“Lily, look! Look!” Jessup bellowed as the airship towers in Calais appeared like phantom fingers poking out of the dark shape of land on the horizon. We had made it across the Channel without incident. In fact, we’d made it across the Channel in complete silence. There was no one and nothing else in the sky with us. That was either a very good thing or a very bad thing. On the one hand, we didn’t see airship pirates—that was always a plus. On the other hand, it could also mean the race was already over, and we were about to limp into port in an embarrassing last place.
“What? Where?” I yelled back.
“Astern!” Jessup pointed behind us. I lowered the binocular lenses on my goggles and scanned the horizon. There, in the distance, were at least a dozen specks in the sky: the other racers.
“Can you see any markings on the balloons?”
Jessup shook his head. “Maybe the Rose and Thistle. I can’t quite see.”
Grabbing a spyglass, I locked the wheel and ran to the bow. I couldn’t see anyone in front of us. There was some traffic around the tower. I couldn’t see if it was other racers or just air traffic. I scanned the racing platform. There was a ship docked there. A Marshal’s ship? I wasn’t sure, but it looked like a private vessel, not a racing ship.
“See anything?” Jessup called.
“I...I’m not sure. I don’t think so. Let’s finish this!” I called back then ran back to the wheelstand. For once, maybe I hadn’t botched it. I pulled the rope leading to the bell in the gear galley, calling for more speed. The gears lurched, and the propeller at the back of the Stargazer turned hard.
“They’re coming in fast from behind,” Jessup called.
“Not fast enough.”
I held the wheel and steered the Stargazer toward the platforms. The sky between me and Calais was clear. The Yuletide Airship Race, and that fat stack of coins, was ours.
* * *
“Congratulations, Mademoiselle Stargazer,” a French ground crew member called as he helped anchor in the Stargazer. “You are the first racer to arrive.”
Angus more leapt than crawled out of the gear galley to hug me and Jessup.
“We did it!” I screamed, wrapping my arms around the boys. I could barely believe it. I was a good pilot, and we were a good team, but we were never lucky. Today, however, was different.
“A Christmas miracle!” Angus exclaimed then kissed my forehead. “Good job, lass.”
“Love you, gents,” I replied, hugging them both.
A crowd was forming on the platform outside the Stargazer. Reporters were shouting questions at us while Marshals tried to control the crowd. Snow started to fall, dusting the honey-colored timbers of the Stargazer’s gondola.
“I...I don’t believe it,” Jessup stammered excitedly then wiped his hands across his cheeks.
“Are you crying, brother?” Angus asked with a laugh.
“No, of course not,” Jessup retorted hotly then turned from us to wipe his eyes, causing both me and Angus to laugh.
“Pardon! Pardon,” a Marshal called as the race judges and other important officials came down the platform to meet us. What a festive bunch. All dressed in bright hues of red and green, sporting holly on the brims of their top hats, a contingency of the fancy crowd boarded the Stargazer while the others stayed on the platform chatting with reporters. I heard peals of laughter coming from the crowd but couldn’t see what was so funny.
“Mademoiselle, congratulations,” a man wearing a sparkly red banner with the word Judge on it told me. He had on a long, red-velvet coat trimmed with fox fur and wore a black top hat. “We have a special guest to present your prize,” he added with a smirk. “Oh, Father Christmas? Do you have something for this beautiful young woman?” he shouted toward the crowd.
Just then, I was able to see what all the fuss was about. Someone had dressed in a Father Christmas costume. The full attire, including a long, fake white beard, a green hooded robe, and a tall staff trimmed with garlands of holly and mistletoe adorned the actor.
I had to laugh. The French always had a flair for the dramatic. Carefully, Father Christmas boarded the Stargazer, leaning heavily on his tall staff, his eyes downcast, as he moved to greet us.
“Father Christmas, this is our winning racer,” the judge told the actor, barely containing the glee in his voice. “Do you have anything special in your satchel for her?”
I cast an amused glance at Angus, who was smiling from ear to ear...in fact, he was smiling too much. “What?” I whispered harshly.
Angus laughed loudly but said nothing.
Behind me, Jessup started to giggle. I frowned. I was missing something.
“I have a very special Christmas gift!” Father Christmas boomed. “But first, this pretty girl must give me a kiss!”
Ugh. The French and all their kissing. It got tiresome. And also, what the hell? It wasn’t like they were going to force any of the male racers to kiss Father Christmas. Just then, however, Angus and Jessup broke into a fit of laugher, Angus burying his head on Jessup’s shoulder.
I glanced from them back to Father Christmas. I was not in any mood to kiss some old codger in a scratchy, fake wool beard. This time, however, I really looked at him. It was not an old man hiding under that costume. And come to think of it, his accent wasn’t French either. I took a step toward Father Christmas who, I realized, was avoiding my gaze.
