Timeless Regency Collection: A Country Christmas Part 15

"Meri, you astound me," he said. "Nelson himself. You pleaded my cause before the master of St. Brendan's and Nelson himself."

"I did," she said, and he heard her quiet pride, which soon yielded to the bubbling enthusiasm he already knew was essential to his future well-being. "Do you know, Admiral Horatio Nelson isn't a great deal taller than I am? He told me such a diverting story about putting a telescope to his blind eye at the Battle of Copenhagen so he wouldn't have to obey an order!"

"Meridee Bonfort, where did Sir Horatio enter this story? Start from the beginning," he insisted.

Her eyes filled with tears. "A very handsome man on half pay walked from Plymouth to the home of Lieutenant Caldwell just as I happened to be dropping off some tatting for the lieutenant's mother."

He held her close.

Chapter Fourteen.

They were married three weeks later, after Able's own quick trip to Portsmouth and St. Brendan's with his captain to be tested and tried and p.r.o.nounced supremely fit to instruct. The wedding took place the morning after the third and final bann was called and two days before a Christmas that almost was lost in the shuffle, even in a vicarage. Meridee wore a green wool dress with a fine bit of lace at the collar, a serviceable garment that her sister said would be warm enough for a place as chilly as Portsmouth. Amanda Ripley had cried and kissed them both, and cried some more.

Meridee's nephews, solemn now and sad they were parting, gave them a paper sheaf full of Christmas angles. "Use them in your cla.s.sroom, Master Six," Gerald announced.

"I will, lads," Able replied, his emotions barely held in check. "Thank you both. Mariners are a superst.i.tious lot. Angelic angles will bring us good luck."

No one in the world had ever looked as handsome as Master Able Six in his plain uniform with his black curly hair, his brown eyes, and his ivory complexion-gifts from an unknown father. His improbable Scottish accent when he spoke his responses so firmly made some of the less informed members of the congregation chuckle quietly, but Meridee didn't care.

There wouldn't have been a ring if Captain Hallowell hadn't taken Able aside the very morning before the wedding and handed him a filigreed bit of gold acquired somewhere considerably east of Greenwich Mean Time. It fit her thumb, which made everyone smile. Able whispered a promise to have it resized as soon as he could afford such an extravagance.

And that was the end of Meridee Bonfort Six's years in the country-and Able's month there. They spent a tumultuous, nearly sleepless Christmas Eve at The Drake in Plymouth, day one of a two-night stay, courtesy of that same Captain Hallowell, whose black eye had faded until it was scarcely noticeable. Officially husband and wife now, they woke bleary-eyed on Christmas morning to the sound of church bells.

"That's more noisy than birds in the country," her husband muttered and attempted to bury his face in her hair.

"You don't care for country birds and you don't like church bells, you heathen," his official keeper scolded, but gently. "What will satisfy you?"

His answer ended in a shriek from Meridee and then a pleasant sort of silence.

Someone-perhaps the captain again-had seen to it that meals were delivered to their room. Meridee discovered that onions did not agree with Able, but generously overlooked the matter.

Able told her something else that second afternoon, something he a.s.sured her he had never divulged to anyone. "Who would believe me?" he asked her neck.

She listened with her whole heart as he hesitated and stumbled, but finally came out with it.

"I have an early memory, Mistress Six," he said. "Quite an early one."

"Say on, Master Six," she replied, settling herself in the crook of his arm.

"I remember being cold and even getting stiff," he said, his eyes closed and moving about until she put her hand over them. "I was crying." He was silent a long moment. "Will you even believe this?" he asked.

"You know I will," she whispered and took her hand away.

"I felt someone's hand on my stomach and then my head, which was wet. A woman said, 'Gr mo chro.' The next thing I remember is an old man wrapping me in a brown coat and taking me inside a church."

"My word," Meridee said in simple, quiet astonishment. "My word."

