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December 23, 1821
The ice from the night before dissipated, and for the moment, the rain held off, so the journey resumed. However, from the looks of the gray, swollen clouds, the skies would open with rain before too long.
Throughout the day, Lucy had worked on her embroidery while Ellen did the same beside her. Colin had kept his own counsel, reading a copy of The Times and alternately talking with Ellen about her school and friends. Lucy hadn’t minded the non-threatening conversation, for she had much to think about, and she was glad he took an interest in his daughter.
Ever since he’d poured out the secrets—or some of them—of his heart to her and cried in her lap, Colin had been a changed man, or at least the start of one. The surly, sarcastic, bitter man she’d met that day in the London street with her luggage at her feet was gone. In his place was a kind, considerate, hopeful gentleman who appeared ready to put the past behind him and walk into something new, perhaps try to salvage the remainder of his life.
Why can I not do the same?
It had been five years since Jacob had died, seventeen years since she’d walked out of Colin’s life. Both men she’d relied on once upon a time, and both brought an avalanche of memories with them at Christmastide. What she couldn’t do was separate the good from the bad, for every scene kept circling through her mind’s eye and she was powerless to stop them. How could she purge what she didn’t wish to remember, what brought her too much pain, while keeping the fond ones?
Because she didn’t want to forget. That would reduce half of them and she feared both men would slip farther and farther away. Once they reached Lancaster Hall, Colin would surrender to his family’s attention and she to hers. She rather doubted their paths would cross again after Christmas.
By the time they arrived at the posting inn that evening, Lucy expelled a sigh of relief. She needed time away from him, to think, for over the past few days, he’d crept into her consciousness again and set off her awareness of him as a man unattached to the memories of the past.
But she wasn’t that foolish, stars-in-her-eyes girl she’d been then, and she certainly couldn’t fall for this man again and risk having her heart broken a second time.
“Allow me to escort you down.” The pleasant rumble of Colin’s voice yanked her back to the present. When had he exited the coach without her knowing?
She glanced about, dazed as she gathered her belongings. Ellen had already disembarked. Without recourse, Lucy glanced out of the vehicle at him and his extended, gloved hand. “Thank you,” she murmured, and she grasped his fingers in hers. Just like yesterday evening when he’d touched her hand or when he’d whisked her into his arms for that dance at the village festival, tingles trailed along her spine to scatter the butterflies in her belly.
A tiny gasp escaped when he put a hand to her waist as he assisted her down the lowered steps. Once her feet were firmly on the graveled ground, his touch lingered and he took a step into her personal space, nearly pinning her between the shiny black-painted side of the coach and his hard chest. “Colin?”
“Do you know that when you wool-gather, you have the tendency to bite your bottom lip, just as you did when you were a girl?” Amusement danced in his lake-blue eyes. “It’s adorable.” The warmth of his breath skated across her cheek. “I have missed seeing that particular tell of yours.”
Heat infused her cheeks despite her experience in being a wife and a mother. Gently, she laid her free hand on his chest. Oh, how well she remembered what his body had felt like against hers when kissing had grown into innocent exploration. Though they’d never gone quite as far as love making all those years ago, she’d wanted him.
She wanted him now, but she would absolutely not voice that thought aloud. He wasn’t for her anymore, and she had to move on.
“We should go inside.” A chilly wind whipped her skirts about her ankles and she gave into a shiver. Whether it was from the winter weather or his proximity, she couldn’t say. “I don’t know about you but I’ve developed quite the hunger from today’s traveling. And Ellen will wonder what’s become of us.”
“I wonder that myself,” he whispered, but he released her and eased away with a slight frown marring the relative smoothness of his forehead. “Sunset is a couple of hours off. There might be time for a walk before nightfall. If the weather holds. Would you be amenable?”
Was this change in heart for the benefit of the trip, or would it carry through for a lifetime? She nodded anyway. “It will be lovely to move cramped muscles,” she responded and then glanced at the inn where Ellen lingered in the doorway, chatting or rather flirting with a footman in full livery. “Oh, dear.”
“What?” Colin’s huff of breath formed a white cloud in the cold while he followed her gaze. “That girl needs to be taken in hand, and I don’t have a bloody clue how to go about it without coming off an ogre. It’s positively scandalous how she behaves.”
“Perhaps she has too much of her father in her,” Lucy said with a grin she couldn’t recall.
He eyed her askance but a grin played about his sensuous mouth too. “That cannot be such a bad thing, for my daughter does have marvelous qualities as well.” With that, he started toward the door, and when he reached Ellen, he whisked her inside, effectively dismissing the footman with a handful of words.
“As do you, Colin, if only you would see them,” she said into the breeze before she crossed the graveled drive and followed him into the heavenly warmth of the inn.
