A Christmas Promise

by Joanna Barker

  “You know I do not believe you in the slightest.”

  Cassie gave a sad smile. “Of course. But I also know what I am doing, I promise.”

  Vivian looked far from convinced, but Cassie stood and embraced her. “I wish you every happiness with Mr. Hastings,” she whispered. “He is a good man, and I know you will be happy together.”

  Vivian pulled away, her eyes glossy with tears. “I hope so, but I do not think I shall ever be truly happy until you are settled as well.”

  Cassie shook her head. She was quite cried out, having shed more than her fair share of tears during the long night. “You may be wishing for that a long while yet.” Vivian frowned, but Cassie did not want to prolong this conversation any more than necessary. “Goodbye, Viv. I hope to hear good news from you soon.”

  Vivian kissed her on the cheek, and then Cassie hurried from the room, down the stairs, and out the front door, where a coach awaited her. The footman helped her inside and closed the door behind her, the thud echoing in her ears with resounding finality.

  She looked back at the manor as the coach started away, as if she might catch a glimpse of Roland at a window, or riding from the stables. But she saw no one.

  Cassie curled into the corner of the coach, her eyes unseeing as they drove through the snowy landscape. Surely Vivian was reading the letter now. Cassie had tried her best to explain all that had happened between her and Roland. She’d written of their late-night conversation in the alcove, the archery range in the ballroom—and their kiss on the roof in the snow. She could hardly keep all that a secret now, not when Vivian needed to know everything.

  She’d written that she’d been too embarrassed to tell Vivian all this in person, and that of course Roland had only kissed her because he believed her to be Vivian. There was no doubt in Cassie’s mind, she’d said, that Roland Hastings loved Vivian Bell.

  The only thing she did not tell her sister was how much Cassandra Bell loved Roland Hastings.

  Cassie closed her eyes, remembering briefly those few moments of bliss from last night, when Roland had kissed her.

  When she’d felt absolutely and completely loved.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Roland did not sleep.

  To be fair, he did not really try. He sat before his fire for hours, poking at the ashes as his memories wound about in circles. Vivian, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright, looking up at him. The sweetness of her lips on his, her soft hair and skin. And then the look of utter panic that had overtaken her features as she scrambled back through the window.

  Away from him.

  And yet.

  And yet he clung to what she’d said, that she did feel the same way toward him. Had he simply pushed too far, too fast? He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He’d only wanted to talk. But how was he supposed to resist her sitting there beside him in the snow, impossibly beautiful, unreasonably adorable?

  He could not begin to explain his actions to himself, let alone to her. This house party was to have been a thing to endure, but he could never have anticipated Vivian. He’d fallen for her so quickly—though falling was not the right word. He’d plummeted into love. Plunged. Really, it was his own fault she’d run off. First his mother’s actions and now his impulsive kiss.

  He needed to fix this. He needed to reassure her he did not expect such ardor in return, even if his heart was already hers. He would give her the time she needed to decide.

  The ashes of his fire were nearly cold when sunlight began drifting through his curtains. Roland dressed and escaped for a ride, hoping to cool the fever that had taken control of his body since last night. When he returned, he paused in the entryway when he heard female voices coming from the parlor. Was Vivian inside? How might she react to seeing him?

  He took a deep breath. They would see each other sooner or later, and perhaps it was better to do so in a group setting. He only wanted to show her that his affections remained unchanged despite her reaction last night.

  Roland stepped inside the parlor and stopped short. Vivian sat across the room, dressed in a pretty pink gown, her fair hair glowing in the sunlight. But that was not why he stared. Vivian sat beside his mother, and both women were smiling.

  Mother looked up. “Ah, there you are, Roland. We thought you’d deserted us again.”

  Her pointed slight at his missing dinner last night barely registered in his mind. He focused instead on Vivian, who stood upon his entering. She clasped her hands tightly, her blue eyes fixed on his.

