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

by Michele Paige Holmes

  William chuckled softly at this. “He needs his own bed,” he said. “And you need yours. There is a fine, large room that would suit you both. It is in the far wing… next to mine.” He let the suggestion hang in the air, more than curious as to how she would take it.

  “If you are offering, I would like that,” Charlotte said.

  He would like that too, he decided, having her closer, even when they slept. The room beside his would do nicely. And in his mind, it was a positive step forward in the direction of their marriage.

  December 23

  At breakfast Charlotte was disappointed to find only one place setting and an envelope bearing her name beside it. After being seated she opened it quickly to find an apology from William, stating that he had urgent business and would be away most of the day.

  Disappointment surged through her. She had become used to his company. As I should not, she told herself. At the new year, he would return to the normality of his life and running his business, and she would be left by herself— save for the servants— to decipher what her purpose and routine should be.

  There was caring for Alec, of course, but without other chores and responsibilities to occupy her time, Charlotte knew there would be far too many free hours. Which will never do. She would have to find something else to keep her busy. For starters, I shall have to make this house my home.

  She would begin this morning by moving her belongings into the room beside William’s in the east wing, as he had suggested she might do.

  After a hurried breakfast— dining alone was not enjoyable— she made arrangements for Alec’s continued care, then went in search of Mrs. Duff to make her request.

  “Mr. Vancer said you might inquire about that today,” Mrs. Duff said. “I could tell that he hoped you would,” she said to Charlotte as an aside and with a knowing sort of sparkle in her eye.

  “It was very kind of him to offer,” Charlotte said, while a twinge of worry took hold in her heart. She followed Mrs. Duff to the aforementioned room and took a minute to look around while the housekeeper went to fetch help with moving Charlotte’s belongings.

  William had not been exaggerating when he’d said the room was larger. It was at least twice as big as the one she’d been staying in, with plenty of space to put an additional bed for Alec. A large window seat overlooked the front of the house, and a fine brick fireplace graced the opposite wall and boasted two comfortable looking chairs beside.

  The bed was a tall four poster with a beautifully embroidered coverlet that looked as if it had never been used.

  It hasn’t, Charlotte realized. This was intended to be Marsali’s room. William wanted to marry Marsali. I am just a poor substitute. Surely William had offered this room to her only as a kindness and because of Alec.

  Still, the inkling of concern she’d felt increased when she noticed the door that stood between the bed and dressing table. After only a second’s hesitation, Charlotte opened it and stared at the chamber on the other side. Her worry increased tenfold.

  His room. Of course. William had told her as much. And she ought to have known there would be a connecting door. She’d seen the same in some of the houses she’d cleaned. It was not uncommon.

  But the marriage we have is not common. It was not a real marriage, in the sense that most were. That hers and Matthew’s had been. It is a marriage of convenience, a business arrangement.

  But standing in the doorway, staring at the bed William slept on, she did not feel very businesslike at all. On impulse, she stepped into his room. His dinner jacket from the previous evening lay draped over the chair. Out of habit, from years of servitude, she picked it up, intending to place it in his dressing room. But his familiar scent clung to it, catching her off guard, sending her senses and emotions temporarily reeling.

  Charlotte closed her eyes and clutched the jacket to her chest as a dozen images from the past few days scrolled through her mind. William looking so vulnerable on the church steps as he asked her if she was certain she wished to marry him. William wiping snow from his face. William hoisting Alec on his shoulders so he might see the ships better. William lying beside them in bed last night.

  She dropped the jacket and fled the room, closing the connecting door and locking it securely. She only just resisted the urge to move the bureau in front of it. As if that will stop this madness.

  It could be nothing else, this thinking of her new husband in any other terms but as an amiable partner. Someday, perhaps, she might feel differently. But not now. Not with Matthew so recently gone and this marriage so new.

  Forgive me, Matthew. But she did not even know what she was asking forgiveness for this time. And she dared not ponder it to find out.

  After a busy morning spent relocating her belongings to the new room and playing with Alec, Charlotte had enjoyed both her larger fireplace and the window seat, indulging in an afternoon of reading while Alec napped, all the while keeping half an eye on the comings and goings in the street below.

  It was dark and would soon be time to dress for dinner. William had not returned home, and she was starting to worry. No one in the house knew his whereabouts— or they were not telling Charlotte if they did. Feeling something between irritation and concern, she pressed her face to the window looking down on Fifth Street.

  A wagon was approaching, bringing a delivery of some sort, no doubt. The residents in this neighborhood did not drive wagons, that she could tell, but instead all owned fine carriages kept in carriage houses behind the main buildings.

  She followed the wagon’s progress up the street and was surprised when it stopped in front of the house. Even more surprising was that William himself jumped down from the seat. She watched as he paid the driver then went around back to heft an enormous fir tree from the wagon bed.

  A Christmas tree!

  Charlotte flew from the room, scarcely remembering to close the door behind her, lest Alec wake. She ran down the stairs and arrived breathless at the front door, in time to beat the butler to his post and open it herself.

