The Cavalier's Christmas Bride

by Lauren Royal

  Kneeling beside Creath with an air of tender concern, Matthew offered her his handkerchief. “Fear not, Mistress Moore, we won’t let that old blackguard anywhere near you.”

  She accepted the square of linen, gazing up at him with leaking green eyes. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered reverentially—then looked away. “But please don’t put yourself at risk. I’ve brought enough trouble upon this household already. I couldn’t bear it if you—that is, if any of you came to harm.”

  “It’s not your fault the blackguard is determined to have you,” Joseph said, beginning to pace. His short patience suggested they’d had this argument before.

  Sighing, Matthew straightened. “Then I gather Sir Leonard knows his bride is unwilling?”

  “Oh, I believe I’ve made my feelings more than clear,” Creath said with a grim edge. “But he doesn’t care. It isn’t me he’s after, anyway, it’s my family’s holdings. The bulk of the Moore estate came through my mother to me.”

  Matthew’s brow furrowed. “Whatever his motivation, he cannot lawfully force your consent.”

  “Actually, he can.” Joseph’s agitated pacing continued unabated. “As her guardian, he has the right to decide whom she marries—at least until she reaches sixteen next month.”

  “Then we must hide her until next month,” Matthew persisted.

  Joseph stopped and looked at him. “That’s exactly what we”—he gestured to indicate his family—“are doing, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “But Saturday—”

  “By Saturday, she’ll be far from here and safe. We have the situation under control, Lord Grosmont.” Joseph’s words were polite, but firm.

  Matthew’s lips thinned. After a moment, he nodded. “Very well.”

  When nobody said anything else for a while, Chrystabel drew a deep breath. What a lovely evening they’d been having before this somber mood had descended. “Since Mistress Moore is safe for now, shall we resume dancing?”

  “I think not,” Lord Trentingham said. “I believe we’ve had enough excitement for one night. It’s time to seek our beds.”

  This time his wife didn’t disagree, so everyone said their goodnights and shuffled off.

  The Ashcrofts went one direction, while the Trevors went another. Chrystabel wondered where Joseph slept. All but floating up the grand staircase, she remembered him pulling her close during the volta. His warm hands holding her securely. The effortless way he’d lifted her.

  She released a blissful sigh.

  “Is something amiss?” Arabel asked as they walked down the well appointed corridor.

  “Nothing’s amiss,” Chrystabel assured her. “Absolutely nothing.” Glancing at their brother over her shoulder, she pulled her sister into her chamber. “Goodnight, Matthew,” she called merrily before shutting the door.

  Arabel stared at her. “What has got into you?”

  “I’m happy.” Humming to herself, Chrystabel drifted over to the oriel windows. It was too dark to see out, but she knew the lovely Tudor gardens were just below. “I feel for poor Creath, but am I not allowed to be happy? I’m in love.”

  Arabel plopped onto one of the stuffed chairs. “You still believe that?”

  “Of course. I’m even more in love than I was earlier.” Feeling light-hearted like never before, Chrystabel twirled around the spacious room, her dull skirts billowing around her as she pretended she was still dancing with Joseph. “It’s a pity Lord Trentingham is such an old fust-cudgel. I wanted to dance some more.”

  The second time she twirled by, Arabel grabbed her arm. “Stop!” she said with a giggle. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  Chrystabel was breathless. “I’m dizzy in love. I thought I was overtired when we arrived, but I think I could have danced all night. Being held by Joseph felt like a dream. And he felt something when he touched me too, I’m sure of it. I’m going to wear a beautiful gown tomorrow, and he’s going to fall in love with me.”

  Arabel looked skeptical. “But the two of you argued at supper. And he seemed awfully upset over Creath’s trouble…”

  “They’re old friends, is all. He’s worried about her, and now she has to go far away to escape that nasty brute. Although…” At first, Chrystabel had been relieved by the news of Creath’s impending departure, since the girl’s troubles were distracting Joseph. But now she had a better idea. “Did you see the way Creath and Matthew danced together, gazing into each other’s eyes?”

  Her sister shrugged. “I didn’t notice.”

