One Perfect Christmas (Short Story) (2 page)

He’d proposed, she’d accepted, and the date had been set. A tidy transaction if there’d
ever been one.

“Like I said, miss, old Reg is crafty.”

Jane smiled, and before she could reply, the door at the far end of the stables blew
open. The wind surged inside, carrying sleet on frosty fingers that tickled Jane’s
bare neck and made her shiver. She drew the greatcoat more closely around her and
tucked her chin into the shelter of the collar to block the chilled wind.

Yes, her Scottish baron had been the answer to her family’s prayers.

Until he’d stolen away in the middle of the night for Gretna Green.

And not with Jane by his side. No, Lady Honoria Smelten could claim that dubious honor,
her formidable fortune proving too tempting for Jane’s Scottish baron.

Rather, Lady Honoria’s Scottish baron, she reflected.

The faint but unmistakable clip-clop of hooves interrupted Jane’s painful reminiscing.
She went up on tiptoe and strained against the gate to see clearly down
the aisle to where a flurry of sleet surrounded an approaching duo. The tall human
figure was obviously male but Jane couldn’t make out his identity. The familiar undulating
ears and squat build of the four-legged animal beside him, however, could be none
other than Reginald.

“Eeh-yaww.” The gentle donkey greeted Jane with his customary bray and quickened his
pace, his short legs carrying him as fast as they possibly could down the long aisle
toward her.

“You foolish little beast,” Jane scolded with affection and heartfelt relief, opening
the gate and stepping out of the stall.

She pushed the gate shut behind her and turned toward the donkey just as the heavy
stable doors slammed closed with a loud thud.

The noise drew Jane’s attention and she looked up; beyond Reginald, at the far end
of the aisle, a man stood with his back to her. He wore a snow-dusted greatcoat that
stretched tighter over broad shoulders as he latched the doors and secured the building.

Jane froze, shock holding her still, speechless, as she recognized him.

Lucas Cavanaugh.

Their history had begun with their first spat at the age of four over the superiority
of tin soldiers to porcelain dolls, carried forth to their first kiss at age
nine, and concluded last spring when she’d attempted to force herself upon him.

Despite the cold, perspiration beaded on Jane’s brow and temples. “Why are you here?”
she demanded. The words spilled out with no regard for politeness and she winced at
how much his presence shook her customary calm.

Lucas turned and met her gaze, a dark eyebrow quirking above one eye. “And it is lovely
to see you as well, Jane.”

His deep voice stirred already ruffled nerves and sent a shiver through Jane.

“Is that Reginald, then?” Robby put in as he crossed the stall toward her.

“Yes,” Jane answered flatly, wishing she were anywhere but where she was.

Robby opened the stall door and stepped out just in time to meet his long-eared friend.
“I’d think you’d be a trifle more enthusiastic, miss. Poor Reg here could have frozen
to death.”

He smiled down at the donkey, affectionately patting him on the shoulder before looking
up to catch a glimpse of Lucas, behind Jane. “Beg your pardon, my lord. I didn’t realize
you were there,” he said.

Jane shifted uncomfortably, barely aware of Robby beside her, all of her attention
focused on Lucas.

The servant glanced at Jane as he caught Reginald’s halter, her unease becoming his
own. “I’ll see to Reg, here,” he offered.

Lucas strode down the aisle toward them. His long, powerful legs, covered in buckskin
breeches and tall boots, made quick work of the distance between himself and the trio.
Brass buttons gleamed on his dark blue greatcoat, the snowflakes dusting his shoulders
already melting to damp spots on the heavy wool. “No need for forgiveness, Robby.
Only a fool would be out in this weather—and a donkey, of course.” A half smile curved
his lips as he looked at the clearly unrepentant Reginald.

Robby nodded and gently rubbed the soft hair between Reginald’s ears. “I’m sorry that
Reg here caused you such trouble. I’ll just see to him.…”

Jane cringed as Robby trailed off, then ordered herself not to worry. The man couldn’t
possibly know what happened during that last evening she and Lucas had spent together
in London, but she felt mortified all the same.

She shifted uncomfortably and stamped her feet at the very thought. Both men stared
at her with puzzled expressions.

