An Enchanted Christmas

by Barbara Metzger

  “Ivy? Why, I went to university with him. You say he is married?”

  “To Uncle’s best friend’s daughter, who was my bosom bow, Miss Sophia Applegate. Then you will come?”

  He had no formal evening wear. He had no hope of winning over Mr. Beasdale. He wished it could be otherwise, but why torture himself further by spending more time in Miss Relaford’s company? “I shall think about it,” was all he could say, knowing he would think of nothing else.

  “Please,” she said, and only went inside when the butler, who was not ill at all, but would be soon with the door open, coughed again.

  Chapter Five

  “How could you, Uncle?”

  Mr. Beasdale merely harumphed into his second serving of tea.

  “Not only were you discourteous to a guest in your house,” Jenna went on, “but you insulted a gentleman who might have saved my life. The officer at Bow Street said that thief was a dangerous criminal.”

  “He’s poor,” said the banker, reaching for another macaroon.

  “Of course he is. Wealthy men do not steal ladies’ purses.”

  “Not the thief. Standish.”

  “So what?” Jenna asked, moving the plate farther from her uncle’s reach, for the sake of his waistline. “You and my mother were poor once. You always told me how your father started life as a free trader.”

  “He’s a nob.”

  “Pooh. A mere baronet. My grandfather was an earl.”

  Beasdale’s snort said what he thought about that, and about all titled gentlemen in general. “Like half of the swells, this one is in debt. He owes the bank more than he’s worth.”

  A frown formed on Jenna’s forehead. “Was he the one who took out the loans?”

  “No.”

  “Has he defaulted on his payments?”

  “No, dash it. Am I to be interrogated in my own home, besides starved?”

  Jenna placed one slice of lemon cake on his plate, a small slice. “I have one more question. Although Sir Adam seems to be a brave, kind, honorable gentleman, you will still refuse him permission to call?”

  Put like that, Beasdale had no good answer. He set his plate aside, his stomach roiling. “I only want the best for you, my dear.”

  “What if I consider him the best, the finest gentleman I have ever met? What if he is what I want?”

  “Faugh. It is too soon for you to know. He’ll be leaving soon, anyway, back to his goats and hens.”

  “Sheep and cows, Uncle, and a few hogs. And perhaps he will not leave town so shortly. I invited him to the dinner for Lord and Lady Iverson Friday.”

  “Where he’ll fit right in with those other useless swells, all puffed up with their own consequence.”

  “Sir Adam is not like that, and you are sounding like a French revolutionary. Besides, he might not attend. He did not exactly accept my invitation.”

  “Good. I think I will have that piece of cake after all.”

  “Will you be polite to him if he does come?”

  Whatever Beasdale muttered was lost in the sounds of swallowing. Jenna persisted: “You would not be so selfish, would you, to deny me the opportunity to get to know such a pleasant gentleman simply because he does not suit your notions of an eligible parti?”

  “Since you have invited him already, what would be the use? Perhaps it’s for the best. Once you get to know the chap you’ll see that you two won’t suit at all.”

  She smiled, a soft, private smile that quite ruined Beasdale’s digestion for good. He groaned. “Devil take it, poppet, I only want your happiness. You would not be content in the country, minding those ducks and geese.”

  “Sheep and cows, Uncle. But are you saying that if, by some chance, which is far too early to consider”—although she had, of course; her blushes gave her away—“I did marry Sir Adam, you would not invite me to visit here?”

  “Do not be foolish, girl. I am not like that idiot earl who disowned your father. You will always be welcome in my home, no matter whom you marry.”

  Jenna stood up and bent to kiss her uncle’s cheek. She drew back when he added, “Of course, I’d be more welcoming if you were to wed Leonard Frye, the new junior partner. He comes from a powerful investment family. He is prudent and polished and knows what is proper.”

  “Mr. Frye is also a prig.” Jenna called for Hobart to take the tea cart away. “I’d sooner wed one of Sir Adam’s hogs.”

  “Harumph.”

