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December 21, 1821
Lucy groaned, and then a yawn swooped in to cover it. Another long day spent on the road while stuck in a traveling coach with Colin—and living through painful memories—was in progress, and had been for an hour or so. The conversations she’d shared with the viscount yesterday had left her reeling and vulnerable, and she’d nearly cried twice. That couldn’t happen again, for she didn’t wish for him to mean anything else to her, yet the presence of emotion indicated that she still felt something.
Yet what was she to do?
I shall do what I must until this untenable trip has concluded. He is merely someone I used to know. That is all.
A means to an end, and since they were traveling to the same place, there was nothing for it.
She turned her attention to Ellen. Perhaps if she discovered more about Colin’s daughter, she could come to understand him better. “What is your favorite subject at school?”
The young blonde started. Her eyes rounded as if she couldn’t believe Lucy—or any adult—took an interest in her. “I enjoy Latin. My friends don’t. They say it’s too difficult and pointless. I adore the challenge. I also like history.” She smiled, which set her hazel eyes dancing with pleasure. “So many places in the world that are fascinating. I would love to travel someday and find out for myself what those places are like.” She cast a glance at Colin, who dozed upon the bench opposite them, sprawled out with not a care in the world. “I rather doubt Father would agree to it.”
“Why? Does not your father enjoy traveling?” When it was assumed they would marry, some of their plans had included a grand wedding tour throughout Europe, lingering longest in Italy. It had seemed so romantic to talk of touring through places she’d only read about, with Colin by her side. Instead of those idyllic dreams, she’d been handed cold disappointment, and when she had married, they’d been too poor to do more than entertain their imagination until Jacob had found work.
“I wouldn’t know.” Ellen frowned and returned her attention to Lucy. “We never go anywhere. My aunts and my uncle are all well-traveled. My cousins brag about all the places they’ve gone. I have nothing to talk about when such subjects occur.”
“I’m sorry.” Every year she renewed her acquaintance with Colin’s siblings and their growing broods. They were an active bunch, but she well knew how Ellen must feel. “Do you visit with your cousins often?”
“Whenever Great-Grandmother returns to Derbyshire and I’m on holiday. She takes me.”
“That is all to the good.” Lucy nodded. At least she wasn’t fully neglected. “My brother travels consistently with his position. The tales he tells are awe-inspiring, and at times, I feel... cheated somehow of life.”
“Yes.” Ellen nodded, and again glanced at her father. “I feel that too, on many fronts.” She frowned. “Father said the two of you knew each other long ago. Is that true?”
“It is.” There was no point in denying it, for the girl had probably overheard parts of their conversations in the coach yesterday if she wasn’t fully asleep. “When I was eighteen, your father courted me.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work. I think you and he would have made a handsome couple.”
Lucy ignored the heat that slapped her cheeks. “Perhaps. It wasn’t meant to be, and I thought I’d never see him again, yet here we are.” She, too, looked at Colin, who, in sleep, seemed almost peaceful.
“Fate has an interesting way of making us dance at attendance,” Ellen said, her voice contemplative. “What was he like as a young man?”
“Oh, much like he is now, I’d imagine.” A tiny smile curved her lips. “He was dashing, impulsive, stubborn. He had bold plans, for his father meant for him to make his own way in the world. The duke didn’t wish for Colin to ride his coattails, and in some ways, I think that was a good decision, for it forced your father to face life head-on and work for what he wanted.” Had he achieved those plans? Made a name for himself? She didn’t know anything about him other than he played at being a rake.
Colin, in his sprawled position, slept obliviously on. Had he taken refuge in drink the night before? That was a path strewn with pitfalls, for once a man became dependent on spirits, he was often lost.
Lucy pursed her lips as she continued to stare at him. Why couldn’t he for once do the honorable thing, show his daughter the kind of man he’d intended to be all those years ago?
Ellen nudged her ribs with an elbow. “You are thinking he is beyond redemption.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m not certain it’s my business to pass judgment upon him.” But hadn’t she silently been doing just that during the journey thus far? Had she painted him with the dirty brush filled with yesteryear’s memories, perhaps an impossible standard even she couldn’t measure up to? “I only wish him happy.”
