A Christmas Promise

by Joanna Barker

She swallowed, then turned slowly to peek over her shoulder. Roland stood just inside the door, hands clasped behind his back, a half smile toying with his lips. She stared at him, all of him, from his polished boots to his dark hair. It was him, wasn’t it? Surely she wasn’t so desperately in love as to imagine him.

  “What—” Her voice cracked, as if she were again performing at the pianoforte. “What are you doing here?”

  “I admit you posed an interesting challenge, leaving hours before I did.” He moved further into the room, his eyes never leaving hers. “It meant a late night and an early morning, but I managed to arrive about two hours ago.”

  Cassie gripped the back of her grandfather’s armchair to steady herself. What was happening? He should be in Hartfield, with Vivian.

  “I know everything,” Roland said softly.

  A new panic gripped her. Did he know who she really was? Had he discovered her deception and come to punish her for it?

  “I know,” he said, his voice full of meaning. “I know you are Cassandra Bell. I know you pretended to be your sister for the entire house party.”

  Cassie took a sharp breath. “Roland—”

  “I know you kept the truth from me, even after it became clear there was something between us.”

  “I am so sorry—”

  “And,” he interrupted, “I know you only did so with the best of intentions. To help your sister.”

  She blinked. He smiled and stepped closer.

  “I know that, despite your name,” he said, his voice quiet and sincere, “you are the same woman I talked with for hours. You are the same woman who reassured an anxious cat and who performed the worst rendition of a carol I’ve ever heard.”

  Roland took two more steps to her side, holding both her hands in his, pressing them against his chest.

  She finally found her voice. “But I deceived you. I made you believe I was Vivian.”

  He shook his head. “I would not care if your name was Hephzibah. A name does not a person make.”

  She wanted to smile at his jesting, but her unbelieving heart did not allow it. Cassie closed her eyes. “You did not have to come all this way.”

  “Actually, I did. But you were right, the blasted parrot is completely useless. We—meaning your grandfather and I—finally convinced the creature to say one of the necessary words, but now it seems to be the only word it knows. And truthfully, I first thought to come on Christmas, like my mother suggested. But I simply could not wait.”

  Cassie opened her eyes again. “You must know I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about.”

  “Marry,” Arnold squawked again.

  And then she understood.

  “Marry me,” Roland whispered, his eyes searching hers. He pulled her closer, still holding tight to her hands. “I have been searching for you for a year, and now that I have found you, there is no hesitation in me. I want you by my side, just as I want to be at your side, always.”

  Cassie gaped at him, surely the most unbecoming prospective bride in all the world, with her mouth wide as a saucer. Marry him? Her mouth fought to form the word she wanted so desperately to say. But she could not say yes. Not now.

  “I cannot,” she whispered. “If you know why we switched, then you must know I could never hurt my sister.”

  Roland’s expression shifted, and a gentleness claimed his eyes. “I thought you might say something like that.” He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a folded note.

  She took the note with a trembling hand and opened it.

  Cassie,

  There is no doubt in my mind that you would do anything to ensure my happiness. Now you must let me do the same. Please, be happy.

  All my love,

  Vivian

  Cassie exhaled a shaky breath. Oh, Vivian. She must have written this note even as her own heart broke.

  Roland’s warm hands came around hers, still holding the note. “Vivian,” he said quietly, “understands completely. She told me the truth herself, and she told me to come here.”

  Cassie lowered the note and set it on the nearby table. She could only imagine the selflessness of her sister to make such a choice.

  “She wants this for you,” he said. “But you must decide if this is what you want.”

  “But . . . but your mother,” she protested. Why was she speaking of his mother? “How will this ever work?”

  He grinned, a slow spread of his lips that brought flutters to every inch of her body. “There is a reason dower houses are built, Cassie.”

  Cassie. Cassie.

  She could not have stopped herself if she tried—and she certainly did not try.

