The Last Chance Christmas Ball

by Mary Jo Putney

  Her dapple gray mare, Misty, was in a mood to run, so Roxie released her into a fast canter. She was halfway to Holbourne when she saw another rider, a woman who was coming down the next hill over. She rode beautifully, and since her mount was one of the Abbey’s horses, she must be a guest.

  The woman spotted Roxie and gave a friendly wave. The two riding paths intersected near the Abbey, so on impulse, Roxie made a sweeping arm motion in a wordless invitation to race.

  The other woman understood, and they set their mounts into a gallop at the same time. After an exhilarating charge down the hill and onto the flat, Roxie reached the intersection in a dead heat with the other woman. Laughing, she slowed Misty to an easy trot. “Lovely!” she exclaimed. “I’m Roxanne Hayward. Are you a guest at Holbourne?”

  The other woman was young and had an unfashionably tanned complexion, but it suited her. That thick tawny hair must be glorious when it was released.

  As she fell into place beside Roxie, she replied, “Yes, I’m Lily Tremaine, one of Lady Holly’s many godchildren. Are you another?”

  “No, I’m a neighbor, from Haywick Grange. I’ve spent half my life at the Abbey, so I’m more or less an honorary niece.” Roxie studied the other woman, admiring her exotic looks. “Is this your first Holbourne Christmas ball?”

  “Yes, I’ve been in India for the last ten years.” Lily Tremaine inhaled deeply, her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling.

  “Do tell me about India! I’ve always been intrigued by it, but I’ve never met a woman who lived there.”

  “I’ve ridden on elephants,” Lily said obligingly. “Is that a good start to a monologue?”

  “It certainly is! Please monologue on.”

  Roxie guessed that Lily Tremaine was generally reserved, but under the influence of Roxie’s interest, she opened up and told amusing tales of her years in India. She would be a fine asset at a house party where most of the guests already knew each other’s stories.

  By the time they reached the Holbourne stables, the two were on a first name basis and Roxie’s anxiety had eased. This made her better company at the house party breakfast. With Lady Caroline in London, Roxie moved comfortably into the role of daughter of the house, working in tandem with the countesses to ensure that all the guests were well cared for.

  Luckily, her services weren’t needed after breakfast so she could return home. Haywick Grange’s needs didn’t vanish just because the mistress of the estate was involved with house parties and impossible men.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next night Roxie took her carriage to Holbourne Abbey in deference to the formal evening and her silk ball gown. She was as nervous as a cat on a griddle, but at least by the end of the evening, she’d know for sure if Kim really didn’t want her. She supposed that his plan to leave Holbourne made his rejection clear, but after all they’d meant to each other, she needed to see him at least once before he left.

  The Abbey was glittering with lights and fragrant with the scent of greens. She’d been attending the ball since she was sixteen, and before that, she’d spent the night of the ball in the Holbourne nursery with the Stretton children and occasional other child visitors. They’d peer through the bannisters on the upper level of the atrium to watch guests arrive.

  She and Caroline would ooh and ahh over the gowns, and as they became older, they made similar sounds over the handsome gentlemen. Later, after being firmly escorted back to the nursery, they’d have a children’s feast from some of the delicacies being served downstairs. Those were simpler, happier days.

  As a de facto member of the family, she was invited to the dinner that preceded the ball along with house guests and other particularly close friends. After handing over her cloak, she followed the laughter into the reception room where guests were chatting and sipping their pre-dinner drinks.

  She was interested to see her friend Sarah Langsdale looking adoringly up at Kim’s friend Ivo, now Lord Harris. Even more interesting was that Ivo was looking adoringly right back. When Sarah glanced away from Ivo long enough to see Roxie, she gave a slow, satisfied wink. Roxie grinned back. Later, she’d find them both and thank Ivo for saving Kim’s life and pledge money to Sarah’s new orphanage, but first she needed to find Edward and tell him of her plans for the night.