“It is not my business either, but I still worry.” Her young face wrinkled with concern. “I think he’s haunted.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Lucy chuckled. “How so?”
“The older he grows, the more regrets build inside him. After a few glasses of brandy, he waxes poetic at how life used to be uncomplicated, before hope was destroyed.”
Lucy remained silent. He’d said as much during their conversations, with the exception of regrets. Not knowing what else to say, she pulled a linen handkerchief from her bag, along with an embroidery needle and thread in a pleasing pink. Best keep the hands busy, and finishing this Christmas present would demand her attention.
Apparently, Ellen wasn’t trained in picking up subtle clues that ended polite discussion. “Father hasn’t been happy for ever so long.”
“Why?” She couldn’t curb her desire to know more about his life. “Does he still mourn for your mother?” Was it possible Colin had truly fallen for someone other than himself? Her heart squeezed. She hoped it was so, though she wouldn’t wish grief on anyone.
“I’m not certain.” Ellen’s eyes took on a faraway look. “I think he did love her in his own way. They were not openly demonstrative by any stretch.” She sighed, and her expression held a rueful shadow. “Mother died seven years ago, but she and Father rarely spoke to each other. I recall childhood being quiet, as if I always had to tiptoe around so as not to put either of them in a temper.”
What a terrible way to live one’s life. Lucy remembered her son—the same age as Ellen—and his formative years where he had the love and support of both parents. Her chest tightened in sympathy for the girl next to her. “You miss your mother, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Ellen bit her bottom lip and sent her gaze to the window as her eyes grew misty. “Mother died in childbirth. Everyone in the family thinks I don’t know, but I do. I overheard their talk shortly after it happened. Don’t you think it’s something I should have been made aware of?”
“Of course. It’s part of your history.”
“I think so too. I’m not the fragile girl everyone assumes.” Ellen glanced at her and shrugged. “My brother died on that day, too. I would have liked having a sibling. It would have done much to take away the loneliness.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Her mother’s heart broke at the wistfulness in Ellen’s voice. On impulse, Lucy clutched the girl’s hand and squeezed. “You’ve grown into a remarkable young lady despite the circumstances. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you.” Ellen squeezed her fingers back, and Lucy liked the tenuous bonding they shared.
Still, questions bubbled through her mind. She had to know the answer to one in particular. She lowered her voice. “Is it true your father took a mistress?” It was scandalous gossip, plain and simple, and very much beneath her, but she couldn’t help it. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to hear that Colin had been a good person through his difficulties.
Ellen dropped her gaze. “I don’t know. If he didn’t, why else weren’t he and Mother close?”
There are many reasons, but none of which a child her age need know about. So Lucy remained silent, waiting. It was what she did with her children when they wished to talk but didn’t want led through the conversation.
“I believe my father could be a good man if he applied himself.” She gazed at Colin, who hadn’t stirred. “If he stops blaming himself for every bad thing that has happened in his life.” Then she turned to regard Lucy. “He’d be a different man if that occurred, and I’m anxious to see him at least try.”
Lucy gave her a smile of encouragement. “I think so too. I’d hoped long ago he would find his way, but it appears he’s still lost.” And she didn’t know how to help him, for he certainly hadn’t asked for assistance.
Perhaps he’d always been a lost little boy who sorely needed the magic of Christmas to show him the way home.
Her embroidery abandoned and resting in her lap, she looked at Colin again, this time not through the eyes of the innocent girl of her youth, but with experience and grief sharpening her vision. His creased brow showed he didn’t dream of pleasant things. She longed to smooth his hair away from his forehead, to stroke her fingers along the side of his face until he slept peacefully.
But she didn’t have that right.
Not anymore. He was as far from her reach as he’d been that long-ago day when she’d said no to a future between them. Oh, Colin, whatever has become of you?
He stirred in his sleep, turning onto his side on the bench, and both Lucy and Ellen jumped. His greatcoat flapped open. A slim packet of letters, tied with a length of black satin ribbon, tumbled from a pocket and to the floorboards.
“What is this?” Ellen leaned over and scooped them up. After yanking off the ribbon, she unfolded the first one with an exclamation that she bit off at the last second. “These are all addressed to Father Christmas.”
