Lady Charlotte's Christmas Vigil

by Caroline Warfield

  “Salvo?” a muffled voice queried from the bed.

  He started to back out. Too late.

  Lottie sat up, her cotton nightclothes white in the moonlight. “What is it? Are the boys worse?” She pulled the covers back and swung over to sit on the edge. The movement pulled her gown high over one knee and gave him a view of graceful feet and a slender leg.

  “Don’t get up, Lottie. Are you well?” He raised the candle to see her face better. The purple smudges under her eyes hadn’t abated.

  She looked back, puzzled. “Well enough. Why did you come?”

  His eyes scanned her, from the glorious hair to the tips of those graceful toes. He tried to remind himself of his professional demeanor, but diagnosis played no part in this scrutiny.

  “Salvo?” Lottie asked, her voice thick.

  “I’m sorry, Lottie. You should not be embroiled in my family’s crisis.”

  She pulled her gown down to cover herself. He suspected she blushed rather in the semi-darkness, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

  “I don’t mind. It feels good to be needed. Besides, David looks better every day. I have you to thank for that.”

  His feet moved into the room before he could tell them to stop.

  She frowned at him. “You look exhausted. You can’t care for patients all day and stay up all night. Let me take over with the boys.” She rose. “You get to your bed.”

  He had her in his arms before either could take another breath.

  “Thank you,” he breathed against her mouth, just before he kissed her.

  Lottie pulled back and gasped. He would have pulled back then, but a second later, she moved closer and pressed her mouth to his. He tasted her gently, but didn’t probe. He cupped her face, so he would not pull her up against his arousal, though he yearned to pull her close. He kissed her eyes and down her cheek before setting her away from him.

  Lottie raised trembling fingers to her mouth. “Salvo?”

  “That was shameless of me, but I can’t regret it. You have brought joy to my house, Lottie. Thank you.”

  Disappointment marred her sweet face. Does she want abject apology? He couldn’t give it.

  “I think exhaustion has made me foolish,” he said. “If you can look in on the boys, I’ll visit my bed.”

  He turned on his heels, before he could pick her and carry her to bed with him.

  Four days later, Salvo trudged up the steps to his sons’ room. There were fewer cases of putrid fever that day, as there had been the day before. Judah and the others urged him to stay home tomorrow. Perhaps he would. Christmas approached rapidly. In four days? Five? What day is it? He wasn’t sure.

  A loud shriek interrupted his pleasant thoughts. His heart began to pound. He sprinted down the all the hall and threw open the door to the twins’ room.

  Four pairs of startled eyes stared back at him. Carlo and the Earl of Ambler sat on one bed, Juliana and Toto on the other. A table strewn with cards lay between them.

  “I heard a shriek,” he mumbled, confused and embarrassed.

  “Carlo cheated,” Toto explained.

  “Did not,” his brother said, attempting to rise. Ambler clamped a hand on his shoulder.

  “None of that,” the Englishman said. “And no unfounded allegations.”

  “What are ‘allegations'?” Toto asked.

  “Accusations for which you have no evidence. If you want to get back at your brother, deal the cards.” Toto picked up the cards to do as he was told.

  Juliana smiled at her papa. “David is teaching us vingt-et-un,” she chirped.

  “Lord Ambler to you, girl,” Salvo corrected. The last thing he needed was his eleven year old enamored with an English earl. Juliana shrugged and looked at the cards Toto dealt.

  “The dealer wins, most times,” Carlo grumbled.

  “Ha! Twenty-one!” Toto exclaimed, scooping up the nuts that served as betting tokens.

  Salvo almost collapsed with relief. In the miraculous way of children, his boys had thrown off the fever with a vengeance, and were well on their way back to health. He couldn’t even fault Ambler for teaching the monsters to gamble.

  “Where is Lo—Lady Charlotte?”

  Ambler smiled at him. “May as well give up, Caresini. We’re all first names now. Lottie’s downstairs. Try the kitchen.”

