Regency Christmas Wishes (9781101220030)

by Layton, Edith; Jensen, Emma

  He did. A small dog followed him and his dripping meat pie back to the inn.

  “ ’Ere now, I don’t allow no dogs in my inn.”

  Adam looked down, surprised to see the dirty brown mongrel was still at his side. “He’s not my dog. He just followed me for a taste of my meal.”

  The innkeeper frowned at the small dog in disgust. “And next ’e’ll be beggin’ from the customers. ’Arry,” he called to one of the ostlers, “come get another cur for drownin’.”

  “Drowning?” Adam echoed, looking at the animal, which was shivering with the cold, but which wagged his tail.

  “Right. Else the blighter’ll be gettin’ in the way of the horses, or stealin’ food from the kitchens, or chasin’ the chickens m’wife keeps out back. For sure ’e’ll bring fleas in with ’im, was I to let you take ’im to your room.”

  He’d drown the dog because the creature was hungry and lonely and cold? Hell, Adam was hungry, lonely, and cold, too. No one was going to drown him, or his new dog. “I’ll be leaving then, and taking him with me.”

  The innkeeper shrugged. He already had Adam’s money for the room. Now he could rent it out again.

  And now Adam had no place to sleep, with darkness falling. He had a ragged dog, too, which meant the hotels he knew would not accept his custom either, had he wished to spend another part of his purse on a room. He also had his lucky coin, though, for all the good it had done him. He might as well wish for a featherbed and silk sheets!

  As he left the courtyard of the inn, picking his way between carriages and horses and hurrying grooms, he picked up the dog. The innkeeper was right, the poor little fellow might have been trampled. What were a few more mud stains on his coat anyway? No one would care, back at Standings. And there were worse things than flea bites, although Adam could not think of many offhand.

  He could feel bones through the matted fur and promised the dog another meal soon, and a bath. The pup licked his cheek as Adam negotiated the inn yard, satchel in one hand, dog in the other. “I just wish I had somewhere to take you.”

  Then a handsome phaeton raced into the yard, splashing more mud on Adam and the dog. A scarlet-coated officer leaped down and tossed the reins to one of the grooms who came running. The driver shouted “Sorry” toward Adam and strode for the taproom. He turned back. “Standish? Is that you, man?”

  “Johnny Cresswell? Good grief, how long has it been? And you are still as cow-handed as ever!”

  “But a lieutenant now, I’ll have you know!”

  With bear hugs and back slaps, the two old schoolmates exchanged welcomes, while the dog danced at their feet, barking. Adam led his two companions to a quieter corner. “Are you on leave? How long will you be in town? How are your parents?”

  “Not precisely on leave,” the lieutenant answered, “for I took a ball in the shoulder.” Seeing Adam’s look of concern, he added, “I am fully recovered, but the War Office is keeping me here until I am needed for courier duty. The parents are well, the last I heard, but the roads to Yorkshire are already near impassable, more’s the pity, so I will not be going home for the holidays. And you, what brings you away from your country fastness?”

  “Business,” was all Adam said. “I leave tomorrow.”

  “Well, you’ll stay with me at Cresswell House tonight, of course.”

  “I could not . . .”

  “What, you’d leave me to rattle around the mausoleum of a town house by myself with nothing but servants for company? Don’t be a nodcock. Besides, there’s to be a party for Iverson on Friday. You’ll have to stay for that. He’ll be pleased as punch to see you there. Did you hear old Ivy put on leg shackles?”

  “Yes, I was actually invited to the party.” Adam bent, pretending to brush dirt off the dog. “I did not bring my formal clothes.” He did not say he did not own anything fitting for Miss Relaford’s gathering, nor that he could not spend the money on useless fripperies. “No time to have something made up.”

  Cresswell waved that aside. “We’re of a size, and all my formal wear is stowed in the attic. If something needs altering, my batman is a wizard with a needle. I, of course, shall wear my dress uniform. Impresses the ladies, don’t you know.”