  “You’ve brought us a Christmas tree! Oh, thank you.” Impulsively she threw her arms around William’s neck as he struggled to bring the tree inside.

  “Charlotte,” he choked. She released him and stepped back, laughing.

  Moving behind him, she attempted to lift the top of the tree and keep it from dragging across the floor. A trail of pine needles followed their progress from the foyer to the parlor, and her fingers were soon sticky with sap. At last William set the great tree down and paused to wipe his sleeve across his forehead.

  “Oh, thank you,” Charlotte said once more, though this time she refrained from hugging him. “Our father always brought us a Christmas tree, and I haven’t had one in years— not since we left France.”

  “I know.” In spite of his evident fatigue, he grinned. “Marsali told me all about the trees your family had. I realized this morning that we had no Christmas for Alec. So I set about remedying that as quickly as possible.” He inclined his head toward the hall, where servants laden with packages were making their way in.

  “Goodness,” Charlotte exclaimed. “Whatever have you bought?’

  “Things little boys need— from new mittens and knickers to blocks and a rocking horse. This shall be a Christmas to remember.”

  Charlotte hugged herself to keep from throwing her arms around William once more and burying her face in his neck and bursting into tears. “How—” She turned away, waving a hand in front of her face, as if that would somehow ward off the moisture spilling from her eyes.

  “What is it? What is wrong?” William was beside her at once, his hands on her shoulders, and he turned her gently to face him.

  “Nothing is wrong. Everything is right,” Charlotte said, realizing she made no sense at all. Too right. “Only how am I supposed to repay you when you are always doing kindness after kindness for us? You have everything to give, and I have nothing.”

  He walked to the parlor doors and s
hut them, then gathered her in his arms, where she cried, as she had feared she would.

  “You gave me everything when you married me,” William insisted a few minutes later when her tears were spent. He led them both to the settee.

  “You saved Vancer Furs. Without a wife, I would have lost an important inheritance— one that is already financing expansion to the west— something I must do if I wish to remain in competition with both Astor and Hyde.”

  “But that didn’t cost me anything,” she sniffled. “It was easy.”

  “Was it?” He took her hand in his, caressing the back of it with his thumb. “I believe it cost you plenty to say ‘I do,’ a second time— to a man you don’t love and barely know.”

  “You mustn’t say that.” She lifted her tear-stained face to his. “I do know you. A better man I could not have found, and I—”

  “Careful,” he advised, stopping her. “Don’t say anything that you will regret later— anything you are not sure of. Honesty between us is all that I require now. I would not wish to hear something that isn’t truthful.”

  He was right, of course. Charlotte pressed her lips together, to keep them from speaking the thoughts swirling through her mind. She loved Matthew. Always, she would love Matthew, and she never wanted that to change, did she?

  She and William had something different— a mutual friendship and respect, and she needed to be content with that. Marrying each other had not been a first choice for either; that it was working out so well needn’t alter anything else— past or future.

  She swallowed the regret that came with these sensible thoughts and tugged her hand carefully from his.

  With a smile she did not quite feel, she clasped her hands together and stood, determined to be content and grateful for all she had.

  December 24

  “It is the loveliest tree I have ever seen,” Charlotte exclaimed for at least the tenth time as she stood back to admire their handiwork. During the afternoon hours, she and William had been busy tying ribbons and carefully placing candles— from one of the many boxes he’d brought home yesterday— upon the tree.

  The fresh pine scent engulfed the room, and Charlotte felt that if she but closed her eyes she would find herself a little girl again, trudging with her father through the forest near their home in France as they searched for the perfect tree.

  As if he’d read her mind, William promised, “Next year you and Alec can come with me to help find the tree. And we will plan ahead and make an outing of it, so it is not a before-dawn-until-dark expedition as was yesterday’s.”

  Next year. “You cannot know how good it feels to hear that,” Charlotte said, bestowing a smile of gratitude upon him.

  William chuckled. “If it means that much to you, perhaps we should get a tree for every holiday.”

  “I was not speaking of the tree.” Charlotte clasped nervous hands in front of her, half-wishing she had contained her thoughts. But now that she had spoken she must explain herself. “Knowing that we shall still be here next Christmas, and the one beyond that and the one beyond that…” She turned away, walking to the window that overlooked the snowy yard. “It brings a great measure of comfort.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “That you have given us a home.”

  “You— and Matthew— did not reside in the same home throughout your marriage?” William came to stand beside her, close but not too much so. In the past few days they had been silently figuring out boundaries— what each might say and do that would not cross a line of discomfort for the other.

  Charlotte shook her head. “We did not. Before we left England, we had saved enough for my passage, but Matthew traveled under indenture. His first employer in Virginia was a kind man. He allowed me to work for our lodging, while Matthew’s labor went solely toward paying off his debt.” She smiled wistfully. Those first two years had been good— or as good as they’d enjoyed. “Then the plantation was sold, and Matthew’s indenture with it, and the next owner was not as sympathetic. I had to take work elsewhere and went to live with a different family. For a good year and a half, Matthew and I saw each other only on Sundays.”

