Twelve Days in December: A Christmas Novella (A Hearthfire Romance)

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Perhaps I have, agreeing to marry a man I know so little of…

  “It is all settled, then.” Lady Cosgrove squared her shoulders. “Perhaps all will yet be well— for all concerned. Come, Charlotte. You must be readied for your wedding. And, Mr. Vancer, I believe Miss Abbott is in need of a carriage.”

  “Yes— please,” Marsali said, sounding focused once more.

  “Godspeed, sister.” Charlotte embraced her and added words of caution for her journey. “I shall give you the name of my employer, and perhaps you can take my place there. They should be happy to have a woman without a child tagging along as she does her work.”

  “Thank you,” Marsali said. “I shall write to let you know what has become of me.”

  “You will do more than that,” Mr. Vancer said. “You shall have an escort.” His eyes strayed to Lady Cosgrove. “So your sister and I will not fear for your safety.”

  He does care for Marsali. Mr. Vancer had been reserved in his affection throughout the courtship, but Charlotte suspected it was only as a courtesy to Marsali. He might have been starting to love her even. How will he regard me?

  “Thank you for your kindness and understanding,” Marsali said. “If circumstances had been different…”

  He smiled sadly. “But they are not, and you must go and find your Mr. Thatcher. I hope that when you do, he realizes how fortunate he is.”

  After issuing a few orders, William left the women to take care of preparations and walked swiftly to the wing that held his private suite of rooms. He couldn’t get there fast enough, or so it seemed, and by the time he reached the sanctuary of his bedroom, his fingers trembled then slipped on the knob when he tried to turn it.

  Four times. This cannot be happening. His fingers managed to twist the knob, and on legs that felt weak, he entered the room. The door shut behind him, and he made straight for the chair near the window and the snifter of brandy on the side table. A thoughtful servant had delivered it earlier, saying it was for calming pre-wedding nerves, should William have any.

  If he ever actually had a wedding, he might. Four times. I must be cursed. He sank heavily into the chair then reached for the glass. He brought it to his lips but at the last second thought the better of consuming even one drop of alcohol. Charlotte had nearly two full hours in which to change her mind, and no doubt she would, though he couldn’t help admiring the way she’d stepped in to save her sister, even if Charlotte would come to her senses and back down before all was said and done.

  Brandy would certainly help ease the ache of disappointment he felt at the loss of his impending marriage to Marsali, but it would also impair his ability to handle the situation. He would need all his senses on alert and his wits about him in the upcoming hours, days, and weeks when the gossip columns and society pages would be filled with the news of his latest disaster. Imagining the headlines, he cringed.

  American businessman William Vancer jilted at the altar yet again… Millionaire knows how to make money but can’t seem to keep a bride. And worse— Vancer Furs in trouble after overinvesting leaves Vancer unable to pay creditors.

  William leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees and his head in his hands. What to do? Was it possible he might turn the story in his favor? After all, he was not only releasing Marsali from their betrothal, he’d vowed to do all he could to help her find her husband. Maybe New York would see his actions as self-sacrificing and noble, and he’d be well regarded for them.

  But of course that didn’t solve the problem of the money he’d been counting on. He already had a ship at sea, on its way around the horn, and he’d hired the guides and purchased equipment for an overland expedition to leave in early spring. He’d signed contracts and made down payments on additional land as well. If William didn’t expand soon, John Astor’s American Fur Company and Avery Hyde’s Furrier Inc. would soon crowd him out and dominate the market.

  They’ll take from me what I’ve fought so hard to build.

  He’d nearly lost it all before. Daphne Blackwood’s heart-shaped face came unbidden to William’s mind. He no longer regretted that she had chosen to marry Avery Hyde instead of him. Though he still held it against her that she’d waited so long to change her mind, jilting him the day of their wedding. He hadn’t forgotten the humiliation he’d felt standing there alone at the church, waiting for her. He well remembered the pain that had engulfed him as he’d suffered through the awkward condolences and for months afterward had overheard the gossip surrounding his name.

