Holly and Hopeful Hearts

by Caroline Warfield

  And she would have to abandon the only life she had known, never see her parents again, and leave her mother and father with pain and a ruined family name. Everyone would speak about her and what she had done and the disgrace she brought upon her family.

  But beyond the hope, a fury she never felt before welled up. “She is insufferable,” she fumed. “I will not bend to Mother’s will. Let us flee. Even if she did not give you enough, I can sell—”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “Louisa, it’s…” Jonathan fiddled with the reins, and his horse backtracked a few more steps. Louisa urged her horse around to close the distance between them, but her horse refused to cooperate. “My life has been fraught with so much discontent. I… I can’t…”

  “Are you trying to say I’m not as bright as the sun anymore?” Now, thankfully, her horse cooperated. “Or do you mean to say—”

  “I’m saying that we have no future together, Louisa. Go home.”

  Louisa lurched forward so fast she almost fell off her horse, but she managed to secure his reins from him. “I know this isn’t you, that this isn’t what you want. No matter what you think or say, I will not stop loving you.”

  Jonathan would not meet her gaze. “I will always look back fondly on the times we had together, but we shall not share any more experiences. No more dances. No more strolls through the park. No more secret meetings. No more—”

  “No more Christmas kisses?” Louisa leaned forward to steal one early, but Jonathan shifted back in his saddle, too far out of reach. She stumbled, then, and almost fell from her horse, but strong arms encircled her. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound of her pulse throbbing in her ears as she stared up at the face of the only man she would ever love.

  “You are beautiful,” Jonathan whispered, still holding her despite their being on separate horses. “You are kind and witty and charming. I’ll never forget the first time we danced. I was so nervous I forgot all of the steps.”

  “I’ll never forget the first time we met. You saved the day.”

  “Trudging through the snow to help a princess fulfill her quest.”

  She giggled. “But I’m not a princess. I’m only—”

  “You deserve to be treated like a princess. You deserve the kind of life I cannot provide. Please, Louisa. Do not make this any harder than it has to be, for both our sakes. You should marry, and you know that he cannot be me.”

  Despite his words, Jonathan kissed her. It was free and spirited and passionate and so much more, the best kiss Louisa had ever been given, and also the worst, for when they broke apart, Jonathan rode off.

  Chapter 9

  1812

  Anna widened her eyes. “What happened next?”

  “I spent that night and the next and the next going over my options. I knew where Jonathan was headed—he loved to visit a small town up north, and he had a few friends there. Locating him would not be an issue. All I had to do was sell some jewelry, pack up a few essentials, and go to him. He would not turn me aside a third time. I could tell by that kiss.” Her mother’s cheeks bloomed pink, and she looked many years younger than her age.

  “Is that what you did?” Anna asked, feeling breathless herself.

  “I chose to listen to my family, to follow the course they laid out for me. I married the duke, and some days, I wasn’t completely miserable. I never did forget my love. When I was with Jonathan, I felt truly happy. I wrote him a letter a day even though I knew I could not dare send them to him.”

  Anna’s head was overloaded. Her father was not a duke, and his name had not been Jonathan. When would her father enter the mix?

  “Did you ever see Jonathan again?”

  Her mother laughed giddily. “Not only did I see him, but I also married him!”

  * * *

  Autumn, 1793

  Louisa spent her short married life doing all she could to keep her husband happy. She thought fondly of him, enough to cry when he left to join the war. The French occupied Belgian lands and now threatened their trade with the Dutch, and so British troops were sent into battle.

  She had been with Jean, her best friend, when she received the news that Felton had succumbed to his battle wounds suffered at Hondschoote.

  It was a terribly dark time in Louisa’s life. Her parents had died shortly after the wedding—the result of a terrible carriage accident—and now without her husband, and without her love, she felt numb. Her marriage had lasted only a few short weeks, and now she was all alone.

  Far sooner than was proper, gentlemen came to call to see how she was faring, but she knew they were only there to try to swoop in the moment her mourning passed so that they might be the one she would pick next to marry.

  In her heart, she knew she would never again marry for the sake of marriage, and she began to withdraw from society and even turned down visits from Jean, so she was quite surprised one day when the butler approached with news of a visitor who refused to be sent away.

  Louisa herself went to the door to instruct the person to leave, but the words caught in her throat.

  Jonathan, a small smile on his face, handed her a hat box. “I do hope you will make an exception. Your butler made it quite clear you aren’t receiving visitors, but…”

  She bid him enter, and they made themselves comfortable in the parlor. Louisa had not been eating well since she learned of her husband’s passing, but she found herself both able to eat and drink in Jonathan’s company. They talked about everything that had transpired during the time they had been apart. Jonathan had done all he could to salvage his family name and even redoubled their worth from before his father gambled it all away, although Louisa cared little to talk about money matters. He carried no ill toward her for marrying the duke; after all, he had practically told her to. Most importantly, the love that had blossomed before had clearly never died.