  Johnny was already handsome, with blond hair and blue eyes and a raffish, dimpled smile. The tavern girls had always looked at him first, until they heard Ivy’s title. They barely noticed Adam, even then. Now, with Ivy taken and Johnny in his dress uniform, dripping gilt and ribbons . . . Adam’s heart sank to his shabby boots. “Miss Relaford?”

  Cresswell nodded. “Met her at the wedding. A regular Incomparable.”

  “Yes, I thought so, too.”

  The lieutenant looked more closely at his friend, hearing the plaintive note. “Ah, sits the wind in that quarter, then?”

  “The wind does not sit at all. It blew straight past me, on Beasdale’s breath.”

  “Well, if it is any consolation to you, he’d never let the fair maid go off to follow the drum with a mere lieutenant either. But cheer up, old man, who knows what other well-dowered daughters will be at the party? Ivy found a pretty one, with no trace of her father’s coal mines in her manners.”

  “You don’t mean to tell me Iverson wed an heiress simply for her father’s money, do you? I knew he was punting on Tick, but . . .”

  “Hell, no. Miss Applegate’s a beauty, too, and likes horses as much as Ivy does. He fell arsy-varsy over the girl.” Cresswell shook his head. “I never would have believed it possible myself.”

  Adam believed it.

  “Well, come on then,” the lieutenant said, “let’s be off. I am sharp-set, and Cook will be thrilled to have another mouth to feed.”

  Adam looked down. “What about the dog? He seems to be mine now.”

  “Bring him along, of course. He looks like he could use a decent meal even more than we can. Have you given him a name?”

  “Lucky,” Adam decided on the instant. What else?

  6

  Fiend seize it, there was a feather mattress! Adam sank down upon it and, with a hesitant hand, pulled back the cover. The sheets at Cresswell House were fine, but they were not silk, thank goodness. Otherwise he would have to doubt both his sanity and all the laws of nature as he knew them. As it was, he was having trouble believing the amazing coincidence of finding Johnny Cresswell just when he wished for a place to stay the night.

  He could not have found more comfortable accommodations at the Pulteney or the Grand Hotel, if they had found his person and his purse acceptable, which he doubted. Here the servants were more than anxious to please. With none of the family in residence except the young officer, and no other guests, Adam was their best hope of earning extra money for Christmas.

  The lieutenant’s man was altering a coat to fit Adam’s more muscular frame. The cook was fixing a special dinner. The stable lads were giving the dog a bath, while the head groom was making Lucky a leather collar and lead. The housekeeper was even arranging a bed for the dog in Adam’s room, out of an old yellowed petticoat from the rag bag . . . a silk petticoat.

  Adam shook his head. No, what he was thinking was impossible. On the other hand, he decided to stay on for Miss Relaford’s party. He would send funds back to Standings in the morning, so there was no need for him to race home tomorrow, not when he had such luxurious digs in town, and not when he could see the woman of his dreams once more without having to be asleep. Just a few hours ago he had decided not to stay, not to torment himself further with what he could never have, but now . . . Well, now the impossible seemed not quite so improbable, and never was not so far away.

  After the best dinner Adam had had in years, and after they had caught up on all the news of other schoolmates, the progress of the war, the price of corn, Lieutenant Cresswell suggested they go for a hand or two of cards to one of the gambling parlors, far more entertaining than the sedate gentlemen’s clubs.

  “You must know,” Johnny told him, “that I am feeling particularly lucky ton
ight, having found an old friend to share my meal. I hate eating by myself.”

  Adam had never thought about it, but now that he did, he realized that he ate all his meals with an agricultural journal or a newspaper propped in front of him. Conversation would be nice, and a pretty face to look at. Not that Johnny was not good company, just not the company he’d rather have. He said, “I am glad to be of service to stave off your solitude, but, as for the cards, you’ll have to excuse me. My funds are limited enough without chancing the loss of a single groat.”

  “You never were much of a gambler, now that I recall. Still, come along, won’t you? There is always free wine and pretty girls, and you are growing as somber as a Sunday sermon. Besides, one never knows. If I win enough, I might even be able to repay that blunt you lent me.”

