Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  He hated the deference. Diana would never treat him as if he was her better because of an accident of birth and death. She was more likely to tease him about it. “Thank you.”

  Rose took his hat and greatcoat. “Mrs. Hambridge and Mother are discussing the Christmastide charity baskets, among other things. I’m sure they’d be very interested in your opinion.”

  He forced his grimace into a smile as he followed Rose toward the drawing room. “Of course. Although I’m sure they know better than me the needs of the poor. Is Diana with them?”

  “Goodness, no. Diana has little tolerance for discussing such mundane matters.” Rose turned on him, her delicate fingers at the cameo circling her throat. “I don’t want you to think I’m being critical. Diana has a big heart for those less fortunate. What she doesn’t have is the patience to deal with the details of planning a function. Which is not good considering…”

  The leading edge to her voice had Cole taking her hand when she started to turn away. “Considering what?”

  “Mother and Mrs. Hambridge have great hopes Hamish and Diana will suit.”

  “They bloody well will not suit!”

  Rose’s hand circled her throat as she pulled away in shock when he damn well knew Piers and Liam had cursed aplenty in front of Rose and Diana growing up. “My lord, please.”

  He inclined his head and ground out an apology he didn’t mean. “Terribly sorry, Rose. My manners—”

  The drawing room door opened, and Mrs. Grambling and Mrs. Hambridge stared into the dim hallway, then exchanged a glance that sent a shiver up his spine.

  “Come in, my lord. Mrs. Hambridge was telling me how thrilled everyone is you plan to host the Christmastide fete this year in spite of your losses.” Mrs. Grambling gestured him into the drawing room. It would be churlish of him to refuse. He couldn’t bring himself to take a step.

  “I’m hosting the fete because of my losses, Mrs. Grambling. It was Father’s favorite time of year, if you recall.”

  “We all miss his lordship.” Mrs. Grambling touched a delicate-looking white handkerchief to her lips, reviving a smile. “Won’t you take refreshment with us, my lord?”

  He wanted nothing less than to sit and make stilted conversation, but he didn’t see a way out without shocking the two ladies like he’d shocked Rose. “It would be an honor, but I must be gone soon.”

  He was bustled inside and seated on a small settee next to Rose. Their elbows jostled as they sipped their tea, leading to apologies and eventually laughter. The two older ladies sat back and watched with smug little smiles he understood quite well after coming into the title and being prey for matchmaking mamas.

  “Do you happen to know where Piers and Liam have taken themselves off to?” he asked.

  “They are in Ottery Saint Mary visiting their old tutor. Mr. Martin is such a fine man. He’s come into an inheritance, you know,” Mrs. Hambridge said with the awareness of an expert gossip.

  “No, I didn’t know.” He tried to keep the impatience out of his voice. He also didn’t care about a tutor’s unexpected windfall, but it did remind him of the carriage and matched bays waiting out front. He shifted to address Mrs. Hambridge. “Your carriage and team are exceedingly fine. Hamish will have to tell me where he acquired them.”

  Mrs. Hambridge smiled smugly over the rim of her teacup. “Hamish has a sharp intellect and excellent instincts. One of his investments turned a profit.”

  “What investment would that be?”

  “Pish. I don’t concern myself with such matters.” Mrs. Hambridge shrugged and launched into a detail-heavy diatribe against a group of gypsies that had passed through the county over the autumn. The jab at the old earl subtle yet pointed.

  Cole’s father had allowed the gypsies to camp on Linley land every year when they passed through, and Cole saw no reason to alter the tradition. Mrs. Hambridge could jab all she wanted, Cole wasn’t influenced by rumors and prejudices.

  Cole squirmed until he could stand it no longer. “Where might I find Diana, Mrs. Hambridge? I hope her health has not suffered from her soaking.”

  “No need to fret. The girl is more hardy than is ladylike.” Mrs. Grambling leaned forward with the same smug smile from earlier, her voice dropping to conspiratorial tones. “She’s taking the air at the cliffs with Hamish, the dear boy. We are hopeful an important conversation is occurring at this very moment.”

