One Perfect Christmas (Short Story) (3 page)

The dowager duchess and Matilda had also made good use of the greenhouses, and flowers
in deep reds and glowing whites added their beauty and sweet scent to the mix.

The guests were clearly enjoying the gathering. The sound of their chatter was interspersed
with laughter, and the crowd shifted in swirls of color as the ladies in their festive
gowns moved amongst the more sober blue, black, and greens of the gentlemen’s attire.

Lucas accepted a glass of ratafia from a footman and stepped into the throng, eyeing
the cheerful gathering for Jane.

Pirates in the straits. A tiger attack in the West Indies. Marauding bulls in India.
The more dangerous, the better it had always been for Lucas.

But this wasn’t thrill-seeking. This was love. This was Jane.

He saw her near the fireplace, speaking with her mother. She wore a moss green muslin
gown, the neckline accentuating her long, slim neck. Her blonde hair was gathered
on top of her head, wisps of soft curls framing her face. The mellow light from the
fire cast a subtle glow upon her fair skin and deepened the alluring rosy hue of her
full lips.

Lucas wove his way through those gathered, smiling automatically at Jane’s endearing
habit of using often wildly dramatic waves of her hands to underscore a point or illustrate
a particularly thorny topic. From the looks of it, she and her mother appeared to
be discussing something involving a tree. Or perhaps a church steeple.

Jane glanced up and her gaze met his, light dancing in her beautiful blue eyes. She
ceased gesturing and captured Lucas with an utterly charming grin.

Why he’d never noticed its crooked tilt when they were young he could not say. But
now it made his head buzz with anticipation in a way the ratafia never could.

He stopped directly in front of the two, noting the way the fire shone about Jane.
Ethereal, if he wasn’t mistaken.

God, but he better get on with it. Sentimentality was sure to drown him otherwise.

“Lady Merriweather, I am thankful you braved the elements this evening,” Lucas said,
taking the woman’s outstretched hand and kissing her fingers lightly. “It would not
be Christmas without the Merriweathers.”

“You are your father’s son, Lucas,” Lady Merriweather replied distractedly.

Jane rolled her eyes, her expression both exasperated and affectionate. “What Mother
means to say is, happy Christmas, Lucas.”

“That, too,” Lady Merriweather added, looking at Lucas and offering him a distracted
smile. “Please forgive me. I am afraid my attention is rather divided this evening.
And—”

Jane elbowed her mother in the ribs.

“Oh,” Lady Merriweather exclaimed, dragging her gaze from across the room to stare
at Lucas as if seeing him for the first time. “Excuse me, won’t you? I must speak
with Lady Pearson.”

The woman trundled off in the direction of the pianoforte before either Lucas or Jane
could respond.

“Is she on pins and Needles, then?” Lucas joked, watching Lady Merriweather disappear
into the cluster of ladies gathered near the harp in the music room.

“It’s awful, isn’t it? The name,” Jane asked, cringing as she did so. “Do you think
it’s an omen of some kind?”

The temptation to fill Jane’s sometimes superstitious head with all sorts of truly
disturbing ideas was
overwhelming. He resisted, though. Jane needed to choose Lucas because she loved him—not
because she had no other choice.

“Not at all,” Lucas assured her, nudging her shoulder with his. “It’s only a name.”

Jane turned to him, her eyes wide with uncertainty. “Only a name? Surely you remember
Miss Dreary, my governess. And of course Mr. Root, who broke his neck—”

“When he fell into his root cellar,” Lucas finished for her. “Come now, Jane. You’re
letting your imagination run wild.”

She shook her head to disagree, but stopped suddenly. “I am, aren’t I?”

Lucas grinned and chucked her under the chin. “Well, yes. It’s always been rather
an adorable trait of yours. But hardly of use in this situation.”

Jane smiled shyly at him and leaned in. “Adorable?”

“Yes, Jane,” Lucas confirmed, fighting the desire to close the small gap between them.
“Absolutely adorable. One can only assume Lord Needles will be able to see the same.”

Jane frowned and took a small step back, concern clouding her face. “Quite the opposite,
I’m afraid. Mother told me he is a botanist and terribly serious. I doubt anything
is adorable to a botanist.”

“Botanist?” Lucas repeated, certain he’d misheard her. “Are you sure?”

“Quite. Mother told me not five minutes before you arrived,” Jane replied, looking
in the direction of where her mother had disappeared. “I’d mistaken a botanist for
an arborist—trees and such. A silly mistake, flowers for trees. He’s also a widower,
did I mention that?”