  “Good morning, Miss Bell,” Roland said quietly. “I trust you slept well.”

  She nodded. “Yes, very well, thank you.”

  There was something strange in her posture—her shoulders were too stiff, her back as straight as the arrows they’d shot in the ballroom. But of course she would be ill at ease, considering their meeting last night.

  “Won’t you join us?” Mother asked, smoothing her skirts nonchalantly. “The others are still eating breakfast, but I am sure they will come in soon.”

  Roland glanced at Vivian, but she nodded without hesitation. “Yes, please join us. Your mother has been telling me amusing stories from your childhood, and I should so like to hear your side of them.”

  Feeling somewhat reassured—she hadn’t run away, at least—he pulled a chair closer to them and sat beside Vivian.

  “And what mistruths has my mother been telling you?” he asked. “Surely not the story about the grasshopper again.”

  Mother gave a titter. “How can I not share that one? You decided my sewing basket would make the perfect home for the creature, and forgot to tell me before I discovered it inside!”

  Vivian laughed, but it was not the unbridled, joyful sound he’d come to expect from her. No, this laugh sounded forced, practiced almost. But then, they were seated beside his mother. He could hardly expect her to act as she did when it was just the two of them.

  “I would have been so affrighted to find a grasshopper among my thread,” Vivian said, leaning forward. “I admit I have no fondness for wildlife.”

  “Save for cats,” he said with a grin, hoping to put her at ease.

  “Cats?” she repeated.

  “And parrots, of course.” A hint of his confusion found its way into his voice. Did she not want him to discuss such a thing before his mother?

  “Oh. Of course, parrots.” Vivian gave a sudden nod, as if recalling a long-forgotten fact. “My grandfather has one, though I would not advocate it as a proper pet.”

  “Decidedly not,” Mother said. “But I am glad to know you have a fondness for cats, considering my own.”

  “Y-yes,” Vivian stammered. “I adore cats. They are quite . . . pretty.”

  Something was not right. Roland squinted at Vivian. Nothing she had said was wrong, but it was more how she said it.

  “Is your sister joining us today?” Roland asked, watching her closely. “I hope she has made a full recovery.”

  Vivian blinked rapidly, as if she’d gotten something in her eye. “No. No, I’m afraid Cassandra has decided to return home. She is feeling better, but not yet up to enjoying the house party.”

  Roland nodded. “Ah, a pity I did not get to spend much time with her. But perhaps I shall send her a package of cherry comfits to assuage her disappointment.”

  “Comfits?” Vivian furrowed her brow. “An interesting gift. Very . . . thoughtful. I am certain she would be glad to receive it.”

  He stared at the young lady before him, at her carefully folded hands, her pursed lips, and her guarded eyes. The golden curls and blue eyes were the same, but nearly everything else was different.

  And then it all connected in his head, his thoughts flying faster than a sparrow on the wind.

  “You are not Vivian,” he said slowly.

  Her mouth parted, but she did not speak.

  Mother gave a nervous laugh. “Of course this is Miss Bell. Who else would it be?”

  But Roland shook his head. “This is not the woman I spent the la
st week with.”

  Mother stood, face reddening. “Roland, you are being ridiculous, and quite rude to Miss Bell. I insist you apologize—”

  “No.” The young lady stood as well, and Mother gaped at her. “No, please do not apologize. You have nothing to feel sorry for, while I have everything to regret.” She took a deep breath and looked Roland straight in the eye. “I am Vivian Bell, but not the one you came to know. That was my sister, Cassandra.”

  Cassandra. Her name repeated in his mind, again and again.

  “She pretended to be you?” he asked, perplexed. “Why?”

  Mother sat again, holding a hand to her forehead, and Vivian’s cheeks grew pink.

  “I . . . I am embarrassed to admit I formed an attachment to you during our time in London. When I grew ill during our journey here, I begged her to take my name and—” She closed her eyes tightly. “I asked her to ensure that the other young ladies did not monopolize your time.”

