath and entered this home he'd always admired but had never visited. At first it was difficult to see because the entry hall—and all the rooms fanning out from it—were so dark. Dust coated the floors, the window sills, and the furnishings. Several posts were missing from the stair's banister. There was a gaping circle in the ceiling where a chandelier had formerly suspended. The dated furnishings would stay with the house, but huge squares on the dirty walls showed where paintings had once hung.

  In spite of all these things, the house was magnificent!

  “Observe how tall the ceilings are!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her blue eyes dancing as she peered up more than thirty feet.

  The pragmatic younger sister had set about opening draperies. “The chambers will be ever so much more delightful once we let in the light.”

  A smile on her pretty face, Elizabeth quickly led him to the first chamber on the left, a drawing room furnished with worn Turkey carpets and faded silks on the sofas and in the draperies. The ceiling here was not thirty feet, but it was considerably taller than those in the St. Vincent home, which was one of the more vastly admired houses in the shire.

  A stranger seeing him and Elizabeth race from one room to the other would surely have taken them either for a married couple or one that was betrothed for Elizabeth had adopted a most proprietary air toward him. He thought such actions would have intoxicated him more than they did.

  Once the five of them had viewed every room—with Cathy running ahead and throwing draperies open to enhance their experience—they came back to the morning room.

  Elizabeth was as excited as she had been on that long-ago May Day when she'd twirled around the Maypole. Even more so. “I know the very chamber which will be your ballroom!”

  Ballroom? He had been far more interested in the master and mistress's chambers. And the nursery. “I hadn't thought of balls.”

  “I believe the captain is looking to settle down,” Cathy said.

  Elizabeth's mouth gaped open. “Have you. . . an understanding with a particular lady?”

  That she looked so apprehensive boosted his pride. His gaze met hers. “No particular lady.”

  Their eyes caught and held. The Beauty was clearly conveying her interest. He looked away.

  “Tell me this,” Elizabeth said, demanding his attention return to her, “is what my sister said true? Are you wanting to settle down?”

  His glance moved to Michael and Georgianne. “Since my brother so enthusiastically espouses the benefits of matrimony, I think it might suit me.”

  For some unaccountable reason, he turned to Cathy. “Do you think I should buy Belford Manor?”

  She shrugged. “I cannot advise you or anyone on so grave a step. With a bit of care, Belford will be lovely home again, and if it's your desire to live here, I hope it will be in your power to gain ownership.” It was the same type of comment her wise father would have made.

  On the return journey, the seating arrangements were the same. He spoke little because his plans for Belford spun through his mind like a gristmill. The minute he had glimpsed the old structure rising proudly from the pastoral landscape, he knew he wanted it.

  The sisters Balfour also occupied his mind. How could two sisters from the same two parents be so vastly different?

  When they reached Stoneyway he asked Cathy if he could call on her the following morning to see the newspaper accounts she had saved. “And when I say morning, I mean morning. I know you ladies will be spending the afternoon beautifying yourselves for dinner with Lord Neely.” He knew it, but he didn't like it.

  “I would love to see the newspapers, too,” Elizabeth said.

  “My dearest,” Cathy said, turning to her sister, “I'll show them to you straight away. I had no idea you'd be interested.”

  “I prefer to see them with the Captain so he can give us
a personal accounting. How exciting it will be to hear about his heroic exploits.”

  Again, he felt Elizabeth's words lacked sincerity.

  On the way back to Rosemary Hill, David and his brother and sister-in-law discussed the merits and pitfalls of purchasing Belford Manor, then Michael turned the conversation back to the ladies they had just left at Stoneyway. “Miss Elizabeth Balfour seems to be taking an interest in all things to do with Captain David St. Vincent.”

  “She's an utterly lovely girl, David,” Georgianne said.

  “Indeed she is.” David cleared his throat. “I will own that I have spent the last six years praying she would still be unmarried when I returned.”

  Georgianne's big brown eyes rounded. “Does that mean you're going to offer for her?”

  “I may.”

  His brother cleared his throat. “Tomorrow night—should you prefer to have Miss Elizabeth seated next to you?”