"I didn't know what it meant, but I knew what I had heard," he told her hair this time. "When I was seven, a little lad from somewhere in the country came to the workhouse. He spoke only Gaelic, so I taught him English. When he knew enough, I asked him what Gr mo chro meant."

She felt her husband's tears in her hair and held her breath.

"'Love of my heart,' he told me." Her husband took a deep breath and another. "Meridee, she loved me."

Thanks to a generous wedding gift from Uncle Bonfort, Able and Meridee Six traveled in comfort in a post chaise to Portsmouth and still had quite a lot of money left over to start housekeeping, because Meridee understood domestic arithmetic.

To her delight, the master of St. Brendan's School included a furnished house in the bargain, and something more, which came in the form of a letter to her specifically, offering her, Meridee Bonfort Six, the position of house mistress to the youngest students of St. Brendan's.

The official letter made her blush, containing as it did a not-so-formal paragraph stating she and Master Instructor Six could enjoy their new house and their new marriage for two weeks with no little boys about. "After such time," the letter concluded, "you will manage four young scholars to begin with."

Following their brief-enough journey from Plymouth, they stood before the door of the two-story stone house on St. Brendan's Way, Portsmouth. After a huge sigh, Able took out the key the headmaster had given to him. He unlocked the door, pocketed the key, picked up Meridee Six, and carried her across the threshold. He set her down, kissed her soundly, then went in search of a lamp, or at least a candle or two, because evening was coming fast.

Meridee stood by the door, feeling surprisingly shy, considering her previous excellent days of indoctrination as wife of a man she adored and always would. "I will be the best keeper a genius ever had," she said softly.

She looked around at a quiet knock on the door, a knock low down on the wood. Curious, she opened it and felt her heart turn over.

There stood a small boy dressed in what she already knew was the uniform of a student of St. Brendan's. Next to him stood an older child.

"Welcome to our home," she said and indicated they come inside.

They did. She thought of another little boy, bewildered and frightened at his strangeness in a place where a child had no hope, unless he found it within himself. "Your names, please?" she asked.

"Jamie McBride," the older boy announced. "I am in my third year." She heard the pride in his voice. "I will be at sea soon."

"And your name?" she asked the little one, kneeling down to be on his level.

"David Ten," he told her.

She couldn't help her sudden intake of breath, then felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Her husband helped her to her feet.

"Are you two our welcoming committee?" Able Six asked. "Cla.s.ses start tomorrow, promptly at two bells in the forenoon watch."

David Ten nodded. "Will we learn great things, sir?"

"The greatest," her husband said.

David looked up at the boy beside him. Through a film of tears, Meridee saw the fear in the child's eyes.

"Jamie says no one is beaten at St. Brendan's if they don't have a right answer, and we all go to sea when we have learned a lot."

Meridee leaned back against her husband and felt his shudder. She took his hand and kissed it, because she was his keeper.

"No one is beaten at St. Brendan's," Master Six said. "Anything else, lads?"

"Nay, sir. He's new. That's all he needed to know," Jamie McBride said. He touched his finger to his forehead. "Tomorrow, then, Master Six?"

"Tomorrow and every day after, until you go to sea."

For the further adventures of Able Six and Meridee Bonfort, please check www.carlakellyauthor.com in 2017.

Other Works by Carla Kelly:.

What to say about Carla? The old girl's been in the writing game for mumble-mumble years. She started out with short stories that got longer and longer until- poof!- one of them turned into a novel. (It wasn't quite that simple.) She still enjoys writing short stories, one of which is before you now. Carla writes for Harlequin Historical, Camel Press, and Cedar Fort. Her books are found in at least 14 languages.

Along the way, Carla's books and stories have earned a couple of Spur Awards from Western Writers of America for Short Fiction, a couple of Rita Awards from Romance Writers of America for Best Regency, and a couple of Whitney Awards. Carla lives in Idaho Falls, Idaho, and continues to write, because her gig is historical fiction, and that never gets old.

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Carla's Website: www.CarlaKellyAuthor.com.

