“Merry Christmas, Yevgeny,” called the earl “Won’t you join me and my son in a toast to good cheer and—”
“Nyet!” roared the count. “I cannot be merry at a time like this! I am—how you say—dis. . .”
“Distraught?” suggested Nicholas. His own nerves were none too steady at the moment.
“Yes! Distraught! Otherwise I would not descend upon your home and your holiday like a ravening bear. Of all my English acquaintances, you are the man I have confidence in, Royster.”
“I will help in any way I can. What is the trouble?”
“My niece was due to arrive in London the day before yesterday, but she has gone missing!”
The earl’s expression sobered considerably. Setting aside the decanter of brandy, he sought to allay his visitor’s agitation. “I am sure there is no real cause for alarm. I know for a fact that the bad weather has delayed a number of travelers.”
“Father,” said Nicolas.
Neither man paid any heed to Nicholas’s quiet murmur.
The count’s composure took a sharp turn for the worse as he started to pace before the fire. “One of the men I sent out in search of her discovered her coach, abandoned on a stretch of desolate road.”
“We—” began the earl.
“We were just coming to tell you that all is well and that your niece is quite safe.” Nicholas fixed the earl with a steady gaze and waggled a brow. “Weren’t we, Father?”
The Stare took on a peculiar tilt, but years of diplomatic experience allowed the earl to reply without missing a beat. “Indeed. We were. But seeing as Nicholas deserves all the credit, I will defer to him in explaining all the details.” Folding his hands upon his blotter, Royster added dryly, “I confess, Yevgeny, I am as anxious as you are to hear exactly how he managed the feat.”
Count Federov, who had been rendered momentarily speechless, recovered enough to sputter, “You mean to say my Anna is with you?”
“At the moment, sir, she is downstairs with our housekeeper, freshening up from her ordeal.”
An odd rumble started deep in the count’s throat, and his hands began to twitch.
It was, decided Nicholas, a reaction that did not bode well for peace and harmony. In one fell swoop both his limbs and any prospect of a treaty between England and Russia looked about to be ripped asunder.
“Grrrr. . .” With two quick strides, the count crossed the carpet. “Thank God! I am eternally grateful to you, tovarich.”
Nicholas found himself enveloped in a bear hug and lifted off his feet.
“Royster,” called Count Federov, his craggy face wreathed in a joyous smile. “You told me that your son was a remarkable young man, but you were too modest by half. Ha! I do not know how he discovered my plight, but to have acted so quickly and decisively.” He shook his head. “It’s a miracle.
“Sometimes even I am astounded by my son’s resourcefulness,” drawled the earl. “Er, perhaps if you would allow him a breath of air, we may hear all about the dramatic rescue. It promises to be a fascinating tale.”
“Yes! Of course.”
Nicholas hit the floor with a thump. His knees wobbled, but he kept his balance and cleared his throat. He did not need to look at the earl to know that he was treading a very fine line. One small misstep and he would go from being a hero to a goat.
A goat staked out on the Siberian steppes for the wolves to devour.
“It was a dark and stormy night, Count Federov. . .”
The earl gave a small cough. “Forgive me—something must have lodged in my throat.”
A laugh, unless Nicholas was much mistaken. His reproachful glance was met with a nod of contrition.
“Do go on,” murmured Royster, after swallowing a sip of his brandy.
“Through the swirl of the snow I happened to spot a wink of light. . .” His secret delight in the novels of Mrs. Radcliffe and the Minerva Press was now proving quite useful in cobbling together a suspenseful narrative. “Then, above the howl of the snowstorm, I heard a faint cry for help. . .”
Jaw slightly agape, Federov perched his bulk on the edge of the desk and leaned forward.
“Half frozen, and on death’s door from the blow he had suffered trying to stave off the falling tree, the coachman lay unconscious inside the coach,” went Nicholas. “The stalwart young lady had braved the elements to save him from a certain demise, but with the weather worsening, things were looking very grim.” For the most part, Nicholas was able to adhere to the spirit, if not the letter, of the truth, with just a few omissions and embellishments to gloss over the unconventional parts.
