by Erica Ridley
Tonight was the first time she wished she’d let him.
She wouldn’t have touched it until now, making it something new she could wear, just for Jonathan. Who would be here in... She glanced at the clock upon the mantel. Twenty minutes.
Well, she’d be ready in plenty of time. There was only one thing to wear.
She pulled on the same evening gown she wore every Christmas. Before, her sartorial restraint had always seemed practical. Now that she would be attending a ball with a gentleman who dressed like a literal fashion plate, her worn, mint-and-white gown looked hopelessly out of style.
It didn’t matter. Even if she designed the most stunning lover’s lockets Britain had ever seen… Even if the Duke of Nottingvale was so overcome by her vision and artistry that he was moved to personally endorse her creation… Even if Jonathan’s business partner didn’t bat an eye at paying a complete stranger fifteen percent of profits made on a locket said stranger designed… Even if every item in the catalogue was a runaway success, making them all famous, and wealthier—and England itself, dressier—than ever before...
There would still be no reason to believe she would see Jonathan again after he left Cressmouth.
Angelica could send her designs by post—and indeed, would more likely be working directly with the artisans creating the products than corresponding with them through a third-party investor. There was no reason for anxiety.
Jonathan would only see her in tonight’s uninspired gown once. She would get over the embarrassment and forget it ever happened, just as he would forget about her once he moved on to the next town, the next lonely woman he happened to meet.
They would both move on.
None of that stopped her from splashing rose water on her wrists and taking extra time with her hair. Tonight, she parted the front of her hair down the middle, using her fingers to create side-twists to frame her face. The rest of her hair, she pulled twisted back into a chignon, which she decorated with two gold-and-pearl hair combs.
The same ones she hadn’t let Jonathan purchase the day they’d met.
When the knock came on her front door, her heart skipped giddily. Although her home shared a common wall with her shop, she was rarely in it except to bathe and sleep. She certainly was unaccustomed to gentleman callers arriving to accompany her to a ball.
Until today.
She rolled her shoulders and lifted her pelisse and bonnet from the rack. Like her gown, there was only one of each. Jonathan had already seen them both any number of times. It was a good thing she wasn’t trying to impress him.
Before she could lose her nerve, she flung open the door.
He looked magnificent as always. Shiny black boots. Formal black knee breeches. Perfectly tailored overcoat. Floppy brown hair that fell boyishly over his pale forehead. Strong jaw and firm lips. Sapphire eyes that sparkled wickedly, as though he knew very well how handsome he looked, and enjoyed catching her peeking.
“I brought you something.” He pulled his hand out from behind his back.
Angelica stared at the item dangling from his fingers. It was not some romantic trinket, but rather an ordinary beige bonnet she could have sworn came from the same local milliner that had sold her hers. In fact...
“That bonnet looks exactly like mine,” she said, her voice tight with suspicion.
“It is exactly like yours,” he replied cheerfully. “With one big difference: this one is from me.” He placed her old bonnet back on the rack and tied the new one beneath her chin. “You hate making clothing decisions. I wanted to give you a gift that didn’t add to your worries. There.” He stepped back and admired her with satisfaction.
She pressed her fingers to her chest as though her touch could calm her racing heart. It was a perfect gift. Something new to let her know he was thinking of her, without trying to change her in the least. He liked her just as she was, and wanted to be certain she knew it.
He offered his arm.
She held on tighter than necessary, as though she could imprint the memory of him into each of her fingertips, to keep for later.
He doffed his hat and ducked beneath the brim of her new-old bonnet to steal a quick kiss before escorting her outside and up the snow-packed road to the castle.
They were not alone. Though the air was cold, the atmosphere was festive. Most of Cressmouth regularly turned out for the community’s myriad Christmas activities, but the assembly was a particular favorite. Food, drink, music, dancing... and this year, thanks to Noelle, the village’s first annual indoor tree decorating. With luck, the custom would catch on.
Volunteers like Jonathan had been out all afternoon, clearing the walking path to the castle. The snow had finally stopped that morning, but it would be days before the roads between neighboring villages were clear enough for travel.
It no longer felt like she and Jonathan were stuck together because of bad weather. It felt more like they’d been drawn together by good luck.
After handing off their outerwear to one of the castle’s many attendants, Angelica expected to have to introduce Jonathan to most of the villagers.
She should not have been surprised to discover he’d met all of them already. If the castle pond hadn’t frozen over, he probably would have introduced himself to every fish and swan.
The ballroom was stunning. During the renovation period after Mr. Marlowe purchased the castle, he had converted the austere bare-wood ceilings into lush, Elizabethan-style decorative white plaster. Instead of heraldic beasts or family crests, the frieze pattern incorporated Christmastide motifs like sprigs of holly.
The silk-covered walls were of rich emerald green, and decorated with countless bright sconces that complemented the dazzling crystal chandeliers overhead.
Angelica knew from experience that the wooden floor would have been freshly waxed and dusted, but with half of the village already in attendance, all she could see was a sea of sharp gentlemen in formal black suits and waves of beautiful ladies in their best Yuletide gowns.
