A Yuletide Regency (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 21)

by Regina Scott

  But not if Arabelle could help it. She splashed through the icy water, her skirts sticking to her legs and tangling her boots. She threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around Eleanor. She savored the feel of that little girl’s body next to hers for but a moment before a whirling thrust of current pushed her from behind, knocking her forward as her feet tangled in debris. They would go under.

  Hard splashing sounded from behind, and a strong arm wrapped around Arabelle’s middle, pulling hard against the current.

  “Have you got her?”

  Arabelle turned, finding Isaac at her ear.

  “Get your feet underneath you, or we’re all going in.”

  She nodded, stunned, and scrambled to get her feet on firmer ground.

  “Hang on, we’re going to fall backward into the shallows,” he said.

  Her grip on Eleanor tightened, and as he heaved backward, so did she. As promised, they landed on their backs in the frigid but calm water, Arabelle wrapped in Isaac’s arms and Eleanor crying on top of them.

  “Are you all right?” Isaac asked, his hand stroking her face, her hair. “Is she all right?”

  At the second question, Arabelle tore her gaze from Isaac and sat up, checking Eleanor over. “She’s just frightened. And cold.”

  “We must get you both back to the house. You’re shivering all over. Come on.” He gave her enough nudge so she could stumble upward and out of the water with Eleanor, where her mother was stripping off her own cloak.

  “That was brave of you, my darling,” she said as she took Eleanor from her, wrapping up the babe. “And Mr. Linfield—Isaac—thank you.”

  “Here you are, my good man,” Mr. Forbes was saying to Isaac, handing him the end of his cane to pull him out of the water. Isaac took it and pulled himself up, hobbling on one leg. A buckle had come loose, and the boot hung crooked.

  “Mama,” Arabelle said through chattering teeth. “Get Eleanor to the house.”

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “Go,” Isaac said, coming up behind. “I’ll get Miss Hyatt back. Hurry.”

  Mama nodded and rushed on with poor Eleanor wailing away.

  “Ahem. Don’t you think I should be escorting Arabelle back to the house?”

  Arabelle turned to Mr. Forbes, a different kind of chill firing in her veins. “You will not be escorting me back to the house, or down the aisle, or anywhere, Mr. Forbes. You call yourself a rescuer? That little girl did not survive the deaths of her parents only to drown because somebody couldn’t stand to get their feet wet. Any man who puts his boots before a child’s life is not worth any house, any land, any space to call home. My father and my brother are dead. We are at your mercy, sir. But I will not marry you.”

  Breathing came with difficulty, both from fear and cold. But Arabelle stood firm.

  Mr. Forbes straightened, his gaze darting between her and Isaac like a trapped fox. Finally, he spoke.

  “Here.” He gave Isaac his dry cloak. “Too late, I know, but it’s something.”

  Isaac took the cloak and wrapped it around Arabelle’s shoulders. She shuddered again but felt steadier. Without another word, she and Isaac began the ascent back up to the river walk, her arm looped tightly through his as he leaned heavily on his cane and focused on keeping his false foot under him.

  “C-can you fix it?” she asked.

  “My valet has the tools needed, and spare buckles,” he answered through clenched teeth.

  “Are you in pain?” she asked.

  He hesitated replying. “Yes-s.”

  A minute of quiet passed as they made their way back along the luminary path.

  She took a steadying breath, but her teeth still chattered. “You c-came for us.”

  “Of course I did. As soon as I saw the danger. That idiot just stood there. I only wish I could have been . . .”

  “Faster? Stronger? More gracef-ful?” She laughed. “Doesn’t matter. You acted. That’s what counts. That’s what saved her.”

  “Your actions saved her as well. You were always fast on your feet.”

  “Running is un-n-ladylike.”

  “You were every bit a lady back there.” After a few more steps he paused to catch his breath, wincing.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  He shook his head and leaned against a low garden wall. “Just give me a moment.” She shivered and pulled Mr. Forbes’s coat tighter, ignoring the smell of bay leaves.