  Likely doesn’t know how to treat a lady… Heard he had a fiancée in England who left him too… Must be harboring some terrible secret for Miss Blackwood to walk away from all that money.

  But walked away she had, taking with her a vast knowledge of his business workings and a list of all his trappers, and his merchants both here and overseas, which she’d promptly shared with upstart Avery Hyde.

  William would always regret being so open with her and the way he’d had to scrap to keep Vancer Furs going following their parting, but he could honestly say he was grateful he hadn’t married her. That Hyde had so quickly made use of the information Daphne had shared with him only convinced William that Daphne and Avery deserved each other along with whatever misfortune their deceitfulness might eventually bring their way.

  And what do I deserve? To be alone the rest of my life?

  William was starting to think so. Alone was all right. It was tolerable, so long as he had his business to consume his time and passion. In spite of the trappers Hyde had stolen from him, in spite of the contracts Hyde had renegotiated out from under him, William had done more than keep Vancer Furs alive. He’d seen it prosper greatly in recent years. Only Astor’s American Fur Company did more business than he.

  I might be second best, but I’m honest.

  But honesty and good business ethics would not pay the bills. William supposed he oughtn’t to have tested fate as he had, making plans and investing some of the money from his inheritance before he could legally claim it. I should never plan on a life that is anything but solitary.

  He’d been mostly content with that arrangement— two broken engagements having soured him on the institution of marriage— until the news of an inheritance from his great uncle coincided with the letter from Lady Cosgrove last June. The condition of inheriting his uncle’s estate— one he would sell and use the profits from— was that William be married. The letter from Lady Cosgrove, a longtime family friend, had told of her husband’s death and hinted at the plight she and her daughter, Lydia, were facing. William had thought offering to marry Lydia was the perfect solution for both. His name and money would provide Lydia and her mother the security they needed, while Lydia would provide him with the wife he needed to claim his inheritance. And owing to her own precarious circumstances, it wasn’t likely Lydia would break the engagement. He was safe.

  Or so he’d believed. William sighed heavily, recalling the blow fate had once more dealt him when the Amanda May— the ship on which Lydia and her mother had sailed from England— had been struck by lightning and sunk just outside the New York Harbor.

  So close, he remembered thinking as he’d read the shocking news in the morning paper and later learned of Lydia Cosgrove’s death. He hadn’t known Lydia at all, could scarcely recall meeting her in England years ago, when she was a child. But still… He knew he hadn’t grieved her as he ought to. But he’d grieved what might have been. He had been eagerly anticipating meeting her. He’d hoped they would get along well.

  And then came another hope, with Marsali.

  William lifted his head and reached out, parting the curtain to peer down at the city below. He loved New York— the buildings, the bustle, the people. Marsali had not cared much for it. He’d realized that early on, but he’d believed she might change her mind after a while. Life was vibrant here and Marsali an effervescent young woman. It had seemed a perfect match.

  His fiancée and Marsali’s husband were two of the many who
had perished on the Amanda May. And Marsali, too, was in a precarious situation, indentured to a Virginia plantation owner known for cruelty.

  William recalled their first conversation over breakfast. He’d found Marsali’s complete honesty a refreshing change from Daphne’s falsehoods. He had liked Marsali at once and been only too pleased to pay her debts and hope that something might grow between them.

  He had proceeded cautiously, never showing overt affection or allowing himself to develop any. That could come later, after their vows had been spoken.

  Later should have been about an hour and a half from now, William mused as he withdrew his pocket watch.

  Once more, dishonesty had robbed him of a bride. Lady Cosgrove’s lies had nearly broken two hearts— Marsali’s and her husband’s. Fortunately, William had guarded his. Though this latest break of betrothal had the potential to collapse his business. He had little more than a week to secure a wife. Twelve days until the year’s end, and I must be married by then or lose the inheritance.