  “Well, I did. There’s something between them, I’m sure of it. I think they belong together.”

  Laughing, Arabel shook her head. “You’re seeing love everywhere today. Did you drink too much wine?”

  “I drank exactly the right amount of wine, and I’m telling you Matthew and Creath belong together. And don’t you see?” Chrystabel plopped onto the chair opposite her sister’s. “If Matthew marries her before Sir Leonard returns on Saturday, Creath will be safe.”

  Arabel’s mouth fell open. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “But it’s the perfect solution!” Chrystabel couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Sir Leonard won’t be able to force Creath to marry him if she’s already wed to Matthew.”

  “But the two of them barely know each other. Besides, they can’t be married by Saturday. They’d have to wait three weeks for the banns to be called—”

  “No, they wouldn’t. Cromwell made marriage a civil matter, remember? A Justice of the Peace could wed them tomorrow, if they wanted.”

  “That’s absurd—they only met today! And Matthew’s never talked of wanting to get married.”

  “But he will. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Ah, so now you fancy yourself a matchmaker? Chrystabel, you’ve gone mad.” Arabel leaned over the hexagonal table to place a palm on her sister’s forehead. “I think you must be ill.”

  Chrystabel batted her hand away. “I’m far from ill. I’ve never felt better in my life. And yes, I think I must be a matchmaker, because I seem to know when people belong together. Matthew and Creath belong together, and I’m going to help them get together.”

  Arabel dropped back onto her chair with an exasperated groan. “You cannot make them fall in love.”

  “You think not?” Chrystabel smiled. She’d show her sister what she was capable of. “Watch me.”

  EIGHT

  WHEN CHRYSTABEL woke the next morning and realized it was Christmas Eve and she was staying with people who weren’t celebrating Christmas, she wanted to burrow back under the covers and cry.

  The stars seemed aligned against her. First, she’d lost her jewels and most of her other fine things, so Father could help finance the war. Then Father, too, had been taken from her. Next, Mother had left. After that, all of Chrystabel’s favorite entertainments—plays, parties, music, and dancing—had been forbidden to her. Finally, her home had been stolen as well.

  And now they were trying to take away Christmas.

  It was too much. She’d given up so much already. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing even one more thing.

  Somehow, she’d have to change the Ashcrofts’ minds.

  Idly playing with the lion pendant she’d left sitting on her bedside table, she thought of her lovely garlands and wreaths, and all the hours she and Arabel had toiled making them. She thought about how she’d fretted over them all through their long journey. She thought about how they’d miraculously survived the harsh winds and rutted roads intact…

  And how they would now be unceremoniously tossed out.

  No!

  Every year since she could remember, she’d made and hung Christmas decorations with her family. Now that Arabel and Matthew were the only family she had left, they had to keep the tradition alive together. Never again would she get to see Father burst into the great hall and light up at the sight of their handiwork, but she could think of him up in heaven, watching them and smiling.

 
And besides the wasted decorations, Yuletide simply shouldn’t be ignored. No matter what the law said, that wasn’t right. It was a tradition, and Chrystabel loved traditions—at least those that suited her—and Yuletide was her favorite tradition of all.

  This was no time to stay abed and weep. Steeled by new resolve, she threw back the coverlet.

  While she’d dined and danced last night, her maid, Mary, had unpacked enough of her things for a few days’ stay. Opening the wardrobe cabinet, Chrystabel grinned to find the beautiful red brocade gown she’d been hoping to wear. Mary knew her well.

  Though it wasn’t a day dress, Chrystabel would wear it anyway. It put her in mind of Christmas—and if it had the same effect on others, perhaps it would help her case. Besides, she wanted the young viscount to see her in this gown, and the sooner the better; why should she wait until tonight? It was trimmed in frothy rows of lace ruffles and cut with a narrow, fitted silhouette that showed Chrystabel’s figure to advantage. Cromwell would surely look askance at such a dress, which meant it was perfect. She was certain Joseph would find her irresistible.

