A Homespun Regency Christmas

‘‘Oh, Miss Duvall, I vow your lotions smell more luscious every time!’’ Mrs. Greeley gazed down at the array of bottles and pots on her store counter, and inhaled deeply of a dab of chamomile cream. ‘‘I cannot tell you how happy I am for a new batch. These fly off the shelves as quickly as I can put them there.’’

Antoinette smiled, deeply gratified by the compliment. She had worked long and hard over these preparations, concocting exactly the right recipes and mix of herbs. ‘‘There are soaps too, Mrs. Greeley,’’ she said, reaching into the large hamper and bringing out small, muslin-wrapped squares. ‘‘Rose, lavender, sandalwood. I am working on some toilette water; it should be ready to bottle after the New Year.’’

Antoinette thought of the little fragrant bars she had carefully wrapped up at home, waiting for Cassie and Penelope. ‘‘Indeed you are right, Mrs. Greeley. The sachet bags would be very nice too. Perhaps you could make a pretty display of them here on the counter? Then people coming up to pay for their purchases would see them, and you could persuade them that their mother or daughter needs just one more sweet little gift.’’

Mrs. Greeley laughed. ‘‘How clever of you, Miss Duvall! I shall do just that.’’ She turned the small, colored glass bottles so that their facets caught the sunlight from the windows. Her store was quiet at this time of day, and she was obviously primed for a bit of chatter. ‘‘Now, Miss Duvall, speaking of the festive season, I hope you are not working so very hard that you cannot enjoy it. It is Christmas, after all, and it only comes about once a year.’’

Christmas. Of course. How could Antoinette forget it, when every shop in the village was bedecked with greenery over the doors, every window festooned with ribbons, every horse’s bridle merry with bells? She had even given into it herself, bringing holly and evergreen in to decorate her fireplace mantel and staircase balustrade.

Much to her blushing shame, she went so far as to make a kissing bough to hang in her sitting room, just on the slight chance that Captain Mark Payne might come calling. She thought better of it as soon as it was made, though, and tossed it in the fire.

A very good thing too, for Captain Payne had not called. She had not seen even a glimpse of him in the past two days, not since he left her at her garden gate. She went walking in the evenings along the cliff, just as they had talked of, and he was not there either. Now tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and it seemed the holiday would pass without another meeting with the intriguing captain.

‘‘Of course I am enjoying the season, Mrs. Greeley,’’ she said, with a smile that even she could sense seemed overly bright and false. ‘‘Who could not?’’

The shopkeeper gave her a shrewd glance. ‘‘We heard that the family up at the castle has gone to Bath to visit the dowager countess.’’

‘‘Since they are your nearest neighbors, and your cottage lies such a distance from the village, it must get very quiet there. Very lonesome.’’

Antoinette peered closely at Mrs. Greeley, wondering what the lady was insinuating. Had she seen Mark leaving Antoinette’s cottage at daybreak? Was there gossip?

That would be the very last thing Antoinette needed. It was difficult enough to overcome the villagers’ suspicions as it was. But Mrs. Greeley merely looked complacent and innocent, her faded blue eyes wide as she peered up at Antoinette.

‘‘Yes, but one shouldn’t be alone at Christmas, Miss Duvall. You should come to the assembly tomorrow evening at the Hare and Hound. Mr. Greeley and I would so enjoy it if you came with us.’’

‘‘Yes, for Christmas Eve. Lady Paige is sponsoring, and the whole village is ever so excited—the assembly rooms haven’t been used in an age, and they are so much more spacious than the old rooms we used for the Christmas Eve assembly last year! There will be supper and dancing and cards.’’

Quite against her will, Antoinette was tempted. She generally disliked social events, where everyone watched her and whispered, and only a few people actually conversed with her. She usually only attended parties at Royce Castle or supper at the vicarage. She never went anywhere without the Leightons.

But she did love to dance, and was not averse to cards either. And she had not really been looking forward to a solitary holiday. She had hoped, oh so briefly, that perhaps she could invite Mark for a Christmas supper and a hand of piquet. Since that appeared to be a distant possibility, she should go to the assembly with the Greeleys and try to enjoy herself.

Mrs. Greeley’s smile lit up her round, lined face. ‘‘Excellent, Miss Duvall! We will see you tomorrow evening, then.’’

Antoinette tucked the payment for the soaps and lotions into her reticule, and stepped out onto the walkway, the bells on the Greeleys’ door jingling merrily behind her. It was a quiet time of day for the village, and not very many people were out and about on the street, going in and out of the half-timbered shops. Only the vicar drove by in his gig, raising his hat in greeting to Antoinette, and Mrs. Brown, the dressmaker, was arranging a new display of fabrics and ribbons in her bow window.

