Layered atop the fur carriage throw, the extra blankets ensured that her makeshift bed was quite comfortable. Anna wiggled her toes, finding she could almost stretch out full-length on the narrow bench. While on the facing seat, Lord Killingworth must be feeling like a matryoshka doll with his limbs crammed tightly into a confined space. He had refused all but one thin covering, and must have been half frozen as well.
After a restless few minutes, guilt weighed too heavily on her for sleep to come. Sitting up, she was about to insist he take one of her blankets when a soft yet unmistakable buzzing stilled her lips.
The man was snoring. It was an oddly intimate sound. And strangely comforting. Anna lay back and stared up into the darkness. Come to think of it, a great many things about Lord Killingworth were surprisingly reassuring. Far from being an arrogant prig, he had shown himself to be thoughtful, well read and funny. And at the first sign of trouble, he had assumed command with a cool calmness that had saved them from further injury.
She blinked, aware that she had slowly come to see him—and herself—in a whole new light, though its flicker still left much in shadow. It had been some years since she had taken any real joy in Christmas, but now, this chance encounter with a stranger had made her feel a little less alone in the world. The gift—however small, however fleeting—kindled a tiny flame of hope that she might once again share a feeling of closeness, of kinship with another person.
Listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his slumber, she was soon lulled into a peaceful sleep.
It was the resinous curl of wood smoke that tickled her senses back to consciousness. Throwing off her covers, Anna quickly tugged on her coat and boots. Her hairpins, however, proved a more daunting challenge. She didn’t dare glance at herself in the windowpane, sure she would look a fright.
“Good morning,” said Nicholas as she climbed down from the coach. He had cleared a small patch of ground to the bare earth and was fanning a spark from his flint and steel to life. “Do you always sleep so soundly?”
“Only when I stay awake half the night listening to a strange gentleman’s snores.”
“I should have warned you.” He didn’t look around. “Several of my friends have likened it to a dull saw cutting through the keel of a forty-gun frigate.”
It was another point in his favor that he could make fun of himself. And the score inched a notch higher as he turned in profile, the snow reflecting a dappling of silvery light across his chiseled features.
“It wasn’t quite that bad.” Anna watched him strip off his gloves and carefully arrange the thin curls of wood into a small pyramid. A great many gentlemen of her acquaintance were quick to boast of their skills at shooting or dancing or choosing the cut of a waistcoat, but she could not recall one admitting to knowing how to fix an axle or coax a fire from damp shavings of wood. But by now, she was not at all surprised that he did not kick up a dust about getting his hands dirty.
“You do not seem to mind doing menial tasks,” she observed.
“Not when it is necessary.” He dusted his palms, then picked up the knife and began cutting more fuel for the fire. “I would rather shed my dignity than my life.”
“Ever practical, sir?”
“Practical, prudent and pragmatic,” he agreed. “I warned you not to expect Lord Byron’s Corsair hero as your companion on this journey.”
He did look very raffish with his uncombed locks grazing his rumpled linen and a gleam of golden whiskers stubbling his jaw. Trying to put such thoughts out of her mind, Anna stood up and hugged her arms to her chest. “Speaking of journeys, we should probably be harnessing the horses and starting off.”
Nicholas threaded a morsel of bread onto a sharpened stick and held it over the meager flames. “I am afraid we are not going anywhere.” Seeing her surprised expression, he waggled the piece of toast at the snowy silhouette of their coach. “I checked earlier on the wheel, and what with the weight of the ice and snow, the damaged spoke had cracked clean through.”
“We could ride on to the next inn,” suggested Anna.
“Too dangerous.” The bread angled heavenward. “With the clouds as thick as they are, I won’t chance it.” After one last pass over the coals, he held the stick at arm’s length. “Have some breakfast. It’s hardly a mouthful, but we had better conserve what we have.”
A nibble of the toasted crust caused her to cough.
He plucked a tin cup from the coals. “Sorry, unlike the wizard in The Frog Prince, I am not able to conjure up a spell to turn frozen apples into a pot of steaming tea.”