  Mary helped her dress, then arranged her hair—in luxuriant ringlets and silk ribbons, a vast improvement over yesterday’s modest knot—while Chrystabel sat at the pretty dressing table with her precious store of cosmetics. Enjoying the cool sunshine filtering in through the curved oriel windows, she reddened her cheeks and lips and darkened her lashes.

  “The weather sure has improved,” Mary said happily.

  Sometime in the night, the savage storm had calmed. Beyond the windows, sunbeams sparkled on the snow beneath a cloudless blue sky. “It’s a beautiful day for Christmas Eve,” Chrystabel replied, glad she’d already settled the matter of their remaining at Tremayne through Christmas Day. Elsewise, her brother would want to take advantage of the favorable conditions to continue their journey—and ruin all of her hopeful plans.

  Including her plans for Matthew himself. She had only a short time to figure out how to make him and Creath fall in love. Gazing out the windows, she decided a brisk winter stroll might just do the trick. On Christmas Eve day, what could be more romantic than a secluded woods blanketed in pristine, glittering white? She could see it now: Creath’s cheeks would turn fetchingly pink from the chill, Matthew would move close to share his warmth, and then…

  They would kiss! Chrystabel was sure of it.

  She sighed with satisfaction, confident in her plan. They would kiss, and then they would fall in love. And Matthew would marry Creath, saving the girl from the odious Sir Leonard.

  It could all be resolved before Christmas Eve supper.

  When a knock sounded on the door, it was Arabel, looking lovely in a forest green gown with silver stars embroidered on its underskirt and silver tissue peeking through its wide, slit sleeves.

  “I see you noticed Lady Trentingham’s attire last night,” Chrystabel said with an approving smile.

  “Indeed. And I see you noticed as well.” Arabel beamed back. “You look splendid, Chrys. We’re in red and green. It’s beginning to feel like Yuletide!”

  “It certainly is. Mary?” Chrystabel looked to her maid. “Please inform Thomas Steward that I’d like to have all the Christmas greenery unpacked and brought here to my chamber.”

  “Of course, milady.”

  Taking one last look in the mirror, Chrystabel tweaked a stray ruffle back into place. Perfect. She turned and took her sister’s arm. “Shall we breakfast?”

  As they quit the room, Chrystabel realized she was humming again, her morning bout of melancholy all but forgotten. It always helped to have plans in place.

  But Arabel was frowning. “Why did you ask Mary to fetch the trimmings? You know we’ve been forbidden to decorate.” When they reached the grand staircase, she withdrew her arm to lift her skirts.

  “Worry not, dear sister.” Beginning her own descent, Chrystabel swayed her hips, in case Joseph was about. “Before breakfast is ended, we shall have leave to decorate and more.”

  Arabel’s head jerked around to stare at her. “How will you accomplish that?”

  Since she hadn’t quite figured it out yet, Chrystabel felt a prickle of irritation. “Persuasion,” was her vague answer.

  “What makes you think you can convince them to change their minds?”

  “You think I cannot?” Chrystabel lifted her chin. “Watch me.”

  Arabel just rolled her eyes.

  Alas, the entry hall proved deserted; Joseph must have gone ahead without them. By the time they found their own way to the dining room, everyone else was already seated.

  “Good morning,” Chrystabel sang.

  A chorus of good mornings answered.

  Lady Trentingham’s gaze took in the sisters’ altered style of dress. “My, how festive you both look!” She looked rather festive herself, in gold sarcenet trimmed with perfect, delicate lace snowflakes clinging to her shoulders and wrists. “Add but a strand of pearls, and you two would be ready for your presentation at court—if there still were a court.”

  “Oh, I adore pearls,” Arabel cried. “But we haven’t any. Father sold all our family’s best jewels to support King Charles.”

  Chrystabel’s eyes involuntarily met Joseph’s. When his darted away, she knew he, too, had been reminded of their rather heated discussion last night. He looked a bit sheepish. Well, good. He ought to feel bad that his family had gone on prospering while hers had sacrificed so much. Although…

  Well, he had made some good points. Perhaps Father could have been a bit more mindful of his children’s future alongside his king’s. Even after the war had taken a turn for the worse, he’d never talked of what would happen should the Royalists lose. Chrystabel suspected he’d never considered the possibility, let alone made provisions for it.