Antoinette turned her steps toward home, but then paused, considered, and glanced back at Mrs. Brown’s window. The mantua-maker sometimes had gowns ready to purchase, or at least some shawls and dancing slippers or headdresses. Something new, and dashingly attractive, might be in order for the assembly. After all, Mark Payne might, just might, attend.

Antoinette laughed at herself, and forced her feet to turn once more toward the outskirts of the village without going back to the shop. She was acting like a silly schoolgirl, mooning about for a man who cared nothing for her. She had thought, after their evening together, that they were forming a new friendship. But his silence these past two days gave the lie to that.

Ah, well, she thought, as she walked briskly along the clifftop pathway. So she had been wrong about the captain. She was certainly no worse off than she had been before.

And, with the winter wind whipping at her hems, the cold, pale sun shining down on her, she could almost believe that. She hummed a bright tune under her breath, a Christmas carol in honor of the season.

‘‘It came upon a midnight clear, that glorious song of old, from angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold. Peace on the earth, goodwill to men . . .’’

The tune quite died away in her throat as she turned the corner that led to her cottage and she saw the tall figure waiting by her garden gate.

Captain Payne. Mark. He had come after all. Her heart gave a flutter in her breast, and she felt a very foolish grin catch at the corner of her lips. For an instant, she feared he might be an illusion, a phantom with his back toward her, tall and broad in a dark blue greatcoat.

Then he turned, and she could clearly see his strong, scarred face, half-shadowed by his hat brim. He gave her a slow, tentative smile.

‘‘Miss Duvall—Antoinette,’’ he said, his rich, rough voice carried to her on the wind. ‘‘I have called to see how you fare.’’

He should not be here. Mark knew that very well. Antoinette Duvall had enough to contend with in her life without him adding to her troubles by tagging along at her skirt hems. She was far from home, making her life among strangers who whispered of ‘‘island witches.’’

He had resolved to leave her alone. She was a beautiful lady, obviously busy with her work, and this would be for the best.

That lasted only two days. Two days of chopping firewood and shoveling snow, of scything back the undergrowth from his garden. He worked himself hard during the day, worked until his muscles burned and the sweat trickled in itchy rivulets down his back and shoulders.

But at night—at night there was nothing to occupy his mind. He tried to read, yet he just ended up staring into the fireplace, remembering the dark mystery of Antoinette’s eyes, the way her face lit with a smile as she recounted some antic of the wild Leighton children. He wanted to know more about her, more of what lay beneath her smiles and her amusing stories.

Sometimes, when she thought he was not looking, her smiles faded a bit and some shadow of loneliness lowered over her fine eyes. A loneliness he knew all too well, and one he would banish from her eyes for all time if he only could.

He had not thought so much about a woman since the heady early days of his courtship of Elizabeth. Elizabeth. He grimaced now to think of her, to remember how he had been foolish enough to fall for her golden loveliness, her air of light charm. How he had never seen the shallowness behind her pretty, flirtatious manners.

Antoinette was nothing like Elizabeth. Mark would stake his ship—if he still had one—on that. She had charm, but there was no heartlessness in it. She was marked by life, as he was, and that left no room for a shallow heart. Her dark eyes spoke of miseries and joys that a girl like Elizabeth, now safe in London as Lady Penworthy, could know nothing of.

It was that gleam in Antoinette’s gaze that drew him here today, when he could stay away no longer. It was why he found himself standing outside her garden gate, wearing his best coat, a dark blue superfine the height of fashion twelve years ago, his boots shined and his hair neatly tied back.

Yes, he had done his best to make himself appear presentable (a hopeless endeavor on the best days). But now it appeared his efforts were in vain, as Antoinette was not at home. There was no smoke from her chimney, no stirring at the window draperies.

He gathered the reins up, and turned to mount the horse when he heard a lightly lilting voice call, ‘‘Good afternoon, Captain Payne—Mark! I trust you have not been waiting too long?’’

His heart gave a jolt to hear that voice, crisp and sweet in the cold air. Grinning like an idiot, he stepped back to see Antoinette hurrying down the pathway toward him. She was not dressed in her green silk robe today, but instead wore an ordinary walking gown and pelisse of burgundy-and-cream-striped wool. Her glorious hair was tucked beneath a burgundy turban, and the dark fur collar of her pelisse lay sleekly against her throat.

In the pale winter sunlight, dressed as a respectable English lady, she did not have the wild, untamed beauty of her midnight self. Yet her eyes still glowed, her tall figure radiated energy and vibrant good health. He felt his own spirits rise just watching her, and his reticence of the past two days seemed foolish indeed.