  “What will I do, Mr. Linfield?” she asked, catching a glimpse of Mr. Forbes walking to the stables, his head low. “I’ve ruined Christmas. And more.”

  “Abby,” he said. “Look at me.”

  She met his gaze, the only sure thing about his stature at the moment.

  “You did what George would have had you do.”

  There it was again, in his gaze. As if the mention of George tied them more closely to each other. “What of you?” she asked. “What would you have had me do?”

  “The same.” He averted his eyes and stood once more. “I’ll not rest until this is figured out.” As he wobbled on the first step, she once again took his arm under the guise of being cold. He seemed to straighten because of it.

  “Promise me you’ll take some rest, sir.”

  He smiled.

  They said nothing more as they drew near the house. Several servants, including Edith and Isaac’s valet, met them outside and made a fuss.

  “Has a bath been drawn for Eleanor?” Arabelle asked.

  “Yes, Miss.” Edith said. “And another is being drawn for you, and then Mr. Linfield. The fires in your rooms are blazing. Are you in need of being carried, Miss?”

  “No, thank you,” she said as someone threw a blanket around her. “I can get inside on my own two feet.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Isaac quipped. “I seem to require a sedan chair.”

  A laugh bubbled up from somewhere inside her. “Someone get a farrier for Mr. Linfield. He’s thrown a shoe.”

  His unfettered laughter warmed her more than any blanket would.

  Chapter Six

  After Arabelle’s bath, Edith brushed her hair by the heat of the fire until it shone, then twisted it up in a simple chignon with a pearl comb. Arabelle dressed in a soft blue velvet gown and was left to rest by the fire before growing fidgety and heading downstairs.

  The door to Isaac’s room opened just as she passed, and Isaac’s valet exited.

  “Pardon me, Miss Hyatt.” He bowed before the partially open door.

  “Is Mr. Linfield downstairs?”

  “He is just coming out, Miss.” With another bow, he left toward the servant’s staircase.

  Arabelle stared at the open door, barely breathing as she waited for Isaac to appear. But he did not. With a glance up and down the hall, she pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

  Isaac stood with his back to her, his sleeve rolled up as he harnessed his wooden hand to his bare forearm. The sight of the stump shocked her into a stupor.

  “Close the door, will you, James? I’ve had to redo this.”

  Shaking herself into some lucidity, she closed the door. Not knowing if she should speak, but not wanting to deceive him, she timidly cleared her throat.

  He turned at the sound, jerking his sleeve down to his wrist. “What are you doing here?” He shot a glance to the closed door. “Where is James?”

  She lifted her chin, ignoring the anger in his voice. “He said you would be right out.”

  “He was correct. You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of basic propriety, for starters, Miss Hyatt. And out of respect for my privacy.”

  She felt her cheeks warm and lowered her head, overcome with remorse. “Of course. I’m sorry. I only wished to—I’ll go.” She turned, and as she did, her elbow brushed against the low-boy, knocking a bottle and hairbrush to the ground.

  “Oh no,” she said, diving for the items as he did.

  The resounding crack at h
er forehead was followed by Isaac’s grunt. They both rocked backward, landing on the floor.

  “Oof,” said Isaac, peering at her as he rubbed his temple. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, wanting to be swallowed into the carpet. “That’s twice today you’ve fallen on my account.”

  “Yes,” he said, picking up the unharmed bottle. “Fewer lives were at stake this time, though.”

  “And we’re not soaked through.”

  He shook his head, laughing silently, then rubbed his hand over his face. “I find myself at a complete loss.”

  “Because I’m a country girl with horrible manners?”

  “No. Because I should offer you assistance to your feet, but I can’t get to my own.”

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, and rose on all fours. She crawled to his cane and handed it to him.

  He took it in silence, then got his footing and hoisted himself up. He set the cologne down, then offered her his hand.

