by Jenna Jaxon
Twelve gifts will arrive before the beginning of Christmastide.
Welcome to day one, my love.
“Mama?”
Mena quickly hid the card behind her back as her daughter walked into the room.
“There you are. I daresay it’s freezing outside—” She broke off mid-sentence as she noticed the bouquet sitting on the table. “Ooh! Who are these from?”
Mena shrugged. “I have no idea.”
As her daughter smelled the roses with a pleased sigh, she said, “Surely you have some sort of clue?”
With a defeated sigh, knowing her tenacious daughter would not cease and desist until she gained the information she wanted, Mena handed over the card.
It only took a moment before her daughter’s blue eyes were lighting up with interest. “You have a secret admirer!” she nearly squealed.
Mena rolled her eyes and snatched the card away, only to shove it in the pocket of her skirts. “I daresay it was probably a wrong delivery. Once the mistake has been noted, I’m sure the messenger will return.” As she turned away, Mena could practically feel her daughter’s sigh. Pulling the rope near the door, Mena ordered tea before sitting down on the settee. Only then did she face her daughter’s firm glare.
“Why is it so hard to believe that you might be the object of someone’s affections? You’re not in your dotage yet, Mama.”
Mena clasped her hands together before she spoke in a calm and rational tone. “Don’t be ridiculous. True, I’m not yet a grandmother, but I hope that will change very soon.”
Marigold instantly blushed, and as hoped, Mena had deftly turned the subject away from herself.
“Robbie and I have only been married for six months. I wouldn’t expect too much just yet. Besides…” She shrugged and then took a seat across from her mother. “It’s nice being able to focus on each other.”
Mena couldn’t argue with that. “I suppose you’re right. Laurence and I were married two years before Jacob was born.”
The teacart arrived at that moment. It wasn’t until the maid poured their tea and departed, that Marigold asked softly, “Did you love Papa?”
“Of course.” Mena didn’t hesitate. “He was my husband for nearly twenty-one years, after all.”
Marigold stirred her cup slowly, keeping her gaze on her task. “I know that, but he was quite a bit older than you.”
“He was a mature gentleman, but that didn’t mean respect and compassion wasn’t part of our union.” Mena smiled gently. “He gave me two, precious children and a comfortable life. That’s all I could have ever asked for.” She frowned suddenly. “Don’t tell me that something is wrong—“
“Oh, no! Not at all.” Marigold reassured her. “I was just wondering…”
As her voice trailed off uncertainly, Mena prompted, “Yes?”
In the end, her daughter blew out a heavy breath. “Did you feel passion?”
Surprise sent Mena’s brows rising toward her hairline. While she tried to adopt a perfectly natural pose, her heart began beating with another time, another place. Another man. Someone she hadn’t allowed herself to think of in more than twenty years. “What’s all this about, Mari?” she asked curiously.
“Does it fade over time?” Marigold returned abruptly. “The passion?” She set aside her cup and touched her forehead anxiously. “I guess now that the wedding is over I’m looking to the future, and I’m afraid that what Robbie and I share will begin to break apart.”
Mena chose her words carefully. “I don’t believe that true love ever falters. While initial attraction may wane over time, it will never disappear completely. Trust me, that man would move heaven and earth to try and please you, so I wouldn’t worry about what tomorrow holds, for as we both know, it is rather uncertain.”
Her voice must have trembled a bit, for Marigold jumped up and rushed to her side. “Oh, Mama. I’m so sorry! First I bring up Papa, and I’m sure that only makes you think of Jacob.”
Mena swallowed over the lump in her throat, but once she assured herself that she could speak, she said, “I will always mourn your brother’s death. There is a gaping hole in my chest that is missing, but it gives me comfort to know that he did not die in vain. It was in the service of his country and there are many more ways to perish that aren’t nearly as honorable.”
A single tear trickled down Marigold’s cheek. “I didn’t call to upset you. Truly, I didn’t.” She sighed heavily, and Mena stroked the side of her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“With the death of Princess Charlotte last month, along with that of her stillborn child, the entire country has been in perpetual mourning. Not to mention the unrest with the East India Company in Mahidpur. It only stands to reason that we should feel the same ill effects. As far as something being wrong—” She forced Marigold to look at her. “—are you quite sure that you aren’t increasing? I had very similar symptoms at the onset.” Her daughter’s blue eyes instantly widened, and Mena smiled gently. “Make an appointment to see a physician. I think you’ll find that things are perfectly fine once you do.”
Mari threw her arms around Mena’s neck. “Thank you, Mama.”
Mena closed her eyes. Three sweeter words had never been spoken.
Unless they were, I love you.
***
Mena sat patiently as her maid brushed out her long, brown hair. After helping her into her nightdress, the maid quit the room, leaving Mena staring into the mirror on her dressing table. She looked at the face that had survived nearly forty-two years of joy and heartbreak. While she still maintained a somewhat youthful appearance, there were certain, marked changes, like the slight lines around her blue eyes and mouth, and the few, snowy white hairs near her brunette crown. Naturally, her figure had suffered as well, but she had never been concerned with the changes brought about by childbirth. Her mother had always told her that a bit of weight was healthy on a woman, but perhaps she had only said that because she was rather plump herself.