By the time they made their way up to the ballroom dais where Noelle had stationed an enormous evergreen, it was time for the grand unveiling.
Not that the tree was hidden from view. The boughs were covered in flickering candles as well as tantalizing bags of sweetmeats and other little treats.
Noelle clapped her hands together. The roar of conversations lowered to a soft rumble.
“Thank you so much for coming to Cressmouth’s annual grand Yuletide ball. I also want to thank the Skeffington family for providing our beautiful tree, Mr. Bauer for providing countless packages of treats, and Miss Angelica Parker for graciously agreeing to personally design the crowning touches. Even though she had no time to do so, she managed the impossible.” Noelle grinned at Angelica.
Angelica grinned back. She’d been skeptical of an indoor tree, but it looked like Noelle was the one who had made a miracle. The festive display was gorgeous.
“Without further ado,” Noelle announced, “we present... holly that lasts forever!”
The sound of flutes and clarinets filled the ballroom as ten lads marched through the open doors in pairs, playing a rousing rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
On the dais, they exchanged their instruments for Angelica’s bejeweled gold creations. They displayed the glittering red-berried adornments to the crowd, to oohs and aahs. The lads took turns dragging a wooden stool about to find the perfect tall branch upon which to affix each adornment.
“The tree looks incredible,” she whispered to Jonathan.
“Thanks to you,” he whispered back. “I hope you’re as proud of you as I am.”
“Angelica!” called a voice.
It was Luther, her brother.
“I should go,” Jonathan said.
“Go? You don’t have to,” she said with surprise. “The Yuletide ball is for everyone. Don’t let my family frighten you away.”
“It’s not your family.” He shifted his weight. “I’m not a gr
eat lover of Christmastide. I came because of you, not Yuletide. Oh look, there are your nieces. I’ll just—”
“One dance,” she said. The orchestra was setting bows to their strings. “And then, if you want to run away, you can.”
“Scots don’t run away,” he muttered. “I could stay for two dances if I really wanted to.”
“Oh? Shall we join my brother and his wife for this country-dance?”
Jonathan’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “The question is, will your brother dance with me?”
“There, that’s the Christmas spirit,” Angelica said with a laugh. “Shall we find out?”
Luther did indeed cut a sharp figure through every pattern of the dance, as Angelica had known he would. Her brother would never allow anything to disrupt his elegant rhythm on the dance floor.
She was rusty, having not practiced since the previous Yuletide. With so many people making merry in front of a tree bearing adornments she’d created with her own hands, Angelica couldn’t help but feel joyful.
They danced in tandem with her brother and sister-in-law until the final figure came to a close. The orchestra barely paused between sets.
The next song was a waltz.
It was impossible to feel awkward as Jonathan led her about the floor in graceful, sweeping steps. Angelica forgot about the tree, forgot about her interminable list of things to do, and just gazed up at him gazing back down at her.
It was a good thing he intended to leave her side after this waltz. If they paid each other too much attention, people would start to talk.
And there was no sense letting them talk about something that was never going to happen.
Jonathan might be a brilliant business partner, traveling tirelessly to spread the word, but he was not someone she could rely on for anything more.
He was going to leave. That was how she had hurt her own family. Now she’d learn what it felt like to have it done to her.
She wouldn’t join him, even if it were a possibility. She had her own life, her own shop, and more importantly she was mere days away from completing her contract and being able to rejoin her family.
Jonathan’s brow creased. “You stopped smiling. You’re not thinking about work, are you?”
She shook her head.
He didn’t appear convinced.
“I hadn’t planned on staying for Nottingvale’s house party. Mostly because I don’t like Christmas,” he admitted. “But I do like you. And it will give you an extra week to design your lockets. You don’t need to work yourself to the bone. Enjoy your family while they’re here.”
Yes, she would.
Angelica’s mind turned calculating. Christmas was in four days, but one needn’t wait until Christmas morning to spread joy. She could share her Yuletide with the one man who needed it most.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll take tomorrow as a holiday... on one condition.”
He lowered his voice. “Very well, I’ll spend the whole day kissing you.”
She pretended not to hear him. “Part of Christmas is attending church, as you’ll see on Sunday when my uncle preaches.”
“I didn’t agree to go,” Jonathan said quickly.
“You also never said you wouldn’t go, and besides, aren’t you my footman?” She linked her arm with his. “The other part of Christmas is community and tradition. Let me share my family with you. They’re amusing. We’ll give you a Christmas to remember.”
His eyes had lost their luster. “I remember Christmas. It was not enjoyable.”
“Let me try,” she said softly. “That was then. You don’t have to promise me the whole day. Can you do two hours? If you’re miserable, say the word, and I’ll never mention the word Christmas to you again.”
At first, she thought he was going to refuse. Say that he was preemptively miserable, just thinking about a jolly afternoon with her family. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked. Perhaps with his past, nothing at all could make the Yuletide season festive.