  She was scanning the reception room looking for him when she noticed Lily Tremaine quietly standing by one wall, a glass of sherry in her hand. Since Lily knew few people, Roxie moved to her side and said, “Good evening! Your gown is very lovely, and I suspect that beautiful shawl is warm protection against our Northumbrian winter.”

  Lily smiled back. “Yes, but I’ve discovered the conservatory. I can go there when I feel the need for tropical warmth and color.” A touch of mischief in her voice, she added, “Your golden gown is splendid, but I see you also have a shawl.”

  “I arrived layered like an onion,” Roxie agreed as she accepted a glass of sherry from a passing footman. “That’s a cold wind blowing out there! I shed my cloak at the door and the shawl will be set aside when the dancing begins.”

  Lowering her voice, she said confidentially, “My décolletage is rather dramatic, and I don’t wish to distract the gentlemen from their dinner.”

  Lily chuckled, but they were summoned to dinner before the conversation could continue. Roxie was seated next to Edward. He nodded gravely and complimented her appearance, looking as tense as she felt. Was he having second thoughts about marrying her? He must know that she would never hold him to marriage if he changed his mind. More likely he was just anxious for the matter to be settled.

  There was a ripple of surprise when Lady Caroline arrived and was seated just before the first course was served. She looked lovely in a silver gown, but tense. Roxie gave her a welcoming smile, then glanced inquiringly at Edward. He murmured, “I didn’t know she was coming, either. I wonder where Piers is?”

  That question was answered later when Caro’s husband, Piers Camden, arrived in an advanced state of travel dishevelment. He had the unshakeable good manners of a politician, but under his polish he looked ruffled. He also watched his wife as if he wanted to sweep her off to the nearest bedchamber. Most interesting.

  Knowing she’d hear the story eventually, Roxie applied herself to her dinner. She suspected that if she was more ladylike, she’d be unable to eat when anxious, but nerves had never come between her and a good meal.

  Kim had always liked her robust appetite. On occasion, he’d murmured naughty comments about how her enjoyment of food implied she had other robust appetites.

  Don’t think about Kim until dinner is over!

  The dinner party was far too public to speak with Edward seriously, so she concentrated on being a good guest through the endless meal. Finally, Aunt Elizabeth rose and gave the signal to withdraw. As Roxie stood, she said quietly to Edward, “I’m going to make my final attempt to see Kim now. Wish me luck.”

  Eyes grave, he said, “Always, my dear. If anyone can bring him back to us, it’s you.”

  Grateful for his support and understanding, Roxie slipped away in the flurry of arriving local guests and the last-minute preparations for the ball. When she was out of sight of the other guests, she walked swiftly to the back of the house and the passage that led to the tower.

  The passage was a pleasant place in summer, but bitterly cold in late December. Tugging her richly patterned Indian shawl tight around her shoulders, she crossed to the tower. The door was heavy and medieval, with gouges from ancient swords hacked into the dark wood.

  A small lantern hung inside, sufficient to light Welles’s return later. Also sufficient for a lady storming the tower, where her future waited. At the top of the steps, she paused to catch her breath and collect herself. Then she reached for the recently installed doorknob, thinking that if Welles hadn’t left it unlocked, she’d have his head.

  The knob turned easily under her hand. Heart pounding, she swung the door open. The room was well lit with a fire and two lamps so i
t was easy to identify the man sitting by the fireplace, his long legs stretched out as he read a book. She studied his left profile, his too thin body and too long hair, drinking in every familiar detail hungrily.

  Kim said in a rusty voice, “You’re back early, Jamie. Did you forget something?”

  “I have forgotten nothing, Kim,” she said quietly.

  “Roxie!” Kim lurched to his feet, his book spilling to the floor and chair legs scraping. He almost fell over, but he grabbed a cane and steadied himself as he stared at her with wide, shocked eyes.

  He took a step toward her, then froze. He was almost gaunt, despite all the good Holbourne food Welles had brought up. His right arm moved awkwardly and clearly the cane was for serious use, not fashion.