  In that event he would have to mortgage something to pay his creditors. It would be the beginning of a swift cycle downward, with Astor and Hyde waiting in the wings, only too eager to pounce on his misfortune.

  So much hinged on the decision of the young woman in a room down the hall— a woman he knew very little about. He’d brought Charlotte here as a kindness to Marsali.

  Will she now do the greatest of kindnesses to me?

  He could not believe she would. An hour and a half was plenty of time for a woman to change her mind about marrying him. And given his past experience with fiancées, he had no doubt Charlotte would do just that.

  Charlotte stared at her reflection in the glass. The dress made for Marsali fit. Another miracle. Charlotte supposed she could credit her trim figure to the difficulties of the past few months. There had been neither enough hours to work nor enough food to eat in attempting to provide for herself and Alec.

  Being a widow in America is not pleasant, secure, or happy. At least if you marry Mr. Vancer, you will have a chance at those. Charlotte recalled the very words she’d spoken to Marsali just a few weeks earlier, the night before the ball when her betrothal to Mr. Vancer was announced.

  Now I must take my own advice. She fingered the cream lace of the beautiful gown. It would be nice to have pretty gowns once more, as she had when she was a girl, before Father died. But far more than that, she wanted to feel safe— for herself and Alec. She glanced at the bed where he was napping. To never have to tell him that there is nothing to eat… to never have to leave him because I must work in the fields. Her resolve grew stronger by the minute.

  And as for not loving Mr. Vancer… What had she told Marsali? Love is a choice. And you must choose to make it now, before it is too late and this opportunity is gone.

  But Marsali’s situation had been different. She’d been married but a short while. Matthew was my husband for nearly five years. We had a child together. Marrying Mr. Vancer was one thing, but loving him would be another entirely.

  Charlotte gathered the skirt of her gown and crossed the room, sitting beside Alec on the bed. Tenderly she brushed the curls back from his forehead. She was choosing love. Her love for her child compelled her to do this, to marry another when Matthew was less than a year in the grave.

  Forgive me, she prayed again silently. And, as before when she had told Mr. Vancer she would take Marsali’s place as his bride, Charlotte felt an overriding peace. Matthew would understand. He would forgive her.

  But could she forgive herself?

  She’d loved him since she was nineteen. Now, at twenty-four, she felt the passion of their youth, that time of falling in love with one another, slipping from her memory. Soon it would be gone altogether, replaced with the realities that were her life— unless she clung to them. And she could not allow herself to cling to memories of one husband once she pledged herself to another.

  She must let go and choose a different kind of love, and she must do it today.

  The peace she felt did not leave her but seemed to spread, engulfing her with a desperately needed tranquility.

  Mindful that such serenity was precious, Charlotte stayed at her son’s side, brushing her fingers lightly across his baby-soft cheek and imagining the possibilities ahead for him, the privileges he might have, growing up in this home.

  With a whispered prayer of gratitude for the incredible turn of events, and a bittersweet smile on her face, she readied herself to speak new vows, to be a widow and single mother no more.

  William knocked on the guestroom door where Charlotte and her son had been staying. No answer came. He leaned closer to the door, listening for sound from the other side, but it was quiet within.

  Gone already, then. Perhaps Charlotte had decided to accompany Marsali in the search for her husband. He had all but ordered Lady Cosgrove to go with Marsali as an escort. Family friend or no, he was furious with Lady Cosgrove and her lies that had and were going to cost him dearly. For both their sakes, it was best if she was gone from the house a good, long time.

  The door before him began to open slowly. He was both surprised and pleased to see Charlotte on the other side. She placed a finger to her lips, then stepped back and beckoned him in.

  “I could not call out to you to enter for fear I would wake Alec,” she whispered, looking toward the bed where her son lay sleeping. If he misses his nap he gets most ornery.”