  *

  Adam, meanwhile, was walking back to his inn, thinking of the visit. Beasdale was as stiff-rumped as ever, but his niece was even more of a delight than Adam had thought possible. Her conversation, her wit, her humor, all entranced him deeper than her physical beauty ever could. The only thing he did not like about Miss Relaford, in fact, was that she was so far above him. Granddaughter to an earl, by George. Niece to a nabob, botheration. No amount of wishing was going to make him worthy of such a prize. Blast it. What made Adam feel worse was that he’d never really considered marriage before. He always knew he could not afford a wife, and he was too practical a fellow to hunger for what he could not have—or at least he had been before this trip to London.

  Thinking of hunger made him stop to buy a hot meat pie, since the few bites he’d taken at Beasdale’s house were not nearly enough to satisfy his appetite. Neither, now, was the mere glimpse of heaven enough to satisfy his yearning.

  He wanted a life companion, someone to share his thoughts, share his woes, and share his successes, besides sharing his bed. He wanted a friend, but one who would give him unquestioned, unconditional love. He wished he could find someone who believed he was worthy of being loved in return, despite all his faults and failings.

  He did. A small dog followed him and his dripping meat pie back to the inn.

  *

  “’Ere now, I don’t allow no dogs in my inn.”

  Adam looked down, surprised to see the dirty brown mongrel was still at his side. “He’s not my dog. He just followed me for a taste of my meal.”

  The innkeeper frowned at the small dog in disgust. “And next ’e’ll be beggin’ from the customers. ’Arry,” he called to one of the ostlers, “come get another cur for drownin’.”

  “Drowning?” Adam echoed, looking at the animal, which was shivering with the cold, but which wagged his tail.

  “Right. Else the blighter’ll be gettin’ in the way of the horses, or stealin’ food from the kitchens, or chasin’ the chickens m’wife keeps out back. For sure ’e’ll bring fleas in with ’im, was I to let you take ’im to your room.”

  He’d drown the dog because the creature was hungry and lonely and cold? Hell, Adam was hungry, lonely, and cold, too. No one was going to drown him, or his new dog. “I’ll be leaving then, and taking him with me.”

  The innkeeper shrugged. He already had Adam’s money for the room. Now he could rent it out again.

  And now Adam had no place to sleep, with darkness falling. He had a ragged dog, too, which meant the hotels he knew would not accept his custom either, had he wished to spend another part of his purse on a room. He also had his lucky coin, though, for all the good it had done him. He might as well wish for a featherbed and silk sheets!

  As he left the courtyard of the inn, picking his way between carriages and horses and hurrying grooms, he picked up the dog. The innkeeper was right, the poor little fellow might have been trampled. What were a few more mud stains on his coat anyway? No one would care, back at Standings. And there were worse things than flea bites, although Adam could not think of many offhand.

  He could feel bones through the matted fur and promised the dog another meal soon, and a bath. The pup licked his cheek as Adam negotiated the inn yard, satchel in one hand, dog in the other. “I just wish I had somewhere to take you.”

  Then a handsome phaeton raced into the yard, splashing more mud on Adam and the dog. A scarlet-coated officer leaped down and tossed the reins to one of the grooms who came running. The driver shouted “Sorry”
toward Adam and strode for the taproom. He turned back. “Standish? Is that you, man?”

  “Johnny Cresswell? Good grief, how long has it been? And you are still as cow-handed as ever!”

  “But a lieutenant now, I’ll have you know!”

  With bear hugs and back slaps, the two old schoolmates exchanged welcomes, while the dog danced at their feet, barking. Adam led his two companions to a quieter corner. “Are you on leave? How long will you be in town? How are your parents?”

  “Not precisely on leave,” the lieutenant answered, “for I took a ball in the shoulder.” Seeing Adam’s look of concern, he added, “I am fully recovered, but the War Office is keeping me here until I am needed for courier duty. The parents are well, the last I heard, but the roads to Yorkshire are already near impassable, more’s the pity, so I will not be going home for the holidays. And you, what brings you away from your country fastness?”

  “Business,” was all Adam said. “I leave tomorrow.”

