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Perhaps this day had been the longest of his life, but due to the rain turning to ice pellets that pinged off the window glass at the posting inn, Colin had deemed it advisable to stay the night there. Really, it wasn’t a fit night for man or beast, and travel in such weather was sheer folly. He wasn’t overly concerned, for he still had two full days in which to reach Lancaster Hall. Providing the weather cleared, they would arrive in good time.
Once more in the private dining room he’d rented, Lucy had settled by the fire, ensconced in one of the leather chairs, idly sipping fresh tea while staring into the dancing flames. The air of melancholy clung to her though not as heavily as before. Not knowing how to lift her blue mood, Colin thought it advisable to leave her be for the time being. When she was ready, perhaps she’d talk to him, genuinely, as he’d done to her earlier.
Was she thawing toward him? Hard to tell. He glanced at her, the woman who’d danced with him not an hour earlier. What would she have looked like if she’d thrown caution to the wind, abandoned all the memories and feelings that plagued her and weighed her down? His chest tightened with desire. If anyone needed the Christmas spirit, it was Lucy, but how to make that happen when they were stuck at a posting inn quite in the middle of nowhere in a village of which he couldn’t be bothered to remember the name?
Vowing to give the matter some thought, Colin joined his daughter at the opposite side of the room. If he’d left London with his grandmother, there was no doubt in his mind that right at this moment, he’d enjoy a mug of mulled wine or cider and perhaps he would have cajoled Cook for a pastry or a handful of small cakes as he’d done while a young man. Perhaps he’d prowl the property in the dark, drinking in the inky atmosphere and revel in the vast quiet of the fir trees and the acreage.
Yet... what good would it do? If he hunted up that long ago copse of fir trees where he’d first given Lucy a proper kiss, where they’d tarried and learned the art of such, he would only let memories get the best of him. Perhaps it wasn’t healthy to continue to dwell on the past.
“Father, may I ask you a rather personal question?”
The sound of Ellen’s voice, hushed as it was, brought him back to the present with a start, and he dropped into a chair near hers.
“Of course, love. Are you troubled in some way?” God grant him the patience of a saint, for two women in his company bobbing along in brown studies would surely try even the best of men.
“No.” She dragged the word out. “But I do grow concerned for you.” She reached out a hand and clutched his as she glanced at Lucy. When she focused once more on his face, there was a glint of knowledge well beyond her fifteen years in her eyes. “Do you promise to tell me the truth?”
“To the best of my ability, yes.” He frowned. “What is this about?”
Ellen squeezed his hand. “Were you in love with Lucy in your youth?”
Colin gawked at her. “What makes you think that?” Of course, she might not have been fully asleep during all of the conversations he’d had with Lucy in the coach while on the road. Heat infused his chest. How much had she heard and how much had she deduced for herself? What a sticky wicket this was turning into.
“I’m not a child anymore, Father. I can see what’s right in front of me.” She rolled her eyes, and when she tossed her head, he was reminded strongly of her mother—willful, independent, verging on wild. “In any event,” she lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “Sometimes you look at Lucy with regret and other times, there is raw need in your expression. It is quite uncomfortable to watch.”
“Yes, I suppose it must be,” he said, committing neither way, but he peered at her with new respect. “My apologies.” The heat of embarrassment continued to creep up his nape and warm his ears. How much to tell this child on the verge of womanhood? It was a maudlin tale at best, and a Banbury one at worst, wherein the hero didn’t win his lady fair.
Ellen launched on, sparing him the decision. “Because if you had been in love with her then, perhaps those feelings are still there.” She lifted a blonde eyebrow in question as she waited.
He laughed, but the sound was forced, even to his own ears. “I’m not certain that’s a wise course of action. Besides, Lucy is still very much in love with her husband.”
“Don’t be droll.” Ellen huffed in apparent frustration. “You cannot be in love with a memory or a ghost. Hasn’t Mr. Ashbrook been gone a handful of years?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts.” His daughter vehemently shook her head. “She might miss her husband fiercely, this is so, but there isn’t a physical man to love any longer. Memories are what she has left, and if she’s not careful—if you aren’t—you’ll both be lost to them instead of living in the present. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Papa?”
