A Kiss At Christmastide: Regency Novella

by Christina McKnight

  In fact, he’d outright deceived her.

  Openly, willingly, and with full knowledge, he had duped her.

  And stolen her first kiss.

  The blackguard. The scoundrel. The debaucher of women.

  He was a true London rakehell.

  And Pippa hadn’t seen past his motives to see his true nature. Lady Natalie and Lucas deserved each other—both selfish, vain creatures who sought their own happiness at the expense of others.

  She stood on the top landing, breathing shallow, quick breaths.

  At some point, her father had stopped shouting for her from below. However, Pippa was unaware when or how long she’d stood there.

  Her legs ached from climbing the stairs quickly, so she must not have stood there overly long. Neither had a servant happened upon her. Though, the likelihood she would have noticed a servant through her anger was doubtful.

  And Pippa would admit she was spitting mad, at herself for not seeing through his guise of the gentleman in need of shelter. He had duped her, and she hadn’t had enough sense to see it happening.

  Not even Lady Natalie’s misplaced announcement all those months ago had Pippa spinning in such a way.

  Possibly because Pippa knew she had no right to be cross with Lucas, to feel betrayed. He’d sought shelter during a storm, not asked to seduce her. Even their kiss could be blamed on her clumsy nature—though she hadn’t any previous record of such ungainliness.

  Every part of her wanted to be mad at him. Every inch of her wanted to march after the Sheridan carriage and speak her mind. Every logical instinct told her that Lucas wasn’t entirely to blame for any of this. It was her unreal expectations of their kiss.

  All that her parents had promised in a first kiss.

  Their kiss that had ended with their undeniable love.

  Pippa had desired a kiss, no matter how little she knew of the Earl of Maddox.

  He’d given her a false impression, an expectation of more when he should have known not to offer Pippa any such thing.

  The urge to stomp her foot and scream at her credulous character was almost too much to hold at bay.

  “My lady.”

  She hadn’t heard her trusted family servant traverse the stairs to her. She was not surprised her parents had sent him in their stead. Pippa patted her face, searching for any treacherous tears, which may have escaped her notice, before pasting a feeble smile on her face and turning.

  Pippa was unsure what she’d expected to see in Briars’ stare, but what greeted her almost had tears falling once more. His shoulders drooped, and his spine caved inward far more than normal—so much so, that he gazed at Pippa from a lower stature, though at one time, he’d stood far above her average height.

  “Will you be needing the carriage, or shall I send the horses back to the stables?” he asked with regret. Her servants had been watching her, possibly hiding just out of sight, but close enough to hear all that had transpired between Pippa and Lucas.

  Disappointment flared. She’d thought only of herself—and had forgotten the children. Again.

  Pippa released her grip on the stair rail, her fingers aching at the action as she hadn’t realized she’d been holding it so tightly. It was the only thing keeping her upright as her knees shook with weakness. Responsibility pulled the hurt from her and restored her sense of priority.

  Certainly, Lucas hadn’t seen her as a priority after he’d walked through her front door—no, he’d chosen Natalie, apparent by their departure together. It was time Pippa put first those who’d stood by her during her first Season, who hadn’t joined the gossip rags in sensationalizing any affection or attraction Pippa had toward her music tutor.

  The village. Her village. Though the small community sat nestled between Lady Natalie’s estate and her own, they were hers. Many of them were related through blood kinship to her mother, and the rest gained at least part of their family income from the Midcrest dukedom.

  Lady Natalie had been given the classic fair beauty most men favored. She was the daughter of a man far more influential than Pippa’s. She’d had everything a girl could want since birth. When would Pippa receive what she desired? It was unfair the way Natalie treated Pippa, but her actions had gone unpunished, and still, she flourished.

  “I will travel to the village as soon as I collect an extra muff,” Pippa said, fearing Briars suspected she’d forgotten her duties for the day. “It is still blustery outside, and I have many gifts to deliver. I would not want to catch a cold before our Christmastide feast.”

