Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

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Once Upon a Christmas Wedding Page 202

by Scarlett Scott


  He should've been a priest with those eyes. She felt as though they saw through everything, even her clothing. She blushed again, fire crawling through her skin and devouring her in pure heat. No, he couldn’t be a priest; those eyes on her were wicked.

  She could barely stand to look at him, he was so handsome, and yet she would have to. She needed to bring him to her side, either to stop the marriage altogether or to agree to an alternative.

  Bella taking her sister's place.

  The only trace of boy in him were those eyes, and yet they brought no comfort. This was a man. A real man and she had no experience with real men. All their social interaction had been with young ladies and their fathers, sometimes grandfathers. Young men were not thick on the ground during their social activities in Bath. They preferred wilder locales like London. They didn't arrive at gatherings until much later. There was a whole separate way of living for young men that had made meeting them almost impossible for Bella and Carina. They'd simply been too secluded, Carina's health too fragile to remain at any event long enough to find themselves in the company of men like Sir Sebastian. Men of action, men with reputations.

  A rake.

  Her mother would say he was, but since he was Carina's betrothed, none of that mattered. They hadn't needed to meet any new men because Carina was already engaged. Bella's situation hadn't been considered at all. Carina was twenty-one and Bella still twenty. Carina must marry first, her mother said. It was the way of things. How lucky for Bella that Carina was already engaged.

  Bella couldn't help feeling like she'd been waiting her whole life for Carina to marry, so she may begin her own life, and yet it was now up to Bella to stop it.

  Bella would have to convince him that she could take her sister's place, and yet she had none of the skills required. All she had was the truth.

  She hoped that would be enough.

  The party moved into the drawing room, and steaming pots of tea were brought in with plates of sandwiches and biscuits. Bella's stomach rumbled. They hadn’t anything to eat since breakfast this morning.

  Sebastian accepted a cup of tea. He turned toward the window, pulled his flask from his pocket, and poured a healthy dollop of whiskey into the tea. His stomach was already in knots over the arrival of Miss Bright and Miss Isabella.

  Though they looked very similar with their dark hair and green eyes, there was a stark difference between the two. Bella radiated vitality and wellness while Miss Bright was a shade too pale and thinner than her sister. Sickly, he would say, but only to himself so as not to insult her. But that was precisely how she looked. The color of her eyes dull, her lips a bit purplish as if she had been holding her breath, and her breathing short and rapid even though they were all sitting in a comfortable room with a cheerful fire filling the room with warmth.

  He wondered if the secret that Calvin and Lord Holden had been keeping was that Miss Bright was ill. Was it a temporary illness? Why hide it? If she needed time to recover, they could move the wedding. There was no reason for them to marry immediately. The date was set for three days’ time, Christmas morning, but it was a small affair, with only the close family in attendance and staff. They could put it off, couldn't they?

  Sebastian took a sip of his tea mixture, and his anxiety settled a bit. But he had to get to the bottom of this mystery, or it would tear him up from the inside. He would not make a good impression on Miss Bright if he himself were too sick to act normal.

  Everyone tended to assume he was a drunk, but the truth was the liquor was only a ruse. It worked to calm his nerves. When it didn’t, he ended up hovering over the chamber pot anyway. There was something about social discourse and meeting new people or being surrounded by strangers. It was an embarrassing weakness to have as a man. He couldn't explain it.

  The stomach aches, cold sweats, shivering, evacuating whatever food or liquid was inside him until nothing was left but bile and fire. He'd wake in the morning feeling as though he had drunk a barrel of whiskey and most assumed he had.

  It was easier to confess to a problem with drink than to admit being around large groups of people made him anxious, so anxious that it made him physically ill. Whenever he had to face something important—especially in the presence of his father—like elaborate dinners with his father’s investors. Sebastian didn't want to let his father down.

  Again.

  “She couldn't produce another child after you, lad. You tried to kill her.”

  “Don't embarrass me, lad. I don't have another son to replace you.”

  Those were the words Sebastian had grown up hearing. An endless litany. He’d tried his best to be everything his father wanted. But it was never enough to erase the past mistakes.

  He succeeded most of the time, but on the few occasions he didn't, his father always made a point to remind him that he'd once tried to murder his own mother, that he'd almost killed his mother.

  That he was the only heir and it was his fault.

  Just thinking about it now made him sweat. He had to take a deep breath as the familiar bunching of organs preceded what would be a necessary trip to the chamber pot. Sebastian set down his cup, and he took out a handkerchief to wipe the back of his neck. He was about to make some excuse to leave when Miss Isabella appeared before him, her gaze scanning his face.

  “Are you well?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said as he took his flask out, flipped it open, and gulped down some whiskey. He exhaled and shoved it back in his pocket. “I'm chilled after that ride. My hands and toes feel numb.”

  “Why don’t you sit by the fire?” she asked.

  He glanced at the fire and then back at her. Honestly, it was warmer just standing next to her. The need for heat was a lie. His throat was on fire from the whiskey, his stomach burning up from the roiling acid.

  He needed to distract himself from his own predicament.

  “How was your journey this morning?” he asked.