  “Well, you’ll stay with me at Cresswell House tonight, of course.”

  “I could not…”

  “What, you’d leave me to rattle around the mausoleum of a town house by myself with nothing but servants for company? Don’t be a nodcock. Besides, there’s to be a party for Iverson on Friday. You’ll have to stay for that. He’ll be pleased as punch to see you there. Did you hear old Ivy put on leg shackles?”

  “Yes, I was actually invited to the party.” Adam bent, pretending to brush dirt off the dog. “I did not bring my formal clothes.” He did not say he did not own anything fitting for Miss Relaford’s gathering, nor that he could not spend the money on useless fripperies. “No time to have something made up.”

  Cresswell waved that aside. “We’re of a size, and all my formal wear is stowed in the attic. If something needs altering, my batman is a wizard with a needle. I, of course, shall wear my dress uniform. Impresses the ladies, don’t you know.”

  Johnny was already handsome, with blond hair and blue eyes and a raffish, dimpled smile. The tavern girls had always looked at him first, until they heard Ivy’s title. They barely noticed Adam, even then. Now, with Ivy taken and Johnny in his dress uniform, dripping gilt and ribbons… Adam’s heart sank to his shabby boots. “Miss Relaford?”

  Cresswell nodded. “Met her at the wedding. A regular Incomparable.”

  “Yes, I thought so, too.”

  The lieutenant looked more closely at his friend, hearing the plaintive note. “Ah, sits the wind in that quarter, then?”

  “The wind does not sit at all. It blew straight past me, on Beasdale’s breath.”

  “Well, if it is any consolation to you, he’d never let the fair maid go off to follow the drum with a mere lieutenant either. But cheer up, old man, who knows what other well-dowered daughters will be at the party? Ivy found a pretty one, with no trace of her father’s coal mines in her manners.”

  “You don’t mean to tell me Iverson wed an heiress simply for her father’s money, do you? I knew he was punting on Tick, but…”

  “Hell, no. Miss Applegate’s a beauty, too, and likes horses as much as Ivy does. He fell arsy-varsy over the girl.” Cresswell shook his head. “I never would have believed it possible myself.”

  Adam believed it.

  “Well, come on then,” the lieutenant said, “let’s be off. I am sharp-set, and Cook will be thrilled to have another mouth to feed.”

  Adam looked down. “What about the dog? He seems to be mine now.”

  “Bring him along, of course. He looks like he could use a decent meal even more than we can. Have you given him a name?”

  “Lucky,” Adam decided on the instant. What else?

  Chapter Six

  Fiend seize it, there was a feather mattress! Adam sank down upon it and, with a hesitant hand, pulled back the cover. The sheets at Cresswell House were fine, but they were not silk, thank goodness. Otherwise he would have to doubt both his sanity and all the laws of nature as he knew them. As it was, he was having trouble believing the amazing coincidence of finding Johnny Cresswell just when he wished for a place to stay the night.

  He could not have found more comfortable accommodations at the Pulteney or the Grand Hotel, if they had found his person and his purse acceptable, which he doubted. Here the servants were more than anxious to please. With none of the family in residence except the young officer, and no other guests, Adam was their best hope of earning extra money for Christmas.

  The lieutenant’s man was altering a coat to fit Adam’s more muscular frame. The cook was fixing a special dinner. The stable lads were giving the dog a bath, while the head groom was making Lucky a leather collar and lead. The housekeeper was even arranging a bed for the dog in Adam’s room, out of an old yellowed petticoat from the rag bag…a silk petticoat.

  Adam shook his head. No, what he was thinking was impossible. On the other hand, he decided to stay on for Miss Relaford’s party. He would send funds back to Standings in the morning, so there was no need for him to race home tomorrow, not when he had such luxurious digs in town, and not when he could see the woman of his dreams once more without having to be asleep. Just a few hours ago he had decided not to stay, not to torment himself further with what he could never have, but now… Well, now the impossible seemed not quite so improbable, and never was not so far away.