  “And this was your circumstance when your husband died?”

  “No.” Charlotte turned away from the window and faced William. She’d dreaded speaking to him of Matthew but found now that she had started, it was not as difficult as she had feared. In some ways, it felt a relief to tell him, to share with someone the sorrows that had been hers and hers alone for too long.

  Marsali had been too consumed with her own grief to listen to Charlotte’s tale. And before that… No one to listen or care. Matthew had not been the only man killed in the accident at the mill; the whole town had been consumed with grief, with none to spare for the newcomer’s wife, especially considering the circumstances.

  “Last April Matthew’s passage was finally repaid. He found work at the mill in another town, and we were renting a small cabin. I planted a garden, and we were beginning to save money for our own farm.” Charlotte closed her eyes briefly, as if to shut out the painful memories.

  At a gentle pressure on her hands, she looked up and found William’s gaze upon her.

  “You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t wish to.”

  “I know.” She allowed him to lead her back to the settee, where they sat silently admiring the lovely tree. How had she allowed the mood to turn melancholy? She didn’t want to feel this way, not now, not on Christmas Eve and when William had worked so hard to make the holiday special for Alec.

  But well begun is half done, her mother used to say, and Charlotte did not wish to leave this half done. Just tell him— all of it.

  “In late July there was an accident at the mill. Three men were killed. Matthew was seriously injured. Everyone said it was his fault. They brought him home to me, and I tried to take care of him. But his leg and chest had been crushed, and there was something inside hurting him, making him suffer terribly. I tried, but I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t ease his pain.”

  “Was there no physician summoned?” William asked, his face drawn and concern reflected in his own eyes.

  “The doctor came— once,” Charlotte said, reminding herself that being bitter helped no one. “His son was one of those killed, and it seemed to me as if he did not try very hard to help Matthew.”

  “How long did he suffer?” William asked quietly.

  “Six days— nearly a whole week.” How it hurt to think of that time— the worst six days of her life. At least after Matthew was gone, she’d known he wasn’t in pain any longer. Seeing him suffer and being helpless to do anything about it, anything for him, had left her drained and hardly feeling alive herself. If not for Alec, she might not have been. “I never left his side, except to care for Alec. No one came to see how Matthew was. And after— no one bothered to see how Alec and I fared. I was carrying another baby but lost it in the two weeks after Matthew’s death. After that I took Alec and returned to my previous employer. Without Matthew to help, and in my own, weakened condition, I couldn’t make enough for room and board for Alec and me, let alone anything else we needed. I didn’t know how we were going to get through the winter. When your carriage arrived, it seemed an answer to my desperate prayer.”

  “I remember making that decision,” William said. “It happened at the oddest of times. I was at work, in the middle of writing up a contract for a new client, when the idea came that I should send for Marsali’s sister. And so I stopped what I was doing and did so right then.”

  “Thank heaven,” they both said at once, echoing the other’s thoughts. Charlotte found that she could laugh, and the corner of William’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her.

  “How old are you?” he asked when her mirth had fled.

  “Twenty-four. And you?”

  “Ten years your senior,” he said soberly. “Yet your hardships have no doubt made you wiser than I.”

  “I am not certain ‘wise’ is the right word.” She lay her he
ad back against the sofa and was not entirely surprised to find William’s arm behind her.

  “They have made you gentle, then,” William said. “Grateful. Cautious.”

  He was correct on all counts, though she did not tell him so. She had known what it was to lose the man you loved, and so she had felt empathy for Marsali and treated her gently, as she had wished to be treated— and had not been— following Matthew’s death.

  And I am grateful to be here, to be warm and safe, to have food enough for Alec.

  And cautious— who wouldn’t be? Charlotte didn’t know if she could ever live through pain as she’d felt last summer again. Keeping William at arm’s length, not allowing herself to become too attached to him, was definitely the safer route.

  And then there was guilt. She felt it constantly. Matthew had suffered and died from trying to provide for her. And she had repaid him by marrying another.

  William’s fingers brushed her shoulders, and Charlotte straightened quickly, scooting to the edge of the settee, though a part of her would have liked nothing more than to escape into the comfort of his arm around her.

  A long, awkward minute passed in silence.

  At length William spoke. “I will do my best to care for you as Matthew would have.”

  “Thank you,” Charlotte murmured, not daring to say more. He was already caring for her too much, and would she but allow it, she feared William might do just as he said, caring for her as Matthew, and completely obscuring her memory of him in the process.

  December 25

  William withdrew his pocket watch from his vest and glanced at it again. “Alec has been riding that horse for twenty-two minutes.”

  “I do believe you have hired your first nanny, one that will be quite good at keeping Alec occupied for great lengths of time.” Charlotte sat on the floor beside Alec as he rocked, though she had quickly realized he had full command of the rocking horse and there was little cause for concern. At least with regard to injury. She feared a tantrum when she removed him from the toy at naptime.