“Ugh,” she muttered. It was as if the word was dragged from deep in her throat. “Robby,
I will not have your death on my conscience. You must be chilled to the bone. Go on
ahead and tell Cook I insisted she produce Father’s best brandy for you—not the inferior
Rathbone, you understand.”

“I’ve no need for such things, miss—”

“Your nose is turning blue as I stand here, Robby,” Jane interrupted, taking up Reginald’s
lead then motioning
for the servant to obey. “Do go inside where it is warm. You’ll be of no use to me
otherwise.”

The dear man eyed her with concern but acquiesced, nodding respectfully to Lucas before
reluctantly shuffling toward the stable doors.

“Your father always did make interesting choices when it came to what one could do
with—and without.” Lucas reached over and fingered the worn shoulder seam of the greatcoat
she wore. “Though I suppose, when it comes right down to it, a good glass of brandy
is far more warming than wool.”

Jane waited until Robby stepped out into the swirling snow and closed both doors behind
him before responding. Then she drew a deep breath, gathered her courage, and dove
into the apology she should have tendered him months earlier. “You cannot know how
sorry I am, Lucas. When I awoke and found you gone, oh … I’d been such a ninny. Drinking
that horrid brandy in an attempt to forget Baron McKee. Then trying to seduce you … I
couldn’t bear to remain in London. Couldn’t endure seeing the look on your face of … well,
I don’t even know. Abject horror? Pity? Whatever it would have been, it would have
been bad. Very, very bad.”

“Jane …” Lucas interrupted.

But she’d thought of something even more important to tell him.

“And the things I said!” Jane clasped her hands together, pressed them tightly against
the worn wool over her bosom, desperate to convince him just how earnest she was.
“I don’t remember everything, mind you. But I am sure every last word was as absurd
as the few I can recall. Unspeakable. Deplorable. I’ll never drink again, I can promise
you that.”

“Are you finished?” Lucas asked patiently.

Jane chewed on her bottom lip as she revisited her words. “Yes, I think so. Have I
missed anything?”

“You never do when it comes to words, Jane,” he answered, playfully chucking her under
the chin.

His warm fingers lingered against her bare skin, the pad of his thumb gently stroking
the curve of her cheek.

“Then you’re not angry with me?” she murmured, her voice throaty with emotion.

“I was never angry, Jane,” he answered, releasing her chin and stepping back to lean
against Reginald’s stall door. “I could never be angry with you.”

Relief flooded Jane’s senses. “You’ve no idea how thankful I am to hear that.”

She dropped Reginald’s lead and threw herself at Lucas, wrapping her arms about his
neck and enveloping him in a heartfelt hug. He smelled of sandalwood and the tangy
sea he traveled far too often.

Despite the thickness of the greatcoats that separated them, she was vividly aware
of the controlled strength and
power in his much bigger body. “So many things are changing, Lucas. I don’t think
I could bear to lose you, too.”

“What things?” Lucas replied, gently grasping Jane about the waist and easing her
a few inches away until her body no longer rested against his.

Jane’s one regret was telling Lucas the truth. She’d foolishly whispered a feverish
confession that she cared deeply for him, whilst attempting to land an unpracticed
kiss on his neck.

The question, asked in Lucas’s deep, drawling tone, raised goose bumps on her skin
at the same time heat flushed her body, and Jane shivered involuntarily. She stepped
back, putting more space between them before turning and taking up Reginald’s lead
in an attempt to hide her response. “My luck.”

“Is that so?” Lucas asked sardonically, pushing off from the wall to move closer.

Jane clucked for Reginald to step forward; her tongue felt suddenly thick and twisted.
“It
is
. Mother has found me a husband.”

Lucas fell into line behind her. “You’ve received a proposal?”

The disbelief coating his query made Jane wince.

The small donkey obeyed and docilely walked into his stall. She checked to make sure
Reginald’s hindquarters had cleared the stall door, then stepped back into the aisle,
pushed the door shut, and slid the lock home. “Not yet. But Lady Pearson’s nephew
has come for the holidays and my mother is intent on capturing him for our very own—as
am I, to be completely honest.”

Jane paused and looked down at her father’s shabby coat, which concealed an equally
worn morning gown.

Lucas searched her face. “Is this what you want? Is
he
what you want?”

Jane leaned wearily against the rough wood door and allowed his voice, his very nearness,
to soothe her. “It is what I
need
, Lucas.”