  All four heads bent over their game. He turned to leave with a spring in his step, intending to search her out. Her easy competence and calm smile were the balm he needed. Halfway down the stairs, another thought brought a frown. She needs rest. I hope Mama hasn’t dragooned her into more work, just because she isn’t needed in the sickroom.

  He found Mama in the kitchen, supervising the maid chopping vegetables.

  “Are those from the market?” he asked, accusation in his voice.

  “Don’t be foolish, Salvo,” Mama chided. “Lottie won't let us buy from the market until you say the contagion is over.” She made shooing gestures with her hands. “Go, go. We have work to do.”

  He wandered through his house, feeling useless. When he couldn’t find Lottie in the surgery, the study, or the public receiving room, he trudged back up one flight of stairs to the family parlor. He opened the door and forgot to breathe for a moment.

  Lottie lay across the carpet, unmoving. Desire warred with concern. Fear won at first.

  On second look, she was not unconscious, but sleeping peacefully in front of the pyramidal shelves set up to house the presepe, the nativity crib. He knelt down to take a close look at her. Her breathing looked even; her color looked healthy. She had simply come to rest in front of the presepe and fallen asleep. Her hands clutched one of the little figures, the San Guiseppe, or Saint Joseph in Lottie’s English, he judged from the brown color of the robe.

  In the midst of fever and fear, someone had managed to add figure after figure to the shelves. The revelation stunned him. Lottie. It had to be Lottie. At least she must have been leading the children to do it day after day.

  She must have been unpacking another. He looked at the ones already in place, from the kings on the bottom, upward. Some, like two of the kings, were precious antiques, handed down from his great-grandfather. Others, like the sheep, were dear additions of his childhood. Most precious of all, he thought, was the lumpy camel Toto and Carlo had made this year. He picked it up and hefted it, then put it back in place. Would it survive their roughhousing? He prayed it would. He would have to store it away when the inevitable adolescent embarrassment over their childish projects threatened to destroy it. He would bring it out when they had children of their own. He smiled at the thought.

  A woolen shawl lay draped over a chair. He picked it up and spread it over Lottie’s legs, but not without allowing himself a naughty look at the lovely toes peeking out from her skirt. She had removed her shoes, and the graceful line of her ankle and arched foot enchanted him. He was looking around for a blanket when a sound at the door drew his attention. He looked over into the furious eyes of the Earl of Ambler, who seemed ready to do violence.

  “Let her sleep,” Ambler mouthed through a fierce frown. Salvo nodded.

  The two men stepped out into the hall. Before Salvo barely could pull the door behind him, before Ambler gave him a shove.

  “I should call you out, Caresini. You’ve used my sister ill.”

  "What?" Rage filled Salvo. Who is this irresponsible boy to judge my behavior? He stepped forward and glowered down at the earl.

  “You are no one to judge. Your behavior put her at risk, you damned fool,” he spat.

  Belatedly aware of Salvo’s great height and broad build, Ambler took a step backward, but thought better of it and planted his feet. “It isn’t right, using her like a servant,” he sputtered.

  “We agree on that much,” Salvo said, letting his fists relax. He gave the boy credit for backbone.

  “I saw the way you looked at her just now. I may be young, but I’m not stupid,” Ambler said with more force.

&nb
sp; Salvo drew a deep breath. He nodded.

  “Come into my study. It’s time we talked.” He glanced at the closed door. “But not here.”

  Lottie woke with a stiff back and amused laugh. You’re tired, indeed, my girl, when you fall asleep on the floor.

  She pushed herself up with one hand, and looked at the tiny figure in the other. Saint Joseph looked earnest and, yes, paternal, as if concerned for the plight of his wife and the little one born in a stable. She replaced it on the top shelf where Juliana had put it after breakfast. Tomorrow, they would add the highest angel, the next day, the Virgin Mary and the next, Christmas Eve, the baby Jesus.