“This is magical enough, sir.” Anna sipped at the cider, feeling an extra warmth tingling through her limbs. Lord Killingworth had a most delicious sense of humor—dry and spiced with a whimsical irony. As she swirled the last dregs, she felt an odd sort of emptiness in the pit of her stomach.
Strong. Capable. Modest. Adding on a number of his other attributes, Anna realized she had never savored a gentleman’s company quite so much. Yet quite likely their paths would never cross again after this interlude.
Her fingers tightened around the cup, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone.
“Your cheeks are looking pale as ice, Lady Anna,” he said quietly. “We had best not linger here too long, exposed to the elements, lest you succumb to frostbite.”
It was her heart, she feared, not her face, which was in danger of suffering some irreparable damage. The cold had seeped straight to her core. Not that she could quite explain why. Lord Killingworth would probably have some insight to offer on chance and fate. But she felt awkward, unsure.
Unsure of what, she asked herself. Of whether he would laugh if she told him her thoughts? Of whether she would cry?
Better to keep silent than risk breaking the fragile camaraderie that had formed between them.
Eyeing her with growing concern, Nicholas tucked the blanket more snugly around her shoulders. “I had a look around while you were sleeping. The ruins of an old abbey are not too far off. The walls are crumbling, but there is a roof overhead and room to move about. If we bring along the blankets and a few essentials, I daresay it will be a bit more comfortable place to wait out the weather than a cramped, drafty coach.” He paused. “That is, if you are feeling up to the trek.”
She nodded. “Of course. It is a sensible move to take leave of the coach.”
After strapping their luggage atop one of the horses, Nicholas turned to the other animal and arranged a blanket in place as a saddle. “Let me give you a hand up.” Worried about her pallor, he tried to tease a bit of color back to her face. “You show a very pretty ankle, Lady Anna,” he murmured, as he laced his gloves beneath her boot.
“Lord Killingworth, my leg is presently covered by something resembling a small furry animal.”
“Yes, but were it not, I’m sure it would be a most delightful sight.”
“How very improper of you to say so.”
Her burble of amusement encouraged him to go on. “Yes, well, considering our present predicament, I think we can safely say that propriety has long since flown out the window. Let us hope our necks have not gone with it.”
He meant it as a joke, but the smile froze on her face. “If you are worried that you are going to find yourself ensnared by the circumstances, don’t be. I promised that you would suffer no consequences because of this journey. Your reputation shall remain unsullied.” If anything, her voice turned colder. “And your leg unshackled, if that is what is bothering you.”
Hell’s teeth. What perfidious fairy dust had been mixed in with the snow? In the past, he had always maintained a rigid correctness in any conversation with a lady. But Anna had made him feel at ease. As if he might be himself.
Ha. And pigs might fly.
“That was not what I meant at all,” replied Nicholas. “I was merely. . .” Frustrated, he kicked at the snow. “To the devil with reputations and rules! Would that I could shake off all the dratted chains of convention.”
A po
wdering of flakes shot up, sparkling like jewels in the peekaboo sunlight. So, too, did the first notes of laughter lighten the air. The sound grew richer, and more brilliant as it caught in the breeze.
“Why, sir! If you raised your voice an octave, you would sound exactly like me! However, as you wear boots and breeches instead of silks and satins, it is termed ‘letting off steam’ rather than ‘falling in a fit of vapors.’ But call it what you will, would you like the loan of my vinaigrette?” Anna gave a small shake of her reticule. “I am sure it is in here somewhere.”
His shoulders stiffened, and then he caught a glint of the merriment in her eyes. “Minx! Are you. . .”
“Teasing you?” Her peal of laughter rang delightfully musical to his ear. “Yes, I suppose I am. I have never dared do so with a gentleman before, but when you let yourself unbend, you are. . . different. So do not turn too starchy, Lord Killingworth.”
“Do not turn too saucy, Lady Anna.”
