Her Mistletoe Kiss: A Regency Christmas Novella Page 4

  “She didn’t disturb me,” said Christabel, though it was not strictly true. “We were having a very nice chat.” Her first impulse to avert a scolding was tempered by her mother’s instinct to discourage misbehavior. “But perhaps the next time Miss Fanny wishes to visit me, she can ask permission first.”

  “I will, I promise.” Miss Fanny gave a vigorous nod. “May I come and visit you again?”

  Christabel could not resist her air of sincere eagerness. “Please do. I would enjoy the company.”

  The servant woman looked relieved that Christabel was not vexed at Miss Fanny barging in on her without warning. Her sharp tone softened. “Come along then, like a good girl. It’s almost time for yer tea and Cook made yer favorite jam tarts.”

  “Jam tarts!” The old lady clapped her hands with glee. She took a skipping step toward the door, then paused and turned back toward Christabel. “Good-bye, Mrs.... Oh dear, I’ve forgotten your name already!”

  “Mrs. Wilton.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I remember now.” Miss Fanny waved. “Good-bye. I’ll come and visit you again.”

  “How are ye feeling this morning, Mrs. Wilton?” asked the housemaid a few mornings later as she set a breakfast tray before Christabel. “Pardon me for saying, but ye look a great deal better than ye did a week ago when the master brought ye here.”

  “I feel a great deal better, thank you, Violet.” Christabel’s mouth watered at the savory aromas wafting from the tray. “So much so, that I cannot continue to impose upon your master’s hospitality.”

  In truth, she had been well enough to go yesterday, perhaps even the day before. But with the weather so cold, she had not the heart to take Colly away from the warmth and abundance of Candlewood back to their tiny, cold cottage. But there was a limit to how long her conscience would allow her to malinger on Jonathan Frost’s charity.

  This morning, she had reached that limit. “Will you ask Mr. Frost if I might have a word with him later about our departure.”

  “As ye wish, ma’am.” The girl crossed to the hearth and began to stir up the fire. “Though it will be a shame to see ye and Master Colly go. Candlewood’s been a different place altogether since you came. Miss Fanny will take on dreadful over losing her playmate, I’m sure. I don’t envy poor Mr. Frost the managing of her.”

  Christabel paused with a spoonful of buttered egg half way to her mouth. “He’s very good with her, isn’t he?”

  “Aye, he is, ma’am.” The maid turned from her fire-tending chores. “He’s that patient with her when she gets in one of her tempers, wanting to visit some friend who’s been dead for thirty years. Shall I come back and help ye dress, ma’am, after ye’ve eaten your breakfast?”

  “I believe I can manage on my own, thank you, Violet, but perhaps you could dress my hair for me. I felt ever so much better after you helped me wash it yesterday.”

  Like all Mr. Frost’s servants, Violet proved most obliging. By the time Christabel descended the stairs to his study, she felt more like the lady he had once known, and less like some pitiful charity case.

  She found him standing by the window, gazing at the snow-mantled garden. The wistful ghost of a smile softened his crisp features as he turned toward her. There was more she would miss about Candlewood than its warm fires, thick blankets and plentiful food.

  His expression grew solemn again when he turned to greet her. “So, you are recovered enough to be up and about.”

  “Even you cannot dispute that I am finally well enough to return home.” She shot him a teasing glance.

  He made no effort to contradict her, which left Christabel vaguely disappointed. Instead he replied with gentle gravity. “I think you look very well, indeed.”

  Perhaps it was the faint glow of admiration she fancied in his eyes that made her blush for the first time in years. “I have you to thank for it, and I do with all my heart. But I must get my son back home and make our preparations for Christmas.”

  A bit of greenery to decorate the mantel cost nothing. Nor did sitting by the fire and singing her little one to sleep with Christmas carols. Somehow she would contrive a better meal than usual for Christmas dinner. Though the most lavish spread she could afford would be nothing to their regular bill of fare at Candlewood.

  “Ah, yes, Christmas.” Mr. Frost’s expression turned positively grim as he stared her with his hands clasped behind his back. “I know I said you must not think of repaying me in any way for the small service I have rendered you.”

