A Christmas Promise

by Joanna Barker

  Mr. Owens frowned. “Isn’t room for two more in th’ carriage.”

  “That is true,” Miss Breckenridge said. “Especially with extra luggage.”

  “We will all fit easily in my carriage,” James said. “And the driver’s bench has room for two. I’d wager Mr. Matthews wouldn’t be opposed to some company. Or to driving in shifts.”

  “I’d like that,” Mr. Owens said, nodding and rubbing his chin. “Could use a few more hours o’ sleep, to tell th’ truth.”

  Miss Breckenridge fixed James with a scrutinizing stare. “I’m not certain I care for that proposal, Captain. I do not fully understand your reasoning for wishing to travel with us to London when yesterday you were so against the idea. How am I to trust that you will take us where we wish to go?”

  “I will you give you my word, Miss Breckenridge, to deliver you safely to your father in London. Will that do?”

  She considered for a moment and looked at his friend. “Have I your word as well, Mr. Matthews?”

  Matthews dipped his chin the slightest bit.

  Apparently, it was enough to convince the young lady. She nodded. “Very well.”

  Mrs. Crenshaw returned and delivered plates of food. She set a tray of leftover gingerbread cakes in the center of the table. They thanked her and began to eat.

  “Captain,” Miss Breckenridge said. “I still do not understand why you’ve come in the first place. Why did you follow me from Pinnock Hill? And why do you insist on traveling back to London?”

  James chewed a bite of egg before answering. “It is because of my message that you’re here,” he said. “I told the truth when I said the road is dangerous—highwaymen, fallen trees, damaged bridges . . . I feel responsible, as a close friend of your father’s, to ensure your safety.” The answer wasn’t complete, but the reasoning was true enough.

  Miss Breckenridge glanced at Miss Riley and Mr. Owens, and seeing approval in their faces, she turned back to James and nodded. “Very well, sir. Your action is unnecessary, but appreciated.”

  An hour later, their meal was complete, luggage loaded, and the five companions rode in Captain Stewart’s carriage south on the Great North Road toward London. Miss Breckenridge sat beside Miss Riley, and James was on the bench facing them. Mr. Owens and Matthews rode in the driver’s seat.

  Miss Breckenridge yawned, settling back and looking out through the window. Dark circles stood out beneath her eyes—evidence of her lack of sleep the night before.

  “You should rest, miss,” Miss Riley said, shifting the blanket they shared more fully onto her mistress’s lap.

  “Thank you, Meg.” Miss Breckenridge spoke in a tired voice. She glanced at James. “Perhaps in a little while.” She went back to looking out the window, yawning again.

  Her blinks were slow. James guessed she would be asleep any moment. “Miss Riley, tell me about yourself,” he said. “Do you come from Pinnock Hill?”

  “I do, Captain.” Her round cheeks lifted when she smiled. “Born an’ raised. My father keeps a farm on the east side o’ town.”

  “And have you brothers and sisters?” he asked.

  “Oh yes. There are nine o’ us in all. Five girls and four boys. I am the eldest save one brother.”

  James smiled. “I come from a large family myself. I, however, am the youngest.”

  “A pity you’ll miss Yuletide with your family,” Meg said. “If they’re anything like mine, it’s a grand celebration to be sure. Feasts, games, visitors . . .”

  Miss Breckenridge sat up. Her brows pulled together, and she frowned. “I didn’t know you would be missing your family’s Christmas celebration. Why didn’t you tell me, Meg?”

  Miss Riley shrugged. “You needed a companion for your journey, miss.”

  Miss Breckenridge took the young lady’s hand. “How selfish of me,” she said. “I didn’t even consider it. I was so focused on seeing my father. I am so very sorry.”

  “I’m havin’ a lovely time, miss. Never been to London. Farthest away I’ve ever been from Pinnock Hill is to North Milford when my cousin had her baby.” She put her other hand on Miss Breckenridge’s and squeezed. “Don’t worry yourself, miss. I’m happy to be here.”

  Miss Breckenridge sat back in the seat, frowning as she watched through the window. She didn’t look convinced by her friend’s words.