Not a half hour later, Ellen stood in the doorway to their shared room as Lucy finished changing into a dress not wrinkled and stained from constant travel.
“Is everything all right?” she asked in some alarm. Please don’t tell me Colin has taken refuge in drink again. “Your father is well?”
“As far as I know. He has reserved a private dining room and is currently poring over the menu choices for this evening’s supper.” Ellen’s expression of confliction tugged at Lucy’s heart. “There is nothing amiss with me either,” she added as an afterthought.
“Then why are you standing there as if you wish to say something but cannot summon the courage?”
Though Lucy’s dress featured elbow-length sleeves and the green satin set off her pale skin, the neckline was lower than she usually wore, and it was one of the gowns Jacob had insisted she buy. Why it had been put into her luggage and swapped out for the simple day dress she’d actually packed, she couldn’t fathom. Still, Lucy grabbed a black shawl, and the lacy crocheted work gave her the semblance of modesty.
“Ellen, either say what you came to say or forever lose the opportunity.” She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Colin she was hungry, and the rumbling in her belly made her a tad snappish.
Finally, Ellen sighed. She tucked an errant section of blonde hair behind her ear as she approached. Then she slumped onto the end of the bed with a frown that, if she worked on harnessing its power, would have any number of young men buzzing about her in a couple of years. “I’m feeling rather sad, and I know I shouldn’t, for I have ever so much in my life I’m thankful for, but I cannot help it.”
“What has you so maudlin?” With her mother’s heart on alert, Lucy slipped over the floor and perched on the bed next to the girl. “Is it the young footman your father so expertly and rather rudely dismissed as we came in?”
“Pardon?” Ellen lifted her gaze to Lucy’s. She waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, him? No, he was an interesting nuisance, nothing more.” She let her hand flop into her lap where she knitted her fingers together. “I find I’m rather missing my mother very much right now,” she confided in a low voice.
“It’s understandable. Christmastide is a season where we think about lost loved ones the most, I think,” Lucy answered in an equally quiet voice. “I am struggling with the same feelings, quite frankly.”
“Which is why you will understand more than Father.” Ellen focused her gaze on her fingers. “Beyond missing Mother’s presence, I feel cheated, somehow. All of my friends have their mothers, go shopping with them, have them about to talk with, and I... don’t.”
Lucy’s heart squeezed. She thought about all the little things she did with her own daughter, the laughter they shared, the outings they went on, and she sighed. “Your father loves you, though. Don’t discount him.”
“It’s not the same, and besides, Papa is... well, you’ve met him.”
“Yes, but he’s trying, and I think he’s doing better.”
“But he’s not a mother.” She glanced at Lucy, and her brown eyes swam with tears. “When I have my Come Out, I fear I’ll be a failure, for I don’t know how to do all the proper things a young lady of the ton should.”
Lucy tamped down the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she sighed. “The ton places too much importance on the art of being idle, Ellen. Remember that, and play into your own strengths instead.”
The girl was quiet for a long time. “I suppose if I attempted to sum up how I’m feeling just now, it’s lonely.”
“Oh, sweeting.” How could she not comfort the child when she was at her most vulnerable? Lucy quickly slipped her arms around the girl and held her tight. “Nothing I can say will keep you from missing your mother, but just know that over the course of the Christmastide holiday, if ever you feel like this again, I’m available for encouragement.”
“Thank you.” Ellen’s words were muffled as she pressed her cheek against Lucy’s shoulder. “I’d hoped Father would marry again and that his new lady would help fill the void...” Her words trailed off and she held onto to Lucy as if she feared one or both of them would vanish.
“Has he shown interest in such a thing?” It was gauche of her to ask, but she couldn’t help it.
“No.” The word sounded forlorn. “Since Mother died, he’s had mistresses. Made no secret of them, but the women never stayed around long before he dismissed them.” She shrugged and pulled away in order to peer into Lucy’s face. “I’m not certain he wishes to marry again, for none of those women had the look of being a mother.” Her cheeks colored. “It is rather difficult to explain.”
“I can just imagine.” Lucy wiped away the tears from Ellen’s cheeks, much as she’d done countless times with Beatrice. “Does your father currently have a... a woman in his life?” It was something he and she hadn’t discussed, but it was rather a critical topic.
“He hasn’t been with anyone for ever so long, perhaps a year at least.”
“Ah, which is why his drinking has increased,” Lucy deduced softly. “Perhaps he is lonely too.” All the puzzle pieces he’d currently given her about his life suddenly fell into place to form a picture of what his existence must be. They weren’t all that different after all, for that was exactly what the nameless lump, that black void deep inside herself was she often tried to ignore and refused to name.