  “Small service?” The words burst out of Christabel in a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “It may have been a trifle to you, sir, but I am convinced I owe you my life. I only wish there were some way I could begin to—”

  Frost raised his hand for silence. “Would you think me quite mercenary if I now suggest there is a great favor you could do for me in return? But... no, I must not impose upon you.”

  Like she had imposed upon him for the past week?

  “Please tell me what it is!” Christabel cried. “You have only to name your request and I will be delighted to grant it.”

  His stern, anxious expression relaxed and the briefest flicker of merriment twinkled in his eyes. “I see the years have not curbed your youthful impulsiveness, my dear. You must be careful about making such reckless promises before you discover what may be required of you.”

  “Time has curbed my impulsiveness.” Christabel struggled to keep a note of bitterness from her voice. “But I trust you would not ask anything of me that I would not readily give.”

  The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could unspeak them. Jonathan Frost had once asked for something she’d been loath to grant—her hand in marriage. And though she had promised it to him, she had later broken her word. No wonder he was hesitant to ask anything of her now.

  Frost gave no sign that thought had occurred to him. “I wondered if you and your son might consider remaining at Candlewood through Twelfth Night as my Christmas guests?”

  Christabel gathered her breath to refuse. It did not take a bluestocking to realize this ‘invitation’ was a thinly veiled pretext for offering her more charity.

  Perhaps sensing her opposition, he pressed on, not allowing her an opportunity to refuse right away. “I would like to give Aunt Fanny the kind of old-fashioned family Christmas she knew as a child. That is difficult to accomplish with just the two of us. ‘The more the merrier,’ as they say. You were always a great promoter of merriment in our youth. Can I prevail upon you to help me make this a merry Christmas at Candlewood?”

  Christabel could think of many reasons to say yes, not least of which was the sincere impression that Mr. Frost needed her help. She hated the thought of him and his aunt spending Christmas alone, especially if it was within her power to keep them company. Besides, she had long wanted to give her son the kind of Christmas she had never been able to afford.

  Set against all those was the uneasy conviction that every day they spent in the comfort of Candlewood and the congenial company of Jonathan Frost the harder it would be for her and her son to leave.

  Chapter Six

  WAS HE MAKING the second biggest mistake of his life? Frost wondered as he waited for Christabel’s answer to his invitation. Fie, he hadn’t been this anxious when he’d proposed marriage to the woman, five years ago! Of course, back then, he’d been too inexperienced to fear her refusal. Having experienced the cruel sting of rejection, he was warier now.

  What had compelled him to extend the invitation? When he’d gone to pay his call upon her, he had been resolved to do as little as courtesy demanded then make a speedy escape. Then when circumstances had forced him to bring her into his home, he’d resolved to keep his distance until she was well enough to leave. That had proven impossible, though, and every moment he spent in her company further eroded his prudent resolutions. If it continued, how would he bear to part from her after Twelfth Night?

  Don’t be such a coward, man! he chided himself. I
f Aunt Fanny continued to regress, this might be the last Christmas she would be aware of the festivities and able to take pleasure in them. And what a bleak Christmas the Wilton’s would have back in that bare little cottage. Those considerations signified far more than any foolish apprehensions of his. Besides, he was no longer a calf-eyed boy. He was a man who had mastered his feelings and gotten on with his life. He could do it again if he had to.

  Mrs. Wilton inhaled a deep breath, squared her shoulders and raised her gaze to meet his. “Very well, Mr. Frost. For the sake of your aunt and my son, I accept your kind invitation. I will do everything in my power to make this a truly merry Christmas for them.”

  Her countenance and tone left Frost with no illusions that she expected to enjoy the holidays in his company. She clearly regarded the whole affair as an obligation, just as she had accepted his marriage offer out of obligation to her father.

  “Very good.” Frost struggled to hide a traitorous pang of disappointment over her lack of enthusiasm. Mrs. Wilton had no need to fear—he would not continue to impose his odious company upon her once Christmas was over.