  “The journey was tolerable. We were rather fortunate the roads stayed dry. It's been six years since we moved away to Bath where the climate is so much better for my sister,” she said.

  There was something in her gaze. Was she trying to tell him something without having to say it outright? His instincts pricked. There was a reason for the move to Bath. Taking to the waters is what many people did when dealing with a prolonged illness. Is that what she was trying to tell him? She was confirming his suspicion.

  “Your brother told me there is just eleven months between you.

  “For one full month we are the same age,” she replied.

  “And—” He had to clear his throat. A notch had risen, burning the back of his tongue as though he'd swallowed fire. “I must ask you,” he said before it was too late to leave the room and relieve himself of the poison. His father would likely think he was simply bored of them, which wasn't true. Any man looking at Miss Isabella could never be bored. The glittery green of her gaze, the gentle sweep of her full bottom lip could entertain his mind for hours just staring at them. But he knew from experience this mysterious illness would not let him stay and enjoy her company or that of her sister’s.

  Which he was determined to do.

  He had to figure out what exactly was going on.

  He finished his cup of tea, washing the bitterness from his mouth. He glanced at their two families, his father and Lord Holden deep in conversation with each other. Lady Holden and his mother huddled around Miss Bright, discussing the wedding preparations. His mother was elated to finally have a wedding to plan.

  “Your brother read your sister’s last letter and thought it might be you writing them,” he blurted. His voice lowered so that no one else would hear them.

  She bit her lip and color filled her cheeks. “Yes, well that is true. I have the better penmanship, you see, while she has better skill with a paintbrush. But they are her words. Mostly.” She grimaced. “If I'm being honest, her letters would've been a lot shorter had I not added a bit of my ow
n influence to her prose.”

  “Well, I must say I appreciated the lengthier version on my return voyage from the continent, but I was surprised to hear they were your words, not hers.”

  “They are mostly hers. I didn't think anyone could tell the difference.”

  “Your brother can.”

  “Ah, yes. He does know me very well, even though we don't see each other that frequently. He writes diligently for a brother. I don't think that's common, do you?”

  “I wouldn't know as I am an only child, and he didn't write to me while I was away.”

  “Do gentlemen not write to each other?”

  “I’m not sure. I don't have many male friends. I've been on the move the last few years.” Searching for a cure for himself, but he left that unsaid.

  “Do you enjoy traveling?” she asked.

  “Not particularly,” he answered honestly. “But there were things I wanted to do and see before my father bid me to return here to take over duties and marry.” He paused. “I must ask you something,” he said. “Please don't take offense.”

  Her eyes widened slightly, a kaleidoscope of vivid green. He almost forgot what he was about to say, but he grasped hold of his senses just before they slipped away.

  Sebastian didn't know how to precisely ask, but what he knew about her from her letters, which oddly made him feel like he knew her better than he knew Carina, he thought she would appreciate honesty better than polite falsehood.

  “Is your sister ill?

  Her eyes widened farther, and she swallowed, looking away.

  “She is,” she whispered. “I was hoping to discuss it with you privately. There is something important you need to know about her. Is there a place we could meet to talk about Carina?

  He surveyed the room, as his instincts rang in alarm. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Lady Holden was watching them with a narrow-eyed glare.

  “After dinner, I will smoke a cigar on the back terrace. Wear a jacket. It will be very cold.” She nodded and she stepped back from him as her mother stood up from the settee.

  “Sir Sebastian, come and join us. Carina has been so looking forward to furthering your acquaintance.”

  “Of course, Lady Holden. I will be right there.” He did as he ought to do, joining his mother and Miss Bright, his intended bride. Until he knew the truth, he had no choice but to go along with their plan. But the question that burned in his mind was how ill she could be, and if her family knew how serious it was, and if they conspired to hide it from him. He couldn't marry an ill woman. He couldn't take a sick woman to bed.

  Chapter 5

  Sebastian finished dressing for dinner. He would soon have to join his mother and father downstairs to return to the Burrow for a feast and celebration of the betrothal. But first, he wanted to speak with his father alone. He knocked on the study door, knowing his father's habit to put off dressing to the last second, wanting to complete as much business as possible before the evening began. At his father's summons, he entered the study.

  “Sebastian, are you ready to go to dinner?

  “I am, Father.”

  “Good. Tell me, what did you think of Miss Bright upon meeting her? She's as beautiful as her mother was at that age when she married Holden. I’m especially fond of her temperament. She’ll be a biddable wife,” he said.

  Biddable.

  She certainly would be, when she was bedridden from whatever illness she carried. He recalled the way she’d barely spoken that afternoon as he’d sat with her and their mothers. Her mother spoke for her, and Miss Bright nodded in agreement with every word, her breathing short and wheezy to his ear. She frequently sniffed from a handkerchief, and he’d detected the scent of eucalyptus.

  “About that, I've been made aware of something and I think it's rather important enough to warrant a discussion regarding Miss Bright’s health.”

  His father frowned. “What about it?”

  “She seems ill. That’s why she moved away.

  “Her father has assured me she is more than fit.”

  “Miss Isabella says Bath is the only place she can live.”