  “You haven’t changed your mind then?” William asked, only just now taking in her ensemble. An elegant cream gown draped in layers of delicate lace fit close at her waist and hung with a full skirt near the floor. A matching lace band was woven through the curls of her hair, save those left to fall on either side of her face. And a pair of silk slippers peeked out from beneath her gown. He knew from listening to Lady Cosgrove that this was the wedding outfit that had been fashioned for Marsali.

  “I have not changed my mind,” Charlotte said, meeting his gaze directly, as she had in the hall earlier, when Lady Cosgrove had first proposed their match. “Do you wish me to?”

  “No. Not at all.” He shook his head, somewhat astounded at her directness and this potentially good news. Though I dare not hope.

  “In that case, you should not be here, sir,” she said, stepping closer, as if to usher him from the room. “Do you not know that it is ill luck to see a bride in her wedding gown before the ceremony?”

  For some reason this made him chuckle, though there was nothing the least amusing about their situation. “Given the bad luck I have already had with brides, I cannot fear such superstition.”

  She frowned. “It is true, you have been most unfortunate. Twice now.”

  Twice. If she only knew. He supposed he should tell her that he had been previously betrothed a couple more times than that. I will later. After— if— we are married today.

  “I came to see if you might consider going to the church now,” he said. “I realize it is almost a full hour earlier than was planned, but with the change of brides, we will need to talk to the bishop, and there will be paperwork to fill out.”

  “Of course. I hadn’t thought of that.” Worry creased her brow a moment, causing her to look older than Marsali, and older than she likely was.

  I don’t even know her age, and we are to marry.

  “Please give me a minute, and I’ll get my cloak.” She closed the door, practically on him, leaving him standing in the hall alone once more.

  I don’t know her age or much of anything about her— beyond what Marsali has shared with me. Which was likely more than she had shared about him with Charlotte. We are the both of us mad to do this, he concluded.

  A moment later Charlotte reappeared in the doorway, a coarse brown, homespun cloak covering her dress. He noted that she looked no less pretty in the worn garment than she had in the wedding gown and silently agreed with Lady Cosgrove that Charlotte and Marsali did look a great deal alike. Perhaps those in the congregation would not notice that he had
acquired a different bride. At first. But at the wedding breakfast after there would be explanations to give.

  The least of my worries.

  She glanced back at the bed where her son slept. “I think it would be best to leave him here while we go to the church. If we wake him early, he will cry for an hour.”

  “We can send Ellen up to sit with him and stay with him when he wakes,” William suggested, recalling that the little boy had seemed to take to Ellen, more than some of the other maids he had interacted with.

  “Yes, please,” Charlotte said. “That would be best.”

  He held out his arm, she placed her hand lightly upon it, and they were off, with a quick stop to advise the housekeeper to send Ellen to watch over young Alec.

  I will need to employ a nanny, William thought absently as they left the house. And later a governess. He would supply any sort of tutor Charlotte desired for her son, if only she went through with this today.

  The brief carriage ride to the church was mostly silent, each busy with their own thoughts. He would have paid far more than a penny for hers but found himself too fearful to ask what she was thinking. Will she refuse to get out of the carriage when we arrive? Or will I be waiting at the front of the church alone when she changes her mind? He was not certain he could live through such a scenario again, though if that did happen, at least this time his heart would not be injured. He had learned to guard it well after Daphne. And watching Charlotte’s calm, almost serene expression as she stared out the window, he had the feeling she had learned to guard hers also.

  William wondered what her husband had been like. Is she thinking of him now? How could she not be? He suddenly wanted nothing more than to distract her from whatever sorrowful reflections she must be having. How could they be anything other?

  The carriage turned the corner to the eastern side of St. John’s Park. The trees lining the walk were bare now, dusted with a light layer of snow that had fallen the night before. “In summer this is a very popular spot for walking,” he said, disrupting the silence in the carriage. “We could stroll there if you like. When the weather is warmer,” he added, feeling unexpectedly foolish. It was a little late to be thinking of courting his bride now. Like all else that should have happened prior to this day, that would have to wait until after they were married.