Chapter One.

"I propose a Christmas at Waverly House." Archibald Montague Clawson, Lord Symons, stood on the plush rug of the drawing room, letting his gaze travel over his companions as he awaited their reactions.

The room became silent as his four closest friends glanced at one another in confusion. The Marquess and Marchioness of Spencer-or as he called them, Jonathan and Maryann-stared at him from their spot on the sofa. The couple raised their brows in unison, a synchronized movement that made Archie grin.

Jonathan's mother, the dowager marchioness, whom the group referred to as Mother Kathleen, lowered her knitting into her lap and tipped her elegant head in question.

Miss Jane Croft, Maryann's younger sister, was the only person whose quizzical expression thrilled his heart. She turned toward him, her brows drawn together thoughtfully above her large eyes-eyes that, like her sister's, seemed nearly too big for her face. She gave a small smile, which bent the bow of her pink lips into a most lovely shape, and closed her book, setting it atop a pile of volumes on the window seat beside her.

Archie had noticed Jane always kept at least one book within reach. He knew they provided an escape when the memory of a childhood tragedy brought on anxiety and attacks of panic. Books were her comfort. A thrill moved through him as he thought about the ancient, leather-bound volume of Apuleius's The Golden Donkey he'd found at an Oxford bookseller's shop. The book sat on his desk wrapped in gold paper and tied with a red ribbon-the perfect gift. It was just one piece of his Grand Christmas Scheme. He intended to present it to Jane in front of the candlelit Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.

Aside from the crackling of the fire, the silence in the drawing room grew so heavy that Archie imagined even the Egyptian-style statues that sat tall on either side of the hearth were staring at him with curious feline looks.

Finally, Jonathan cleared his throat. "I thought we had plans to spend the holidays with your parents in Ashford."

Archie dipped his chin. "Well, yes, but I hoped to modify the arrangements a bit. As you remember, the Holiday Ball will take place in Ashford on Christmas Eve, and you know how lively the festivities will surely be. Mother does love a good party." He s.h.i.+fted his weight to his other foot. He still hadn't broached the subject with Lady Bromley; he wasn't certain how she'd react to the news of her only son spending Christmas away. But he was determined to do this.

"I imagined the four of you might enjoy a smaller, quieter celebration at Waverly Manor. Just for a few days, of course. We will continue to Kensington House on Boxing Day."

Though he didn't say it directly, he knew the others understood his implication. The late marquess, Jonathan's father, had died only six months earlier, and the family was still in mourning. Mother Kathleen, especially, had been devastated by her husband's death. She undoubtedly would not attend a large party, and even if she did make an appearance, the memories of having attended the same gathering in previous years with her husband would prove difficult, Archie was certain. Though he hid it well, Jonathan missed his father dearly as well and was p.r.o.ne to bouts of gloom that lasted for days. Besides his concern for Jonathan and his mother, Archie believed Jane, with her shy nature, would be much more comfortable with a small group of close friends than a gathering of strangers.

"That is very thoughtful, Archie," Maryann said. She and her husband exchanged a look, and she slipped her hand into his. "But isn't Chiddingfold rather out of the way?"

Archie shrugged. He'd only made the journey to the small country estate he'd inherited with his t.i.tle a few times, but didn't consider the distance to be significant. "A minor detour is all-a few hours, at most-and the ride through the forest is beautiful, especially if it snows."

At the mention of the word forest, the others glanced toward Jane-or pointedly kept their eyes from her direction. Archie knew they all worried about her mental condition and feared another attack of panic might result from traveling through the forest, as she had the night her mother died. In truth, he felt a bit nervous himself, but still considered Waverly to be the best setting for his Grand Christmas Scheme to play out.

"The manor is not in the forest," he said, looking specifically at Mother Kathleen and Maryann. They were the most protective of Jane. "Just near it. It's a lovely estate with a large park and competent staff. I feel it will be an enjoyable place to spend the holiday before we journey to Ashford."