  After a few hours, the group stopped at a spot where the road was wide and overlooked a valley of rolling hills, taking the opportunity to water the horses, stretch their legs, and eat the picnic lunch that Mrs. Crenshaw had packed.

  Matthews and Miss Riley sat on a fallen log, eating and enjoying the view.

  Mr. Owens finished his lunch quickly and led the horses to a brook to drink.

  Miss Breckenridge walked along the edge of the road. She held her coat tight around her and kept her head down, braced against the cold wind.

  James joined her. “Bitter wind, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, looking distracted.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Breckenridge?” he asked.

  “I should send Meg and Mr. Owens home to Pinnock Hill.” She looked down the road toward London. “But I cannot travel alone with two men. And I must go to my father.” She stopped, glancing in both directions. “I can’t stop now, but it was narrow-minded of me to bring her. I didn’t even consider . . .”

  James motioned toward the log where Miss Riley ate her lunch with Matthews. The two sat very close together. “I do not think Miss Riley considers the journey a disappointment.”

  Miss Breckenridge gave a small smile, her head tipping as she regarded the pair. “Perhaps not. But I should make it up to her all the same. I am so ashamed that it did not occur to me that there are other families who wish to celebrate together aside from just mine.”

  James led her back toward the carriage. “Love does that to us, Miss Breckenridge. It makes us behave in ways we never would have otherwise. Love can make the most logical person irrational.”

  “But I love Meg as well,” she said.

  “I know you do. That is why you are bothered at the thought that she might be unhappy.”

  He stopped and turned so that only Miss Breckenridge could see his wink, then looked back toward the others. “Miss Riley,” he said in a louder voice. “I wonder if Matthews might want some company on the driver’s bench for a time. Mr. Owens could use a rest.”

  Miss Riley blushed. “Oh, yes. I would be happy to.” She glanced at Matthews. “If you would like.”

  Matthews’s cheeks seemed a bit pink as well. He gave a nod.

  Miss Breckenridge waited until the pair weren’t looking and gave James a wink in return, her brows lifting and her face lighting in a conspiratorial smile.

  When they started off again, Mr. Owens lay across one of the carriage benches, snoring softly.

  James sat on the other beside Miss Breckenridge.

  “Why doesn’t Mr. Matthews speak?” she asked, motioning with her chin toward the window that separated the driver from the inside of the carriage. “Was he injured?” She looked curious, but there was also compassion in her face.

  “He was, but not in the way you might think.” James tapped his forehead. “Matthews’s pain is here.”

  “Do you know why?” she asked.

  “Aye.” He let out a sigh. “Albuera.” The word hung in the air, the sound of it making his heart beat faster and his palms sweat. He could taste the musket powder in the air, feel the mud slip beneath his boots, hear the screams as the Polish cavalry charged through the hail and rain. James swallowed hard, pushing it all away and focusing on the young lady before him.

  “What happened?” she asked in a softer voice.

  “Both of Matthews’s brothers were killed,” James said. “His younger brothers. Cut down in a bayonet charge right in front of him.”

  “Oh.” She put her hand to her mouth, and her gaze darted toward the window again. “How awful. That poor man.”

  “It is a heavy thing.
Feeling responsibility for the life of others.” James knew completely how it was to see men who’d trusted him to lead killed in a battle. “He’d promised to keep them safe.”

  “He blames himself.” Miss Breckenridge’s voice was tight. “It is as you said, ‘Love can make the most logical person irrational.’”

  James nodded. “I believe all of his emotions are trapped inside him—the good and the bad—and he’s holding them tightly, afraid that if he allows any of them free . . .”

  “They will all come out,” she finished. “And he couldn’t bear to feel them.” She shook her head. “Such a tragedy. I am very sad for him.”

  “He is not the only soldier to return damaged,” James said. “All manage their trauma differently. Some turn to drink, some become wanderers unable to adjust to society, some simply end it all. I don’t believe it is possible to come back from war unchanged in some way.”

  “And how do you manage?” Miss Breckenridge turned her knees to the side, facing him as well as she could while sitting beside him on the bench. She studied his face.