  Roland leaned back in his chair, head spinning. His memories skimmed over the last week; he remembered all the little oddities and inconsistencies he’d noticed in Miss Bell—Cassandra. Her competitiveness with Miss Tindale, her struggling to appear more proper than she was. And her singing.

  Then, to everyone’s surprise, including his own, a short laugh escaped him.

  “This explains so much,” he said, shaking his head. “In truth, I cannot believe I did not guess it sooner. I simply assumed she acted strangely because she was nervous.” Another realization struck him, and he turned to his mother. “Nervous of you, Mother. Tell me you did not know about this.”

  Her face paled. “No! Of course not.” She paused. “That is, until last night.”

  Roland narrowed his eyes. “What happened last night?”

  “I . . .” She swallowed. “I may have encouraged Cassandra to return home. I thought it best, considering her entire character was a deception from the start. But Miss Bell here—”

  “That was not for you to decide, Mother.” Now Roland was on his feet. He turned to Vivian. “Miss Bell, I am certain you are all that is sweetness and gentility, but—”

  “But you are in love with my sister,” she said softly, understanding growing in her eyes.

  Roland hesitated. He did not want to hurt this lovely young lady, when she was guilty of nothing but setting her sights on the wrong man.

  “It is all right.” Vivian looked down at her clasped hands. “After spending just a few minutes with you, it is quite obvious how you feel about her. I had my suspicions after reading Cassie’s letter this morning, but I wanted to see the truth for myself.”

  “She wrote you a letter?”

  “Yes, explaining all that happened.” She cleared her throat. “And now I must be clear about a few things. Cassie is my dearest friend, and I have no doubt it was her sincerity, her cleverness and compassion, that endeared her to you.” She took a steadying breath. “If there is any chance Cassie returns your feelings, then you must go to her.”

  Roland forced himself to breathe, memories from last night on the roof slipping through his confusion. Miss Bell—Cassie—returning his kiss before running away. He understood now why she’d done it. She hadn’t wanted to hurt her sister.

  He stepped forward. “Where is she now? You said she decided to go home.”

  “Yes.” Vivian’s smile faded. “She left early this morning. It is a two-day journey.”

  He strode to the window, inspecting the ground. It would not be easy traveling in the snow, especially once it began to melt and mud took its place. But surely he could make better time on horseback than by coach. If he hurried, perhaps—

  “Roland.”

  His mother’s voice snapped him back to attention. She stared at her hands, held tightly in her lap.

  “Roland, I . . .” She shook her head. “I thought you were making a monumental mistake, and I saw it as my duty to correct you.” Mother finally raised her eyes. “Cassandra Bell is not who I would have chosen for you, but if she is who you want, I will resign myself to it. She is determined and intelligent, and that will have to be enough.”

  That was as close to an apology as he had ever heard from his mother. He nodded, though far from ready to forgive her completely. “If she will have me.”

  “You will never know,” Vivian said, “if you do not give her the chance.”

  Roland inhaled an unsteady breath. Was he ready to propose? Not even a fortnight ago had he considered such a thing possible.

  But Cassandra had changed all that. Her ringing laugh danced through his mind, her gentleness and her spirit, the ease with which they conversed for hours on end. And he knew this was what he had been searching for. What his father had wanted for him.

  He looked at Mother. “Father would have liked her,” he said softly.

  Her eyes misted, and she turned away. “Then what on earth are you waiting for, my boy? Go and claim your lady.”

  He turned to Vivian, his mind racing. She raised her chin, though a flash of pain still echoed behind those familiar blue eyes. “You must go,” she said, her voice firm. “That is my wish for you, and for Cassie.”

  He stood still, trying to grasp all that had happened in the last few minutes. If he knew anything about Cassandra, it was that she cared for her sister above all else. It would be no easy task to convince her to accept him when it might injure Vivian.

  Roland looked at Vivian. “I do not wish to take advantage of your kindness, Miss Bell, but if you are willing, I would be grateful for your help.”