  Lottie found the presepe enchanting. Nothing at Ambler Hall or the village church came close, even during the holiday season. The gilt ribbons and blown glass were different from the holly, ivy, and mistletoe she delighted in at home, but beautiful all the same. The carved figures, none over six inches tall, were the best of all. Some appeared to be the product of one of the skilled artisan workshops of Venice with fine detail in the faces and clothing. One or two appeared to be home made. A pair of sheep had actual wool and ebony eyes. She loved each one.

  She sat to put her shoes back on and inhaled the scent of citrus and lavender. Home and family, she thought. The same everywhere.

  Speaking of which, David promised to read to the boys. I hope he managed to keep them quiet.

  When she found them sitting up in their beds playing cards, a joyful laugh escaped her. I’m not sure vingt-et-un is quite the thing, but at least they are quiet and at peace with their sister, for once.

  Juliana looked up and smiled. “Did Papa find you?” she asked.

  “No. What did he want?”

  Juliana shrugged and looked back at the cards. Lottie went in pursuit of Salvo, a smile teasing her mouth. She had not spoken to him since the night he came to her room—the night he had kissed her. Memories of that kiss had kept her up every night since. She told herself not to be a ninny, mooning after some man who didn’t have room in his life for a foreign spinster with inappropriate notions.

  She had hoped he would seek her out the day after the kiss, but he had left before she arose, and returned long after dark. When he was home, he had patients to see. He avoided family meals.

  As he should, Lottie. He has work to do. Juliana said he looked for her tonight. He wants to speak to me. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?

  The dark, empty surgery and waiting foyer disappointed and yet, in other ways pleased her. No patients meant the contagion had begun to abate. Still, no Salvo. When she popped her head into the kitchen, Mama Caresini shrugged and said, “He went looking for you.” Lottie’s smile deepened. He had searched the house for her.

  She wandered back down the hall and saw what she had missed, light under the door to Salvo’s study. She knocked gently, heart in her throat.

  “Enter,” Salvo called.

  Lottie pushed the door open. He wasn’t alone. Her brother sat across the desk, both holding glasses full of amber liquid and, from the looks of them, not their first. They grinned at one another like fools, or at least, like long-lost friends.

  “Hello, Lottie,” David said. “Enjoying Caresini’s brandy. Good man, the doctor.”

  She looked from one to the other. What have they been up to?

  “Your brother has been telling me about your home,” Salvo said.

  “Parents, all that,” David put in. He rose to his feet, less steady than he ought to be. “I say, Lottie, do you like Italy?” he peered at her, looking as if he had trouble focusing.

  “Y-yes,” she answered, puzzled by his question.

  David seemed pleased with her answer. “Thought you might. You like all this art and whatnot.” He smiled beatifically. “Much thanks, Caresini,” he said, with a salute.

  Lottie watched him wander off down the hall before she spun around to Salvo. “What was all that about?”

  Salvo looked uneasy. “Your brother had a bit too much brandy.”

  “I can see that.” What went on here? She wondered. “Juliana said you were looking for me.”

  “I was.” He hesitated.

  Lottie lost patience. “And?” she demanded.

  “I just needed to see you.” The look in his eyes spread warmth down her belly to weaken her knees. Needed?

  “Is there something I can do for you?” she murmured, anticipation making her throat tighten.

  “Your brother said I used you ill.” Confusion filled her when the blaze in his eyes went out, as if shutters had closed.

  Whatever she expected, it wasn’t that. “And yet, the two of you looked pleased with one another when I entered. What is going on?”

  “Lottie—Lady Charlotte—I couldn’t have managed these past weeks without you. The boys pulled through well enough, but without you to keep their fever down, it might have been different. I owe you their health.”

  She brushed the praise aside, more concerned that he was back to 'Lady Charlotte.'

  “You would have managed.”

  He shook his head. “No. My duties to Venice tore me away. Mama could not have managed. Speaking of Mama, you kept her from the market produce, and kept Juliana occupied at the same time. Then, we brought your brother, and you cared for him, too.”

  “Thank you, but—”

  “Besides all that, this house smells of holiday baking. I find Natale cakes in my stockings and under my bed. The parlor has been decorated, and Mama told me Juliana has been making gifts for everyone.”