  After he pulled her up, he let go quickly and stepped away, buttoning up his sleeve at his wrist. For the first time since she entered, she got a good look at him. He appeared to have bathed, brushed his wet hair, and shaved. “You look well,” she said quietly. “You smell of oranges and clove soap.”

  “Better than river water?”

  “On some occasions,” she said, trying to clear her head.

  The corner of his mouth lifted.

  “Are you angry?” she asked.

  “Only a little,” he said. “Does your head hurt?”

  “Not much.”

  He returned to straightening his sleeve. “You smell of lemon and flowers.”

  “It’s called Lily of the Valley. Jane took me to Floris on Jermyn Street during my season and helped me choose.” It had been one of the highlights of her stay.

  “You two were close?” he asked, pulling on his jacket.

  “Yes. She didn’t judge my wildness and had a way of making me want to be a lady. And you would have loved her sense of humor. I suppose being married to George required one.” She smiled.

  But he frowned. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the opportunity to meet her. George wrote of her, of course. He was enraptured from the moment they met.”

  “Indeed. They were wonderful together. And Eleanor won’t know either of them.”

  “Yes, she will. We’ll tell her all we know.” He straightened the brush and bottle and moved to the door.

  “We?” she asked.

  He stopped in his movement. “You’ll tell her. I’ll share what I can when I’m here.”

  “Here?” She shook her head. “Mr. Linfield, we have lost Hybrigge.” Emotions welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them back. “I have lost us Hybrigge. Where is it you think you’ll find us?”

  He glanced at the door and stepped toward her. “Listen here. You didn’t lose Hybrigge. Nobody in this house would ever accuse you of that. You were perfectly right in your estimations of Forbes out there on the river today. He showed his colors and you—” He gently chucked her chin. “You stood up for your niece’s entire future like you were her mother. Nobody will fault you for that.”

  “Mr. Forbes will,” she whispered. “Her entire future is now in peril.”

  “Abby,” he said, “do not cry. I cannot stand to have you cry.” He drew closer. “You’ll get through this. You all will.”

  She drew in a deep breath, determined to make him proud. “I suppose I must believe you, musn’t I?”

  He gazed at her. “Yes.”

  “What more can be done?” she asked.

  He dropped his head, his shoulders rounding as he thought. Their heads were so very close together that if she leaned forward, her nose might have nuzzled his hair.

  He lifted his head suddenly, and she drew back inches. “I’ll talk to Forbes again,” he said. “See if he’ll reconsider breaking the entailment or allow you and your family to reside here.” He frowned. “I don’t understand why he wants to sell the place.”

  “Sell?” Panic widened her eyes. “Why would he sell Hybrigge?”

  “I don’t know.” He held her shoulder. “You must not give up hope. You are still young and beautiful, and you may have another season again. Perhaps I can find a sponsor for you. Hewitt Forbes is not your only chance at a future, Abby.”

  “And who would offer for me . . . and Eleanor?”

  He dropped his head again.

  “You think me beautiful?” she added.

  He looked at her once more, his expression unreadable. She swallowed, aware of how very near he was. “Two years ago, before my first season, you wrote George a letter. You wrote and said . . . you wrote—” Her courage was failing her, but the interest in his eyes encouraged her. “You told George to keep an eye on me, to keep me close, that it was a good thing you were away at war, because if you were home you would be fighting all the other men for my first dances, and even my last.”

  His gaze narrowed. “He read that to you?”

  “It amused him.”

  He swallowed. “It was a silly thing to write.”

  “Yes, it was. I never forgot how silly it was, and that you were the one who wrote it.”

  His gaze over her deepened. The space between them seemed to shrink, though neither moved. The thought of that space disappearing entirely gave rise to feelings she’d only read about in books, and her heart beat with a rhythm new to her.

  “Abby,” he whispered, his hand moving from her shoulder to her cheek.

  “Yes?” she replied, welcoming the shiver his touch brought.

  Then he stepped away, dropping his hand.

  She recovered her breathing and persisted. “You said that had you known your future, you would have danced every quadrille. Had you imagined some of those dances with me?”

