Christmas Cinderellas

by Sophia James

‘You protected her, just as I did. We both did that because we could do nothing else and she needed help. It’s Christmas, Father, the season of goodwill and new beginnings. Let’s make one now—tonight, this Christmas. I think Mama would be pleased in her place above if we should agree to bury bad feelings and concentrate on what is left between us, now and in the future.’

  He watched his father nod.

  ‘She would have been pleased to meet Mrs Dalrymple, too, Christopher, I am sure of it. She is the only woman I have ever seen you truly happy with. And she is strong. Like you are. Together you will be invincible.’

  North felt his words as a warmth. ‘Come inside now, Papa. It’s cold out here.’

  He put his hand out and his father grasped his fingers tightly, almost as if he might never let go.

  Ariana was waiting at the window, her eyes worried.

  ‘It’s fine. Father just wanted to remember my mother at Christmas.’ He said this as they climbed back inside.

  ‘I understand,’ she returned, and her smile lit up the room around them, making him wonder just how much of the conversation on the roof she might have heard.

  But it didn’t matter. Soon there would be no secrets whatsoever between them.

  In the library again, after seeing his father into the hands of his servants, North looked tentative—a man who was thinking of words to say and searching for the right ones.

  Ariana had not been able to hear much of his conversation with his father from her place in the room, but had heard the mention of his mother more than a few times. She sat and waited, her fingers clenched.

  ‘I am not quite as people imagine me, Aria. The rumours—’ He stopped, as though taking stock. ‘My mother was different. I am sure you must have heard. Everybody said so.’

  He waited until she agreed.

  ‘The thing is she was also...mad is the wrong word, I think. Perhaps delusional is a better one.’

  ‘Delusional about what?’

  ‘About things that were trying to get into Stevenage Manor to hurt us. Hurt Papa and me. She thought there were demons and she wanted to stop them. By fire. She thought it was the only way.’

  Everything suddenly dropped into place.

  ‘It was her and not you.’

  His eyes looked desperate, and the pulse in his throat was thumping.

  ‘You took the blame for your mother?’

  ‘I did. Because she could not have weathered it and neither could my father.’

  ‘You tried to put the fire out?’

  ‘I got the horses out of the stables, but after that... Fire has a sound to it, and a smell, and when the flames reached higher than the rooftops I knew I was defeated.’

  She imagined him there, beating back flame as well as fury and horror and sadness. She imagined him afterwards too, crucified and alone, burnt and banished, the son of broken people in a circumstance that was unthinkable.

  ‘I love you, North.’

  The words came simply, quiet and true, one after the other, bare and honest, with no hidden meaning and nothing held back.

  ‘I am not a saint.’

  ‘You have told me that before, and I say again that I do not require you to be one.’

  ‘But I am a man who will love you in the way that you deserve, with care and passion and devotion. For ever.’

  She began to cry, because it was all she had ever wanted. He was all she had ever wanted.

  ‘Will you marry me, Ariana, as soon as we are able?’ He lifted the gold ring off his middle finger and held it out to her as a token of all he promised. The diamond in the gold winked in the light. ‘I don’t want a big wedding but I want a quick one, here at Stevenage, as soon as I can acquire a special licence.’

  ‘Yes!’ Throwing her arms around his neck, she felt herself being lifted and held close. ‘I’ve loved you from the first moment of meeting you, North.’

  He breathed out—as if he had been holding everything in for far too long, as if Odette had finally been freed from the place inside him. Trust and love was a formidable thing...a force that could not be chipped away by doubt.

  Then his lips came down across her own, and the same joy and elation that she’d known every time he had kissed her returned. But this time there was also the knowledge of love, and it was a powerful force.

  He shoved the lock into place as he passed the door. One of his legs disengaged the pile of cushions on the large leather sofa, and his fingers were at the small pearl buttons along her back, causing the gold wool of her gown to fold back. Next he slipped off the sleeves of her silk petticoat and untied her corset with skill. Her breasts came loose and into his hands, waiting there to receive them, their full flesh goose-bumped with nerves.

  Would he like what he was seeing? She was twenty-five, after all, and no longer young...

  ‘You are so beautiful...more beautiful than any woman I have ever seen or dreamed about.’

  His voice was hoarse, emotion threaded through the words, and then his mouth came down upon one nipple, softly at first, and then with more ardour. Passion rolled through her and she felt the years of sadness washed away by love.

  ‘I love you so much, North, that it hurts.’

  She clenched at his hair, saw the darkness of it contrasted against the white of her skin. His fingers were kneading her other breast, so that sensation made her stiffen, searching for more, wanting what she could feel coming, rushing towards her.

  Then it was there, breaking over her in hot waves of airlessness, a feeling rising from within and covering her as she stretched out for it, willing it to last.

  His hand was before her, one finger brushing the tears from her eyes, another tracing the line of her cheek. Telling her without speaking that she was cherished and that he would always keep her safe.

  She felt as if she was floating into him...as if reality had been suspended and the whole world lived just in them and just in here.

