A Christmas Promise

by Joanna Barker

  Seeing the light still glowed under her door, he knocked softly.

  Miss Breckenridge opened the door, just a crack. “Captain!” She smiled happily, but seeing his face, the cheerful expression faded and her brows drew together. “Is something wrong? What has happened?”

  “I need to speak to you.”

  “Now?” she asked, her eyes widening in worry. “Can it not wait for the morning?”

  “It can’t.”

  “One moment.” She closed the door, and he heard rustling beyond. When she reopened, she held a wrap around herself, clutched in front of her breastbone with one hand. Her hair was loose and hung down over her shoulders in shiny waves. Around her face, a few locks were wrapped in curling papers.

  She looked charming and naive. And so vulnerable. The rum punch felt sour in James’s stomach. How could he do this to her?

  Miss Breckenridge motioned to the small table in the room. Atop it were an inkpot, quill, and her Christmas book. He must have caught her as she was working. “Would you care to sit? I was just finishing my entry about tonight’s party. Father will be happy to hear about it, I think.”

  He winced as he took a seat across from her.

  “Miss Breckenridge.” He let out a breath. “Your father did not stay in London for military duties.”

  She tipped her head, confused.

  “He is a patient at the hospital in Chelsea.”

  Her face went pale. “What do you mean? He sent a letter from Calais just a few weeks ago. He wasn’t injured. He . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Colonel Breckenridge suffered an attack of apoplexy on the boat from France. His mental capacity is extremely limited.”

  She put a hand over her mouth. “What do you mean, limited?” She whispered the words, her breath coming in quick bursts between her fingers.

  “There are times when he is aware, and he recognizes people and speaks intelligently as he used to. But a moment later, he will be confused and frightened. He’s wandered off through the streets in his nightclothes. And his memory . . . it is faulty. He forgets people he’s known for years.”

  “But surely he’ll remember me?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Breckenridge.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “But why . . . why am I just hearing of this now? Why did nobody tell me?” Her voice shook. “There must be a doctor who . . .”

  “Your father didn’t want you to know. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. He insisted. I believe he thinks this is only temporary.”

  “Is it temporary?”

  “The doctors do not believe so.”

  She sat back in the chair, tears spilling over her cheeks and splashing onto her wrap.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Breckenridge.” James offered his handkerchief.

  She reached for it but stopped, pulling her hand back. Her eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t he want me to come to him? Did he think I would not understand? That I would be repelled to see him in his current state?”

  “I believe that is the case,” James said. “He feels humiliated. Embarrassed by his spells of dementia.”

  “But he’s my father. Of course I wouldn’t . . .” She focused her teary gaze on James. “And you. Why did you not tell me? We’ve traveled together for three days, and you did not once find the occasion to mention what I would face when I found my father? Did you think it would be better if I were surprised by it?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Breckenridge. Your father gave strict orders that you were not to know the extent of his condition. He—”

  “That is hardly an adequate reason.” She stood, folding her arms in front of her. “You kept this from me, listened to me chatter on about Christmas with my father and all of our happy memories . . . and all along, you knew? And you said nothing.” Her voice was getting higher.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And you . . . We . . .” Her cheeks flamed red, and he knew she was thinking of their kiss. “You deceived me.”

  “I truly thought to protect you.”

  She leveled her gaze, her eyes becoming frighteningly serious. “I am a grown woman, sir. I do not need to be told that a journey to London is too dangerous or that I cannot walk along a street at night. I do not need you to wait until you think I am asleep before telling a story about Spain. I do not need you and my father claiming to protect me when in truth, neither of you trusts me.”

  She slammed closed the Christmas album and strode toward her sleeping chamber.

  “Miss Breckenridge—” James took a step toward her.

  She turned, holding up a hand to stop him from speaking. “I am stronger than either of you thinks. And I am weary of being underestimated.” She whirled and went into the room, closing the door quietly.