  Lottie felt a flush creep up her neck. “Your family has been eager for the holiday,” she said, gratified for the praise.

  “All of it is wonderful. None of it is your responsibility.”

  Not praise then. But not quite a reprimand, either. She started to interrupt. He put out a hand to stop her.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “My family is my concern, not yours. I have, indeed, used you ill. I am grateful, but it is time you left.”

  She felt as if she had been slapped. He looked away to avoid her eyes and began tidying the papers on his desk. “Your brother told me about your sacrifices for your parents. He told me you had a single London Season before your mother fell ill. Why did you never go back?” He glanced back up sharply.

  “She lingered two years. Then we had a year of mourning. After that, Papa depended on me. He couldn’t bear to have me gone.”

  “He used you, also.”

  Anger gave an edge to Lottie’s response. “He needed me. What sort of daughter would I be if I left him?” Why are you defending Father, Lottie? You know he didn’t give you a choice. “Besides, there was no point in the expense of a Season. The entire effort would have been useless,” she said.

  Some truths hurt. Her father’s words echoed in her head. The whole folderol costs too damned much, when you’re past the age when anyone will snap you up. It isn’t as if you’re a beauty.

  “Your brother says the old man wanted you to manage his house, an unpaid chatelaine.”

  “I don’t know why my brother aired our family business, but you must know that is not your concern.” Lottie lifted her head and gave it a haughty shake. At least, she hoped it was haughty. What was David thinking? He made me out to be an object of pity to this man.

  When Salvo’s eyes softened and filled with concern, hers began to burn. Tears threatened. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve had quite enough family history for one night.” She turned to leave.

  “Lady Charlotte, wait. You have had more than your share of men abusing your generosity. It is time I stopped being one of them. Lord Ambler also told me this dream of Rome has been yours since you were children.”

  What does that have to do with anything?

  She nodded, confused and mute.

  “He and I have agreed, you will leave tomorrow. It may not be possible to reach Rome by Christmas, but you can make a start. I will see to it.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and began to write, shutting her out as effectively as slamming a door.r />
  Chapter 7

  Lottie’s stricken face haunted Salvo long after the echoes of the slamming door faded away in his study. She had been hurt by the personal revelations, but did telling her they would leave make it worse? He couldn’t be sure, because her hurt look passed in the blink of an eye, replaced by pure aristocratic hauteur. Salvo could no longer overlook the signs of class and privilege, no matter how he hated that bitter truth. He threw back another glass of brandy.

  The indiscretion was not well done of Ambler, but Salvo thanked the boy, all the same. He had almost made a fool of himself. He had brought the boy back to his study to ask him if he might court his sister. Fool.

  After a single brandy, Ambler dropped the names of the guardians: the Duke of Sudbury, Viscount Cadwalader, and the Earl of Chadbourn, all family or close friends. They were all, it seemed, eager for Lady Charlotte to return to London after her adventure, and none of them—Ambler included—had any doubt she would make a brilliant match.

  Salvo knew her to be lovely and charming. Ambler told him, she also had a dowry the envy of England. A struggling Venetian physician, whose once-noble family had fallen far under Austria’s thumb, would not qualify for her hand, although Ambler had been too polite to say so.

  When pressed on the missing chaperone, Ambler poured another drink and had the grace to look ashamed. “I probably shouldn’t have encouraged her to come,” he had said. He surprised Salvo by claiming it was he who advocated for Lady Charlotte to travel with him.

  “It was Rome, you see,” he said. “She's talked of it since I can remember. I—that is. all of us—thought she ought to have a reward for putting up with Father. Who could know Aunt Florence would scarper halfway through?”

  The aunt had “scarpered,” as Ambler put it, however, and the damage was done. When Ambler admitted his ill-advised behavior in Venice made his sister’s situation worse, Salvo’s respect for the boy grew. Ambler thanked him for putting her in a house with his mother, to add respectability.