  “I'm aware of that. The changing seasons here in Fox Glenn irritate her breathing, ’tis all. They prefer to remain in Bath and that doesn't have to change after she begets an heir. She can spend as much time as she wants in Bath and return here in the winter when the air is more agreeable to her. See? It's an excellent arrangement. You can carry on as you always have and so can she. You’re a lucky fellow.”

  “But Miss Isabella seemed very concerned for Carina's well-being,” He wasn’t going to mention he’d agreed to meet with her alone to discuss it tonight.

  “Most likely just jealousy,” Lord Drummond said. “She's had to wait a long time for her sister to marry. Once the deed is done, she'll be able to have her own suitors. Think nothing of it. Perhaps she caught sight of you wants you for herself.”

  Sebastian rolled his eyes but his neck grew hot.

  “I’m serious. It’s more than jealousy. Did you look at her? She's thin and pale. What if she's not strong enough, what if she—” His voice broke off, his throat tightening around the words like a noose.

  What if bearing him a child nearly kills her like he’d almost done to his mother? The event had turned his father against him from birth, splitting their family with a lasting resentment. Would Sebastian feel the same? Sebastian had lived with guilt his entire life until he hated himself so much that being in the company of others made him sick. He blinked.

  “Her own mother delivered three children without issue. It shouldn't be a concern. That's partly why I agreed to the match.”

  “Was her mother as ill as Miss Carina seems to be?”

  “I don’t know. I hardly remember.” His father shrugged. “Childbearing is what women are made for. We have a contract, Sebastian. Our word is our honor. We will fulfill the contract and so will they. Holden would not have arranged it, otherwise. Are you questioning his word?”

  “No, but perhaps they're not giving her enough consideration. Perhaps we should wait longer, until she's stronger.”

  “What do you think we've been doing? I wanted you to sow your wild oats, and I wanted to see how long she would live. Her father and mother have assured me she is in the best of health and it is time. She isn't getting any younger. You will do this, Sebastian, because I bid it so. You owe me many children—children I should've had with your mother but couldn't because of you.”

  Sebastian couldn't speak.

  “You were a stubborn infant, crying all the time. You taxed her body even after you came out of it. This is how you make it up to me. I’ve been lenient with you. I didn't want you to do many things. I didn't want you to tour the continent for two years. I thought it was too dangerous and couldn't risk losing you. You are the key to the Drummond legacy, but your mother insisted you needed the time, so I let you do it but I'm not letting you out of this contract. It would be an embarrassment to me as much is your drinking is.

  “I hear the stories of how you drink yourself to sickness. It is your duty to provide the offspring. An heir and a spare, and a few more after that. Be thankful I've secured you a young pretty wife of good breeding. You will no longer have to do the rounds in the London season, going to balls and whatnot. You can visit her in Bath as much as you want if you find you develop true feelings for her, but otherwise your time belongs here, managing the estate and filling it with heirs.”

  His father clapped him on the shoulder. “That is the most important part, Sebastian. Lots of heirs. Our name must continue. Our honor must continue. This is how you do it. Don't let me down again.”

  Sebastian’s stomach clench liked he’d been punched in the gut. “I've done everything you've ever asked me to do.”

  “And I appreciate that you try, son, I really do. You see, all a man has is his legacy. I was shorted when you were born. Sure, if she had died, I could've married another, but she didn't die, she almost died. I love your mot
her. I would've been heartbroken, but I would've married again and been able to bear more heirs with another woman.”

  Sebastian knew he was big and intimidating, but he wasn't a man that was prone to violence, quick to temper or yelling. In that moment, he wanted to put his fist in his father's chin.

  Knock him out cold.

  He spoke as though his mother's only purpose had been to provide children, as if being the loving caring person she was had no meaning—no significance—in Sebastian's life.

  “Don't you dare speak of her that way,” he said.

  “Speak of who, Miss Bright?”

  “Mother, as though it would've been easier if she had died.”

  “If I'm being honest it would have been, but she lived, and she just couldn't bear me any more children. It was a hard blow to take but I endured, knowing that at some point you could provide me with the heirs I needed.”

  Disgusted, saliva and bile pooled in Sebastian's mouth. He had to get out of there, or he was going to be sick.

  “I can't believe you would say such a thing.”

  “That's the way it is,” he said. “Stop being so damn sentimental. Your mother coddled you too much. I've secured this future for you. I've secured the legacy. One day, you’ll thank me. She comes with a dowry and land. I can't tell you what a boon that is. Calvin reminds me so much of his father, and it will be like living my life all over again. You may be angry now, but in a few years, after she's born you two or three children, you'll thank me.”

  Sebastian turned away.

  “Don't you turn your back on me. Face me like a man.”

  Sebastian ground his teeth and turned to meet his father's gaze.

  “This is life. This is the way we do things in the aristocracy. We arrange marriages for the benefit of our legacies, for the continuation of our bloodline.”

  “I’ve never heard it put so coldly,” Sebastian replied.

  His father stiffened. “You will marry Miss Bright. You will honor the contract—your duty to me—or I will never forgive you. Your mother will never forgive you. Do you want to disappoint her?”

 

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