The truth in her simple statement hit him square in the chest, as did her continued use of the softer term of “papa.” Colin slumped backward against his chair as if he’d been punched. Was that what he was guilty of? Loving the girl Lucy had been all those years ago, hoping she was the same now? She’d changed, of course she had. But had he? In some way, yes. In others, no. It was a daily struggle, as Lucy could attest to over the course of their ponderous travels together. Perhaps he tried too hard to cling to what used to be instead of appreciating things as they now were.
“I think that I do,” he finally said, and it was as if another weight had lifted from his shoulders.
“Ah, splendid.” Ellen smiled. Her eyes twinkled.
“When did you become so wise, child?” he asked with a smile of his own.
“Observation. Plus, you deserve happiness in your life. Why do you make it so difficult to find?”
“Habit?” He shrugged. “What now, oh wise one?” For he’d wager everything he owned his daughter wasn’t done with her little talk. There had to be a purpose for it.
Her grin was decidedly mischievous. “Go talk to her, and not in the cocky, creepy, or aggravating ways you’ve done before.” When he began to protest, she held up a hand. “Ask after her health or her hobbies. Her children. Anything besides making her slog through memories and the past. Haven’t you both moved beyond that?”
“I’m not certain. Some of those memories are quite nice.”
Ellen huffed and the expelled breath ruffled the ringlets on her forehead. “I’ll stay over here giving you some privacy. After all, we still have two days of travel ahead. I’d appreciate less tension than we’ve experienced before.” She leveled her gaze on him, and he tugged at his suddenly too tight cravat. “I’d like to arrive at the Hall not hating my fellow man because my father is an arse.”
Did he even want a return of romance between him and Lucy? It had been a hard-won battle to reach this stage of tentative friendship. But was Ellen right? Had he shown his cards too soon? It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I’ll do what I can, but I make no promises.”
“Any sort of forward movement is a step in the right direction.” Then Ellen drew forth a dog-eared copy of La Belle Assemblée she’d brought with her and proceeded to ignore him.
As his stomach cramped with nerves, Colin left the temporary safety of the sitting area to join Lucy before the fire. She sat at the small, round dining table, refreshing her tea cup. “How are you faring?”
Surprise flitted through her eyes as she rested that gorgeous, ice-blue gaze on him. “I’m doing well. Struggling through memories attached to this time of year... to Jacob, to you.”
“I apologize our association ended so horribly. If I could, I would remove the bad memories and only leave you the happy ones.”
“The sentiment is appreciated.” She offered him a tremulous smile, and his heart lurched. “Would you care for a cup of tea?” Her hand hovered over an empty china cup, and when he nodded, she poured out a measure of the amber brew and then slid the vessel over to him as he sat upon the chair beside her.
“Thank you.” The fact she’d remembered he liked his tea black pulled a smile from him. He looked at Ellen, who widened her eyes as if to say, “Get on with it.” Colin took a gulp of the tepid tea. “Tell me about the Christmas you envision for your children. Is it one like your childhood or something completely different?”
“Oh, I’m giving Beatrice a few embroidered handkerchiefs, a new pair of slippers she’s admired for months now, and a new hat. For Simon, he’s getting a new cravat, a chain for his pocket watch, and a particular fountain pen he’s wanted. The boy has a certain knack for writing.”
“Ah, you’ve raised a budding poet?”
“Rather he adores penning fictional adventure stories.” Her smile flashed as she warmed to her subject. “Jacob encouraged him wholeheartedly in this endeavor. There were many nights when Simon was home from school where the two of them would stay up until the early morning hours debating possible plots.”
“Jacob always had a creative streak.” Colin’s chest ached. “I assumed he would go on to great things once we cleared school. I had no idea he was a military man.”
Lucy shrugged. She cradled her tea cup between her hands. “He felt guilty when so many men were fighting and dying for what he considered a noble cause, while he was cooling his heels, protected because he was an only son.”
Hot guilt of his own lanced through his chest. “He was angry my father didn’t purchase me a commission like his did.” It wasn’t a question.
“If he was, Jacob never spoke of it. He cheerfully did his duty to King and country without complaint.”
“You and he exchanged letters during that time?” Though his chest still twinged with jealousy, it wasn’t as acute as it once had been.
“Yes. Jacob’s letters were as vibrant and entertaining as Simon’s stories now. In many ways I came to know him more intimately through those letters than in all the years of Christmases at Lancaster Hall.” Her lips curved with a small smile. “I miss him.”