  After the best dinner Adam had had in years, and after they had caught up on all the news of other schoolmates, the progress of the war, the price of corn, Lieutenant Cresswell suggested they go for a hand or two of cards to one of the gambling parlors, far more entertaining than the sedate gentlemen’s clubs.

  “You must know,” Johnny told him, “that I am feeling particularly lucky tonight, having found an old friend to share my meal. I hate eating by myself.”

  Adam had never thought about it, but now that he did, he realized that he ate all his meals with an agricultural journal or a newspaper propped in front of him. Conversation would be nice, and a pretty face to look at. Not that Johnny was not good company, just not the company he’d rather have. He said, “I am glad to be of service to stave off your solitude, but, as for the cards, you’ll have to excuse me. My funds are limited enough without chancing the loss of a single groat.”

  “You never were much of a gambler, now that I recall. Still, come along, won’t you? There is always free wine and pretty girls, and you are growing as somber as a Sunday sermon. Besides, one never knows. If I win enough, I might even be able to repay that blunt you lent me.”

  “I never lent you—oh, you mean the hundred pounds? Lud, I never meant that as a loan. It was a gift, so you could buy your colors when your father would not advance you the ready. I could not go off to fight for king and country, not with my own father ailing, so I provided the funds for you to go.”

  “Yes, but with brass you could ill afford to give, that inheritance from your mother. I never forgot, although I must admit the money has been in and out of my hands any number of times. Still, I have every intention of repaying you.”

  Granted, when Adam gave over the money, he had not known quite how bad things were at Standings, but he did not regret helping his friend. “Gammon. If I had not given you the blunt, my father would have used it to buy more horses, or to wager on the ones he already owned.”

  “Yes, well, my own pater still keeps me on a tight rein or I would have repaid you ages ago. It always seemed I had a pressing need when the dibs were in tune. Now I am beforehand with the world, thank heaven, and living at Cresswell House at no expense, so perhaps tonight we will both be lucky.”

  “I have to admit that sum would be more than welcome to meet my own commitments so, yes, let us go to your gambling den for wine, women, and wagering. Lud knows I wish that you end the night a wealthy man!”

  *

  There he was in his borrowed finery, looking fine as five pence, with more than five pence in his pocket for once, yet Adam was not truly enjoying himself. The ladybirds held no interest for him, and he h
ad barely recovered from the day’s headache, so saw no reason to give himself another pounding skull by overindulging in wine. He did find some old friends to greet, but they were more interested in losing their blunt than making conversation. Some of the others present were not men Adam wished to know, not with their glittering, feral eyes and nervous, darting hands.

  For the most part, he watched Lieutenant Cresswell play. Johnny was not any Captain Sharp, but neither was he a gullible flat. He won some, then lost it back, then won a bit more. He went from faro to piquet to the dice to vingt-et-un. Adam could not see what pleasure anyone got in watching their stacks of counters disappear, but he supposed the mere thought of winning was enough for the serious players with their intense stares and sweating brows.

  “Here,” Cresswell said, holding out his heavy Bath blue superfine, having decided to leave off his uniform for the decidedly off-duty night. “Be a good fellow and hold my coat, won’t you? It’s deuce hot in the place.” He looked around. One of the men at the roulette wheel had his coat on inside out, to bring him luck. “Perhaps the cards will go my way without it.”

  They did not, and in a way Adam was relieved, as if somehow his own wishes might have weighted the dice or marked the cards in his friend’s favor. He wanted Johnny to win, naturally, but naturally, not by any havey-cavey happenstance.

  The wagering went on, and Adam was starting to yawn, wondering when his friend would have enough of this empty enterprise, when a commotion arose by the door. A liveried servant was trying to gain entry that the doorman wished to deny. Adam could hear shouts about disturbing the gentlemen at play, about a message, about life and death.

  “Let him in, man, if his news is so important,” Lord Symington, one of the men at Johnny’s table, called across the smoke-filled room as he put down his cards. The others followed suit, the dealers held the decks, the croupier stopped the wheel, and the ladybirds ceased their twittering. All eyes followed the footman as he headed straight for the table where Johnny sat.