  * * *

  1812

  Anna’s mother seemed lost in her memories, her gaze almost vacant. “Jonathan handed me the hat box, and inside wasn’t a hat after all but letters. He, too, had written me each day, but likewise, he had not sent them. And so we gave each other the letters we had written and stayed up all night reading them.”

  Anna sighed happily. “So you married him.”

  “Yes, and it was a slight scandal after all because I did not wait long to marry him. Tongues will wag and spin tales, but you were born well after a year into our marriage so no one could claim that pregnancy hastened our steps. We wed that Christmas, and Jonathan promised he would be the only man to give me kisses at Christmas or any other time of the year.”

  “So Jonathan is my father?” Anna shook her head. “But Father’s name was Ludlow.”

  “Oh, yes.” Her mother waved her hand. “His full name was Ludlow Jonathan. He hated Ludlow, and I never cared for it either, so I always called him Jonathan instead.”

  Anna sat back in her seat. “You’ve known love, true love then.”

  The smile on her mother’s face was beautiful. “Yes.”

  “So how can you ask me to give up my love when you… Why, just recently Aunt Augusta wrote in The Teatime Tattler that—”

  For some reason, her mother’s smile transformed into a smirk.

  “—love is always worth believing in, that hope should never die, that… Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Oh, no reason at all.” Her mother waved her hand. “Do carry on.”

  “Aunt Augusta has always believed love will win the day, that no circumstances will prevent… Your expression.” Anna tapped her clasped hands to her chin. “You know who Aunt Augusta is?”

  Aunt Augusta was one of Anna’s favorite columnists in The Teatime Tattler. Ladies and gentlemen from all over wrote to her for advice, solid advice. Anna had not once disagreed with the advice Aunt Augusta had dispensed. Sometimes, she read the column and imagined writing to her herself, for help with her own predicament.

  Never before had Anna tho
ught who might be penning the column, but now she burned with curiosity. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “My dear, can you be trusted to keep a secret?”

  “Oh,” Anna said faintly as realization stole her breath away. “You do not merely know Aunt Augusta. You are she! How can you dare to voice displeasure to me but then use your quill to give other ladies hope? Why do you care for them more—”

  “I care for no one as much as I care for you. Believe me when I say that I have heard nothing good concerning your duke, and I have the sources to hear every whisper, and the wisdom and knowledge to determine the facts from the untruths.”

  Anna shook her head. “Have you even spoken with the duke yourself? How can you profess to know him when you have not?”

  But her mother continued on as if Anna hadn’t spoken. “I would never send him away like my mother did with your father, even if I could, but I do not want my daughter, who is more in love with the idea of being in love than in actual love, to make a tragic mistake.”

  Anna had heard enough. She slid to her feet, her hands turning into fists that clutched her skirt. “You think I am nothing but a foolish girl. I have read much. I am learned. And I do know love.”

  She swept out of the room, disgusted with her mother and herself. Had her mother the right of it? Countless ladies had sought out Aunt Augusta’s advice, and she herself had always thought the advice solid and sound.

  Could she believe that her mother’s advice in this instance was genuine? Or was it colored by her role in the situation?

  Either way, Anna had much and more to consider.

  And so, she threw herself into her charity work and avoided any kind of gathering until she might be able to get her thoughts sorted, until she could more impartially attempt to discern her true feelings toward the duke, and toward the marchioness’s son as well. Days passed, weeks too, and still she did not change her opinions about either gentleman.

  Chapter 10

  12th November, 1812

  Throughout her self-imposed exile, Anna avoided conversing with her mother as much as possible and only saw her friend Emily once, for tea.

  “I wish you were not hiding away,” Emily said. “Everything is nearly ready for the house party, and it is going to be such a grand time. Are you certain you won’t be coming?”

  “If the duke is there…”

  “I rather think he will be. He’s back, you know.”

  “Back?” Anna had just picked up her cup, but now she returned it to the saucer. Her stomach was most unsettled now, at hearing this.

  “Yes. Didn’t you hear? I thought that perhaps you were staying… Well, he’s been away for several weeks now. Went to visit a friend perhaps or family. Everyone says something different, so I’m not certain anyone knows the truth of the matter.” Emily eyed her. “You didn’t know?”

  “No,” Anna murmured. Had Benjamin found a lady to settle down with? Was that why he had gone off? “No one has uncovered the truth of it?”

  “No one. I’m sure the truth will come out eventually. It always does.”

  Anna frowned. “Eventually,” she conceded, “but sometimes gossip comes about first.”

  She hadn’t confided in her friend that she knew the identity of Aunt Augusta, and she did not plan on doing so as it was not her secret to share, but she could not help feeling differently about gossip in general. Although it was sometimes lighthearted, it could also be rather cruel and could even ruin reputations.

  Still, she found herself wondering at all the possible reasons why the dashing duke might have run away for weeks.

  * * *

  * * *

  17th November, 1812

  A month after her mother shared her romantic tale, Anna woke from a troubling dream. The duke had fallen gravely ill seconds after he had proposed to her. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to nurse him back to health, and he had died in her arms.

