Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  Behave, ye daft bugger, ye’ve had all yer gettin’, he scolded the part of his anatomy which possessed a mind all of its own.

  “That sounds wonderful,” she said with a sigh before gazing at the spread before them with regret.

  “Did I forget something?” he asked, frowning.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s quite wonderful. I’m just so cross with myself. I had intended to make you a splendid dinner and….” She gave a rather bitter little laugh. “What a dreadful wife I shall make you! I shouldn’t blame you in the least if you turned me out in the cold and washed your hands of me.”

  The very idea made Ned’s heart clench, and he snatched up her hand, making her start with surprise. “Never say that. Don’t ever think it. I shan’t, I promise ye. It’s yourself who ought to be concerned as ye shall find a deal to want in me as a husband. Ye ought to marry a fine gentleman, a nobleman, even. A man who could buy ye everything ye deserve and take ye to the theatre and grand balls, parties where ye could dance and wear fine gowns and….”

  He trailed off as the images he spoke of became too vivid in his mind.

  “I don’t want that,” she said, squeezing his hand and bringing his attention back to her, to here and now.

  “That’s because ye were afraid and unhappy,” he said, his chest tight with anxiety. “The roughest refuge can feel like a palace when desperation nips at yer heels, but when the fear is gone—”

  “No.” She was staring at him now, her fingers tight about his own and a glimmer of steel in the blue that he’d not expected. “No.”

  He let out a sigh and smiled, wanting to be reassured by her certainty but far from convinced. It was foolish to borrow trouble, though, and in this moment he was happy, and he thought perhaps she was too. Ned raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  “Let’s eat,” he said.

  They ate everything he’d brought and Ned fed her pieces of cake, feeling like a lowly servant to the goddess he’d compared her to, and loving every moment. He laughed as she sipped at the ale, wrinkling her pretty nose with distaste and kissed her for trying. Little by little Ned urged her to talk, to tell him about her life. Happier memories emerged of the time when her mother still lived, and they would escape into the garden together and share picnics like this one, but there were darker memories too. She confessed to the dreams she’d had of running away to London or Paris, and the thought of it made him sick with terror. She looked rueful at his obvious horror and admitted it would never have happened, she’d been too scared… and then she remembered that she had run into the night after all, because what awaited her had frightened her more than London or Paris.

  Ned made her smile again by telling her stories of himself as a boy, and the scrapes he’d gotten into. His parents had been good people, solid and reliable, and his childhood had been a happy time. He made her laugh with silly tales of boyhood pranks and mischief, and revelled in the sound of her happiness. Then, at his insistence, she returned to the piano and played for him. Ned closed his eyes and prayed that he could have this, that he could keep this, this unutterable joy she had brought into his life.

  The next days passed in a dreamlike haze of happiness.

  Grace took pains to ensure the house was warm and clean and a hot meal awaited him when he came in from the cold. They talked for hours and Ned was astonished by how genuine her interest in the farm appeared to be. Blushing hard, she’d confessed her desire for a large family, and he’d held her hand, assuring her he wanted the same. The smile she’d given him had stolen what remained of his heart. When she asked why he and Sarah had no children themselves, he’d just told her they’d not been so blessed. Speaking of Sarah made him uneasy and he avoided it. The last thing he wanted was for Grace to believe Sarah had been unhappy with him, so he brushed over it and made his marriage appear a deal happier than it had been. Instead, he told her of his plans for the future, of more land he had his eye on, of the jobs that needed doing, of the crops he’d planted and his battle to keep the birds away, and of his breeding plan for the fine, healthy flock of sheep he’d raised. She blushed a little when he spoke plainly of the ram and the beast’s indefatigable prowess, but did not appear dismayed by the conversation, rather riveted in fact. In return, she spoke of her own life and Ned’s heart broke for the narrow existence she’d endured.