  “Surely you are correct, Lady Pippa.” He nodded at her forethought. “I will have the coachman await you in the drive and instruct the footman to load your gifts and the pies.”

  “Very good. I will only be a moment.”

  Pippa couldn’t meet his stare, worried pity would be glaring back at her. It was something she could not handle, knowing that others—besides her—had witnessed the connection between Lucas and her. Everyone but Lucas, that is. Had he had such special moments with so many women that he didn’t notice the rarity of it with her?

  Hurrying to her room, Pippa searched for her extra muff.

  She needed to focus on her future, not the past or Lucas. He was never meant to be hers, nor were they ever destined to meet. Their kiss was something that should have never happened. The draw of her parents’ great love match was to blame—that was all. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  She closed her eyes once more, and the feel of his lips against hers still seared her mouth—she could imagine them pressed together as if he were there.

  Pressing her fingers to her lips, Pippa’s pulse raced as she allowed herself this final moment to remember their kiss—a kiss that had affected them both in that split second of time.

  Pippa let her hand fall limply to her side and, with it, she banished the feel of Lucas’s arms around her. She pushed the scent of him from her senses, and she begged her mind to forget the set of his jaw and the wave in his hair.

  It was done. He was gone.

  And she had a life to live.

  She spotted her warm, grey muff on her dressing table. Retrieving it, she made her way downstairs—a new set to her brow and determination in her step.

  With a stop in the kitchen to make sure all was loaded and not a pie forgotten, Pippa would be on her way.

  And after that, she did not know. She only knew what the next several hours held for her.

  The kitchen was much as it had been the night before: supplies, flour, and sugar everywhere. A large pot boiled on the stove, and bread could be smelled baking in the oven as a tray of berry tarts cooled by the open window.

  Her mother stood, kneading dough. The sight had tears springing to Pippa’s eyes—it was as things should have been all along. Her mother, father, and her together for the holiday. They would laugh, bake desserts, prepare their feast, and spend the special day together before returning to London after the New Year began.

  Then why did Pippa only feel regret, a sense of emptiness filling her more and more?

  She was surrounded by the loved ones she’d prayed would arrive before Christmastide, but suddenly, they weren’t enough—something, no, someone was missing.

  And she needed to face the fact that he was never coming back. Never again would they work side by side in this very kitchen. Never again would they deck the halls of Helton House with festive cheer. Never again would he be there to brush a tear from her cheek when something saddened her.

  “My dear Pippy,” her mother called, keeping her eyes on the dough she kneaded and her back to her daughter.

  “Yes, Mother, I am here.”

  “I knew you were,” she continued. “You bring a heart far heavier than this season calls for.”

  “My disposition will improve before the holiday comes, Mother, I promise,” Pippa said, wishing she’d departed instead of making one final trip to the kitchen. She did not seek to cast a dark shadow on everyone. “When I return from the village, my spiri
ts will be joyous and cheerful once again.”

  With a smile, Cordelia turned to face her daughter, and Pippa’s chest ached at the pain she’d caused her mother.

  “May I offer a few words of advice?” Cordelia wiped her hands on her apron as she walked towards Pippa. “It is something my mother told me many years ago, but during any time I doubt my decisions, I repeat the words aloud.”

  Pippa nodded as her lip trembled. It would only serve to make her mother feel worse if Pippa let the sob she held back pass her lips.

  “Very well. And know you may not find meaning in my words now, but one day…one day, you will.” Her mother gathered Pippa in her arms and hugged her tightly, whispering the next words in her ear—as if it were a long-kept secret they could not risk others overhearing as the magic within them would fade. “Life—and love—are much like a storm. The storm that kept your father and me away, in fact, and even now threatens to return. The clouds, the wind, the rain may make it impossible for you to see a clear path to your fated destination, but with time and a lot of faith, you will find the correct path once more—or a better path, one that could not be seen before the storm made it visible. But remember, another storm may try to dissuade you, but keep going, keep moving, and when the storm passes, so will your doubts and concerns be pushed away with the clouds, revealing your next course.”