Lucy sat with her arms about Ellen for many minutes, the silence around them as comfortable as if she was in her parlor with her own daughter. At the forefront of her mind, worry gnawed. What would her children say, how would they react, when she delivered the news to them that they wouldn’t return to London and the lives they’d previously known? Would that damage the relationships she currently enjoyed with them? Oh, why was life so difficult? Desperate for an escape from her thoughts, she said, “Give your father some time as he works through the things that have haunted him. Perhaps by Christmas next year, things will have changed.”
“That is my wish for this Christmas,” Ellen whispered, and then she pulled out of Lucy’s embrace. She stood, a trace of embarrassment in her expression. “We should go downstairs before Father comes looking for us.”
“Go ahead. I’ll catch you up. I just need to grab my embroidery,” Lucy said as she gained her feet. Colin, for the sake of your daughter, please become the man I know you can be.
For a few hours after the evening meal was consumed, Colin had shown himself in a different light. He’d entertained her and Ellen by engaging them in parlor games they both knew well. Cross Questions and Crooked Answers had them all laughing until Lucy’s sides hurt. Since they didn’t have enough people for Buffy Gruffy, they indulged instead with Steal the White Loaf, whereupon Colin was “it” more often than not. Once the games were exhausted, they settled into cards, and though Lucy felt it her duty to decree teaching such things as whist and faro to Ellen decidedly scandalous, she played right alongside the others, even winning several hands, much to Colin’s mock displeasure.
As the evening drew to a close and Ellen’s eyelids drooped, Lucy sighed. She’d enjoyed herself and had fun despite the ever-present strain and the odd charge of current that bound her and Colin together.
With a wide yawn Ellen did nothing to hide in a ladylike fashion, the girl stood. “I’m going to bed. Lucy, do you accompany me?”
“In a bit. I want to tidy the room and perhaps finish my handiwork, but I’ll bid you goodnight now, for I’m certain you’ll be in dreamland when I do come up.” She smiled and the girl smiled back. There was a bond there that wouldn’t soon break. Perhaps the child would write to her and consider her a surrogate aunt.
Once Ellen had quit the room, Lucy stood, but Colin had already busied himself with tidying the room in her stead. She contented herself with watching him as he stoked the fire. How manly he was. Gone was the slim young man from her youth. In his place was this well-muscled creature with gray in his hair and temples, lines framing his mouth and eyes that crinkled deliciously when he laughed. And oh how merry his mirth had sounded when they’d played games. She’d never seen his eyes twinkle as much as they’d done tonight. The man he was now caused her pulse to kick up and butterflies to brush their wings through her belly.
When he turned and their gazes collided, heat slapped at her cheeks, for he’d caught her staring. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I appreciate it more than you can probably know.” To her mortification, tears stung her eyes. “Evenings like this remind me of when Jacob was alive. We used to stay up all night either talking or playing games...”
I’m in the drink now. She patted her dress, but of course there was no handkerchief present. Why the devil can I not just have a pocket square about when I need one?
“Ah, Lucy.” Colin closed the distance between them. He whipped out yet another handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. “Come. Talk with me.” Then he drew her to the fireplace and encouraged her to sit on the floor, his arm about her shoulders, their backs resting against the warm stones of the hearth, the worn leather chairs hiding them from the door if anyone were to come in. Long ago, he’d done the same thing in the kitchens at Lancaster Hall late one night, and they’d talked about everything and nothing for hours.
A shuddering sigh left her throat. Why did he have to feel so decadent next to her and smell so divine? “One thing is certain, I have never passed a more emotional trip than this one.” She laughed, but the sound was forced as she dabbed at her tears.
“Agreed. It has been both disconcerting but freeing, in a way.” He shifted, turning slightly to peer into her face. “Tell me about Jacob.”
“Where do I start?”
“Wherever you’re hurting the most,” he suggested on a whisper, compassion shining in his blue eyes, his expression somber.
Lucy nodded. Perhaps that was the best way after all. “He was a good provider, a great jokester and always quick with a laugh.” She smiled even though it was a watery affair. “He loved the children, adored his work for the Home Office. Spoiled me with trinkets and dresses if nothing else than to admire me in them.”
“As a man in love should,” Colin murmured but offered nothing else.
“He was a man of honor. Had a strong sense of right and wrong. I only hope that was instilled in Simon and Beatrice.” She paused, not sure of how to continue as her throat was clogged with tears and her chest tightened with remembrance and grief. “Oh, I miss him still, miss that companionship, that having someone about to talk with, who will understand,” she whispered, the words pulled from her. “I assumed we’d grow old together, but fate had other plans.”