  During the day she studied the cookbook like a bible, with her the most devoted of worshippers. There was a deal of household advice in the back pages which she also took to heart, and Ned’s boots were polished and waterproofed with a mixture of tar, tallow, and beeswax and then polished to a shine, despite his protests that she’d ruin her lovely hands.

  Instead, she worried more about his hands, ever more roughened and chapped by the freezing weather, and made him a cream scented with rose water that she insisted he used. He did, but only because he feared they would be too coarse for her fine skin when he was finally allowed to touch her, when she was his wife at last. The thought of his work-abraded hands on her silky skin, cupping her full breasts and sliding between her thighs had him hard in an instant. He was forced to pretend he’d forgotten a vital job in the yard, and brought himself off behind one of the barns with a muffled cry of relief.

  He was walking a knife edge and took care not to overstep. He would allow himself only a chaste kiss when they said goodnight and didn’t dare touch her again, though he saw the invitation in her eyes and her obvious puzzlement that he wouldn’t hold her to him again.

  By Thursday night, he was beside himself with anticipation and glowered up at a white sky that threatened snow with a curse.

  “Please don’t,” he said, taking his hat off and staring up at the heavens, to the place where he imagined the almighty must be having a nice little chuckle at his expense. “Have pity,” he begged. “I’m flesh and blood, and I never pretended to be a saint. I can’t take much more.”

  He tramped back to the house with his guts in a knot, wondering if they’d be knee-deep in snow by morning.

  Chapter 8

  “Wherein… a winter bride.”

  It was always dark when Ned rose, but it was far earlier than usual this morning. He’d been awake most of the night, his eye on the soft flakes that fell in whispers beyond the kitchen window.

  He’d got up more than once and stuck his head out of the front door to check how much had fallen. For now it had barely settled, but he was not relieved. If it fell thick and fast for the next hour, they might get stuck on the way to town or, if it got heavier later, get snowed in once they were there, and who was there to feed the beasts whilst they were away? He’d allowed for being away one night, wanting Grace’s wedding night to be special for her. It would mean an early start next morning to get back to the animals, but at this time of year there ought to be no difficulty in getting a room in one of the better inns.

  He thought about his wedding night as his heart thudded in his throat and his blood left his brain in a rush, heading south.

  The idea of leaving a bed that Grace was in while the sky was still dark struck him then.

  Idiot.

  The roads might be cleared of snow or ten foot high with it, but there was nothing on God’s green earth powerful enough to make him cut their wedding night short. There was no option, then; he’d have to call in on one of his men on the way and arrange for them to tend to the animals. Then at least they’d be cared for if the roads were too bad.

  Today’s plan was simple. They’d leave in the dark, hopefully long before whatever poor blighter was being paid a pittance to keep an eye out for Grace felt any desire to leave his warm bed.

  Ned knew there was someone.

  Though he’d hoped he was wrong, he had evidence now. He’d kept the knowledge to himself for fear of frightening Grace, but Ned had seen the signs. The ground was frozen solid, or he’d have noticed before. It was hard to hide footprints on a muddy farm, but not in this frigid weather. It was also hard to hide the cloud of a man’s brea
thing in the cold, even if he’d ducked behind the pig shed and kept his head down. The stupid bastard had smoked a pipe, though, and Ned had caught the scent of it, unmistakable on the clean, cold air.

  The urge to grab whoever it was by the neck and shake him was tangible, but Ned resisted. Better the devil grew bored and told Carrington there was nothing to see. Happily, the house was at such an angle to the rest of the farm that the windows could not be seen unless you stood in the open yard. Rufus would have raised merry hell if the fellow had dared it, so there was no way he’d glimpsed Gracie.

  Gracie.

  His heart skittered in his chest.

  By tonight, God willing, she’d be his wife. It seemed too extraordinary and something like terror struck him deep inside with the fear that she’d be taken from him and there’d be nothing he could do to stop them.