She stuck out her tongue. “What is good for the goose is good for the gander.”
Grinning, he made a last check of the luggage and took up the reins. Different. It was a start in the right direction. Though where it would lead, he could not hazard a guess.
“Let us hope we do not end up burned to a crisp, ” he murmured.
They set off through the windblown snow, and for a time both of them seemed content to let their thoughts drift, like the swirl of flakes kicked up by the horses. As he trudged through the knee-deep powder, Nicholas found himself simply enjoying the soft sounds of a winter’s morning. The muffled swoosh of his steps. . . the stirring of the snow-coated pine boughs. . . the musical tinkle of the brass harness fittings, which sounded a little like faraway church bells. It was peaceful. It was. . .
It was Christmas! Or nearly so.
“Good Lord!” His exclamation formed a whispery cloud around his lips. “Tonight is Christmas Eve. The holiday festivities will have to go on without us, for it goes without saying that we will never make it to Town in time for our engagements.”
He angled a look over his shoulder. “I hope that is not too bitter a disappointment.”
Anna’s eyes were downcast. “In truth, I did not feel much like celebrating.”
“Come, if you were in Spain, your eyes would be all aglitter on this eve as you wrapped sweetmeats in gold foil.” Wishing to lighten the look on her face, he said the first fanciful thing that popped into his head. “It is a tradition that all unmarried young ladies of the land prepare treats for the elfin folk who fly in on storks to leave a gift on the pillow of every sleeping child.”
Her lashes lifted ever so slightly. “How do they get into the houses?”
“They, er, fly down the chimneys.” A gust whistled through the trees. “While in Denmark, the celebration takes on a different form. The North Wind blows in through the cracks in the windows and leaves an ice crystal on the mantel for every member of the family. When the morning comes, the fire is kindled to a great flame and the frozen gift melts into a wish.”
Anna’s gaze had regained a bit of sparkle. “In Russia, a Baba Yaga is said to fly in on a mortar and pestle, leaving gifts for those who have been good all year and lumps of coal for those who have been bad.”
“Ah, that is nothing compared to the monkeys of Malta, who according to an old Templar rite are allowed to pelt miscreants with rotten oranges from dawn to dusk on Christmas day.”
A burble of laughter cut off any further fantasies. “Really, sir, how do you come up with such outrageous bouncers at the drop of a hat?”
“As a government official, I am expected to be creative with language.”
“You mean to lie through your teeth?” she demanded.
He managed to assume an expression of mock indignation but it quickly quirked into a grin. “Well, if you put it that way. . .”
“You have a wonderfully whimsical imagination, Lord Killingworth,” she said softly. “Thank you for lifting my spirits. I know everyone is expected to be happy at Christmas. But I find it. . . hard.”
“If you are thinking that something is missing, Lady Anna, you are not alone.” Nicholas cut around an outcropping of rock. “No doubt it sounds blasphemous, but the season has always left me cold. There is so much jolliness all around—the cheerful laughter, the festive decorations of evergreen and mistletoe, the smells of sugar and spice perfuming the air. One feels guilty about not getting into the spirit of things. And yet, so much of the celebrating feels forced, or superficial. It sometimes seems the true meaning of the holiday has been lost.”
“I hate Christmas,” she blurted out.
Nicholas halted, ostensibly to give the horses a rest. “May I ask why?” he said, his hand lingering on her knee after he had smoothed out the folds of her coat.
“Because it used to be a magical time of light.” She sniffed. “And love.”
“What happened to change that?”
Anna hesitated before answering. “I was in school here in England. My parents had been called away to St. Petersburg, but they had promised to return in time for us to share the holidays together, as we always did. However, the passage through the Baltic was a rough one, and by the time their ship reached Antwerp, it was running several days late.”
She swallowed hard. “They should never have set sail that night, but the harbormaster said my father was so anxious to reach Dover without further delay that the captain relented. A winter gale. . .” Her voice, which had grown brittle as ice, finally cracked.