  “I never lent you—oh, you mean the hundred pounds? Lud, I never meant that as a loan. It was a gift, so you could buy your colors when your father would not advance you the ready. I could not go off to fight for king and country, not with my own father ailing, so I provided the funds for you to go.”

  “Yes, but with brass you could ill afford to give, that inheritance from your mother. I never forgot, although I must admit the money has been in and out of my hands any number of times. Still, I have every intention of repaying you.”

  Granted, when Adam gave over the money, he had not known quite how bad things were at Standings, but he did not regret helping his friend. “Gammon. If I had not given you the blunt, my father would have used it to buy more horses, or to wager on the ones he already owned.”

  “Yes, well, my own pater still keeps me on a tight rein or I would have repaid you ages ago. It always seemed I had a pressing need when the dibs were in tune. Now I am beforehand with the world, thank heaven, and living at Cresswell House at no expense, so perhaps tonight we will both be lucky.”

  “I have to admit that sum would be more than welcome to meet my own commitments so, yes, let us go to your gambling den for wine, women, and wagering. Lud knows I wish that you end the night a wealthy man!”

  There he was in his borrowed finery, looking fine as five pence, with more than five pence in his pocket for once, yet Adam was not truly enjoying himself. The ladybirds held no interest for him, and he had barely recovered from the day’s headache, so saw no reason to give himself another pounding skull by overindulging in wine. He did find some old friends to greet, but they were more interested in losing their blunt than making conversation. Some of the others present were not men Adam wished to know, not with their glittering, feral eyes and nervous, darting hands.

  For the most part, he watched Lieutenant Cresswell play. Johnny was not any Captain Sharp, but neither was he a gullible flat. He won some, then lost it back, then won a bit more. He went from faro to piquet to the dice to vingt-et-un. Adam could not see what pleasure anyone got in watching their stacks of counters disappear, but he supposed the mere thought of winning was enough for the serious players with their intense stares and sweating brows.

  “Here,” Cresswell said, holding out his heavy Bath blue superfine, having decided to leave off his uniform for the decidedly off-duty night. “Be a good fellow and hold my coat, won’t you? It’s deuce hot in the place.” He looked around. One of the men at the roulette wheel had his coat on inside out, to bring him luck. “Perhaps the cards will go my way without it.”

  They did not, and in a way Adam was relieved, as if somehow his own wishes might have weighted the dice or marked the cards in his friend’s favor. He wanted Johnny to win, naturally, but naturally, not by any havey-cavey happenstance.

  The wagering went on, and Adam was starting to yawn, wondering when his friend would have enough of this empty enterprise, when a commotion arose by the door. A liveried servant was trying to gain entry that the doorman wished to deny. Adam could hear shouts about disturbing the gentlemen at play, about a message, about life and death.

  “Let him in, man, if his news is so important,” Lord Symington, one of the men at Johnny’s table, called across the smoke-filled room as he put down his cards. The others followed suit, the dealers held the decks, the croupier stopped the wheel, and the ladybirds ceased their twittering. All eyes followed the footman as he headed straight for the table where Johnny sat.

  Oh, no, Adam thought, frantically trying to recall his earlier words. Had he wished Johnny won his fortune at the tables? Or had he, as he feared, simply wished that Johnny become wealthy tonight? The surest way for Lieutenant Cresswell to come into an instant fortune was to inherit it, on the demise of his father. Racing through Adam’s thoughts were feather mattresses and gold coins and reward monies and invitations to parties he was never meant to receive and women he was never meant to meet . . . and a dog. Lud, what if his wishes were coming true? He’d be murdering Johnny’s father!

  He liked the man. Lord Cresswell had always tried to be strict with his devil-may-care son, curbing his wilder starts, but only out of affection, Adam knew, not out of meanness. He’d been kind to the other boys at school, earning their respect. Zeus, he could not die just so Adam could pay off his mortgage!

  Adam grabbed the lucky coin out of his pocket, staring at it as if the penny piece could tell him its intentions, its essence, its magic. “No,” he whispered. “I take it back. I’d like the hundred pounds, but I do not wish any harm to befall Johnny’s father. I do not wish it, do you hear?”