  Based on the anger in her face, James suspected that she’d have liked to slam it but didn’t want to wake Meg.

  He let out a heavy breath. That had gone poorly. He knew she’d be worried, expected the tears, even imagined she’d feel betrayed, but her words had cut straight through him. He had underestimated her. Miss Breckenridge was determined and capable, as she’d proven again and again over their short acquaintance. And James had continued to treat her as someone needing to be watched over. The realization made him uncomfortable.

  He cleaned off the quill and capped the inkpot.

  James wanted to show Miss Breckenridge that he had faith in her, that he trusted her decisions and knew she was strong. But after tonight, he feared she wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say.

  ***

  The next morning, the group met in the inn’s dining room.

  When they finished eating, Matthews and Owens went to prepare the carriage, and Miss Riley left to finish packing. Miss Breckenridge remained sitting at the table. She’d been quiet throughout breakfast, and when Miss Riley showed concern, she’d apologized, claiming to be simply tired from the night before. She picked at her food, her gaze unfocused.

  Once they were alone, James moved to the chair beside her. “Miss Breckenridge—” he began.

  She shook her head, stopping his words. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’m not inclined to conversation this morning.”

  Before long, the carriage was ready and the luggage loaded.

  Mr. Owens stumbled inside and fell asleep across the bench before they were even underway. Apparently, he’d enjoyed the remainder of the rum punch.

  Miss Riley rode inside with Miss Breckenridge, likely at her request, and so James, knowing that he would only make the young lady uncomfortable, climbed up to ride with Matthews on the driver’s bench.

  Matthews flicked the reins, and they were off, leaving Stanley behind.

  James gave a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes.

  “Told her, didn’t you, sir?” Matthews said.

  He nodded.

  “She didn’t take it well?”

  James shook his head.

  “Didn’t imagine she would.”

  James allowed himself a smile at the reversal in their roles—Matthews carrying the conversation and he the silent one—and spent the remainder of the journey pondering how he could possibly make things right with Miss Breckenridge.

  Chapter 9

  Lucy went up the steps of the Royal Hospital and walked between the stately columns flanking the entrance. The Christmas album was clutched to her chest. Her movements felt slow, like she was pushing through water, and instead of the excitement she’d expected, a heaviness hung over her.

  James held open the door, and she kept her eyes forward as she stepped past him. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Not only because she was angry, but because she was so hurt, and her pride didn’t want him to see how betrayed she felt.

  Deep inside, she understood why he’d done what he did. She thought perhaps she may have done the same in his position. But knowing it didn’t stop the pain.

  A young man approached, coming down a long hall. He was short with round cheeks and wore a waistcoat tight around his waist, but no j
acket. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow. “Captain Stewart. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, sir. Have you come to visit the colonel?” He glanced at Lucy.

  “I have,” the captain said. “Miss Breckenridge, this is Mr. Alfred Pennington, surgeon’s assistant. And here is Miss Breckenridge, the colonel’s daughter.”

  “How do you do?” Lucy said.

  He bowed his head. “A pleasure, miss.”

  “Mr. Pennington is one of your father’s primary caregivers,” Captain Stewart said.

  “Then I am very grateful to you, sir.”

  They started down the hall. Doors branched off at intervals, and Lucy glimpsed rows of beds in the wards. The hospital was crowded and loud with moans of pain and coughing. The thought of her father living in such a place for nearly a month was almost more than she could bear.

  “How is the colonel?” Captain Stewart asked.

  “He’s . . . he’s not having a good day,” Mr. Pennington said. They stopped outside a doorway, and he glanced back at Lucy. “Dr. Warren is considering moving him to the asylum ward.” He spoke in a lowered voice but not so low that Lucy couldn’t hear.

  The blood pounded in her ears, and she held the Christmas album tightly to her chest. This all must be a dream. It couldn’t be true.

  “Come along, then, miss, if you please.” Mr. Pennington pointed toward the doorway. “Your father’s bed is this way.” An anguished scream came from within.