“All right.” He visibly swallowed his objections. “One Christmas to remember.”
Chapter 10
Jonathan fidgeted in the middle of a blue velvet sofa in the Duke of Nottingvale’s empty parlor. He could not believe he’d agreed to spend even a single moment doing festive things. He hated being festive.
But he would agree to almost anything if it meant more time with Angelica.
He leafed absently through his notebook, pausing now and again at one of the many sketches he had made of her working, or lost in thought, or smiling to greet a customer.
His drawings had never held particular meaning before. Idle doodles to pass the time, sketches of someone or something he had no desire to hurry back to. Jonathan was always rushing off to the next thing.
These portraits, however, he suspected would have worn edges in the near future from paging through them whenever he longed for another moment with Angelica.
Even if it meant pretending to enjoy Christmas.
The butler appeared in the parlor doorway. “Caller for you, sir.”
He shoved the notebook back into his waistcoat pocket and leapt to his feet. No matter how much Jonathan had begged, Oswald had refused to allow him to stand next to the front door to wait.
“It’s Miss Parker?” Of course it was. Hadn’t she said she’d come at ten?
“Indeed.” Oswald disappeared back to his station.
Jonathan bared his teeth at a looking-glass and ran a hand through his hair. His clothes were the height of fashion—or would be, as soon the Fit for a Duke catalogue launched—but his nerves fluttered oddly whenever he knew he was about to see Angelica.
He rushed down the corridor and into the entryway to greet her.
She looked beautiful. It was her same pale pink day dress and wheat-colored pelisse, which only made her shine all the brighter.
“Is that my bonnet?” he asked.
“It’s my bonnet,” she replied pertly.
He grinned. Definitely his. She looked stunning in it.
What he wanted to do most was whirl her into his arms and kiss her, but if Oswald was scandalized over the idea of sharing his station, witnessing a peck of the lips would no doubt give the poor man a fit of the vapors.
“I have something for you.” She held up her closed hand.
Reverently, he unwrapped her fingers.
In the center of her palm was an oval of bright gold, decorated with brilliant red and turquoise stones and engraved with gorgeous looping whorls that reminded him not of the sea, but of the brisk, snow-flecked wind that rustled the hills of evergreens surrounding the castle.
“A lover’s locket,” he breathed. It was even better than he’d hoped.
“It’s not the prototype,” she said quickly. She tilted her hand so that the sparkling gold oval fell from her palm to his. “It’s for you.”
He pinned it to his waistcoat at once, right next to his heart.
“You don’t have to wear it.” Her lashes lowered. “There isn’t even a portrait inside the frame.”
A situation easily remedied, though he would wait until later to decide which of his sketches to add to the locket.
“I adore it,” he said, his voice huskier than he intended.
Oswald gave a delicate little cough.
Perhaps the man deserved a fit of the vapors.
“Come along.” Angelica looped her arm through Jonathan’s. “Our chariot awaits.”
“Chariot?” he repeated.
“Well, the Cressmouth version.” She grinned up at him. “You’ll see.”
When they stepped out of the door into the chill winter air, a large, bright red sleigh sat at the edge of the street, with a glossy black horse and bright-eyed driver at the ready and a low bench for riders at the rear.
Jonathan had watched the sleighs go by any number of times since his arrival. Tourists used them instead of hackneys. Sleighs were far more reliable in inclement winter weather than anything with axles and wheels. Better
yet, they were diverting to ride in, and lent the simple act of traveling down the road an air of adventure and whimsy.
He climbed in after Angelica. “Where are we going?”
“To the park,” she replied, brown eyes shining. “The Yuletide festival is underway.”
Och. For a brief moment, he forgot about Christmas. But there was no time for his muscles to stiffen with trepidation—the horse was off at a sharp clip, and Angelica’s warm curves pressed deliciously into his side.
Because the duke’s cottage was only a few hundred yards from the castle, the minutes flew by in a trice. Their sleigh pulled up behind a dozen others, all painted bright red and pulled by exquisite black horses with improbably gleaming coats.
“Courtesy of the Harper stud farm you passed on your way in,” Angelica explained. Her glove brushed his. “Ready to meet the rest of my relatives?”
Not in the slightest. The idea terrified him. Which was patently ridiculous.
Jonathan had spent every day for well over a decade meeting strangers and turning them into temporary friends. A task made easier by the knowledge that his success or lack thereof didn’t really matter. No matter what sort of impression he made, he’d be gone within a week.
But Angelica’s family did matter. They mattered because she did. Even though he was unlikely to run into them again once he left Cressmouth, he didn’t want them to remember him as someone unworthy of Angelica’s time.
He desperately wanted them to like him. A situation that all but ensured he would be at his most awkward.
“Where will we meet—” His question was answered before he finished asking.
They were barely out of the sleigh before a dozen children of various heights surrounded them from all angles, followed by an equal number of adults carrying forgotten mittens or cones of paper piled high with roasted chestnuts.
All of them were speaking at once.