  He popped off the settee so fast the women rocked back in their seats. Why had no one mentioned Hamish’s presence? “I apologize, but I must be going. I forgot something I need to take care of for the fete. If you’ll excuse me?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer but stepped toward the door, only realizing when he reached for the latch that he still clutched his teacup. Returning to set it on the tray, he nodded at each lady in turn and strode out of the house, grabbing his hat and greatcoat on the way. No doubt, rumors of his erratic, rude behavior would spread from Mrs. Hambridge’s lips through Ottery Saint Mary by the afternoon.

  He mounted Tucker and took off toward the cliffs in a trot, only slowing when he reached the path. The footing was too precarious to ride. He dismounted and slapped Tucker’s rump, sending him toward a patch of grass. Hamish Hambridge turned from where he stood alone on the path.

  “Where’s Diana?” A fear Cole had never known cascaded through him and weakened his knees.

  “Devil if I know. I thought I saw the ribbons of her hat, but when I got here, nothing. I walked almost all the way to Linley House and back with no sign of her.” Hamish sounded peevish. His cheeks were ruddy from the cool wind rushing off the water. Rather unkindly, Cole decided the man could use the exercise. His waistcoat strained to contain his plumping figure.

  Cole took a deep breath and tried not to look at the narrow path cutting down the side of the cliff. It was half hidden by scrub, but he and Piers and Liam had explored every facet of the cliffs as children. It was a wonder none of them had died. He wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn Diana had mapped the trails as well.

  “Perhaps she took the forest path. I just came from Grambling Manor where I enjoyed hot tea and warm biscuits.” Cole attempted a cajoling tone as he would to a child.

  “Did you? I could do with some warming up.” Hamish chafed his arms.

  “I’ll remain for a bit in case Diana makes an appearance.”

  With a jauntier expression, Hamish stepped toward Grambling Manor. He looked back only once, and Cole raised his hand. Once the man was out of sight, Cole picked his way to the cliff path and barked her name.

  Her head popped out of the side of the cliff a dozen or more feet down. She held her bonnet to her head while the ribbons streamed like banners. She said nothing but gestured wildly for him to come down and then disappeared once more.

  The path was narrower than he remembered and precarious with rain-softened mud. Twice he lost his footing and went down on one knee, the wet cold seeping through his buckskin. He dared not imagine Diana making her way down in skirts and half boots. He would shake some sense into her. No, he’d kiss some sense into her. That would be more satisfying all the way around.

  Finally he made it to the ledge of her cavern. “What the devil are you about, Diana?”

  “Hamish was coming. I didn’t have a choice.” She pointed deeper into the gloom. “Come look.”

  He wanted to say more. To ask the question burning a hole in his head, but she was moving away, and he followed, the moment gone. The roof of the cavern dropped the farther they shuffled until he had to hunker down into a duck walk. He blinked and squinted. Crates were shoved against the back wall.

  “The lettering is French.” Her voice thrummed with excitement.

  “Our smugglers’ stash,” he murmured. His night and morning had kicked the nefarious goings-on out of his mind.

  “Exactly. What should we do?”

  “We should inform the magistrate.”

  “What if the smugglers are greasing his palm to look the othe
r way?”

  “Unfortunately, that’s a distinct possibility.” Cole wasn’t ignorant to how things were done, and honestly, he’d enjoyed a fine French brandy not a month ago in London. He was sure Lord Abbott, the current magistrate, kept a well-stocked liquor cabinet.

  But it wasn’t smuggled brandy he was concerned about. It was information. He’d served with Wellington and knew the French had a network that reached far beyond their shores. As did Britain. While he couldn’t imagine Abbott as part of a spy ring, the question remained… What to do next?

  “They’ll likely return tonight to move the booty to their safe house,” Diana said.

  “But it’s Christmas Eve.”

  “What better night to be out knowing everyone else is inside asleep after partaking of mulled wine?” Blast and damn, but she was likely correct. She continued, “If they use the cliff path, they’ll pass quite close to Grambling Manor. I may be able to observe them from the attic window.”

  Cole backed toward the mouth of the cave where he could stretch to his full height. “Exactly. Too close, I’d imagine. They must take the path through the forest.”