  He glanced toward the window again, wary of holding a gaze that had often seemed to divine more of his thoughts than he wished to disclose. “The children... that is Aunt Fanny and your son asked if I might take them for a sleigh ride this afternoon. Would you care to join us, or would you prefer to rest?”

  “I should like to come, if you have room for me.” Her voice betrayed a tantalizing hint of eagerness. “I have done little but rest and eat since you brought us to Candlewood. A ride in the fresh air would be most welcome.”

  “I had hoped as much.” The promising beginnings of a smile tugged at the corner of Frost’s mouth. “If I may prevail upon you to round up the rest of our party and see that they are warmly dressed, I shall have the sleigh harnessed and meet you all in the courtyard.”

  When Frost drove the sleigh into the courtyard a quarter of an hour later, he found that Christabel had followed all his instructions, save the one about dressing warmly. The boy was wearing a coat far too large for him.

  “One of the footmen lent it to us,” Christabel informed him in a tone of mild defiance. “The long sleeves will keep his hands warm.”

  “My apologies,” muttered Frost as he helped her into the sleigh. “I never thought to bundle him up properly the day I brought you to Candlewood. Now that you’ll be staying, I must send someone to fetch your clothes.”

  “Thank you. That would be very kind.”

  Christabel’s subdued reply made Frost wonder if the boy owned a decent coat. At least Colly looked warmer than his mother, bundled in her miscellany of shawls.

  Frost picked up the boy and set him in beside his mother. “I think we can all fit if we budge up.”

  As he lifted Aunt Fanny into the sleigh, she leaned close and whispered a suggestion in his ear. Frost chided himself for not thinking of it.

  “Clever girl,” he whispered back. “But let’s keep it a surprise. Christmas is a time for surprises.”

  She gave a vigorous nod and drew one hand from out of her fur muff to stifle a giggle.

  As long as she didn’t let an incautious word slip in the next few minutes, Frost knew his aunt would forget all about her suggestion and be every bit as surprised as the Wiltons when it came to fruition.

  He tucked thick fleece robes around them for the day was clear and brisk. Then he sent a young footman to fetch warm bricks on which to rest their feet.

  At last he climbed in beside Aunt Fanny. “We’ll just go for a short drive today.” He picked up the reins and gave them a twitch, coaxing the team of matched bays into a leisurely jog. Seeing Aunt Fanny’s lower lip thrust out, he added. “If you enjoy it, and if the snow stays, we can go for a longer one tomorrow.”

  Christabel could not recall when she had last been for a sleigh ride. She has almost forgotten how it felt. A carriage drive did not begin to compare. Even the swift, perilous phaeton called the High Flier did not give the same sensation of flight as skimming over the snow with a crisp winter breeze blowing her hair.

  Colly and Miss Fanny laughed and squealed with childish glee when Frost urged the horses to a brisk trot over the snow-covered fields. It was such an infectious sound, Christabel soon found herself joining in. After lying so many days in a sick bed, the cold winter air smelled clean and invigorating. The jingle of bells on the horses’ harness played rollicking, merry music in time to the crunch of their great hooves on the snow.

  How long had it been since she’d laughed more than a pallid chuckle? True, she’d had little cause for laughter in the year and a half since Waterloo... and even before that. But what cause did she have now? Yet gale after gale of gleeful laughter gushed out of her from some secret spring that had been too long dammed up with regret and bitterness and self-blame. How good it felt to let it flow again!

  Perhaps she needed to find more simple ways to enjoy life in spite of its present misfortunes—for Colly’s sake. There was so much else she could not afford to give him. He deserved a happy childhood. This Christmas visit at Candlewood would be the perfect opportunity to change her outlook on life and revive a crumb or two of her old dauntless optimism.

  Mr. Frost glanced over at his passengers as they shrieked with mirth. “Are you frightened?” he inquired with mock concern. “Should I slow down?”

  “No!” they cried, laughing harder and gasping to catch their breaths. “Go faster!”

  “You’re sure?” Frost pulled on the reins to bring the sleigh in a wide arc heading back toward Candlewood. Then he gave them a sudden, vigorous jolt against the steaming rumps of the bays and cried, “Yah!”