  Her mother was correct as only hints of the meaning behind her mother’s advice stuck with Pippa. The storm had brought Lucas to her—and with its departure, it had taken him from her. If that was where her path led, away from Lucas, then so be it. But that did not make her long any less to be on the same path as he.

  “Promise me something, my dear girl,” Cordelia said before pulling back, holding Pippa at arm’s length.

  “Anything, Mother,” Pippa agreed, knowing she’d likely not be able to keep the promise she was about to make.

  “Have faith, open your heart and, most of all, listen to what others have to say.”

  It all sounded so very simple. “Yes, I will always hold tight to my faith and listen to others.”

  “And your heart—it will remain open?” her mother asked.

  “I will do my very best,” Pippa said.

  “Very good.” She placed a kiss to each of Pippa’s cheeks. “Now, hurry along. Do give my best wishes to all in the village. I have much work to do before tomorrow.”

  Pippa fled the kitchen as her mother returned to knead the dough.

  Chapter 12

  “As you can see, my family and our lineage are not in question,” Sheridan said as he led Lucas and his father into the study. “I understand the importance of marrying my daughter to the future Marquis of Bowmont, but this…”—he paused to pour three tumblers of scotch—“…this new development calls for a renegotiation of our contract, Bowmont.”

  Lucas’s father stood a foot inside the study door, refusing to accept the proffered spirits. Lucas had no qualms about accepting the drink, and threw it back in one gulp, holding the glass out to the duke for a refill.

  Sheridan raised a brow at Lucas’s forward nature, but took the tumbler and poured a healthy portion before turning back to the pair.

  “I do not think the dowry needs adjustment,” his father countered.

  “Sit, Bowmont,” the duke said, taking his own seat behind his massive desk. It was a move to show dominance and to remind Lucas’s father that they were on Sheridan ground, not Bowmont—which meant his father needed to give up the upper hand. Reluctantly, his father moved farther into the room and set his hand on the high, winged-back chair, making no further move to sit. If he wasn’t going to take the seat, Lucas was. He settled heavily into the chair with a loud creak. Sheridan cleared his throat before continuing. “Very well, stand, we can talk either way. I am leery of this match, if I’m honest.”

  Beyond his decision to stand, the marquis seemed unfazed by Sheridan’s declaration. “My son is a man, and is therefore afforded certain liberties and freedoms. We had not presented the contract to Lucas yet—there are no grounds for redrafting the marriage settlement.”

  It was in Lucas’s best interest to remain silent while his father and Sheridan openly discussed his future. If Lucas disputed the match, Pippa’s name would be ruined. However, on the other hand, if these men came to an agreement, then he’d be tied to a woman he didn’t know and would never love. What other choice did he have to save Pippa? She didn’t deserve her name being tarnished or her family being ostracized within society. And he wouldn’t jeopardize any match she could later make.

  Lucas wanted Pippa for his own—yet, he could never be worthy of a woman such as she: loving, compassionate, and giving. Bloody hell, she spent her free time knitting caps for the less fortunate.

  “My daughter has been injured—and if this betrothal is to go forward, she will be compensated for the injury your son has caused,” Sheridan declared.

  “My charity only runs so deep.” Lucas didn’t have to imagine the indignation in his father’s words. The degradation of feelings was not something his father would ever admit as a genuine injury.

  The only act of charity Lucas could claim was housing a mistress who’d been tossed from her bordello after her relationship with Lucas became public.

  That had been many years ago. A lifetime ago, when he’d still thought to do anything to gain his parents’ attention; good or bad. Though the Marquis and Marchioness of Bowmont had ignored his insolence and refused to address the scandal of their son coexisting with a woman of loose morals. He’d even dared to bring the woman to a society ball.