She smiled at the memory of her mother. She had died when Mena was but a child, and her father a few years after her marriage to Laurence. She’d loved them both dearly, but now, in essence, Philomena was alone. Of course, she had her daughter and son-in-law’s love and unending support, but if her suspicions were correct and they were getting ready to start a family, they didn’t need her constant presence when they were trying to carve out a life of their own.
With a sigh, Mena recalled the card she had stuck out of sight earlier. She’d hidden it from her maid as if she was a wayward debutante concealing secrets regarding a disreputable beau.
Then again, she hadn’t been expecting such a lovely boon.
Standing, Mena walked over to the bed and sank down on the edge. She’d asked for the roses to be brought up to her room after dinner, and now she leaned over to her bedside table and breathed in their delightful scent.
She suddenly found herself transported back to an age of innocence on her father’s estate in Kent. He had been the local squire, well-liked by the entire hamlet for his fair mindedness and gentle dealings with any issues that might have arisen from the tenants. It was because of his popular social standing, and the fact he was a close friend with Lord Lipscomb, that the earl became a prime candidate for Mena’s hand. In truth, their union had been planned since she was a child.
Mena had always known her role as Laurence’s countess was already arranged. She’d never had any cause to doubt it, or rebel against the decision.
Until the local vicar’s son arrived for a visit.
Julian Solomon. She blew out a heavy breath. She hadn’t let herself think of that name since she’d married Laurence, deciding that it was best to put the past behind her. And it wasn’t as though Julian was a large part of that. In truth, they’d only been casual acquaintances that summer he’d been on leave from school.
It was the manner in which he’d left that had stuck with her until this day.
An eighteen-year-old
young man with dark blond hair and mischievous green eyes, a smattering of freckles across his nose, he’d handed her a plain, cotton handkerchief. “So you will have something to remember me by when I leave to make my fortune in the Colonies.”
Mena remembered scoffing at his dreams. “It’s everyone’s hope when they leave England, to make a new start in that land infested with scavengers and ne’er-do-wells. Why would you want to risk your life on such a fool’s quest?”
His only reply had been a wide grin. “Because I will be one of the few to succeed.” Only then had his eyes sobered. “And then I’ll come back for you, Mena.”
Her youthful thirteen-year-old heart had stopped. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re my girl.”
Mena had never seen nor heard from Julian after that day, and seven years later, at age twenty, she’d married Lord Lipscomb, who was nearly thirty years her senior.
She’d always rejoiced that Julian had found the courage to strike out on his own, while she had stayed behind to settle into her role as a future wife and mother. She had never thought of doing anything more than what was expected of her, and so, when Laurence proposed some years later, she had promptly accepted. She had known her duty to her family, and she never thought that the path her life took would be carved out any differently. While she admired Julian and his determination, she had never regretted her life decisions.
Then again, she never imagined that she would be a widow at such a young age. Or that she would have to mourn the loss of her son. But that was life. One had to endure the good as well as the bad.
In the end, she’d decided that it was best for some things to remain buried, so she’d effectively put Julian Solomon out of her mind. It was strange, however, that he wanted to float back into her memory now.
Mena reached out and rubbed a silky soft petal between her thumb and forefinger.
After all, some things were just not meant to be.
DAY TWO
Mena went about her daily, morning routine. While part of her didn’t want to put too much faith that her ‘secret admirer’ would actually follow through on the promise of twelve days of gifts, she couldn’t help a bit of anticipatory eagerness as she went down to breakfast, half expecting to perhaps find a small wrapped parcel next to her plate.
Of course, there was nothing.
Either way, she knew she really shouldn’t accept anything except a trivial token of affection, for if word spread, such behavior would likely be frowned upon. Widow or not, she might be construed as fast, and that would not do. Then again, if she didn’t know whom the gifts were from, then there was no way to return them until the mystery was solved.
She vowed not to stress about it overmuch, but as the day wore on and no deliveries were made, she felt her suspicions that this was all just a simple lark were rather accurate.
Feeling restless, she decided that the best cure was to do a bit of shopping, so she ordered the carriage to be brought around. She descended the stairs dressed in a blue velvet pelisse, matching bonnet, and fur muff, but as she stepped outside, she nearly regretted her decision to leave the warmth of her townhouse as her breath fogged before her and instantly froze her cheeks. Even the windows of her coach were lightly frosted over.
She felt guilty for making her driver wait upon her in such conditions, but she vowed that she wouldn’t tarry. Thus, she climbed inside and settled herself against the cushions and set her feet upon the warming brick.
Mena didn’t recall many cold winters in her day, although the year her husband died, the Thames actually froze over. Solidly enough, in fact, that an elephant was marched across the river alongside Blackfriars Bridge and printing presses were brought out and actually placed upon the ice in order to print souvenirs of this historic “frost fair.” It was a rather unprecedented event, and one Mena would have liked to enjoy a bit more, but Laurence had been ill and she’d had to remain at home.