Kathleen's expression moved from thoughtful to understanding. "I think Christmas at Waverly is just the thing." She nodded. "A quiet celebration surrounded by those I love most . . ." She took a deep breath and pressed her palm to her breastbone. "It sounds splendid. Thank you, Archie."

Seeing the grat.i.tude on Mother Kathleen's face, Archie felt even more confident about his idea.

"But you will miss the ball." Jane spoke in her quiet voice, then blushed when the others turned toward her. "And all your family's celebrations."

Maryann nodded. "That is true, Archie. Perhaps you would like to go ahead to Kensington House, and we could join you after Christmas. You should not forgo Lady Bromley's festivities. I hear they are very fine, indeed."

"I would not enjoy one moment of it. Not without all of you. My mother, as you know, is famous for our family's Christmas celebrations, and I intend to live up to her legacy. I'd not dream of letting my friends suffer without my superb party planning." He winked. "I am resolved to make this Christmas special, memorable. A new beginning for the people I care about."

He felt Jonathan's searching gaze, but didn't meet his eyes. His oldest friend was no doubt wondering what had brought on this proposal. Archie smiled to himself. Proposal was exactly the word. If things turned out the way he planned, next winter, he'd be the one sitting on the sofa, holding his wife's hand. He glanced at Jane, and his heartbeat sped up at the softness in her expression. More than anything, he was doing this for her. To give her the perfect Christmas. A taste of the joy the holidays could bring. Something that he knew had been lacking in her life for the past years.

Jane smiled at Mother Kathleen, lifting her brows slightly. The older woman returned her smile. Jonathan and Maryann glanced at one another, their eyes alight.

Archie grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Now that we are all agreed, shall we start planning? We shall have a Christmas feast, of course: roast goose, boar's head, venison, mincemeat pie, stuffing, potatoes, squash, cider, pudding . . ." He allowed his voice to trail off and grinned. "The cook at Waverly is magnificent."

Archie felt the excitement building in the room, and it only fueled his own enthusiasm. "And since we are combining our three families together, I would like each of us to choose a favorite Christmas custom-something specific to your home or childhood, something meaningful to you." He looked at each of his companions in turn.

"I thought you said it would be simple," Jonathan grumbled.

"This is important, Ren." Archie fell back on his friend's childhood nickname. He held up his forefingers for emphasis. "If I plan everything, it becomes my celebration, but with each of us bringing a tradition of our own, Christmas belongs to each of us." He circled his hands to ill.u.s.trate the point.

"A lovely idea," Kathleen said. "And I choose for my tradition: making wishes as we stir the Christmas pudding."

Archie shook his head. "We did that weeks ago. The tradition must be something specifically for our celebration at Waverly."

Kathleen lifted her chin and tapped a finger to her lips. "Very well. I should like to collect garlands of ivy and branches of holly to decorate the house on Christmas Eve."

"A very good choice." Archie nodded. "The Chiddingfold Forest is just right for gathering holiday greenery."

"And don't forget mistletoe," Jonathan said, raising the side of his mouth in a smirk.

"You of all people have no need for mistletoe," Archie said.

"Hmmm," Jonathan pulled down the sides of his mouth. "You're right. I do not need a silly plant's authorization to kiss my wife." He bent down his head and kissed Maryann soundly to prove his point.

Archie rolled his eyes. "Ren, your custom?"

His friend pulled away from his blus.h.i.+ng wife, grinning. "Singing Christmas hymns, and, of course, there must be a merry fire in the hearth."

"Christmas hymns, yes. And merry fire." Archie pretended to write a note on his palm. "The main hall at Waverly has a very fine hearth and a pianoforte. Mother Kathleen, you will accompany our little choir?"

"Of course."

Maryann scooted forward on the sofa, her eyes bright. "Mother used to build a cradle from sticks on Christmas Eve and tell the story of the nativity. Do you remember, Jane?" Seeing her sister nod, she continued, "I should like to do that."