“Understandable.” Colin remained silent in the event she might open up and tell him what sat heavily on her heart and mind, but she didn’t expand her story. In the awkward silence, he drained the remainder of the liquid from his cup.
She drew in a breath and let it shudder out. “I miss Christmases that were uncomplicated, holidays that weren’t marred by so many sad memories.”
For once he and she were in perfect agreement. “Let us talk of the here and now. Perhaps we can infuse this Christmas with new, happier memories for the years ahead.”
She nodded, and when she lifted her limpid gaze to his, his chest tightened with the need to protect her, offer her solace from all the ills of the world. “I am giving Ellen the handkerchief I’m working on. It will be her Christmas gift.”
“Why?” Surprise hung on that one-word question. “You barely know her.”
“Except I’m beginning to know her through our trip together.” This time Lucy’s smile widened. “She’s your daughter, and I’ve grown fond of her.” Her gaze twinkled as it had in years’ past. “I shall see her on Christmas with you and your family, so it’s only natural I give her a little something to remember me by.”
“That’s wonderful. Thank you for such a nicety. Perhaps Ellen will learn a few of them from you before the holiday ends.” He refrained from rubbing his chest over his aching heart. Once they reached Lancaster Hall, would fortune shine upon him and gift him with time alone with Lucy? Probably not, for his siblings and their broods would descend and he’d never have a moment to himself, Lucy notwithstanding. He glanced at Ellen, who paged through her magazine. Then he looked again at Lucy, who peered into her tea cup. His heart squeezed.
I must make the best use of the time I do have with her.
For in the back of his mind, he hoped for a renewed chance.
“What of you?” he asked softly. “You spend so much time making certain everyone around you is taken care of. What is your hope for this Christmas?”
Emotion clouded her eyes, unreadable in the low light. “I wish to find peace, to find happiness in this new world I’m about to enter, one so different than what I’ve ever known that it leaves me breathless with fear every time I think about it.”
Daring much, Colin laid a hand over hers atop the simple pine table. “If anyone can do it, you can. You’ve always been strong, Lucy. It was one of the things that attracted me to you in the first place.”
Tears sprang into her eyes. “Oh, Colin...”
He rushed to provide her with a good memory to replace any bad ones she might be fighting with. “Remember when we all snuck copious cups of wassail punch that last Christmas we were all together?”
A snippet of laughter escaped her. “We were so tipsy we could hardly climb the stairs to our rooms.” She snorted. “You and Jacob held your liquor better than the rest of us though.”
“Practice, my dear.” But he hadn’t felt the urge for a drink since he’d purged his soul to her earlier that day. He and his friends and siblings had found everything funny that night, while the adults had been occupied at the ball.
The smile Lucy bestowed upon Colin warmed him through and through. “We were all a horrid handful back then.”
“And the best of friends.” How had he let that aspect of having siblings slide into rack and ruin after all of these years?
“Yes. You and Jacob were the foundation of my life. When I lost you, I felt I would die, but when I lost Jacob...” The delicate tendons of her throat worked with a hard swallow. “...I wanted to do just that. These five years have been truly difficult because I no longer had a best friend.”
“I am here now.” Oh, but he wanted a return of that vaulted position in her life.
“Yes, perhaps you are.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. What exactly was she remembering? “You held my hair when I cast up my accounts in an antique vase on one of the staircase landings,” she finally said with a laugh that slid over his skin like satin.
Awareness of her prickled the hairs at his nape. He shared in her mirth. “Mother sacked a footman, thinking he’d committed such an egregious act.”
“Oh, poor man.” She placed her free hand atop his and gave his fingers a squeeze. Then she held his gaze. A trace of mischief lingered briefly in those icy depths. “You kissed me that night at my bedchamber door despite how vile I must have been.”
“You were upset.” He shrugged. “That kiss calmed you.” Though he’d brushed his teeth—twice—soon after.
“All of those memories aren’t so bad,” she finally said with a sigh.
“No.” Gently, he tugged his hand away and thereby removing some of the temptation she offered. “The trick is to pull out the good ones and let them temper the rest. Time will eventually remove the bad ones from circulation.”
“Thank you.” With a look of regret, Lucy stood. “I’m quite tired, so perhaps it’s best that I retire. We should probably set out as early as we can tomorrow morning.”
Colin rose as well. “Sweet dreams, Lucy.” For long moments after she’d left the room, he stared into his empty tea cup. What to do now?