His hand found hers and clasped it tightly. Through the thick wool he could feel her fingers. They were clenched together, as if seeking solace from each other. “If your uncle were here, I would hit him with a thumping right cross, rather than a snowball. He must be as hard and unfeeling as a lump of coal to have you traveling on your own so close to Christmas.”
“He is not uncaring, merely unaware. At the time, he was away in the Far East. I don’t think he ever knew the exact date of the shipwreck. Or if he did, the significance did not quite sink in. You see, he is of the Orthodox faith, as are most Russians. By their calendar, Christmas comes in early January.” Her lips quivered. “In any case, he is too busy ordering important affairs to think about such small tragedies.”
Without saying a thing, Nicholas pulled her down from the makeshift saddle and into his arms. He sensed she did not need words, just the unspoken warmth of a heartfelt hug.
Ice crackled in the branches overhead. From a nearby stump, a solitary raven flapped up into the sky. Finally, at the sound of a frosty snort from one of the horses, Anna lifted her cheek from his collar with an answering sigh. “You are immensely kind to offer a shoulder to lean on, Lord Killingworth. Though I fear with all my sniffling I’ve left your linen rather wilted.”
“We both agreed it was better not to be too starchy,” he said. “And I would much rather you call me Nicholas.”
“ Very well. . . Nicholas.” Blinking away a last tear, she straightened her fur hat. “We cannot stand in one place forever. The horses are growing chilled. We really must move on.”
Though loath to let her go, Nicholas let her pull away. His gaze moved across the snow-covered pastureland to where the ruins of the abbey were just visible above the crest of a hill. “Would that I could make the journey an easier one for you.”
Like her, he was speaking of more than mere physical distance.
“I’m not sure how far I could have come without you,” she murmured as he helped her back onto her horse.
“Tell me,” he said, once they had gotten under way again. “What are the things you recollect most about Christmas with your family?”
“Lud, I have a myriad of marvelous memories.” Anna thought for a moment, a wistful smile curling the corners of her mouth. “I recall how Papa would search the woods for the biggest Yule log he could find. How Mama delighted in playing Christmas carols on the pianoforte—from English to Russian, and a whole mix of languages in between.”
A p
ause. “How she would have Cook decorate the dining table with cherubic angels carved out of ice, their chubby little arms filled with candles and sugared plums.”
“It sounds truly wonderful.”
Looking as though she did not quite trust her voice, Anna nodded.
He let the conversation trail off into the rhythmic crunch of snow. As the abbey walls came into sharper focus, an idea began to take form in his head. A crazy one to be sure, seeing as they were stranded in the wilds, with barely a crust of bread and bit of cheese between them.
But miracles could happen, Nicholas reminded himself, if one believed them possible. To go along with the cherished memories of Christmas past, he was determined to make the advent of Christmas this year an evening that Anna would not forget.
Chapter 5
Magic. Her wish upon a star must have bounced off Antares, gathered momentum as it circled Polaris and finally reached the ear of some powerful wizard or warlock. For nothing short of unearthly enchantment could explain the sight that now greeted her gaze.
Eyes wide with wonder, Anna looked around the remains of the ancient chapel. Barely half an hour ago it had been a dark, damp space, with wind whistling through the crumbling mortar, dead leaves and mouse droppings that had covered the worn stone floor.
And now?
Fatigue and hunger did strange things to the brain, and she was awfully tired and hungry. That, of course, had not stopped her from demanding to help make their temporary shelter habitable. So when Nicholas had asked if she would chip through the ice of a nearby stream while he gathered kindling, she had gladly taken up the old bucket they had found and stumbled off.
Setting down her load, she pressed an icy mitten to her brow, wondering if she was dreaming. But no, a peek through the wool showed that the vision was still there. In the far corner a blaze of merry flames danced up from a massive log whose rotund girth matched that of a brandy cask. Above it, a garland of evergreen branches festooned the entire length of the weathered wall, its needles perfuming the air with the fragrance of fresh-cut pine.
Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas Page 5