  Lucy clasped on to Captain Stewart’s hand, terrified of what she’d find beyond the doorway. “Captain, you’ll stay with me?”

  “I will.” He wrapped his fingers around her hand, and she felt immediately safer. Perhaps she did need some protection after all.

  Captain Stewart led her down the ward between the rows of patients.

  Lucy tried not to stare at the men in the beds. Some wept or cried out in pain. Others were wrapped in bandages. A few coughed or made other unhealthy noises. None of the men had visitors, and she was sad that they were spending Christmas Day alone.

  My father doesn’t belong here, she said over and over to herself. He can’t.

  The captain stopped at the foot of a bed at the very end of the ward with a wall on one side and a space of a few empty beds around. “Good morning, Colonel.”

  Shaking, Lucy peeked around him.

  She scarcely recognized the man in the bed. He bore a resemblance to her imposing father. But he looked so much older. His eyes were sunken and his skin a sickly color. His hair was almost completely gray. He was propped up with pillows. “Captain,” he barked in a commanding voice. “There you are at last. Where have you been?”

  “How are you feeling, sir?”

  “Never mind that. Have Blücher’s reinforcements arrived?”

  The colonel glanced at Lucy, then back to Captain Stewart. “Someone tell me what the devil is going on. Does Hougoumont still stand? Where are those Prussians?”

  Lucy took a step closer.

  Colonel Breckenridge’s gaze snapped to her. He studied her, and after a long moment, his eyes focused. “Lucy?”

  “It’s me, Father.” Her voice cracked, but she stood straight.

  Colonel Breckenridge held out his hands. “Oh, my little Lucy. How you’ve grown.” His face relaxed into the smile of the man she knew. “I’ve missed you, my darling.”

  Lucy’s fear vanished. She gave the book to Captain Stewart and rushed forward to embrace her father. Tears burst from her eyes, and sobs erupted.

  Her father held her as she wept. He patted her back. “There, there, little Lucy.”

  She pulled back, sitting on the edge of the bed and wiping her eyes with her fingers. “I’m here now, Father. Everything will be all right.”

  The colonel looked around the room, his expression confused. “Are we at home?”

  “No, we’re in the military hospital in London. You’ve been ill, Father.”

  He scowled, blinking, and then turned his gaze to Captain Stewart. “Captain, you were to deliver a message to Lucy.”

  “Yes, sir.” Captain Stewart stood straight, at attention, holding the Christmas album at his side. “I did deliver it, sir.”

  “Then why is she here?” He motioned to Lucy. “I expressly ordered you to tell her—”

  “I decided to come, Father.” Lucy resented the men discussing her as if she weren’t in the room. “Captain Stewart came along to make certain I was safe.”

  Her father’s scowl didn’t go away.

  “I traveled with Mr. Owens,” Lucy said. “And the new maid, Meg.”

  “Owens . . .” Her father nodded, looking away as if pondering.” A good soldier. Fought in America under Cornwallis.” He looked up, his face surprised, as if seeing the captain for the first time. “Captain Stewart, there you are. Have Blücher’s reinforcements arrived?”

  “Today is Christmas, Father,” Lucy said.

  “Oh, it’s Christmas.” The colonel blinked, looking around the hospital ward. “Are we at home?”

  “We’re at the hospital in London, Father.” Lucy kept her voice cheerful as her worry over her father’s mental state grew. “But I brought our Christmas album.” She pulled a chair beside the bed so they could both see and opened the book on her father’s lap.

  Captain Stewart cleared his throat, capturing her attention. “Will you be all right if I leave? I’ll be back soon.” His words were little more than a whisper.

  Lucy nodded. The captain needed to make lodging arrangements for the others in the party.

  “Mr. Pennington will be nearby should you need him,” he whispered.

  She nodded her thanks and settled in to turn the pages and reminisce with her father. “Do you remember this?” she asked. “I was in a nativity play at the church.”