  Cassie propelled herself upward and kissed him with such force that he staggered back a step. But then he caught her in his arms and kissed her back, his lips firm and demanding against hers. Every emotion she’d felt since leaving Hartfield came roaring through her, channeling into this moment, this kiss. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, as if shouting aloud that it had been claimed, and her hands wandered from his chest to find the scruff of his neck, rough after two days of travel. She quite liked that, and she pulled herself even closer. His arms tightened around her, his hands exploring her waist and back.

  It wasn’t as though she hadn’t enjoyed their first kiss on the roof. But this kiss was so much more—it was confirmation of all she’d convinced herself she could not have. From the moment she’d met Roland, she’d fought every rush of attraction and every meaningful connection. Now she felt it all, deep in her soul. She was meant to be here, with Roland.

  Still wrapped in each other’s arms, they shared one more slow, tantalizing kiss. A blissful sigh escaped from Cassie, and she felt Roland’s lips curve upward beneath hers.

  “That was my way of saying yes, in case you were uncertain,” she whispered.

  “Really?” he teased. “I thought perhaps we’d stepped beneath some mistletoe.”

  She smiled and pulled back slightly as her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I must clarify one thing, however.”

  “And that is?”

  “We will not be naming any children Hephzibah.”

  He laughed, drawing her hand to his lips and kissing it twice. “You shall have no argument from me, I assure you.” Then he gave a dramatic exhale. “Now, I am certain your grandfather is waiting to hear the good news.”

  Cassie grinned. “He can wait a few minutes more. I think you are quite right about the mistletoe, and we should not risk any bad luck.”

  Roland grinned back. “If you insist.”

  His expression softened, and he turned her chin up with gentle fingers. Cassie slid her hand up his forearm, not looking away. She hadn’t even realized she’d wanted this—love and marriage—until she had it. Until it was solid and absolute. And knowing she had Roland, that he loved her in return, was more happiness than she’d thought to imagine for herself.

  “I love you, Roland Hastings,” Cassie whispered. “I thought you should know.”

  He swallowed, then bent again slowly and met her lips with impossible tenderness. Cassie leaned into him, into the comfort of his arms and the promise of their future.

  The End

  Check out Joanna Barker’s next book!

  Joanna Barker was born and raised in northern California. She discovered her love for historical fiction after visiting England as an eleven-year-old, and subsequently read every Jane Austen book she could get her hands on. After graduating Brigham Young University with a degree in English, she worked as an acquisitions editor before devoting herself full-time to writing. She enjoys music, chocolate, and reading everything from romance to science fiction. She lives in Utah and is just a little crazy about her husband and two wild-but-loveable boys. Visit her website here: https://www.authorjoannabarker.com/

  Promise Me Again

  Annette Lyon

  CHAPTER ONE

  December 3, 1823

  Audbury, the Cotswolds

 
; “How much farther to the lower pasture?” Jacob asked, running off after another sheep who refused to stay with the flock.

  Miriam heard the sound of his boots slipping, followed by a thud as Jacob landed in a very muddy spot of grass. He let out a mild expletive, which made her laugh out loud. Her reaction apparently made him blush, as he was now nearly as red as her father’s spring tulips. “Lily giving you trouble?”

  “I do exactly what you’ve shown me, but they don’t obey.” He sat up and reached for his hat, which had fallen to the side.

  “Maybe you should try singing,” Miriam said, trying to sound lighthearted.

  “Should I, now?” Jacob said, his voice playful.

  She shrugged but knew it didn’t look as offhand as she’d hoped. “Well, I know I could never run away from you after hearing you sing.” Now it was her face that was turning red, if the flush burning its way up her neck and cheeks was any indication. So much for not sounding forward or flirtatious. She turned away, looking skyward at any invisible guardian angels who’d abandoned their duties of making sure she didn’t make a fool of herself. Would that she hadn’t said anything about his singing—which truly was heart-meltingly amazing—and called to the ewe.

  She called to Lily, who stopped in her tracks and spun around as if Miriam had promised the sheep an apple. The old ewe nearly bowled her over, but Miriam, fortunately, managed to stay upright. For a moment, anyway. No sooner had Miriam regained her footing than Lily nudged her again, as if looking for the unpromised apple. This time, gravity had its way, and Miriam found her boots slipping. The next thing she knew, she was lying on the hard, wet ground, her hip aching with the shock of the fall.