His father’s brows crept fractionally higher as the tale went on, but he remained silent. The count was a good deal more voluble, interrupting every few moments with a gasp or a mutter in his native tongue.
“Extraordinary!” he exclaimed, when Nicholas was done recounting the arrival in Grosvenor Square.
“Extraordinary,” echoed the earl.
“With such admirable talents, I think your son is destined for a brilliant career in your foreign service, Royster,” said the count.
“Yes, well, I have always stressed to him that one of the keys to success in diplomacy is creativity—along with the ability to think on one’s feet.”
“Actually, I’m not quite finished,” said Nicholas.
Federov looked slightly perplexed. “There is more?”
“I have left until last mentioning that I have asked Anna for her hand in marriage.”
He was rather amused by the stunned silence that followed the announcement. It wasn’t often that two such gentlemen could be rendered speechless.
“And she has accepted?” asked Fedorov warily.
“Yes, sir.”
“Without —how do you say—fireworks? Or your having to call in a regiment of the Preobrazhensky Guards?”
“As you know, sir, the use of force is always the last resort for a diplomat,” replied Nicholas, a twinkle lighting his eye as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I was able to persuade your niece to say ‘yes’ through the means of rational discourse.”
The count made a wry face. “Perhaps you have rescued the wrong young lady.” An instant later the grimace was gone, replaced by a grin. “I think I shall accept that drink after all, Royster. It seems we have much to celebrate on this most joyous of your holidays.”
Turning to Nicholas, he inclined a low bow. “It may not yet be Christmas in my country, but you have given me a most wondrous gift, Lord Killingworth. I believe Anna shall be very happy with you. And for that I thank you with all my heart.”
“Rather it is I who should be thanking you, sir.” Nicholas turned to the earl. “And you, Father. I consider myself blessed with miraculous good fortune. Who would have dreamed that in the midst of darkness and storm I would come upon the light of my life?”
He raised his glass, savoring the blazing fire and beaming smiles through the warm glow of the brandy. “To family. Both present and future.”
The clink of crystal had not yet subsided when Fedorov proposed another round of toasts. “It seems that tomorrow’s ball will take on an extra note of good cheer as we will be able to announce a pair of alliances between our two countries.”
He winked at the earl. “After much discussion, my delegation agreed to your latest proposal and the papers were signed this morning.”
Nicholas stifled a laugh. “I trust they plan to award each of you a medal for your consummate skill at handling delicate negotiations.”
His father maintained a straight face, save for a tiny waggle of his brow. “Oh, I believe Yevgeny and I have reward enough.”
It was not snow but a blur of bright silks and satins, that swirled through the ballroom, and the brilliant sparkling of light came from a myriad of crystal chandeliers rather than ice.
“It is like a scene from a fairy tale,” whispered Anna as Nicholas spun her through another series of twirls.
“Our journey most certainly had
a storybook ending, my love,” he replied, his eyes dancing with a depth of emotion that made her heart skip a beat.
“Complete with a dashing hero who sweeps the lady off her feet,” she whispered.
How had she ever viewed him as just another pompous prig? Now she saw only his kindness, his strength, his humor. His chiseled features, softened by the curl of golden locks and a devilish smile, were not bad to look at either. “You had a few small details of your story wrong. Your father is not such an ogre after all.”
The Earl of Royster, resplendent in ivory silk waistcoat embroidered with a forest of fir trees, appeared not at all perturbed to be holding a glass of champagne instead of a sheaf of government papers. “He dances quite beautifully and told me several very amusing stories about you and your first pony.”
Nicholas gave a mock wince. “Yet another instance of me falling smack on my rump.”