  “You were so angry that the part of Mary was taken.” Her father chuckled, sounding more like his old self.

  “I had to be a shepherd,” she said, her tone full of mock indignation.

  He chuckled again, turning the page to Lucy’s childish drawing of a holly garland. “Your mother did love to decorate on Christmas Eve.”

  “I hardly remember,” Lucy admitted. “I’m so glad for this book.”

  “My memory’s a bit spotty at the moment as well,” he said.

  Lucy squeezed his hand, hoping to reassure him. She turned another page. “This is a drawing you sent from India.”

  Her father squinted, running his finger over the image as if trying to remember.

  She turned the pages, skipping quickly over those that frustrated him and reminiscing about the ones he recognized. She told him about her Christmas journey, describing the mummers’ play in Bradstock and the dance in Quentlin Ferry. She told him about Meg and Mr. Matthews and about the Christmas Eve celebration in Stanley.

  After a while, her father grew calm, lying back on the pillows. Eventually, he slept.

  Lucy stayed beside him, holding his hand and resting her cheek on her other palm.

  A gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she lifted her head. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep. It was Captain Stewart. She stood and stepped away from her father’s bedside where they could speak without waking him.

  “How is he?” Captain Stewart asked.

  Lucy was grateful that the man felt such concern for her father. “He’s sleeping now. He seemed to remember for a little while, but he got confused and rather agitated. I just . . . How do I help him?”

  “I don’t know,” Captain Stewart said. “But if anyone can figure it out, it’s Miss Lucy Breckenridge.” He smiled warmly. “Your father needs someone who is gentle and understanding. And you are just the person for the job. He’s lucky you’re his daughter.”

  She felt warm at the compliment. “Captain, I’m sorry I was angry last night. I acted very rudely.”

  “I had no right to keep something like this from you.” He took her hand, and the gesture felt natural.

  “I know why you did it.” She squeezed his fingers.

/>   “If you have a moment,” the captain said, “I’d hoped to speak with you.” He offered his arm.

  Lucy glanced toward her father.

  “We’ll return before he wakes.”

  She nodded, taking his arm and walking with him out of the ward to the long hall. “Where did you go? Did you get the others settled?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I found lodgings close by. And I did a bit of shopping as well.” “Oh?”

  He gave a secretive smile but didn’t explain more. They reached the hospital entrance, and he held the door open, gesturing for her to precede him.

  Lucy stepped outside, and her shoulders relaxed. London’s air was cold, and it was far from fresh, but it was much better than the hospital’s smell of sickness and medicine. She could not let her father stay in that place.

  They descended the stairs and strolled along the walkway in front of the hospital. When they came to a bench near the road, Captain Stewart motioned for her to sit. He sat beside her, pulled a wrapped parcel from inside his coat, and presented it to her.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “A Christmas gift, of course.”

  She pulled off the wrapping, revealing a leather-bound album filled with blank pages.

  “To record your own Christmases,” he said. “The ones you celebrate just how you wish for you and your father.” He took her hand. “And hopefully . . . I might be included as well?”

  She looked up at him. What was he trying to say? Did he want to be invited to her future Christmas parties? Or could his words mean more? Seeing the look in his eyes, her nerves started to tingle.

  “I know we’ve been acquainted for only a short time,” he said. “But knowing you longer will not change how I feel.” He rested his arm on the back of the bench and turned fully toward her. “I am in love with you, Miss Lucy Breckenridge. And nothing would make me happier than if you will consent to be my wife.”

  Lucy looked into the captain’s eyes, seeing in them hope and such adoration that it took her breath away. She smiled, feeling as if the world was filled with joy. Her heart expanded until she thought it might burst. But a realization came down cold and dismal, like a pile of snow falling from a branch, squashing the few seconds of bliss. “I can’t.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat and looked down at the book in her lap. “I’m so sorry, Captain. My father needs me. I can’t leave him.”