  James swallowed. “I push the thoughts away when they come. Avoid allowing myself to think of them.”

  “Is it effective?”

  “It’s become easier over time. Until I sleep,” he admitted. “It is impossible to control the memories then.”

  “It must be exhausting,” she said.

  He opened his mouth to reply but stopped when Miss Breckenridge slipped her hand into his. The gesture stilled his thoughts. It was such a simple thing, so tender and filled with compassion. She did not claim to understand or offer advice for healing, as others had done, but simply indicated that she cared. His throat grew tight, and his eyes burned.

  Miss Breckenridge scooted back around to face forward but did not release her hold on his hand. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

  James rubbed his eyes, glad she wasn’t watching as he fought against the emotions. The feel of her leaning against him was more comforting than a thousand reassuring words. After a moment, he laid his head back on the seat. He closed his eyes. And slept.

  Chapter 5

  The carriage went over a bump, shaking Lucy awake. She lifted her head from Captain Stewart’s shoulder, color filling her cheeks as she realized she’d slept leaning against him. Glancing across the carriage, she was glad to see that Mr. Owens was still sleeping. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed.

  Captain Stewart’s head rested against the back of the seat, and his eyes were closed. She listened to him breathing for a moment. His breaths were deep and steady, and she decided that she’d not woken him when she moved.

  She shifted carefully, stretching out the kinks in her neck and looked through the window, contemplating their earlier conversation.

  The things Captain Stewart had told her about Mr. Matthews had left her heart heavy. She worried for him. Could he ever heal from something so dreadful? And what of the others who’d endured such trauma? The captain had said that nobody returns from war unchanged. Did he speak of himself as well? And what did that mean for Lucy’s father? Did he bear scars as well? How would she help him?

  Looking forward, she could see the carriage approached a town. A rather large one, she guessed, based on the church steeple that rose above the rooftops.

  Mr. Matthews’s eyes still seemed sad, but Lucy thought she’d caught a glimpse of a smile at times. Was his friendship with Meg making a difference? Could he heal? Lucy hoped so.

  Thinking of Meg reminded her of the other matter that had been weighing on her thoughts. Her maid had agreed to the journey without hesitation, but why hadn’t Lucy stopped to think? She’d been so wrapped up in making arrangements for her father’s return that she’d not even given a thought to what the young woman’s Christmas might entail, what she would be missing. The realization made Lucy’s throat thick with shame. She swallowed hard and glanced at Captain Stewart.

  He was awake, his head still resting on the seat, watching her.

  Lucy gave a smile, feeling heat burning her cheeks at the memory of holding his hand and falling asleep against him. She couldn’t believe she’d acted so brazenly.

  The captain smiled in return, making her blush grow hotter.

  She turned to look back through the window, her thoughts still running over their conversation. She wished she could make Christmas special for her companions instead of only herself, but doing anything about it felt impossible while she was so far from home.

  As she considered, the carriage passed a ladies’ clothing emporium. Hats, hosiery, parasols, and gloves were on display in the window.

  “Oh,” Lucy said to Captain Stewart. “I should like to visit that shop, if you don’t mind.”

  He leaned over the sleeping Mr. Owens and rapped on the driver’s window, giving Mr. Matthews instructions to halt the carriage. Mr. Owens woke, grumbling. Mr. Matthews opened the carriage door, helping Lucy to alight. She thanked him.

  “Shall I come with you?” Meg asked from her spot on the driver’s bench.

  “No thank you,” Lucy said.

  Captain Stewart stepped out of the carriage, rubbing the small of his back and leaning from side to side to stretch. “I’ll accompany you if you like, Miss Breckenridge.”

  “Thank you.” Lucy smiled at Meg, hoping the young woman wasn’t disappointed at not being invited to come as well, but it would defeat the purpose. “I will be just a moment.” She pulled her coat tighter against the chill and walked with the captain to the shop.