  Feeling confused and preoccupied as she sank onto a chair, she gave her head a sharp little shake. There was much to accomplish during this meal. She couldn’t afford to lose focus.

  Perhaps it would be best to start with the simplest item first.

  Buttering a hunk of bread, she favored Creath with a friendly smile. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

  “Aye.” Though still a bit pale, Creath seemed in tolerably good spirits. “It’s a lovely day for walking. I’m used to spending a good deal of time outdoors, but I’ve been stuck in this castle since I got here.”

  Ha! This would be even easier than Chrystabel had realized. She’d invite Creath to walk with her after dinner. Then, later, she’d invite Matthew along as well—and ultimately find some reason to excuse herself and leave the two of them alone.

  Excellent. She opened her mouth to issue the first invitation.

  “Your frustration is understandable, Creath.” Joseph regarded her over the tankard of weak ale he had halfway to his lips. “But you know you cannot go outside.”

  Oh, hang it. Perhaps not so easy, then.

  Creath nodded, looking resigned. “I know. It’s just that this is the first nice day we’ve had in ages—but I’ll make do with looking out the window. It’s too dangerous to leave the castle, of course,” she explained to Chrystabel with forced good cheer. “I might be seen and my whereabouts reported to Sir Leonard.”

  Her mouth full of bread, all Chrystabel could manage was a sympathetic noise. She swallowed hastily. “Oh, but that seems extremely unlikely, given these thick woods all around us. Why, this great big castle is scarcely visible from the road, so surely a small person like you—”

  “It’s not just those passing on the road who are a threat,” Joseph interrupted. “The woods may belong to Tremayne, but there’s no wall to keep people out.”

  Chrystabel raised a brow. “Do you often meet outsiders wandering about in your woods?”

  “Never,” Lady Trentingham answered for him. She seemed to be concealing a smile.

  Joseph set his jaw. “It’s still not worth the risk. Father, don’t you agree?”

  “Quite so.”

  Joseph’s look was triumpha
nt, as if that settled the matter.

  But Chrystabel could be stubborn, too. “What if Creath were disguised?” she pressed.

  “Disguised?” Joseph’s smile was more than a little mocking. “It would have to be a very good disguise—”

  “Never mind.” There. As far as Chrystabel was concerned, she’d got Joseph’s permission to take Creath on a walk as long as the girl wore a disguise. Now it was time for a quick change of subject lest he catch on. She blurted the first thing that came to mind. “What does your family like to eat for Christmas Eve supper?”

  “Pray pardon?” Well, she’d certainly succeeded in distracting him. He looked as though he might rip his hair out. “We’re not celebrating Christmas, remember?”

  And such thick, dark, lovely hair he had. It was the kind of hair a girl could plunge her fingers into.

  “My dear boy, do calm yourself,” his mother teased. “I’m sure Lady Chrystabel was only making conversation. Weren’t you, my lady?”

  Tearing her gaze from Joseph’s enticing mane, Chrystabel gathered her nerve. One oughtn’t pass up such a perfect opening. It was time to state her case.

  Though she still didn’t have an actual plan for changing the Ashcrofts’ minds about celebrating Christmas, she had faith she could talk them around. Ever since she was a child, she’d always had an instinct about people. A special awareness. A way of sensing what others were thinking and feeling, of predicting how they’d react in different situations. In truth, if she trusted her instincts and really put her mind to it, she could talk most people around to most things—at least, most things that weren’t counter to the individual’s nature.

  And her instincts told her that taking this risk wasn’t counter to the Ashcroft family’s nature. They’d bent the Puritan laws before—with their attire, winemaking, dancing, and other small acts of rebellion. This was only one step further.

  She drew a deep breath. “Actually, Lady Trentingham, I wasn’t just making conversation. I was hoping you might allow me to plan a Christmas Eve supper, as well as a Christmas Day breakfast and a few other Yuletide activities, and to use the trimmings we brought with us to decorate your lovely home for the occasion.”