But she never felt any bitterness toward him because of it. He truly had been a good man and treated her well. If nothing else could be said of their union, it was that they shared a mutual respect for one another.
Even if there had been no passion…
As her carriage deposited her on Bond Street, she adjusted her bonnet. She needed to remove such unwanted thoughts before they had room to grow. All this talk about a possible suitor, as well as Marigold’s concerns about her own marriage had merely unsettled her. It was time to turn her attention elsewhere.
Even so, as she walked into the glover’s shop, an older gentleman smiled as he held the door open for her on his way out, and she murmured her thanks only after eyeing him sharply for the gesture.
With a shake of her head, Mena frowned. Now she was just being silly.
After selecting a simple pair of lined, leather gloves, she stood by the counter waiting while the shopkeeper wrapped them up for her. Two young women and their gentleman escort entered. Mena thought they couldn’t be more than twenty years of age with their bouncing, blond curls and giggling smiles. She had to grin when the gentleman tipped his hat at her and rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Thank you, my lady.”
Mena murmured a reply as she took her package, but when she turned to leave, she accidently bumped into one of the girls. “I beg your pardon,” she said hastily, to which she was given a sweetly dimpled reply.
She was almost out the door, and out of earshot, when she heard the girl say softly from behind her, “Poor thing. I daresay with her poor sight she didn’t see me standing there. I daresay I’m not looking forward to the day I get that old.”
Mena walked outside before she reached up and touched the rim of her glasses. She’d had nearly forgotten she had them on, but she couldn’t see very well without them any longer, so after a bit of frustration, she had finally given in to wearing them the majority of the time. Even so, she couldn’t deny that the girl’s comment stung. She knew it wasn’t said with malicious intent, but it made Mena realize that she wasn’t getting any younger.
She headed toward her carriage, tears stinging her eyes. She suddenly wasn’t in the mood to shop anymore. With her head down, Mena wasn’t paying attention like she should, so she nearly stumbled over a pair of sizeable feet in a pair of sharp-looking Hessians.
Two strong hands instantly reached out to steady her, with a firm grip on her shoulders, and a masculine voice chided gently, “You should be more careful, madam.”
“Indeed. I shouldn’t want to break a hip at my age,” Mena murmured somewhat bitterly. The words were out before she could stop them, but to her surprise, the gentleman laughed.
The sound was so rich and pleasant that she forced her eyes to lift. She instantly felt the blood leave her face when she met a familiar green gaze. It was a shock to imagine that she had just been thinking of Julian Solomon, and now, here he stood in the flesh. She hadn’t seen him in years, but there was no denying it was the same boy from her youth, nor that he still made her heart pound beneath her breast.
Of course, he had aged during their time apart, but the changes only made him more handsome. He still had the same, dark blond hair and casual manner, but his childhood freckles had disappeared, leaving behind a mature face lined with very few wrinkles. His body had filled out and grown taller, but he didn’t appear to possess a paunch underneath his greatcoat.
She must have breathed his name, for he inclined his head and grinned. “I was wondering if you might remember me, Lady Lipscomb.”
She blinked. “I…yes, of course.” She paused and found her footing. “It’s just been a long time. How are you, Mr. Solomon?”
“Quite well, my lady.” His green eyes twinkled in amusement, before his smile faltered slightly. “I heard of your son’s death. I’m very sorry.”
“Yes, it was…difficult.” She had to swallow to keep the tears at bay. It was always tough when it came to the memory of Jacob. “But he was honored for his service in the war, so I suppose I can’t ask for
more than that.” She sighed. “At least his father didn’t have to suffer his loss as well.”
Julian’s jaw seemed to harden. “Indeed.”
Mena sensed his reluctance to speak of her late husband, so she asked, “What brings you to London?”
His casual and somewhat flirtatious demeanor returned. “I have some delicate…business to oversee.”
“I hope it’s nothing too challenging,” she said sincerely.
“I don’t believe it will be.” He eyed her steadily. “But I plan on giving the matter my utmost attention.”
She was about to ask if he might be in town long when he frowned and glanced down at his pocket watch.
“Forgive me, but there is somewhere I need to be. Might I call upon you this week?”
Mena didn’t even give her reply a second thought. “Of course.”
He snapped his watch closed and tucked it away. “Then I shall look forward to it, Lady Lipscomb.”
With a brief touch of his hat in farewell, he strode off down the street, his long legs quickly lengthening the distance between them.
For several moments, Mena couldn’t move, as if she was stuck in some kind of trance. The chill finally interceded, and she took off in the opposite direction. She didn’t even know if Julian was married or had children. It hadn’t even occurred to her to ask. For all she knew, he might have a family waiting for him somewhere in the city. It was a strange thought, but whoever they might be, surely he would know they would all be welcome to call. Unfortunately, she hadn’t asked for his address, so any formal invitation would have to wait.
As she approached the carriage, the driver opened the door for her and nodded toward the seat. “A messenger boy dropped that off while you were gone, my lady.”
Mena eyed the plain wrapped parcel with a critical eye as she climbed inside and sat down. “Did he give the sender’s name?”