“From Colin?” Lucy gawked at the letters still in Ellen’s hand. “Er, I mean from Lord Hartsford?”
“No, silly. They appear to be written by children.” She handed a few letters to Lucy. “How very odd, don’t you think?” Her eyes sparkled with mischievous excitement. “I wonder how they came into Father’s possession.”
“Yes, I wonder that myself. He and Christmas don’t exactly go about hand in hand,” Lucy mused as she unfolded one of the letters. Her heart trembled at the innocent, childlike requests—prayers really—that someone had taken the time to write down. But who, and why?
“What shall we do with them?” Ellen asked, and her excitement caught fire into Lucy’s veins.
“Let me think about it. There must be some way to use these to help show your father the holiday is about more than what he can reap from people or gain from their gifts to him.” Lucy gathered the letters, slipped the ribbon around the slim stack and then returned the correspondence to his interior pocket. When she caught a whiff of his scent—Bay Rum and cloves with a hint of citrus—her mind wandered, and she was transported back to their last Christmas together.
It had been magical. There was snow for the first time in a long stretch of years. They’d slipped away from the party out gathering holly and fir boughs to make snow angels in a hidden glade Colin had found during one of his rambles on the property.
They’d made ever so many of the figures, laughing when snow crept beneath their clothes to chill their skin. She remembered the tingle of cold fingers beneath mittens and numb toes in her boots, but with Colin, it hadn’t mattered, for he warmed her from the inside out.
When he’d helped her up from her last snow angel, he’d kissed her properly. Not the chaste pecks on the cheeks—or the one beneath the mistletoe—he’d given her before. Oh, no. This had been his mouth fully pressed against hers while he held her securely in his arms. It had been romantic and wonderful, and she’d had stars in her eyes and dreams in her heart for days afterward.
They’d lingered in that snowy glade for long moments, kissing, exploring each other’s mouths, tasting the first nibbles of the heady adult world of love and romance, and they hadn’t come up for air until the calls of his siblings and their friends intruded.
That first string of delightful kisses had been days before he’d brought her crashing to Earth with his plans for their future. Yes, even back then he’d managed to miss the point of Christmas even though he’d nearly embodied the holiday.
With a swift intake of breath, Lucy came back to the present. She flopped against her bench with a rapid pulse and an aching chest. When she pressed a hand to her heated cheek, that elusive scent caught in her nostrils. Back then, she’d mentioned she adored the smell on him, and he’d apparently never changed, all this time later. A tiny half-smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. Was it in deference to her, or did he prefer that aroma over all others found in the shops?
“Are you quite well, Mrs. Ashbrook, I mean Lucy?” Ellen asked, eyeing her with speculation. “You look as if you were haunted too.”
“Nothing but a memory that jumped into my mind, unbidden,” Lucy murmured and turned her face to the window. It wouldn’t do for the child to see too much in her gaze.
“A happy one? I hope so, for you are blushing.”
“Most definitely happy.” And heated. Even now she wished to fan her face, but she didn’t dare, for Ellen would want to know why. Lucy swore she could still feel—after all these years—the urgent press of Colin’s lips against hers as they’d shared an intimate piece of themselves that snowy day.
Memories such as those shouldn’t come with a heavy dose of regret. What happened between her and Colin couldn’t be changed, and those were happy, wonderful times, even if they hadn’t followed each of them into adulthood. Decisions had been made, and they brought their own lovely memories, perhaps more so for her than Colin. But it needn’t be that way. Surely he could recall joyous scenes from Ellen’s childhood at Christmastide.
I should help him down that path and out of the shadowy world he currently walks.
She glanced at him, and suppressed a sigh. Mayhap he needed permission to take out the memories and separate the feelings from them. Enjoy them for what they were in that one moment in time, when everything had been perfect.
Or perhaps he needed to remember more, for if he’d truly lost the spirit of Christmas, remembrances held the power to beckon him back.
Could she survive that herself?
Locking those precious memories away else her own guilt and regrets rise up, Lucy fished about the floorboards for her dropped embroidery. “We have much to do, Ellen, if we’re to help your father this holiday season.”
For she would bring Christmas back to him if only to see him happy once more, regardless of how much pain it brought her.