  And there were scars. Not one but several marked the right side of his face. One across his temple into his dark hair. Another from his cheekbone almost to his ear. A third slashed down his throat. That one looked particularly savage, and she guessed it was responsible for the altered timbre of his voice.

  Trying not to think of all the pain he’d suffered, she said, “Welles assured me that you weren’t a monster who would send children screaming, and he was right. You look remarkably like a man who once wanted me to marry him. But he broke our betrothal without so much as of a word of explanation. That was rather monstrous.”

  “Roxie,” he said again, his voice hoarse. “You shouldn’t be here!”

  “Why not?” she lashed out, suddenly furious. “Because you’re too much of a coward to face me and your family? How can you just lock yourself away from the people who love you? Your father, your mother, your brother, Lady Holly—you have been breaking their hearts!” Her voice cracked and she realized that tears were as close as anger.

  She took a deep breath and said in a quieter voice, “Now that I’m here, speak to me.” She caught his gaze, searching his haunted eyes to find the man she loved. “Surely, I deserve that much.”

  Kim squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could block out Roxie’s words. Better yet, her very presence. Welles must have left the door unlocked, damn him!

  But she’d always been a hard girl to elude, even when she was barely knee high to a pony. Opening his eyes, he said flatly, “You deserve more than a scarred cripple like me, Red. Marry Edward. He wants to marry you. He’s admitted it in so many words.”

  Halfway across the room, Roxie perched on the edge of the table he used as a desk, her slippered feet swinging gently. “That certainly sounds like the Kimball Stretton I’ve known for twenty years. Pigheaded and noble to a fault.”

  He almost smiled. The comment was so very, very Roxie. “I’m just being realistic. I’m not the man I was. I never will be again. You need a husband who is whole and healthy, and Edward needs a woman as full of life as you.”

  She shrugged. “He needs to provide an heir for Holbourne since you seem to have abandoned the idea of marriage. He and I are the best of friends, our properties march together, and all those splendid practical considerations. We could both do worse. That doesn’t mean he needs me in particular.”

  Kim’s bad leg was starting to tremble, so he sat again, glad his face was shadowed so she couldn’t see him well. “Has he proposed to you yet?”

  “Edward has offered.” As Roxie replied, she regarded him with grave gray eyes. She wore a shimmering golden gown with a richly patterned bronze and gold shawl tied loosely over her shoulders, and she was shatteringly beautiful. “I told him I couldn’t give an answer until I’d spoken to you.”

  So that was why she was here. “We’re speaking now. You can see what I’ve become.” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. “You’ve done your duty. Now you can head down those stairs and tell my brother it’s all right to announce your betrothal at the ball.”

  She studied him reflectively. “A captain is by definition a leader of men. You’ve been giving orders to your troops for years. But that seems to have harmed your character because you’ve apparently acquired the delusion that you know what’s best for Edward and for me.”

  “It would be best for you to marry him.” He stared at her, trying to make her understand. “You are a bright, beautiful, sunny-natured heiress. Why weigh yourself down with a monstrous cripple?”

  “Because I love you?” she asked softly. “Yes, I loved your flawless young face, but only because it was part of you. You were a handsome boy, now you’re a handsome man who happens to have some scars. Still yourself. We all change with time. You loved my young girl’s body. Would you have continued to love me after I bore your children and no longer looked like that young girl?”

  “That’s not the same thing!” he exclaimed, exasperated.

  “Of course, it is!” she retorted. “That’s why the wedding service says ‘for better or worse, in sickness and health.’ We never know what the future holds. Love is what carries people through what life gives us. Love and vows.”

  “But we aren’t married. There’s no reason for you to suffer along with me!”

  “I fell in love with you the day we met, when you let me ride on your horse and said you’d keep me safe.” She blinked hard. “You can’t begin to know what that meant to me. I’d lost my parents, and then—I found you. There has been a connection between us ever since. Can you deny it?”