She looked up and peered into his eyes, expecting to find relief there. But his features
were curiously devoid of expression. She thought she saw indifference but couldn’t
be sure.

“Then you shall have him.”

Christmas Eve

“You, my son, have been avoiding me.”

Lucas shrugged into the coat of black wool his valet held out and smiled affectionately
at his mother as she crossed the threshold of his bedchamber. “Mother, I don’t believe
I’ve ever seen you look quite so beautiful as you do this evening.”

The Dowager Duchess of Bascomb smoothed the skirt of her deep blue lace-over-silk
gown, clearly pleased by his comment. She made an elegant figure, sapphires and diamonds
glittering at her throat and ears. “Lucas, you are so like your father—God rest his
soul.”

Lucas acknowledged his dearly departed father with a respectful dip of his chin. “God
rest his soul.”

The valet straightened the line of the coat across Lucas’s shoulders and awaited further
instructions.

“That will be all, Meeks. Thank you.”

The aged servant bowed and exited the room noiselessly.

“Shall we?” Lucas asked his mother, offering his arm.

“As I said, so like your father,” the dowager duchess continued as though she’d never
left off. “But you should know, a compliment will not stand between a determined woman
and what she desires. Now, what news of Jane?”

Lucas escorted his mother out into the hall, where he found his sister-in-law, Matilda,
and his two adorable nieces loitering.

He wasn’t fooled by their innocent expressions.

“Yes, Uncle Lucas, what news of Jane?” the seven-year-old twins parroted, mischief
twinkling in their enormous green eyes.

Lucas narrowed his gaze at the dowager duchess. “Is this what it’s come to, then?
I’m being waylaid outside my bedchamber by curious females?”

“Girls, do behave,” Matilda chided as she adjusted her deep aubergine sash. “If you
seek news of Jane, perhaps you should ask Lord Needles.”

“Are any of you on my side?” Lucas asked with mock irritation, though the mention
of Lady Pearson’s nephew had pricked his ire ever so slightly.

“Come now, son,” his mother said, gesturing for Matilda and the girls to lead the
way down the marble stairs of Castle Bascomb. She held tight to Lucas’s arm as she
took the first tread. “We are all on your side. But Lord Needles does present a threat,
my dear. Juniper Hall is falling down about the Merriweathers’ ears and neither Alice
nor her endearing, impractical husband can do a thing to stop it. A favorable marriage
for Jane is all that stands between them and utter ruination.”

Lucas’s chest tightened at the very idea, flames of anger licking at his heart. “Merriweather
should have acted some time ago—”

“The entire county would agree,” his mother interrupted, giving him a knowing look.
“But there is no use laying blame now. Jane must marry. And if you do not swoop in
and sweep her off her feet, it will be Lord Needles who does.”

Lucas hardly needed his mother to remind him. Ever since Jane had told him of Lord
Needles he’d been thinking of nothing else.

“You needn’t remind me, Mother,” Lucas replied as the sound of merry voices in the
salon reached his ears. “I’ve agreed to aid Jane in her pursuit of a husband. If Lord
Needles does not sabotage himself with an ugly personality and face to match, then
I will step in to ruin his chances.”

The dowager duchess stepped onto the marble foyer floor and paused to kiss Lucas on
the cheek. “Devious, to be sure. But I approve. I only hope you aren’t too late. You
must be brave, my boy.”

She released his arm and smoothed out her skirts once again. “Come along, there is
no time to waste,” she commanded, then marched toward the salon as a colonel would
approach an enemy lookout or mountain stronghold.

Lucas envied his mother’s confidence as he moved after her and considered her order.
Be brave
. He’d never before
had to think upon such a directive. Courage came naturally to him—or at least it had
before Jane’s inebriated declaration of love.

He reached the salon and paused to survey the room. The connecting doors between the
formal drawing room, the blue salon, and the expansive music room had been pushed
wide to create one long room. Beneath the glow from chandelier candles, the space
gleamed with holiday decorations. His mother and sister-in-law had sent the servants
out to cut pine boughs and then supervised the weaving of garlands. Scarlet ribbon
wound through the greenery and fragrant swags draped the fireplace mantels, outlined
windows, and nestled atop tables.