“As for your mother. . . “ Anna touched the pale peach flower pinned to his lapel, then glanced at the countess, who was dancing with Count Federov. “To think she spent the summer and fall creating a new species of roses specially for you. And it was very ingenious of her to design a portable greenhouse so that several of the bushes could be transported from Yorkshire.”
“Yes, I have learned much these past few days, not only about myself, but about those around me. We all have facets we have grown used to keeping under wraps. Sometimes what we need is a challenge to bring them to light.”
“And sometimes what we need is a miracle from above.” Anna could not help but think back on her own doubts and fears. “When I saw that first star in the heavens, I wished for a guardian angel instead of a guardian uncle. What I got was an even greater blessing—I got you.”
“We have both been blessed,” he murmured. “I trust that we shall look out for each other. I hope I shall always be a guardian of your happiness, my love, and you of mine. But I do not mean for this to be a one-sided match. You have my solemn promise that your opinions and wishes shall always be as important as mine.”
He grinned. “After all, my experience in the art of diplomacy has shown me that the prospect for harmony is always best when both parties have an equal say in things.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” teased Anna.
“Truly, I have nothing more to ask for.”
The curl of his lips sent a sizzle of heat right down to the toes of her dancing slippers.
“I’ve been given the most precious gifts of all. Love, hope, happiness. Christmas is truly a time of miracles.” His smile turned a touch more tentative. “I know that for you it has been a time of sorrow, but—”
Anna pressed the palm of her glove to his cheek. “I think I have come to understand another message of the season. Loss is part of life, but we must never allow its darkness to extinguish the light in our hearts. From now on, Christmas will always be a season of great joy, as long as we share it together.”
He suddenly spun to a stop in the middle of the ballroom and swept her up in his arms.
“Nicholas! People are staring!”
“Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to bend the rules, remember?” he murmured, cutting off her laughing protest with a long and lingering kiss.
Anna arched into his arms. When at last his lips released hers, he murmured, “Speaking of protocol, would you be opposed to having our nuptials on Christmas?
“Christmas?” Her face fell. “Y-you wish to wait a whole year to be married?”
His eyes lit with unholy amusement. “Indeed not. I was thinking of the Russian Christmas. Which is less than two weeks away. I have procured a special license, and your uncle has assured me he has no objection.”
“Considering that ours has been a very unorthodox courtship, it seems a very fitting day for a celebration,” she answered.
“What a lucky family we shall be having Christmas come twice a year!”
“Every day will feel like Christmas with you by my side, my dear Nicholas,.” Ssaid Anna.
“Amen to that,” answered Nicholas.
And then he kissed her again.
A Gathering Of Gifts
Chapter 1
“Oh, show a little spirit, Charles! Must you always be a cautious as a church mouse creeping past a sleeping tabby?” Without waiting for a reply, the young lady slapped her crop against her horse’s flank and sent the high-strung stallion hurtling toward the towering stonewall.
“The trouble is not my lack of spirit, but rather your overabundance of it,’’ muttered her companion as he spurred his own horse forward. “Ye God, I fear that if you don’t learn to rein in some of your less laudable tendencies, my dear Emma, it’s going to land you in the suds—and sooner than later.”
His jaw unclenched slightly on seeing that she had cleared the obstacle without mishap, but the slip and clatter of hooves on the slippery ground quickly brought a fresh grimace to his face. The fact that a patch of ice nearly threw his stallion off stride as they approached the tumble of stones did nothing to improve his temper.
It took a firm hand to ensure that neither of them came to grief because of the treacherous footing, and by the time he pulled to a halt beside his cousin, Charles, Viscount Lawrance felt his patience about to snap.