  Jacob, still on the ground, crawled over to her in a rush. “Miriam! Are you hurt?” All humor had left his face and voice, and while the color from before remained, the cause was no longer embarrassment but deep concern.

  She tried to respond, to assure him that she was quite well, if slightly bruised, but Lily intervened one more time. She charged at Jacob like a guard dog protecting her mistress, running so fast that she practically went through him. Indeed, he was suddenly airborne, and though the whole matter couldn’t have taken more than a blink or two, Miriam noted his expression of stunned fear before he crashed to the ground beside her. After the thud, he let out a groan, then rolled to his side, away from her, so she couldn’t see his face. His shoulders began shaking silently.

  Now it was her turn to worry. Caring nothing for muddying her work dress further, she crawled to him. “Jacob? Jacob, are you hurt?”

  At his side, she touched his arm and shook him by it. “Talk to me. Please.”

  The shaking only increased, which compounded her worry. Right as her eyes threatened tears, Jacob rolled onto his back, and the cause for the shaking was perfectly clear: he was laughing so hard, he could scarcely breathe. Jovial tears ran down his face.

  The ridiculousness of the situation came over Miriam—it could, now that her worry over Jacob was eased. “I suppose this is rather silly,” she said. “Lily is so old that I don’t know why Father bothers sending her from one grazing spot to the next. She doesn’t . . . exactly . . . produce the best . . . wool.” She found her own shoulders shaking. She covered her mouth with a hand to hold back the laughter, but giggling—followed by full belly laughs—emerged anyway.

  Soon they were lying on the hard ground, side by side, laughing uproariously. After a time, their amusement died down, and Jacob’s hand found hers. As if he’d read her mind, he began to sing—it was a simple folk tune, but as usual, her insides turned to melted butter as she listened.

  His voice, combined with their entwined fingers, made everything else feel trivial, as if the only people who mattered in the world were her and Jacob, right in that moment, forever. But saying such a thing might be a bit too much, so when he finished the song, she settled on speaking something equally true, if not as colorful or passionate. “I could stay here comfortably all day, even with the cold mud.” Her face turned to the side so that she could look at him. He did the same, and when his eyes met hers, her insides melted.

  “For my part, I’m quite comfortable at the moment,” Jacob said in a voice that warmed every nook and cranny of her soul.

  “As am I.”

  He pushed himself up slightly on one arm, and with his free hand, he reached over and smoothed back some wisps of her hair that must have escaped her braid in the ruckus. While in some respects his touch felt like a dream, it was solid and real. He wasn’t some ethereal, dreamlike visage. No, Jacob Davies was every inch a real man, with her right now, here on one of the rolling green hills in sheep country.

  “However,” Jacob went on, tracing a line with his fingers from her hair down to her chin, “your lips are a bit pale.” This he said while gently brushing her lower lip with his thumb. “You’ll catch your death of cold if I keep you out here much longer, and that wouldn’t do.” He gazed into her eyes for several seconds, neither of them moving despite his suggestion. He leaned down. Miriam closed her eyes and waited for his kiss.

  But instead of enjoying a kiss stolen in privacy, they were pulled apart when the unmistakable sound of whistling tore through the air. More specifically, the whistling of Norman, the elder Davies brother. Miriam’s eyes flew open, and they withdrew from each other, sitting up so as not to be discovered in anything that could be interpreted as an unseemly position. After all, Norman did not approve of Jacob having so much as a friendship with Miriam, much less a “romantic entanglement,” as he put it.

  They scrambled to their feet, each action accompanied by more of the same annoying trill that marked Norman’s call for Jacob. If he were to find them not only together but alone, far from any possible chaperoning eyes, and lying beside each other? And all of that while kissing? Well, perhaps the resulting apoplexy would result in Norman fainting to the ground. That was wishful thinking, of course. Miriam was frantically smoothing her muddied skirts and hoping Norman hadn’t seen them.