  Georgianne clearly had something to add. “Elizabeth Balfour's beauty would be a powerful bait to lure in a viscount.”

  “As much as I want to claim her affections—and as much as I fear I will not be able to compete with a viscount—I would not wish to marry a woman who found me second best.”

  “That is wise of you,” Michael said. “I shall seat her next to Lord Neely.”

  “I think she will prefer David. He is more handsome than the viscount—for your brother looks very much like you, my love.”

  David shrugged. “If Elizabeth Balfour should prefer Neely over me, then I pray he returns her ardor.”

  “Until today, I would have said she has been saving herself in the hopes of snaring a man of a higher station than is generally met with in Ramseyfield,” Georgianne said.

  David eyed her. “And today?”

  “Today I believe she is smitten with you.”

  Chapter 3

  Miss Elizabeth Balfour's beauty nearly stole his breath the following morning as she descended the stairs to greet him. Her whitish blond tresses swept away from that flawless face of hers, and her feminine spring-like dress displayed the slope of her breast and revealed milky shoulders that were only partially covered by a red shawl. “La, Captain! Can you conceive that I am dressed and ready to face callers at so early an hour?”

  He took her hand, bowed, and greeted her. “Another lady with a month to prepare could never look as lovely as you, my dear Miss Balfour.”

  Almost as an afterthought he remembered the sister who had apparently read with great interest all things that pertained to his naval escapades. When he peered over Elizabeth's shoulder, he half expected to see Cathy as she'd looked at eleven when she gave him the cross he would return to her today.

  But it was not an eleven-year-old who greeted him after her sister. It was a fully grown woman. A woman with a woman's breasts. Looking at the two sisters together, he realized they were the same height, the same slender weight, and had the same pale hair. Only one had a beautiful face; the other did not—not that Cathy's face was not a nice face.

  He could not take Cathy's hand because she carried a wide, flat box. “I thought that since there are three of us,” she said, “we could all see the newspapers better if we gather at the dining table.”

  He and Elizabeth followed her to that chamber where a large walnut table centered the long room. More faded silk draperies hung here from a row of three tall casements. Cathy set the box at the midpoint between the head and foot of the table, then looked up at him. “Should you like to sit between us, so you can elaborate on the writings?”

  “I can attempt to—even though I suspect you know more about what's in that box than I.”

  He pulled out a chair for each of the ladies before he took his seat.

  It was then that their aunt entered the chamber to serve as chaperone. He rose quickly, bowed, and courteously greeted her.

  The skinny old maid with silver streaking her mousy locks had brought along a sewing basket and a garment of some kind. “Pray, Captain, don't spare a thought for me. I'll just sit where the light is good and work on my sewing.”

  “Pray, let me know if you need assistance of any kind.” He returned to his chair. “My mother often calls on me to thread her needles because her eyes are not as good as they once were.”

  Miss Kate Balfour laughed. “My nieces typically perform that function for me.”

  Seated, he removed the box's lid. “Are the newspapers in chronological order?” he asked Cathy.

  “Yes. The first, you will see, dates from about five years ago. I knew from your brother that you were serving on the H.M.S. Avalon. So when I saw the Avalon mentioned here, I read it with great interest.”

  As he did now. The frigate Avalon was the smallest vessel he'd sailed upon during his naval career, but it had played an instrumental part in the successful British blockade against the French at Gibraltar. How remarkable that Cathy had saved this particular account since the actions that had occurred there significantly impacted his naval career.

  “I got my first commission after that,” he commented. The long-desired commission had not come without cost. Two of the Avalon's officers—both good men—had been killed in action there near Gibraltar.

  His glance swept to a bowl of currants in the center of the table. He fetched a handful of them and began to line them up to illustrate the positions of both the French and British fleet and set about explaining what had to occur to block the French.

  Miss Elizabeth Balfour's hands clutched at her chest. “I declare! You must have been in great danger.”

  “There is always danger when the enemy is that close.”