“You see, there was nothing to worry about!” Lady Emma Pierson gave a toss of her blonde curls, causing the jaunty little feather adorning her riding cap to brush against the shoulder of her stylish-frogged jacket. She grinned at her cousin. “Ajax and Orion have jumped far higher fences on countless occasions. Come, there’s a path up ahead with several more obstacles and a stretch where we can race—”
“Nothing to worry about?” repeated Charles angrily, as he drew to a halt beside her. “The deuce take it, Emma, it was a foolish risk! You had no idea what lay beyond the stones. Why, if the ground had been a trifle more icy, both Ajax and you might have broken your necks.” His mouth thinned. “You may have little regard for your own well-being,” he went on in a low growl, “but such a splendid animal deserves more consideration.”
At the first volley of sharp words, the smile disappeared from Emma’s face. “You needn’t lecture me as if you were one of my former governesses. I don’t need anyone to tell me how to go on—especially you, Charles, who are only two years my senior.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m not a child anymore. In case you have forgotten, I have already had a Season in Town. A very successful one, at that,” she added with a decided sniff.
“Then, show you have gained some sense as well as years, Em. You’re right—you are no longer fourteen and dragging the rest of us into one bumblebroth after another with your impetuous actions. It’s time to stop acting like a headstrong little hellion, with no mind for aught but your own whims.”
Her eyes narrowed, a flash of emotion sparking beneath her lashes. “The rest of the gentlemen of the ton don’t seem to find such fault with my behavior,” she retorted.
“Don’t be so sure,” he shot back. “As a matter of fact, I had been meaning to broach the subject at some point during my visit, so it may as well be now.” There was a brief pause. “An undesirable reputation, once garnered, is not nearly so easy to shed as a gown whose color no longer pleases you.”
Beneath the wind-whipped color, Emma’s cheeks went very pale. “H-How can you imply such a horrid thing! I—I had more admirers dancing attendance on me than any of the other young ladies making their come-out.”
“Oh, there’s no denying that your beauty—not to speak of your lineage and dowry—attracts gentlemen like honey draws a swarm of bees,” replied her cousin, the edge of anger replaced by a note of concern. “People may fawn over your looks and your fortune, but around the clubs, there are whispers that your behavior is becoming a tad less admirable.”
Emma blinked.
“I may as well be blunt,” he continued. “Since your mother’s death, your father has indulged in your every whim, and it has done more harm than good. To be brutally honest, you are in danger
of becoming a spoiled brat, Emma. I say such a thing because I know that, at heart, you are no such thing.” Charles sighed. “But of late, your actions do you no credit.”
Her lips quivered slightly. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” he asked quietly.
She turned in profile, the brim of her hat shadowing her face.
“Let me remind you of just a few incidents from the past Season. Demanding that poor Palmerston let you drive his team of grays along Rotten Row nearly resulted in Lady Haverstock being seriously injured.”
“She. . . she should have moved out of the way a bit quicker,” responded Emma.
“Lud, the poor lady is nearly eighty!” He smoothed at the collar of his coat, though the crease remained on his brow. “Then, there was the poem you composed about Miss Taverhill and recited at Lady Jermaine’s gala ball. That was truly not well-done of you.”
“But she does look like a Maypole, especially when she is dressed in cherry and white stripes!” Despite the quickness of her retort, Emma did not quite bring her gaze to meet his. “It was all in good fun. Everyone laughed.”
“Everyone except Miss Taverhill,” Charles said quietly. “I happened to see her sobbing in a corner of the deserted library, and her brother mentioned that it was nigh on a sennight before she had the courage to appear in public again.”
His lips compressed in a tight line. “If you had stopped to think, you would have realized it was a cruel thing to do.”
“It was just a jest,” she replied stiffly. “I meant no harm.”
“Perhaps not. But you caused hurt and humiliation to someone who deserved neither. What I’m trying to say is that your behavior is becoming increasingly self-absorbed. Which is a pity, because the Emma I know and love is not that sort of person. I would hate to think that superficial flatteries could seduce you from being true to yourself.”
Emma turned back to face him, and for an instant he saw a flash of emotion flicker beneath her lashes—though it was gone too quickly for him to read.
Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas Page 7