  He held the door, and Lucy entered ahead of him, taking in the cluttered room. A counter holding baskets of ribbons, buttons, gloves, hats, and stockings was directly in front of them with rolls of fabric and a large gilded mirror nailed to the wall behind. Hats and bonnets hung from hooks on one side of the room, and on the other were shelves of stockings, slippers, nightclothes, and underclothing. Scarves and capes dangled from the ceiling and coat stands near the door.

  Captain Stewart’s brows rose when he entered.

  Lucy wondered if he’d ever been inside a ladies’ clothing shop before.

  Two women were at the far end of the counter. The one wearing a shopkeeper’s apron held up a short corset beneath the large bosom of the older lady as they discussed the proper measurements.

  “I want to find a Christmas gift for Meg,” she said before the captain could make an excuse to leave. “Will you help me?”

  “I do not think I am the person to advise on such a matter.” He ducked his head, sweeping the tassels of a hanging shawl out of his way.

  She wasn’t surprised. Her father would not have lasted longer than a few moments in a shop like this.

  Seeing her frown, Captain Stewart gave a good-natured smile and an exaggerated sigh. “Very well, Miss Breckenridge. What sort of gift did you have in mind?”

  “Something special.” She glanced through a basket of gloves. “Something that she wouldn’t purchase for herself.”

  He fingered the edges of a lacy mobcap. “She seems to enjoy sitting on the cold bench with Matthews. Perhaps something to keep her warm?”

  Lucy smiled, excited by the idea. “Yes. A cape or a muff—”

  “Good afternoon.” The shopkeeper approached, standing on the other side of the counter. She was an older woman. Lucy estimated she was in her late forties, tall and slender with a long nose and enormous eyes. “I’m Miss Pembroke; can I be of assistance?”

  “How do you do?” Lucy nodded at the woman. “If you please, I am looking for―”

  “Something to wear to the dance this evening, I’d wager,” the woman interrupted with an exasperated puff of her cheeks. “That is all anyone has wanted this week.” She started to fold a silk chemise on the counter, shaking her head. “I keep telling my customers, it is not a formal affair, but of course at Christmastime, everyone likes to dress a bit fancier.”

  “There is to be a dance this evening?” Lucy asked. Her plan of giving Meg a special Christmas was getting better and better.

&n
bsp; “You must be visiting our town,” Miss Pembroke said, glancing at Captain Stewart and giving a coquettish smile. “Quentlin Ferry’s Christmas Assembly is famous throughout the county. It’s held each year at the reception hall over the Goosefeather Inn. A small gathering, but my sister, Mrs. Gregory—she’s the proprietor of the Goosefeather—she makes it quite a splendid affair.” She laid a hand on the captain’s arm and fluttered her lashes. “I do hope you can attend.”

  “It sounds very . . . agreeable,” Captain Stewart said. He cleared his throat and took a step back.

  Lucy met his gaze in the mirror, trying to keep a composed expression. The man’s discomfort was palpable. His brow ticked, but that was the only change in his expression. It was enough to make Lucy cough to hide a giggle.

  She turned toward him, angling herself so Miss Pembroke couldn’t see her face past her bonnet’s brim. “How far are we from London, Captain? Will we still arrive in time if we stay in Quentlin Ferry tonight for the dance?”

  Captain Stewart studied her, all traces of humor gone from his face. “We may have an extra hour or so of travel time to make up tomorrow, but a Christmas dance is unquestionably worth it.”

  His tone was sober and his voice low. Lucy felt her blush return, and a flutter started in her belly.

  “Oh, I am simply delighted,” Miss Pembroke said, pressing her palm to her breastbone.

  ***

  That evening, in their rooms at the Goosefeather Inn, Lucy helped Meg dress for the dance. They pulled up her hair into a fashionable twist and arranged a few red curls around her face and shoulders. Meg wore a deep blue shawl over her gown with a matching feathered comb, both of which Lucy had purchased that afternoon.

  Lucy straightened the shawl, letting it drape gracefully over her friend’s arms. “There. You shall turn every gentleman’s head tonight.”

  Meg studied herself in the mirror, turning her head from side to side to see her coiffure from every angle. “I feel very elegant, miss.” She lifted her chin and inclined her head, practicing a gracious greeting

  “I’m glad of it,” Lucy said, smiling.