  ‘I want more.’

  He laughed.

  ‘I want you to show me how you do this...how you make me feel beautiful.’

  The air around them became quieter, all humour fleeing. ‘I might not be able to stop, Ariana, if—’

  She raised a finger to his lips. ‘I don’t want you to.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘More sure than of anything else in my life.’

  His fingers loosened more of the buttons down her back and she felt the fabric pool around her feet. Left in her corset, stockings, garters and shift, she watched him. What would come next.

  Unexpectedly he swore, a ripe and heartfelt curse, and her hands crossed her chest in self-protection.

  But he shook his head. ‘Even Aphrodite would not hold a candle to you, my love, and she was said to be matchless.’

  His fingers came to her waist and he pushed all the clothes away, leaving her bare and vulnerable.

  ‘No, the goddess of pleasure and passion would pale against your beauty, the sheen of your skin, the curve of your breasts, the softness here and here...’

  He stroked her stomach, and then her thighs, before finding the warmth between her legs. All the time watching to see if she might refuse him. He hoped she could not feel how his heart beat in his chest, could not see how he was struck by desire and also thankfulness. But she did not waver. Rather her legs opened and allowed him in, her eyes closing and her head falling back.

  Trust.

  She gave it without words, but it was there.

  He wished he could lay her down in a bed of rose petals as dewy as her skin, but already his manhood was hard. Undoing the buttons on his fall front, he allowed it space. The Aubusson carpet underfoot would have to do, and the fire would warm her.

  Outside, December rain hit at the windows—an oncoming storm making itself felt.

  Just them. He had never be
fore lived in the moment like this, but the past and the future were lost in the now as he lifted her against him, her clothes left behind, only beribboned garters and sheer stockings left.

  He felt indomitable in a way he never had before, with the truth of who he had been, all his secrets uncovered into light. Well, not all of them, he thought quietly. His scars from the fire lay hidden still beneath the linen of his shirt.

  Laying her down, he followed, pulling her to him so that their bodies touched, the heat of her propelling him on as he sought her centre. Poised on the edge of softness, he waited, tipping her face to his own and letting her understand his need.

  ‘I love you.’

  He said it as a promise, whispered so that she could hear the echo of feeling in his blood and his bones. Then he was within her tightness, seeking entry, slick and hot. Deep and deeper. His hands under her hips tilted her, so that still he penetrated, fully embedded now, inseparable.

  ‘North...?’

  She breathed the question and his lips came down, taking the word inside him, his answer silent.

  He moved. There was no latitude or freedom from such a surge. He wanted Ariana Dalrymple fully as his—wanted to feel her sex cling around his own, asking for more, needing relief as much as he did.

  Her fingernails dug into his back beneath the shirt, small pinpricks of pain that drove him on, his breath ragged with need.

  ‘Come with me, sweetheart, to the very edge of life.’

  He felt her release even as his own started.

  She was lost in sensation, floating in a world she had never known, taken by North to a place that was wondrous and astounding. All the pieces inside her were letting go of each other, until there was only a thread remaining in a tide of heat and promise and feeling.

  Even breathing was difficult as her body stiffened, the far-off response coming closer and taking over her entire body, waves of it streaking inside her like magic. He held her still as she collapsed down on to the carpet, soft beneath her, and she held his hand across her stomach, finding the echoes and pressing.

  The resonance continued, and when she opened her eyes she found his upon her, watching and knowing. There were no words for what had just happened, what was still happening, the wetness between them and the heat. She could only stare and find in the depths of his gaze a pledge that was for ever.

  It was astonishing and shocking. For so many years she had thought lying with a man meant hurt and shame and suffering. Yet here, now, it was beautiful and fine.

  She felt tears pool in her eyes.

  ‘Are you hurt, Aria?’

  His words were given in concern.

  She shook her head. ‘No, I am healed—and that is something I never thought I could be.’

  ‘By love?’

  She reached her arms around his neck and drew him in, glad to feel his lips against her face and then on her mouth.

  This kiss was different again—softer, more gentle, with a cherishing carefulness that was so very wanted.

  He hardened inside her and she smiled, the very thought of it all happening again bringing a pleasure that was wondrous. ‘Love me, North.’

  ‘I do.’

  She woke to birdsong in a room she had not seen before—a large chamber with a substantial fire burning and shelves of books on each wall. The bed was enormous, with four ornately carved wooden posts around it and dark green velvet drapes caught back by tassels of braided gold.

  North lay beside her, still in his unbuttoned white linen shirt, though his trousers had long gone. He was asleep, his face gentler in slumber than it was when awake.

  As if aware of her regard, he opened his eyes.

  ‘Good morning.’ His voice was rough with sleep and there was a dancing lightness in his gaze. ‘Did you rest well, my love?’

  She felt the blood rise quietly in her cheeks. ‘You know that I did not.’

  ‘You were wonderful, Ariana. Wonderful and uninhibited.’