  No, he reminded himself. He’d fight. He’d die before he let that bastard Carrington, or her vile brother, get their filthy hands on her again. No one would take her from him, not if she didn’t want to go, at least. He’d fight the devil himself if he had to. For the first time since he was a young man, the future wasn’t a barren field, bare and dusty, but lush and fertile with hope, with dreams he’d given up on what seemed a lifetime ago. Not that there weren’t obstacles to overcome, he wasn’t that stupid, though the worry that she’d find him an uneducated fool was one of his deepest fears.

  Well, if she could learn to cook, he could learn to converse with a lady. He could read and write well enough, so he could educate himself further. He could read about things that interested her. He wasn’t a dumb brute, though he suspected he looked the part. Ned knew she loved books, and she’d made a comment in passing that made him think she liked to paint too. The vision of a warm day in spring and the meadows full of wildflowers filled his mind, and there was Grace, sitting and painting the pastoral scene before her. The vision pleased him, and laughter rose in his chest, until he realised that was the kind of thing a lady would do, not a farmer’s wife. Anxiety rolled down his spine.

  What would people say when they discovered she’d married him?

  He knew all too well what they’d say, and felt another shiver of unease. Though she’d not been allowed to socialise a great deal, they’d had neighbours, and she’d said her father had been forced to take her to the occasional dinner party or it would have caused talk. She knew people around here, people of her own class. Those people would sneer and look down on her, just as his kind would view her with suspicion. Never mind, he told himself, they’d get through it. Whatever happened, they’d make it work. He’d do anything to make it work.

  Still, fear snaked its way into his heart and coiled uneasily beneath his skin.

  Ned dressed quickly in the dark and headed out to deal with the animals, who blinked sleepily at him, bemused by his early arrival and huffing damp clouds into the frosty darkness. Once he was done, he returned to the house and changed into his Sunday best clothes and cleaned his boots. He stoked the kitchen fire and put water on to boil, and then crept up to the bedroom.

  He forced himself not to look at the sleeping figure in the bed, instead tending the fire so the room was warm enough for her to wash and dress.

  “Ned?”

  He stood, his breath hitching as the firelight glimmered upon the tousled golden curls that fell to her shoulders.

  “Morning, Gracie,” he said, trying not to stare as the too big nightgown fell to expose one creamy shoulder, gilded in the warm glow of the fire. She looked warm, too, warm and soft, and so inviting that his mouth went dry.

  “Is it time?”

  “Yes, love.”

  She smiled then, and all the fears he’d felt evaporated as the breath whooshed from his lungs. She looked like a woman who was anticipating the day ahead with every expectation of happiness, not one being led to a fate she had no choice but to accept. He held the image in his mind, in his heart, and knew he’d remember it until the day he died. It would be a talisman against his doubts and fears, and the terror of losing her.

  “How handsome you look,” she said, admiration in her eyes as she looked him over.

  To his chagrin, Ned felt a blush stain his cheeks, but he could not deny the pleasure he took from her words.

  “You look like a dream,” he said, with far too much emotion in his words. He cleared his throat, aware of how easily he could be distracted, with her being the embodiment of every dream he’d had since the moment she’d fallen into his arms. “I’ve put water on to boil,” he said, moving to take the jug from the nightstand. “I’ll bring it up for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and Ned would not allow himself to look back at her as he hurried from the room.

  He didn’t dare. The desire to join her in the bed was so fierce he thought he’d go mad with it, with the desire to slide beneath the warm covers, between her warmer thighs, inside her lush heat….

  Oh, God. He almost broke his neck he ran down the stairs so fast. Stupid bastard.

  Once she was washed and dressed, they ate a hasty breakfast, and Ned ran back up to the bedroom and took blankets from the bed. Silently, he banked the fires and secured the house, instructing Rufus to stand guard, before taking Grace’s hand and leading her outside. She paused on the threshold, looking about her and taking a deep breath.

  His heart lurched.

  “If… If you’ve changed your mind….” he said, wondering how he’d survive if she backed out now.