“A kiss, eh?” I asked slyly. “Sorry, Father Christmas. I reserve those for someone special.”
At last, he looked at me. I could see his smirk behind that fake beard. And there was no mistaking those blue eyes. I would know them anywhere. Byron.
With a laugh, Byron pushed back the hood and pulled off the fake beard. Soft snowflakes fell on his curly black hair. In the cold air, his pale skin seemed to glow as if lit up from the inside. His pouty lips were sugar plum red and, no doubt, just as sweet to taste.
From the crowd, I heard people gasp. “Is that Lord Byron?” someone asked in a whisper.
“George?” I whispered softly, reaching up to touch his cheek.
“Yes, Lily Stargazer, there really is a Father Christmas,” Byron said, then picked me up and kissed me so hard it took my breath away. I dissolved into his sweet embrace. What a way to win.
* * *
The fireplace in the bed chamber of the small French chalet crackled. The room felt toasty. I stretched out on the soft bed, running my hands along the satiny sheets. The lingering smell of opium hung in the air, Byron and I having just finished a pipe. Byron stroked my bare back then kissed the nape of my neck.
There was a knock on the door. “My Lord?” a servant called.
“Come in,” Byron answered, pulling up the blankets to cover both our naked bodies.
The servant, a primly dressed man with down-cast eyes, entered the room. “My Lord, may I take away your plates?” he asked.
Byron yawned tiredly. “Anything else, my dear? Another bite of plum pudding?” he whispered, then nibbled my earlobe.
I giggled. “I’m more than satisfied.”
“Then I have done my job,” Byron told me, turning to the servant. “As you will,” he said with a wave of the hand, then pulled the blankets over both our heads.
I could hear the servant clearing away the trays. Roasted goose, mince pie, platters of roasted vegetables, freshly baked sweet breads, nut and currant pastries, puddings, and creamy berry trifle had loaded the table. It was more food than ten people could have eaten. Between the meal and the feast of flesh Byron and I had enjoyed, I was thoroughly sated.
Under the covers, Byron and I lay facing one another. He reached out and touched my lips.
“So sweet,” he whispered. “Sweeter than anything the finest chefs in France put on my table.”
“Father Christmas.” I grinned at him. Even hidden under the blankets, I could see the twinkle in his blue eyes. Nothing could hold in his mischievousness, and I adored him for it.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. His sweet scent of orange blossom and patchouli perfumed the sheets. I could still feel his touch on my body, the glow of our lovemaking just fading. The delicious mixture of opium, good food, and Byron was almost more than my senses could stand.
“I’ve left another bottle of champagne, My Lord. May I be of any further service?” we heard the servant call.
“Did you get a good look at him? Any services he can provide you?” Byron asked with a naughty wink, calling to mind the time a Spanish serving maid’s looks were too delicious for either of us to pass up.
“Not today,” I answered.
“No, my good man, we’re sinfully satisfied here,” Byron called.
Byron and I both chuckled.
The man said nothing. China and glass clattered as the man wheeled the serving tray from the room.
Rising, Byron stripped away the blanket and walked, naked, to the table, where he poured us both a glass of champagne. He handed me a flute made from Venetian glass. It sparkled in the dying light. The sun was sinking on a Christmas I would never forget. Byron then pulled a small wrapped bundle from a leather bag.
“Happy Christmas,” he said, handing it to me.
My heart fell to my feet. I felt miserably embarrassed. “I...I don’t have anything for you.”
“Your being here is my treat,” he said, then kissed me on the forehead.
My hands shaking, I removed the sparkly blue bow and silvery paper to find a soft suede cap inside. It was a satin-lined and shaped a bit like the caps some of the newsboys on the streets of London wore but more well-made. The suede was Italian and sewn together with fine stitching.
“The moment I saw it, I knew it would be adorable on you,” Byron said then tossed the cap on my head, wiggling the brim so it sat perfectly. He then pushed my hair behind my ears.
There was a large mirror across the room. I spotted my reflection. The cap was perfect.
“You see! Like it was made just for you,” Byron said, looking very pleased with himself.
“Thank you,” I said simply, but my heart was brimming. It was a true Christmas gift, and the first in my memory, coming from the most welcomed, unexpected, and beloved source.
“It’s nothing,” he said nonchalantly, but I could see he was happy.
Byron threw himself back down on the bed and pulled me close. I draped my arm across him, laying my head on his chest. I closed my eyes. The wafting scents of Christmas and Byron fragranced the air. All the lonely heartache that had plagued me earlier seemed to disappear. This was a Christmas I would remember for the rest of my life, my first real Christmas. The first Christmas I felt the love and magic of the season.
“Happy Christmas, George,” I whispered.
Byron lifted my hand and kissed it. “Happy Christmas, Lily Stargazer.”