  His hand dived beneath the crisp sheets and the covering of a feather quilt and she felt it trail across her stomach, then lower. With care, she opened to him, and he came again to the secret place that was waiting. She felt him push in further, stretching her, one finger and then another, the swollen flesh gathering around him.

  ‘I want you.’

  She smiled, and closed her hand around his sex as she guided him home.

  Much later she awoke again to hear rain. Heavy rain that darkened the morning light. The clock in the corner showed it to be the hour of eight. Still early enough to escape detection. Still early enough for a little more time.

  His shirt was gone now, pulled off in the heat of their passion, and the scars on his arms were easily seen even in the gloom. Fire had ravaged him, leaving the skin rippled and misshapen, and his absolute beauty everywhere else made it even more shocking.

  Knowing he was awake, she reached out to touch, feeling the pain he must have known with a jolt and understanding his bravery.

  ‘The fire spread to the stables,’ he said as she traced one long indentation. ‘I saved the horses.’

  ‘Who tended you...after...?’ She could barely speak.

  ‘Alistair Botham. He took me to Wales, to his seat there, and nursed me better. When I could walk, I left for America.’

  ‘You did not see your mother again?’

  She knew he had when shards of pain crossed into his eyes.

  ‘My parents came to the Harding seat. They came to make sure my mother’s name remained...untainted. She could not have borne the slurs otherwise, or the threat of being sent to a place that might contain her madness. I agreed. My father took me aside and made sure that I realised she would not be long for this world. He told me that afterwards I could come home again.’

  ‘Still a betrayal?’

  ‘I don’t think he saw it like that, then. I think he viewed it as a duty.’

  ‘But not his?’

  ‘My mother wouldn’t have survived a day without him.’

  ‘So they sacrificed you instead?’

  ‘My mother left me a note before she threw herself off the roof. I found it here in my room, tucked into my writing desk, when I returned. She wrote it in one of her moments of lucidity and told me that she was sorry but she could no longer live at Stevenage, with all its memories. She also said that love was not always an easy thing and she thanked me.’

  Ariana’s hand rested on North’s and she pressed down. ‘Yet sometimes it can be an easy thing, can’t it? It is here, with us.’

  ‘Strength banishes the difficult, I think. That is what I loved about you when we first met, Ariana?’

  ‘In that doorway on Regent Street?’

  ‘You didn’t apologise for who you were perceived to be, and it was so very liberating to be with a woman who was unrepentant even in the face of gossip.’

  ‘Imagine what they might say of us now—here in your bed, dishevelled after a whole night of lovemaking.’

  ‘I think every man I have ever known would be jealous of me—but I also think we should be married quickly to avert more rumour.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘As soon as I can procure a licence.’

  She began to laugh. ‘You don’t do things slowly, my lord, or in halves.’

  ‘Indeed, I don’t, my beauteous will-be wife,’ he said, and his mouth came over hers to seal the bargain.

  Epilogue

  Stevenage Manor, Christmas 1815

  Ariana walked around the room, putting the final touches to the candles, ribbons and glittery red paper amongst the green of pungent fir. She’d had a tree brought in from the woods and decorated that, too, with small china ornaments of various shapes and sizes that trailed from its boughs. Mistletoe hung above the door as well, the white waxy berries alluding to all that might happen beneath.

  I
n the corner, away from the cold of the windows, sat a small cradle, its occupant fast asleep and warm. She checked him every few moments, just to gaze in on his face and make sure that he was breathing.

  Such a thought made her smile. Their precious bundle of a small son was unusually quiet. More often he was crying to be fed and held and loved, and North and she were more than willing to comply.

  Footsteps outside had her turning. Her husband stood there, a bouquet of holly in his hand.

  ‘Christmas has come to Stevenage Manor early this year,’ he said, looking around.

  ‘You have made me believe in the season again, my darling, so how can I fail to render the house joyous? Besides, we have a son to tutor in the art of Yuletide celebration, and there is nothing better than starting him young.’

  He laughed, placing the holly on the table as he wrapped her in his arms.

  She could feel the cold of outside on his clothes and his skin and she shivered. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘In the stables, helping with the birth of a new foal.’

  ‘That’s very late.’

  ‘Or extremely early. I thought we might train him for Alexander to use.’

  ‘He’s only three months old, North.’ Her hands covered his, giving him some heat. ‘I think we can wait a while.’

  ‘But he’s bonny and strong. Like his mother.’ Tugging her over to the cradle, he gazed down at their tiny dark-haired child. ‘I still can’t believe we have him...that he is our flesh and blood.’

  She watched him tidy the sheet and make certain the woollen blanket was well across him. A protective father. A good man.

  ‘The Duke has spent the morning in here, telling me stories of your childhood. He is most insistent that Alex looks just like you did at that age.’

  ‘Papa is happier, isn’t he? I think having us here suits him—and you are the crowning jewel of his family, Aria. You know he loves you like a true daughter—especially since you refused to leave Stevenage.’

  ‘Well, returning to America didn’t seem like an option any more, with Alexander coming.’