  To try to settle herself, Anna left the house to continue her charity work. Outside of this work, Anna had become rather withdrawn, much to her mother’s dismay.

  Once the meeting concluded, Anna overheard a familiar name.

  “My husband is meeting up with the Duke of Barnet at White’s.”

  Anna stilled. Not even bothering to note which lady had unwillingly given her this precious information, she left.

  Anna turned to her maid. “Do go on home.”

  “But—”

  “My mother will not mind. I am going to visit with Emily. She has been pushing me to for weeks now, and I finally feel up to it.”

  It took some convincing, and only after she said that the Pembrokes would see her safely home did the maid leave.

  Although it was scandalous and something about which the gossips might even write to The Teatime Tattler, Anna headed toward White’s. Not that she could dare go inside, of course, but the thought of being so forward as to seek him out like this made her flush. She wasn’t at all certain she should be doing this. Perhaps it would be better to actually go and visit Emily after all.

  As she debated, the man she was thinking about exited from White’s, and she screwed up her nerve to approach him. “It is a lovely day, isn’t it?”

  The duke gave her a distracted smile. “Indeed it is.”

  “What’s wrong?” Unbidden, her dream came to her. Nightmare, really. Here, standing before her, he appeared strong and healthy, although his face was a little pale, and the way he was glancing about, as if he did not wish to be seen, struck her as odd.

  “I am quite fine,” he insisted.

  Her heart sank. Should she press?

  No.

  “I am glad of that,” she said, but then she couldn’t help adding, “Your health is satisfactory?”

  “Yes.” He wouldn’t grace her a real smile, though, and he still was looking about.

  “I’m glad,” she said stiffly. “Do you not wish to be seen with me or… No matter. Good day.”

  And she walked away.

  * * *

  Benjamin watched Lady Anna leave his side. She hadn’t gone more than four steps before he rushed to her side. “Forgive me,” he said as smoothly as he could.

  She would not look at him.

  He winced. “Lady Anna, please.”

  The lady jerked to a stop. “Please what?”

  She was glaring at him, angry, almost standoffish. And she didn’t even know the truth yet.

  Benjamin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I would like to tell you something in confidence, if I may. I… I am not quite ready for this news to reach everyone yet.”

  “You’re entrusting me with a secret?” Anna’s eyes sparkled, matching the flush appearing on her cheeks.

  “Yes,” he said gloomy. Her smile would not last long, he’d wager. “You see; I find myself engaged to marry.”

  “Engaged?” She retreated a step, a hand on her chest. “Find yourself… How does a duke find himself engaged?”

  There was pain swimming in her eyes, hurt undertones to her voice. He winced. She had been one of the ladies he most enjoyed spending time with, one he had even considered might be the one for him.

  But life had made a mess of things, and he could hardly sort through things himself.

  “Yes,” he muttered. “Not something I expected or anticipated, but it is what it is. I am engaged.”

  “To whom? Or is that a secret you wish to keep to yourself?”

  He winced yet again. “To a dear childhood friend.” Although he hadn’t planned on sharing the details, he blurted out, “She is with child. Not by me, but the reprobate responsible has run off with another woman. It’s the only way to save her from scandal. I will do this for her. It’s only right. I have brought her to town with me, and she is staying with my mother.”

  Anna held herself perfectly still. “I wish…”

  That things were different? Ah, he did as well. He rather liked his freedom to dance with every lady, to smile, to flirt. He hadn’t pictured himself marr
ying for a long while.

  And now he was not only engaged, but he would have to marry and marry very soon to try to keep the disgrace of Lady Florentina Ramsbury, the daughter of the Earl of Burntwood, from gossips.

  Anna dipped her head and walked off. Perhaps he should go after her, try to explain more, but really, what was there for him to say?

  Instead, he headed back into White’s. He needed another drink.

  Chapter 11

  Beyond flustered at overhearing the gentlemen besmirching gossips, Anna approached Emily and Lord Tipton even though she had hoped the two might have some time to truly get to know each other.

  Emily glanced over and smiled, her eyes bright. “Oh, Anna. Lord Tipton was just telling me how much he loves to read. Why don’t you go and fetch a story and read it to us all?”

  Lord Tipton smiled, his teeth perfect. Anna didn’t think she ever saw him smile before. “Please.”

  “A grand idea,” the duke said as he walked over. He draped an arm around Lord Tipton’s shoulder.

  Poor Lord Tipton looked positively uncomfortable, and Anna nodded and ducked out of the room. She was far too uneasy to be able to recall a story from memory, and she would not risk making a fool of herself in front of them.

  In the small office off a library that her mother gave her from which to conduct her charity work, she riffled through her papers, trying to decide which story to tell. She wanted to save the pirate story for the children at the orphanage, as she had finished it just two nights past. The second one she wrote with Lord Pershore as the villain, the one where Emily and Lord Tipton end up together… if she were careful to give them different names… Yes. That would do quite nicely.

  A knock at the door had her jumping, and a few of the papers slipped through her fingers and drifted to the ground.