  Next, he continued to peruse the yellowed newspapers the thoughtful Miss Catherine Balfour had read with apparent interest and so carefully saved. From the frigate, he'd stepped up to a seventy-four gun man-of-war, the H.M.S. Richmond.

  Despite that he'd often wanted to correspond with Miss Elizabeth Balfour, he was not permitted to write to an unmarried lady to whom he was not engaged. Or to her sister. His gaze whirled to Cathy. “How was it possible for you to so closely monitor my naval career?”

  “I'm afraid I made a pest of myself, badgering your brother for information every Sunday on the steps of church.”

  The wrong sister.

  “I'm humbled by your interest.”

  “Now that you're home, it will be my pleasure to present you the box.”

  He was incredibly touched that she was now willing to give him the contents of this box she had spent years assembling. He was far too interested and far too appreciative to turn down her generous offer. Their eyes met. He felt tremendous affection for her. Of course, not the same kind of affection he'd held for her sister all these many years. The affection he held for Cathy was more like one would feel toward a younger sister. But altogether different.

  “No gift has ever meant more to me,” he murmured. He wanted to tell her another gift she had bestowed upon him had been as appreciated, but for reasons he could not understand, he did not want Elizabeth to know about the cross Cathy had pressed into his hand on that far-off day. It was a memory he liked to hold close in the same way that cross fitted to his chest and kept him safe these last several years.

  “You must tell me, Captain,” Elizabeth said, sliding a sideways glance at him while lowering her lengthy lashes most alluringly, “is it true that press gangs force innocent young men aboard his majesty's ships to serve as sailors?”

  He hung his head. “It's a lamentable practice, but I will own that it's a wide-spread practice that's accepted because things have always been done in such a manner.”

  Cathy spoke almost reverently. “Lord Nelson agreed with you. I read where he said men should flock to the Royal Navy to proudly serve their country, not to serve because they were forced to do so.”

  “Ah, another matter upon which I agree with the late Lord Nelson,” David said.

  “I know Lord Nelson's been dead for an age now,” Elizabeth said somberly. “Did you ever meet him?”


  “I never met him, though I saw him once in Portsmouth. I was only sixteen or seventeen, and he was already famous because of the Battle of the Nile. Everywhere he went, he was hailed as a hero, and everyone stopped what they were doing to gawk at him. I confess I did, too.”

  “Pray, let us speak no more of Lord Nelson, or I shall grow melancholy,” Elizabeth said.

  “I am so grateful—as I am certain your family is—that you've returned safely, Captain.” Everything that Cathy said and did was like a tender stroke to his psyche. How wonderful it was to be home again. And this time, for good.

  He gathered up the sheets of newspaper, folded them, and restored them to the box. “I have many hours of interesting reading ahead of me whilst I enjoy these many accounts of my naval career.”

  “Have you given any more thought to purchasing Belford Manor?” Elizabeth asked.

  He frowned. “It's a grave step. I slept little last night.”

  “I completely understand,” Cathy said.

  Elizabeth pouted. “You have not answered my question, Captain.”

  “That is because, Miss Elizabeth, I have not made my decision yet.”

  He scooted his chair back and stood. “I am bereft of words to convey to you my deep appreciation,” he said to Cathy as he removed the box from the table.

  Both sisters rose. “You needn't say anything,” Cathy told him. “Your interest in the box has repaid me tenfold.”

  “I shall leave you ladies now, but I look forward to having you dine with us tonight. My brother will send his carriage around to collect you at five. Will that be agreeable to you, Miss Balfour?” he asked Aunt Kate, who remained seated.

  “Yes, my brother and I—and the girls—are excessively looking forward to it.”

  He wanted to have a private moment with Cathy without being conspicuous. They strolled from the room as Miss Kate Balfour called her eldest niece. He said goodbye to her, then asked Cathy to walk with him to the door.

  When it was just the two of them facing each other, he set down the box. Then he fetched the cross from his pocket and held it out for her. “It seems I always find myself in your debt, my dear Miss Balfour.” My dear Miss Balfour was so formal and stuffy a way to address his old friend. “I am unworthy of having a friend as loyal and considerate as you have been to me.”