  No, he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to. The unbreakable thread of connection between them was thrumming like a violin string. But that didn’t mean Roxie should ruin her life because of loyalty to their past.

  She’d always been able to talk circles around him. He was better at physical responses. He used his good left arm to lever himself out of the chair. “Look at me, Roxie! I’ve recovered better than the surgeons thought possible, but I’ll never be what I was. An artillery shell exploded next to me and I have scars all down the right side of my body. Skin and muscles were ripped up, bones were broken. I would have died if Ivo hadn’t managed to get me to a field hospital, even though he was wounded himself.”

  With difficulty, Kim lifted his right arm as far as he could and showed her his mangled right hand. “I lost my little finger and half of the third finger.” He tried to make a fist and showed her how badly he managed. “I’ve regained some of my strength, but my arm and hand will never be what they were.”

  “Then it’s fortunate that you’ve always favored your left hand,” she said calmly. “If the shell had fallen to your left, you’d be worse off.”

  He blinked. Again, that was so very . . . Roxie. “It isn’t just my hand.” He took a few steps, limping. “I’m rather proud that I can walk at all. It wasn’t considered likely. But I need a cane if I’m taking more than a few steps, and even then I’m in danger of falling flat on my face.”

  “I can only guess at how maddening this is for a man who was as strong and healthy as you always were,” she said, her eyes compassionate. “But your life isn’t over. You still have your mind, your ability to speak.” She gave him a swift smile. “Your stubbornness. You won’t regain all of your abilities, but you’ve already done a great deal of healing, and you’ll do more. It’s only been six months.”

  “True,” he admitted, knowing his strength and balance were still improving. “But I will always have limitations.” His gaze dropped to his hand. Fingers didn’t grow back.

  She regarded his hand, unconsciously flexing her own fingers. “It looks like you could hold reins. Do you think you might be able to ride again? Not being able to ride would be almost as bad as losing the ability to walk.”

  “Actually, a few nights ago Welles and I went down to the stables,” Kim admitted. “He saddled Slow Sally, the greatest slug there, and helped me mount her. I was able to stay on her back and guide her around. But I’ll never be a neck or nothing rider again.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” she said tartly. “I used to worry that you’d kill yourself taking insane jumps. Worse, you’d kill your horse!”

  He couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “I see your prior
ities haven’t changed, Red.”

  “No, they haven’t,” she said softly. “I love you more than anyone or anything else in my life. I always will. Once you said you loved me. Have you changed so much that you no longer do?”

  He hesitated, wondering if he could lie well enough to persuade her that he didn’t love her anymore. But Roxie had always been able to see right through him. “Of course, I still love you. I read and reread your letters until they were in tatters. I dreamed of you. When I was out of my head after Waterloo, you came to me as a vision, taking my hand and telling me that I did not have your permission to die. But that doesn’t mean we should marry.”

  “Are you sure?” Roxie slid from the table, landing lightly in her dancing slippers. With slow deliberation, she pulled off her shawl and dropped it to the floor. Underneath she wore a gown cut so low that she could stop a saint in his tracks.

  In his months of pain and despair, Kim had wondered if desire had left him forever, but now he wondered no more. As he stared, forgetting to breathe, she untied a small bow on her right hip.

  Her bodice was a crisscross arrangement that slid from her shoulders with sensual inevitability. Another tug undid her whole gown. The shimmering fabric glided over her shapely hips in a cascade of golden silk, leaving her wearing only stays, stockings, and a translucent shift.

  “Where did you get that gown?” he asked in a strangled voice.

  “I came up with the idea and my talented maid Betty was able to make it. I wanted a gown that I could remove without help. Naturally, the stays are specially made to go with the gown.” She pulled a pair of ribbons and the stays fell away, leaving her barely covered by her shift.

  “I can only think of one injury that would interfere with marriage.” She walked toward him, her breasts swaying gently under the translucent muslin of her shift. “And from what I can see, that’s one injury you didn’t receive.”