  Johnny heard, and looked at Adam quizzically. He would have asked for an explanation but then the footman neared their table. Adam held his breath. The messenger reached them and beamed at Lord Symington. “A boy, my lord. Your lady wife has been delivered of a healthy son!”

  The cheers and congratulations and champagne toasts rang out. None were more sincere than Adam’s.

  “We might as well go home,” Lieutenant Cresswell said after the noise had abated and the new father had rushed off to see his wife and infant, breaking up that game. “The cards are cold tonight anyway.”

  The weather was cold, too, that bitter December night, so Adam held out Johnny’s coat for him. A bit unsteady on his feet after a night of imbibing and then all those recent toasts, the lieutenant dropped the coat, then bent to pick it up. In his fumbling, a paper fell out of the pocket.

  “Zeus only knows what it is. Haven’t worn this old coat in ages. Too hot in Spain, don’t you know. If we hadn’t been up in the attics finding you clothes, I never would have unearthed it.”

  The light in the gaming parlor’s hall was too dim to read by, so they stepped outside, toward a streetlamp.

  Johnny unfolded the paper and read it. “Why, it’s a draft on my father’s bank, for a monkey!”

  “You have five hundred pounds, and you’ve let it sit in a coat pocket for months or years? Deuce take it, Johnny, not even you could be so careless with your blunt.”

  The lieutenant staggered back against the lamppost. “I swear I never knew it was there. Here, see if it bears a date.”

  He held the check out, and Adam saw Lord Cresswell’s signature, and a date some four years earlier, one month after Adam’s mother’s death, one month before Johnny left for the Peninsula.

  “He must have put it in my pocket when I went to say farewell,” Johnny calculated, “after ranting and raving over my enlisting, how I was breaking my mother’s heart and endangering the succession.” The lieutenant blew his nose, pretending that it was the cold night air making his eyes water and his nose run.

  Adam brushed a bit of dampness from his own cheek. “He truly cares for you.”

  “Yes, although the old rip would be hanged before he admitted it. Damn, how I wish I could go home for Christmas—after we go to the bank tomorrow morning!”

  “We?”

  “Of course. That hundred pounds is yours, my friend, with interest if not a reward for helping me find the check.” He put his arm around Adam’s shoulder as they waited for a hackney cab, and laughed out loud. “By Jupiter, did I not say you brought me luck?”

  7<
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  They went to Lieutenant Cresswell’s father’s bank first, then Adam went on to his own financial institution.

  “What, back again, are you?” Mr. Beasdale scowled across his paper-covered desk, his face growing red at Adam’s effrontery. “You are deuced persistent, I’ll say that for you. My niece thinks I ought to grant you that extension, since you have convinced her what a hardworking chap you are. In a matter of minutes. Bah! That is why females do not have authority over their own assets. They would give the whole away to the first silver-tongued devil they meet.”

  Adam knew he was anything but a smooth talker, but he was not here to defend his character—or offend his angel’s uncle. “No, sir,” he said. “I am here to tell you that I no longer need to delay my payment. I wish to pay part of it in advance, in fact, while I am still in London.”

  Mr. Beasdale eyed him from under bushy eyebrows, knowing full well Adam had nothing of value left to sell to make the sum mentioned. “What, have you taken to capturing wanted criminals for the reward money? Or have you become a highwayman yourself? No, I suppose that like others of your sort you quickly turned to the baize table and hit a streak of luck.”

  “I was lucky, yes, lucky in my friends. Lieutenant Cresswell repaid a loan I made to him some years ago.”

  “I know of that young wastrel. Anyone who would lend good money to such a here-and-thereian is a bigger fool than Cresswell himself. He would only lose it betting on a curricle race or the color of the next horse to pass by.”

  “He used my mother’s bequest to me to purchase his colors,” Adam answered in a quiet tone that refuted contradiction, “to go fight the French. I was happy to lend him the blunt, and he has proved to be an exemplary officer, earning mention in the dispatches. He was wounded in the service of his country. Just recently he came into funds to pay me back.”

  “So you say. His father is no squeeze crab, from all I hear. Why did he not pay the lad’s way?”