“It often does,” he responded in a low whisper of his own and he squeezed her shoulder. “Perhaps it is because we—the survivors—need to learn how to be stronger.”
She pleated his handkerchief, her gaze on the tips of her slippers that peeked out from beneath the hem of her gown. “He talked about you always, but at Christmastide most of all.”
“Why?”
“This time of year was when he felt closest to you. Those memories of us are connected, for we were never apart in those days.” Finally, she raised her gaze to his once more. Shock and regret warred for dominance in his eyes. “Jacob loved you like a brother, Colin. He treasured the pocket watch you gave him that Christmas. Used it so much we replaced the chain.”
“Oh, I’d forgotten that watch,” he murmured. “I cannot believe he didn’t pawn it after...”
“Never. He treasured it.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.” He sighed and the warmth of his breath skated over her cheek. “Losing both him and you at the same time nearly ended me. But after several years, after I was married myself, I understood it was probably for the best.”
“He forgave you for the silence, for the anger.” Her tears dry, she smiled and it was a stronger affair now. “Hoped that eventually you’d find it in your heart to forgive him too, that you two could resume your friendship.”
“I’d lost touch with him, threw his letters into a box.” He snorted, but there was no anger in his expression. “The same box where all of my father’s letters went. I didn’t want that connection to my past—any connection. I tried to forget.”
“Perhaps we remember for a reason,” she added, her voice barely there. Some of the ache in her chest faded as she talked to this man who’d once known her husband too. “Jacob was adamant that you’d come around, but time ran out for him.”
“I’m so sorry.” He reached for hand with his free one and squeezed her fingers despite the handkerchief. “When you told me that first day of the trip that he’d died, I didn’t know what to do, because in that moment, I knew there was no chance to forgive, to make it right between him and I.”
A piece of her heart went into his keeping. “Keep changing, Colin, and remember Jacob at Christmas. He’ll know, and so will you.” A hiccupping laugh escaped her, and once more her eyes filled with tears, but not necessarily for her lost husband. “I’m lonely, and I think that’s the bulk of why I cannot fully enjoy Christmastide anymore. It is very much a holiday for romance, and I haven’t quite figured out how to celebrate it without that.”
“How well I understand that sentiment.” The rumble of his voice comforted her like nothing else could.
How very... odd.
“With the loss of Jacob’s townhouse, I feel as if I’ve failed his memory, somehow.” She sniffed but refused to give into more tears. “I only hope the children will understand.”
“I’m sure they will. Young people are resilient, and any children of yours will be stubborn, besides.” He patted her shoulder. “Season of miracles, remember.”
They sat in comfortable silence for long moments while the dying fire snapped and crackled and the soft drone of rain beat against the window glass once more. Her eyelids drooped. Lucy rested her head on his shoulder. His body against hers, his arm around her felt all too right, and it set her pulse racing with a newfound excitement. The small kernel of hope she perpetually carried in her chest bloomed into something she wasn’t sure she wanted, for he hadn’t shown an interest in such a thing.
From somewhere deep in the recesses of the inn, the chime of a long-case clock denoted the midnight hour.
Lucy stirred. “I should go up.” She struggled to her feet.
“Agreed.” Colin rose, standing all too close to her, the heat of his body seeping into hers. “We have one more day of travel ahead.”
“Well, one and some, and it’s raining again.” But she smiled at him. “Thank you for listening to me. I feel cleansed somehow.”
“Just as I felt after talking with you yesterday.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his brief touch burning across her cheek. His eyes reflected genuine sorrow and a seriousness she’d not seen before. “I feel as if I know Jacob better, as if he has indeed forgiven me, though I miss him. I should have sought him out earlier, been a man and—”
“Oh, hush.” Then Lucy lost her mind. She stood on tiptoe and stemmed his words by pressing her lips to his. Had she wanted the kiss on some level since their dance? Yes, merely to assuage her curiosity, and she wasn’t disappointed. His lips were every bit as manly and interesting as the rest of him. She blinked, pulling slightly away with heated cheeks. “I shouldn’t have...”
Colin merely grinned. He cupped her cheek and tugged her closer to him with a hand at her waist and then he kissed her this time, moving over her mouth, exploring, seeking, asking... remembering.
As tingles played her spine and danced low in her belly, a certain amount of panic set in, throwing cold water as it were over the response she desperately wanted to give. They couldn’t do this; the kisses were borne out of memories for a different time. Weren’t they?
Quickly, she wrenched from his embrace, the heat of his mouth lingering on hers. “Goodnight,” she uttered on the heels of a squeak, and then she fled the room, belatedly remembering to grab her reticule and her handiwork on the way out.
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
It was a long time after she’d settled beneath the bedclothes before she drifted into sleep or thoughts of Colin stopped pestering her.