  The horses broke into a swift gallop for home, sending Christabel, Colly and Miss Fanny into fresh gusts of wild laughter. By the time the sleigh slid to a stop in front of the house, Christabel’s sides ached and she could scarcely catch her breath. But she felt as if something long caged inside of her had been unexpectedly set free.

  “That was such fun!” cried Miss Fanny. “You must take us again tomorrow. Promise you will?”

  As Frost lifted her from the sleigh, he swung her around, making her skirts flare out and prompting another volley of high-pitched laughter.

  “Aren’t you the imperious little queen?” He set her on her feet, careful not to let go until she had regained her balance. “Perhaps if you eat a good dinner and behave yourself for Mrs. Penny, you may get your wish.” Glancing over the top of his aunt’s bonnet, he winked at Christabel.

  Colly jumped down from the sleigh without waiting to be helped. “Thank you, Mr. Frost! Miss Fanny is right—that was even better fun than riding Mistletoe!”

  “High praise, indeed.” Frost chuckled and when he glanced up from looking at Colly, his eyes held the same soft glow of fondness Christabel had seen in them when he’d spoken to his aunt. Only this look was not muted by a touch of wistful sadness.

  One long stride brought him back to the sleigh. “What is your opinion, Mrs. Wilton? Do you make it unanimous?” His voice rang with forced heartiness as he lifted her to the ground.

  “I do indeed.” Christabel found herself wishing he would twirl her around, as he had Miss Fanny. “It enjoyed the ride quite as much as...” She almost said the children, but caught herself at the last moment. “... the others. This winter air is a marvelous tonic. My appetite is already sharpset for tea.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it!” This time the hearty note in Frost’s voice rang with perfect sincerity.

  Did he hold her a moment or two longer than necessary when he set her on the ground? Or did she cling to his warmth and strength?

  He looked down into her eyes, and Christabel felt suddenly weak and dizzy—though in a curiously pleasant way. “It was good to hear you laugh again.”

  “Thank you for reminding me how.” A bubble of laughter—or perhaps it was something else—rose in Christabel’s throat. “I was in danger of forgetting.”

  “We cannot
have that, can we?”

  The front entrance opened and Miss Fanny’s servant beckoned her. “Don’t stand about in the cold. Come in and get yer tea.”

  A delectable aroma of spices wafted out into the courtyard.

  Frost inhaled a deep breath. “It smells as if Cook has prepared something tasty to satisfy your well-whetted appetite.”

  “So she has, sir,” said Mrs. Penny as she ushered Colly and Miss Fanny into the house. “Hot mulled cider. Just the thing to warm you all up.”

  The awkward intimacy of the moment shattered like a shiny icicle fallen from the eaves of Candlewood. Christabel could not decide whether she was relieved or disappointed. A sudden gust of cold wind pierced her layers of old shawls and made her shiver. She hastened into the fragrant warmth of the house.

  Miss Fanny gave an appreciative sniff as she untied her bonnet. “It smells like Christmas.”

  Colly pealed off the footman’s oversized coat. His small cheeks glowed like a pair of plump, ripe apples. “It is Christmas—very nearly.”

  “Is it?” Miss Fanny cast Frost a questioning glance, her little face aquiver with suppressed excitement.

  He nodded, looking every inch the fond papa gratified to confirm happy news. “And what is even better, the Wiltons have agreed to stay for the holiday as our guests.”

  For an instant Miss Fanny looked uncertain. “The... who?”

  Frost nodded toward Christabel. “Colly and his mother. Isn’t that splendid?”

  Her confusion gently allayed yet again, Miss Fanny was once more wreathed in smiles. “The Wiltons, of course! That is splendid!”

  After they had removed their wraps, Frost led Miss Fanny and their guests toward the drawing room. “And Mrs. Wilton is planning all manner of diversions to amuse us, aren’t you, my dear?”

  “That sounds exciting!” Miss Fanny fairly danced with eagerness. “What sorts of diversions?”

  “I haven’t quite decided.” Christabel took a seat on the chaise lounge in front of a bountifully spread tea table and drew Colly down beside her. “Tell me some things you enjoy doing at Christmas time.”