  Jacob threw her a look of apology, then turned to his brother, jaw clenched with frustration before quickly schooling his expression into a polite one. He raised an arm and cheerfully cried, “Ahoy, brother!”

  Norman rode up on his horse, slowing to a walk as he drew near but saying nothing for several moments, even waiting for several breaths to speak after he’d stopped completely. The silence was painfully awkward—which, Miriam realized, was likely his intent. Norman nodded at Jacob and offered Miriam something that might have resembled a nod.

  “Mr. Davies,” Miriam piped up, stepping closer to the horse. “Your kind brother has been most gentlemanly today. You see, he’s been helping me move my father’s sheep to the lower meadow.”

  From his perch in the saddle, Norman looked about and almost seemed disappointed that there was indeed plenty of evidence for her statement. The clearest evidence, of course, was the flock of sheep heading down the hill, and stubborn Lily still standing nearby, not having followed her flock mates.

  “Has my dear younger brother been of such noble service, then?” Norman’s brows rose, and his lip curled arrogantly. “Tsk-tsk. If Father could see you now.”

  “He’d be quite happy with how I’ve turned out, thank you very much,” Jacob retorted. “Father was always kind and willing to help others.”

  Miriam wanted to say more, to defend her dear Jacob, but knew in her gut that nothing a sheep farmer’s daughter could say would sway Norman Davies, and any attempt might only make matters worse. But she was sure of one thing; the late Mr. Davies had approved of her as a match for Jacob. She’d heard him say so with her own ears only a week before his death.

  He’d even hinted not so subtly to her, without either son in the room, that he wished Jacob were the elder son, because he didn’t quite trust Norman. He’d exhausted his strength before saying more, so Miriam didn’t precisely know the whys or wherefores for their father’s mistrust, but she suspected it surrounded the family’s finances.

 
Norman slipped off his horse and, letting the reins go slack, stepped close to Jacob, stopping when they were nearly nose to nose. The brothers were of almost equal height, with Jacob having perhaps an inch on Norman. Each brother folded his arms and stared the other down. Miriam gulped. She glanced at the sheep, all of which seemed to be happily grazing patches of old grass. Even Lily had decided to lie down and now appeared to be sleeping. Why couldn’t the animal be a nuisance at a convenient time?

  “May I help you with something?” Jacob demanded. “Why are you here?”

  “I came to fetch you to the house to discuss a matter of business that’s of utmost importance.”

  Jacob’s eyes narrowed, as if he was studying Norman’s face for what he was really thinking. Had he seen anything that could be interpreted as untoward? Miriam wanted to say he hadn’t; keeping such a detail to himself didn’t seem to fit with Norman’s personality. But he did appear awfully pleased with himself . . .

  “I’ll come as soon as the sheep are securely in the pasture.”

  “You’ll come now.” Norman took half a step forward, which was all he could take, because now their toes really were touching. A thick vein on his neck throbbed.

  The absolute last thing Miriam wanted was for the brothers to come to blows right there on the hillside. She stepped forward and, in the same cheerful tone Jacob had used before, said, “I was just telling your brother that we were almost there. Wasn’t I, Jacob? That is, Mr. Davies?” She looked to him, but the brothers’ eyes remained fixed on each other. Miriam continued as if all were well. “I’ll be fine here navigating the last few hundred yards. You two head back to Stonecroft Cottage to discuss whatever it is you men need to discuss.” She twirled her hand at the wrist to punctuate her words.

  Norman’s only response was to correct her with the name he preferred. “Stonecroft Hall.”

  “Yes,” Miriam said, trying not to stammer. “Stonecroft Hall.” When she got no other response from Norman, she took a step backward and raised a hand in farewell. “Well, I’ll be off, then.” Then, unsure whether Norman Davies would think a wave too low or impolite, she dipped a curtsy. “Good—good day!” she finished, then turned about and walked to the sheep. At her call, they bleated in protest but gradually got to their feet in a group and followed her down the hill.