His life held little enough cheer. Why should he not enjoy the company of a lovely lady, if she was willing to bestow it?

He resolutely pushed back the niggling doubts, the revulsion of Elizabeth and her ilk, and returned Antoinette’s smile with one of his own.

‘‘I have only just arrived,’’ he answered her. ‘‘But I saw you were not at home, so I was about to take my leave.’’

‘‘I am glad I returned in time, then,’’ she said. As she reached his side, she held her hand out to him, and he bowed over it. She smelled of jasmine and the fine kid of her glove, and he wanted so much to hold onto her hand, to absorb her warmth into his own flesh.

She withdrew it even before his clasp could tighten, though, still smiling, her cheeks painted with a pink flush over the coffee and cream.

‘‘Won’t you come inside, Mark?’’ she said, pushing open the garden gate and leading the way to her door. ‘‘I gave Sally the afternoon off, but I’m sure I can find some tea to offer you.’’

‘‘Thank you, Antoinette,’’ he answered, following in her jasmine-scented wake. He was afraid his tone and demeanor were ridiculously stiff, but he was not accustomed to paying polite calls. Even before his injuries, he had been poorly equipped to perform social niceties. Life aboard a ship held little in common with a drawing room.

Antoinette did not appear to notice, though, and he relaxed as soon as he stepped through her door. Her home was not grand, as his mother’s was; there was no delicate gilt furniture for him to worry about smashing, no porcelain gewgaws. Antoinette’s abode was filled with fine Jacobean antiques and glowing garnet and blue rugs, fine paintings of seascapes and portraits of small children, and rich draperies at the windows. But it was all very welcoming and cozy. The air was scented with the bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling rafters and the leather bindings of books.

Antoinette took his coat and hung it on a peg beside her pelisse. ‘‘Please, sit down, Mark,’’ she said, gesturing toward the chairs drawn up by the banked fire. She went to open up the draperies, letting light spill into the sitting room, before joining him there.

Antoinette laughed. ‘‘Oh, I am quite well! I had a terrible headache the day before yesterday, but it is gone now. I walked into the village, to deliver some of my special lotions to Mrs. Greeley’s store. She wanted them before Christmas in case any of her customers needed last-minute gifts.’’ She reached for the fireplace poker and stirred the embers, coaxing them to flame anew.

Mark leaned back against the velvet cushions of his chair. He felt his qualms of the past two days fading away at the sense of rightness in this moment. It felt so pleasurable and strangely comfortable to sit here with her, feeling the soft magic of her presence around him. Her ease in his presence, her informality, gave him a sense of comfort he had not known in a long while.

‘‘Actually, Mark,’’ she said, ‘‘I am very glad you came to call. I was going to send a note around to you this afternoon.’’

‘‘Indeed. You see, Mrs. Greeley invited me to an assembly at the Hare and Hound Inn tomorrow evening. It is in honor of Christmas Eve. I believe they have it every year in different locations, yet I have always spent the holiday in Bath until now. I would like to attend, and I need an escort. Would you care to come? I know it is not at all the thing for a lady to invite a gentleman, but perhaps I could be excused by my island upbringing.’’

Mark stared at her, aghast. An assembly? At the village inn, where there would be dozens of people in attendance? People who would stare and whisper.

He liked this, just sitting with her by a quiet fire, listening to her speak, enjoying her smiles. It was comfortable. It was—safe. He could not imagine walking into a dance, where everyone would wonder how such a damaged cripple had found such a rare and exotic beauty.

‘‘An assembly, Antoinette?’’ he asked her, still wondering if perhaps he had misheard her. ‘‘Where there will be—dancing and such?’’

She just nodded serenely. ‘‘Of course. And cards too, for those who do not care for dancing. I confess I myself quite enjoy a lively country dance.’’

‘‘Generally, I do not. In such a small place, someone as—different as I can have a difficult time finding a niche. I am sure you have found the same. But Mrs. Greeley said, and I concur, that it is Christmas. A time for new beginnings, new friends. It would be too sad to spend it all alone when one could spend it with music and dancing.’’

Mark felt himself being swayed, even against his very instincts. The thought of dancing with Antoinette was too much for a red-blooded male to resist.

She gave him a cajoling smile. ‘‘Come, Mark, for me? I have a ballgown I am aching to show off, and if you are not there I shall sorely lack for partners.’’

Mark was sure that was not true. Yet he found he was nodding, and saying, ‘‘Of course, Antoinette. I would be honored to escort you to the assembly.’’