  She gave a thoughtful hum. “No doubt you’re correct. We can take cover at the edge of the forest and observe them.”

  “We?” He planted himself before her. “Absolutely not. I forbid your involvement any further in this dangerous mess.”

  “Forbid? Who are you to forbid me anything?”

  “I’m your… well, your…” The devil tied his tongue. He knew what he wanted to be. Her friend, her lover, her husband.

  “Exactly.” She put a hand on her bonnet to keep the wind from stealing it and sidestepped out of the cave.

  Once again, he found himself following her. She was surefooted and made better time up the cliff path than he did, but he was close enough to hear her muttered, “Blast and damn,” as she made it to the edge.

  Peering over the edge and looking befuddled with a bit of jam on his chin was Hamish. “You found her, my lord. Excellent. Our mothers were worried, m’dear. What were you doing down there?”

  “Exploring old childhood haunts. It all seems so much smaller now.” Diana didn’t even look in Cole’s direction, and the smile on her face was sickly.

  Hamish’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth drew into a vicar-like disapproving pout, radiating more intelligence than Cole had given him credit for. “You need to be careful, Diana.”

  “Do I? And why is that, Hamish?” Diana’s features took on a familiar mulish cast.

  “Because of our understanding, of course.”

  Cole expected Diana to fly into a snit and inform Hamish in no uncertain terms where he could stuff their understanding. But she didn’t. Instead, she dropped her gaze to her feet and her muddied hems.

  If Cole hadn’t been so shocked, he would have leaped to reassure her. Or plant Hamish a facer for no better reason than assuming he was good enough for Diana.

  The laughter of the twins carried on the breeze and brought everyone’s heads around.

  “Those boys have been left to run wild,” Hamish said. “If it were up to me—”

  “But it isn’t up to you, now is it?” Diana had regained some of her starch. “I’m feeling rather peckish and chilled.”

  “In that case, may I recommend you spend the evening in bed with a hot brick for company, Miss Diana?” Cole didn’t intend it as a request, and when his gaze clashed with hers, they engaged in a silent back-and-forth. Neither of them were in any hurry to concede.

  This is what no one else gave him. He didn’t want to be kowtowed to. He wanted to be challenged and put in his place, not on a pedestal.

  “Actually, I have business in town. Gifts to buy for the young ones, you know.” Her voice was cooler than the winter wind.

  “I would be most happy to accompany you, Miss Diana,” Hamish said in his most gallant, adoring voice.

  With the air of a queen addressing a serf, she inclined her head toward Cole. “If you’ll excuse us, Lord Linley.”

  Cole raised his hand to keep her at his side but relented. There would be time to make himself clear. As she and Hamish walked away, Hamish looked over his shoulder at Cole. It wasn’t the triumphant look Cole would expect but a speculative one that raised chill bumps along his arms.

  Hamish was a problem for tomorrow. For today he would focus on plans to ferret out and rid his coastline of smugglers.

  Chapter 5

  Cole retrieved his horse and made his way toward Ottery Saint Mary, mud-spattered breeches and boots and all. He hoped to find Piers and Liam for some much-needed counsel before talking with the head of the guard who was tasked with protecting the coast.

  Or should he go to Lord Abbott first? Abbott was a nice enough fellow but rather dim-witted and dull. Cole wasn’t sure what sort of help he’d be in the situation. He also wasn’t sure whether Abbott was capable of keeping his mouth shut until Cole had a better idea of who was involved.

  Normally sleepy, Ottery Saint Mary bustled with activity. It was the last market day before Christmastide celebrations began. He had been lost in a fog for months. Stepping into the Cockerel’s Nest for ale and news brought a rush of memories. Greetings went up right and left on his walk to the bar, and he took his time to shake hands and ask after wives or sons or daughters.

  He ordered an ale and turned to scan the room, surprised to see Lord Abbott seated at a corner table with a dark-haired man who was a stranger. Cole debated a moment before laying a coin on the bar top, retrieving his drink, and approaching the two men.

  Lord Abbott spotted him, and his boyish face lit with genuine welcome. “Cole. I suppose I should address you as Lord Linley now. Terribly sorry about your recent tragedies. A damn shame.”