  When it hadn’t worked—and the woman expected marriage—Lucas had to break ties.

  She deserved more, though he did not confuse this with an act of goodness. No, he’d allowed his mistress to seek other entanglements to save himself.

  Aiding one’s mistress was in no way comparable to helping a village full of children. Lucas was not foolish enough to think he was, in any way, worthy of Lady Pippa.

  His best decision was to make this all disappear. Thankfully, that was something he had experience in. People around him disappeared—his little brother, his parents, his university friends, and a mistress or two.

  And with them, their problems.

  Though, Randolph’s disappearance directly started Lucas’s family breakdown; but his friends and his mistresses, when he pushed, they fled. Ultimately, they were better off without him.

  Pippa would be best without him and the problems his presence would cause in her life. The only fail-safe plan was to wed Lady Natalie—and make sure no one ever spoke of his unchaperoned time with Lady Pippa. He’d known that demanding shelter was highly inappropriate, but he’d been wet, cold, and had a deuced headache from a night of drinking. And when he’d seen Pippa, well, Lucas wanted nothing more than to stay in her company as all sorts of sordid thoughts invaded his mind.

  He was everything his parents claimed him to be.

  Never to his face, of course, but behind closed doors, in whispers.

  The Marquis and Marchioness of Bowmont would not admit it, but they were afraid of their son. Part of him wondered if they believed Lucas had led Randolph out to that slew, that none of it had been an accident, that Lucas hadn’t lived with the pain and agony every moment of every day since.

  How would they know anything—they’d never asked?

  Never once had they asked if Lucas had known his brother followed him that night.

  Not once had they asked if Lucas wished harm upon his younger sibling.

  Never had they inquired whether Lucas wanted to go away and never return to his family home.

  No, this was all discussed in hushed tones behind his parents’ locked bedchamber door with Lucas brokenhearted and alone in the hall. The servants ignored him as if they’d all been instructed that both of the Bowmont boys had perished that fateful night by the creek—and no heir remained.

  It was much like today, but Sheridan and his father did not speak in whispers nor di
d they hide behind a locked door.

  “Now we speak of my daughter as if you are taking pity on her—doing me a gentlemanly favor, no less,” Sheridan spit out, “…by taking her off my hands and wedding her to your degenerate of a son?”

  “No matter my son’s many shortcomings, he is my heir, and will one day be a marquis—and with that, will come everything I have amassed.”

  “We have amassed,” the duke reminded Lucas’s father. “I will not have you forget my instrumental part in your family’s good fortune since our partnership began.”

  “I would dream of no such thing,” Bowmont retorted. “In fact, I am doing the complete opposite by working toward marrying our families and solidifying our continued success.”

  His father seemed to know that Lucas would not fight any decision the two men settled on.

  Not once, since the night of his brother’s death, had Lucas forced his father—or his mother—to answer any of the questions he had, and neither had they addressed theirs. They were content with living separate lives, never asking, but also never hearing Lucas’s side of all that had happened.

  How Lucas had grieved for Randolph, the many times he’d thought relief would only be found once he joined his brother in the hereafter.

  Peace—it was something Lucas had never experienced since that day.

  To dream…

  Lucas never dreamed, never thought or longed for what could be. He’d learned at a young age that it only led to tragedy and loneliness.

  Except, that wasn’t entirely true.

  He’d forgotten himself, his past, his burdens, and his sorrows during those brief hours with Pippa. She’d banished his demons.

  They’d tried to drag him back down during his walk about her estate—but he’d escaped them with her help and her Christmastide spirit. She’d refused to let him sink, though the weights dragging him down were invisible to her. Unbeknownst to Pippa, she’d untied the great burden that kept him below and allowed him to finally surface, something he couldn’t remember doing since the night of his last adventure.

  He’d taken his first breath in almost fifteen years.