  She pulled back her head in surprise, but then she nodded. “Of course, Mr. Hastings. Anything.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cassie had expected some relief upon arriving home, but the sight of the familiar columned portico and brick exterior brought her nothing but emptiness. That and exhaustion, of course, after two days of bumping around in a carriage with nothing but her thoughts for company.

  The footman helped Cassie down from the coach. There was no snow here at Brightling, nothing to hide the depressing drabness that was December. She climbed the front steps, pulling at the ribbons of her bonnet as she stepped inside. “Mama?” she called. “Papa?”

  “Cassandra? Is that you?”

  She did not think there was anything that could make her smile at the moment besides her grandfather’s voice. Cassie hurried to the study, which Grandpapa claimed as his refuge. He sat in his great leather armchair, the same as always: a glass of whiskey in one hand and a book in the other, his disorderly gray hair at odds with the tidiness of his clothing and those sparkling blue eyes.

  He set down both the glass and the book at her appearance, his eyebrows raised. “Cassie?”

  “I am sorry to intrude upon you, Grandpapa,” she said, her voice breaking. “I know you did not expect me for another few days.”

  “Never mind that.” He stood and moved toward her, his face crinkled in concern. “What is wrong?”

  She shook her head fervently. She could tell no one what had happened, not even her grandfather. There could be no chance the truth would make its way to Vivian.

  “Nothing,” she said brightly. “Just a long journey, that is all. I grew bored of the house party, and Vivian was getting on well enough, so I decided to return for Christmas.” She forced a smile. “I know how you love Christmas.”

  “That I do.” Grandpapa scrutinized her, then pulled her into an embrace. “I missed you, child. Your parents are dreadfully dull company without you and Vivian around.”

  Cassie managed a laugh. “And where are they? They haven’t abandoned you?”

  “I could only dream,” he said, pulling away. “No, they’ve gone to town for some errands. I expect them back soon.”

  Cassie nodded. She could tell her mother she had done everything in her power to give Vivian the match she’d dreamed of—even if it had broken her own heart in the process.

  “I’ll have the maid bring us tea.” Grandpapa moved to the door.

 
“I can do that,” Cassie insisted.

  “No, no,” he said hastily. “You stay here. Keep Arnold company.”

  She hadn’t noticed the parrot in the corner of the room, quiet as he was. Usually the creature squawked constantly and made a great deal of noise, but not today.

  “Stay here,” Grandpapa said again, a strange look in his eye.

  Cassie furrowed her brow. “All right.”

  He disappeared without another word. Odd. He must really have missed her.

  Cassie wandered to the fireplace, warming her hands as she took in the comforting adornments of her grandfather’s study. The rows of books, the paintings featuring sights from all over the world, the broad windows that let in the waning afternoon light. She let out a long breath. At least she was home.

  “Mary.”

  Cassie spun before she realized it was not a real voice. It was only Arnold in his cage, stretching his bright-red wings. She went to him, head tilted.

  “Mary?” she repeated. “Have you finally learned a new word, then?” Or a name? Perhaps they had acquired a new maid in her absence. Mother had been searching for one when they’d left for Hartfield Court.

  “Mary,” the parrot squawked again. “Mary.”

  Cassie smiled faintly. If nothing else, she could spend her Christmas entertained by this silly parrot and her loving grandfather. She would need such distractions, dreading as she was the news that would surely come from Hartfield soon. Cassie bit her lip, fighting her own mind from turning where she knew it should not turn—back to Roland.

  Footsteps sounded behind her, and she cleared her throat against the persistent lump there. She did not want Grandpapa to suspect anything.

  “It seems Arnold has made some progress in my absence,” she said, reaching a finger inside the cage to stroke the bird’s tail feathers. “But who is Mary?”

  A sigh and a short laugh. “I should have believed your grandfather when he said it was useless.”

  Cassie stiffened. That was not her grandfather.