  “Thank you, Abbott.” Cole wondered how he could maneuver a private conversation with him. He glanced toward the stranger, whose spectacles did little to blunt a pair of sharp green eyes. His expression was bland, but Cole sensed an alertness he often observed in predators in the wild.

  “Let me introduce you. Cole, Lord Linley, this is Mr. Gray Masterson, an old school chum of mine.” Abbott indicated an empty chair. “Please, join us.”

  Cole and Masterson shook hands, and Cole took a seat. “Linley House resides close to the cliffs, does it not, my lord?” Masterson asked.

  “Indeed it does. I spent my childhood playing pirate along the cliffs,” Cole said, debating whether to take the opening Masterson had conveniently offered him. Perhaps he could take an oblique tact. He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “I’ve often wondered if smugglers have used the cliffs for their business.”

  Abbott cast an inscrutable look toward Masterson, who didn’t break eye contact with Cole. Although he hid his interest better than Abbott. Something in his demeanor radiated danger. “Did something happen to make you wonder this?”

  A pang of caution had Cole stepping carefully. Masterson and Abbott were a little too interested. Diana was right about one thing. The smugglers could be greasing anyone’s palm. What if Masterson was the head of the ring, and Abbott was profiting under the table?

  “Nothing in particular. Just a fancy I’ve carried since boyhood when I was fed stories by my nursemaid.” He rose and made a small bow, leaving his ale half finished. “If you’ll excuse me. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Masterson. You must come to the Christmastide fete at Linley House tomorrow.”

  Masterson inclined his head, his smile calculating and thoughtful. “It would be my honor, my lord.”

  Cole left the tavern more conflicted than ever about a path forward. If he couldn’t trust Lord Abbott, Cole didn’t have much confidence in the head of the guard. He made his way toward the edge of the village and the churchyard.

  The black iron gate creaked open, and Cole whipped his hat off. His father and brothers had been interred in the family crypt below the Linley chapel, but Cole wished they were buried here where the salty sea air could touch their graves. Instead, they moldered in th
e dark, shut away from life.

  His father would never see him marry or have children. While he was beset by sadness, a singular anger welled up. His father had seemed to give up when his two oldest sons died. Why hadn’t Cole been enough for his father to live? He swallowed down a lump.

  Familiar laughter brought him around. Piers and Liam and their tutor, Mr. Martin, walked along the lane, and Cole left the graveyard to offer a greeting.

  “Didn’t expect to see you in town today, Cole. Thought you’d be elbows deep in planning tomorrow’s fete,” Liam said.

  “I’m the last person you want planning a fete. Lettie and Cook have it well in hand.” Cole inclined his head. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Martin.”

  “And you, Master Cole. Or should I say, Lord Linley.” Mr. Martin’s voice held only an echo of his French heritage. His parents had sensed the rising tide of discontent well before Madame Guillotine had reigned its terror over France, and they’d settled in Ottery Saint Mary when Mr. Martin was a lad.

  “Mr. Martin is leaving Ottery Saint Mary soon,” Piers said with a sad half smile. “In fact, he’s leaving before Christmastide ends.”

  The Christmastide season ended on Twelfth Night, less than two weeks hence. “That’s a shame. We’ll miss you. What is your destination?” Cole asked.

  “London. When the war is finally over, I’d like to see my homeland once more and perhaps settle there.” Mr. Martin gave a shake of his head. “If the war ever ends.”

  Cole had known Mr. Martin for many years. The learned man had stitched himself into the fabric of the town and their lives and was well respected. But he was also French. A fact Cole had always been aware of but only now examined the implications of.

  “Mrs. Hambridge mentioned you came into an unexpected inheritance, Mr. Martin.” Although Cole posed it as a statement, he hoped one of the men would elaborate.

  “Yes, a bequest from an English cousin,” Mr. Martin said. “My mother was half-English, you know.”

  “I didn’t know,” Cole said. The information would be easy enough to verify given time. Time Cole did not have. Was Mr. Martin the leader of the smuggling ring? Was the shipment tucked away in the caves the last he would oversee? Were illegal goods really the source of his inheritance?