  “Of course not,” she said with a huff, giving him such a look of reproach he wanted to laugh with joy and relief. “It’s just nice to be out of doors, that’s all.”

  He let out a shaky breath that clouded about him and tugged at her hand, not wanting her out in the open for too long.

  “Hurry, love.”

  He’d harnessed the horse to the cart in one of the barns, just in case whoever watched them was more diligent than Ned supposed. He helped her climb in and frowned as she removed her bonnet and curled up on the blanket he’d laid down for her.

  “I’m sorry—” he began, but she sat up and pressed a finger to his lips.

  “I’m not,” she said, and laid down again. “Cover me up, if you would, please, Ned.”

  Ned hesitated and leant down, pressing a kiss to her lips. She closed her eyes and sighed, and some of his tension eased.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “I needed that.”

  “Not nearly as much as I did,” he murmured, winking at her, and then covering her with two more blankets, before throwing sack cloth over the top of that. Hopefully, if they were observed, it would just look as though he was off on errands to the town.

  Ned climbed up and gathered the reins, sent another silent prayer to the heavens, and urged the horse into motion.

  Grace curled into the blankets. Though they’d been going barely ten minutes, she’d lost the feeling in her toes and longed to get up and stamp them, but she didn’t dare budge. The rumble of the cart over the rutted road shook her bones but was nothing she couldn’t endure.

  Now the movement had stopped, however, and she strained her ears for Ned’s voice.

  He’d stopped to rouse one of the labourers he employed and arrange for him to see to the farm in Ned’s absence. Though Ned had assured her before they’d stopped that he’d seen no sign of them having been followed, her senses were all on alert. The sooner they were wed, the happier she would be. She smiled beneath the blankets as she realised how true that was. It wasn’t just for safety, to get her away from the brother who’d betrayed her and a man she feared, it was because he made her happy. He talked to her and listened when she spoke; he admired her efforts and never laughed or belittled her even when she made a mess of things. Ned supported her and encouraged her with that gruff voice and the gentle words he found for her, and he looked at her as if she was the beginning and the end of everything… and he made her heart pound.

  It had been a week, only a week, since they had met, but in those days—in t
he intimacy of his home and hours of private conversation—they’d come to know one another. Likely she knew him far better than she might have if he’d courted her properly. That would have meant chaperoned outings where it would have been hard to speak freely. They’d had no such restraint between them, and Grace had no further doubt in her mind. Ned was a good, honest, kind man, and he’d be a wonderful, caring husband. Whether or not he’d ever feel for her like he had for his first wife she might never know. She knew he didn’t like to speak of Sarah, but when she’d coaxed him he’d painted a picture of a caring partnership. Sarah had been just as invested in the farm as he was, his triumphs hers. His sorrow at never having had children had been obvious too, and Grace prayed this was something she could give him that Sarah had not. She worried there was little else until she learned how to be a help to him, but he desired her at least, that much was obvious. It was a start. The rest might come in time, if she was good to him.

  She had every intention of being good to him.

  Voices reached her ear, and she stiffened, holding her breath and not daring to move until she heard Ned’s voice. He commanded the horse to walk on, and then Grace heard the jingle of tack as the cart rocked and moved on once more. She still didn’t speak, knowing he would tell her when they were safely out of earshot.

  “Are ye all right, Grace?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Quite all right.”

  In truth, she was terribly cold.

  “We’re almost there. Once we’re wed, you can sit up beside me. Can ye bear it?”

  “Of course,” she said, touched by the concern in his voice. “I’m tucked up in my blankets. Don’t worry.”

  There was a sigh which sounded sceptical.

  It seemed an age before the carriage halted, and Ned’s face was taut with concern as she emerged from her blankets. They were covered with snow, which still fell in slow, graceful flakes. Grace’s teeth chattered as she blinked in the glare. Although the sun had still not fully risen, the snow covered everything in a pristine white cloak and, after the dark of her hiding place, it was blinding.