  He turned completely away from her. “Don’t do this, Abby.”

  “Do what? Am I ridiculous? Is there not something between us? Or are you tired of me following at your feet, as if I were ten years old and you cannot get away fast enough?”

  He turned sharply. “My feet? Abby, I am half. You have seen for yourself only a fraction of my inadequacy—”

  “I have seen nothing of your inadequacy—only that you will do everything you can for those you care about—those you might love—”

  “Miss Hyatt,” he shouted.

  The entire house seemed to still in Arabelle’s ears, and tears blurred her vision. She would not cry.

  He collected himself and his shoulders slumped. “I ought never raise my voice to a lady, or a friend,” he murmured. “And yet I have. I shall leave in the morning and conduct my business in town.”

  “But tomorrow is Christmas Day, sir,” she said, fighting humiliation.

  “Then I shall leave the next.”

  She nodded, unable to manage anything more.

  He went to the door and opened it, looking both ways. He then motioned to her, and she willed her feet to move quickly past him and turned, standing modestly outside his door.

  She fought to catch his eye, unwilling to leave things as they were. She knew he sensed it.

  “Abby,” he said, his voice almost sad. “I cannot offer you anything.”

  She swallowed back her tears. “Cannot, or will not?”

  He continued to avert his gaze, his jaw clenched.

  “You know,” she said, “a friend recently told me that it is not what happens to us, but what we do afterward that determines our course. I wonder if he truly believes that, or if they were just words.”

  His response came a moment of silence later. “I shall see you downstairs, Miss Hyatt.”

  She made herself curtsy, then continued down to the library to sit at George’s desk and gather herself before going to Mama and assuring her that she was well and that everything was going to be all right.

  It would be the biggest pretend of her life.

  * * *

  Mama dabbed at tears, but drew herself taller in her chair. “Perhaps I should write to Mr.
Forbes.”

  “To what end, Mama? Surely you don’t hope that he will renew his offer?”

  “No,” she said, glancing at Eleanor, who played with blocks on the drawing room rug. “No, I saw for myself how little he thought of either of you there on the bank—oh if I only hadn’t have let go of Eleanor’s hand—no, we would have no idea of his true nature, then, would we?” She sighed. “This is so very vexing. I am vexed. But I will not be now. It is Christmas Eve, and this little one,” she nodded to Eleanor, “is beginning to give me that look of concern that one so young should not have.”

  Arabelle smiled and went to Eleanor, plopping down to help build a tower before the child knocked it down with glee.

  Eleanor’s hand reached toward the ceiling. “Tall tower. High, Abibelle.”

  “Yes, I’ll build it very tall.”

  “I do have some interesting and happy news,” Mama said, glancing at the doors. She lowered her voice. “It is about Mr. Linfield.”

  Arabelle’s tower toppled.

  “I crash it. Not you crash it.”

  “Mr. Linfield?” Arabelle also glanced toward the doors. He’d not yet come down as promised. Quickly she began to build another tower. “What do you know?”

  “I’ve had a letter from his mother. Naturally, I’d expressed our gratitude for his presence, my concern for his future, and a wish that we could do something for him in return for his kindness. His mother hoped to ease my concern.”

  Arabelle stopped building. “And has she?”

  Mama nodded. “Mr. Forbes revealed that Mr. Linfield—Major Linfield—had saved his commander’s life and was a war hero, but there is more.”

  “Tall, Abibelle.”

  Arabelle resumed building. “Oh?”

  “Yes. It turns out that his colonel, Sir Dorset Upton, is a childless widower, with no entailment—brilliant man—who felt so indebted to the major for saving his life with loss of his own limbs that he has granted the major a substantial living and made him bailiff over his lands until his return from war. Major Linfield is to be under the tutelage of Sir Upton’s steward once he leaves Hybrigge. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Arabelle stared, a knot turning in her chest. “Wonderful.”

  “It’s unusual, of course, for a gentleman to be given a working position—”