So she
had
been discussing trees with her mother earlier. Lucas knew her so well.

“A widower and a botanist?” Lucas answered, an unattractive sense of satisfaction
blooming in his chest. No serious scientist with a dearly departed wife could keep
up with Jane. “Interesting, Jane. He sounds as different from Lord McKee as a man
could be.”

Jane returned her gaze to him, a wounded quality mingled with the brilliant blue.
“Yes, let us hope so.”

For the first time in his life, Lucas felt clumsy. And nervous. And desperately impatient.
He needed to tell Jane how he felt, as much for himself as for her.

“Jane, I wonder, might I speak to you in private?”

Insecurity and fear could take a bloody dip in the River Styx for all Lucas cared.
He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Oh, oh!” Jane whispered urgently, batting at Lucas’s arm as she’d done since they
were children. “There is Mother. And Lady Pearson. And that can only be—”

“Lord Needles.”

Bloody hell, but the man had to be the only handsome widower botanist in all of the
empire. Lucas looked him up
and down, noting, with some reluctance, the apparent lack of infirmities. Nary a hunch
nor ghastly mole to be found.

“Oh,” Jane gasped, batting at Lucas once more. “He looks very much like you, only …”

“Different,” Lucas suggested, nearly gasping himself when the man smiled at Lady Pearson
and revealed perfectly white, gleaming, straight teeth.

Jane could not abide bad teeth, this he knew.

“Yes, different,” Jane observed, mesmerized by Lord Needles’s toothy display. “Dark
hair, dark eyes. Similar build. But there is something I cannot quite put my finger
on.”

Lucas narrowed his eyes over the widower botanist and attempted to refrain from seething
with irritation. “Let us keep it that way for now, Jane. No need for anyone’s fingers
to go wandering. Not just yet.”

It was remarkable, really. Jane watched Lord Needles approach, taking in his appearance
more closely. His hair was actually a shade lighter than Lucas’s, with gray at the
temples. He was perhaps a touch taller than Lucas, that extra bit contributing to
his leaner frame. And his gait was more controlled—purposeful. Yes, more purposeful
than Lucas’s often easy stride.

There was nothing wrong with purpose, Jane reminded herself, forcing a smile for the
oncoming trio. If she could not have Lucas, perhaps Lord Needles would make for a
suitable alternative.

She spied at Lucas from the corner of her eye.
If she could not have Lucas
. There was no question. No “if” about it. She’d asked for his help in securing Lord
Needles and he’d agreed. If ever he were going to realize he could love her—should
love her—it was then.

Blast that word, “if.” Two letters, without which there was no hope. Jane stifled
a sigh and forced her gaze away from Lucas to fasten on her mother and the duo as
they drew near.

Lady Merriweather led the pack, subtly gesturing for Jane to stand up straight and
smile as she came reached them and halted.

“My dear Jane, there is someone I would like you to meet,” her mother began.

Jane attempted to look surprised and hoped her eyes held friendly interest. “How lovely,
Mother.”

As the highest-ranking individual amongst them, the dowager bore the honor of making
the introductions.

Both Jane and her mother turned to the portly woman. Jane thought they must have positively
radiated expectancy since Lady Pearson appeared distinctively startled by the attention.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, her thin lips pursing with confusion. She looked bemused before
comprehension dawned. “Yes, well, Lord Cavanaugh, may I introduce my nephew, Lord
Needles.”

Jane watched as the two men bowed in unison, Lord Needles’s striking resemblance to
Lucas continuing to astonish her.

“And Miss Jane Merriweather, nephew,” the cheery dowager finished, smiling kindly
at Jane. “Lady Merriweather’s daughter, though I suppose you’d already deduced such.”

Jane dipped into a graceful curtsy and rose, offering her hand to the man.

“He’s a very clever man, my nephew,” the dowager added, pride filling her voice.

Lord Needles took Jane’s hand in his, his large fingers grasping hers ever so gently
as he kissed her knuckles.

“Oh, but I’m sure he is,” Jane said, watching Lord Needles as he released her hand
and straightened. “An arborist, is that correct, Lord Needles?”

Jane’s mother speared her with a nervous look.

“I meant botany. That is, you’re a botanist,” Jane recovered, smiling brightly at
Lord Needles. “Plants, not trees.”

Her mother’s lips twisted with exasperation.

Lord Needles laughed, his low chuckle making Jane grin.

“It is a true pleasure to meet you, Miss Merriweather. And yes, I study plants, not
trees, though I like trees well enough. What about you?”

Jane thought for a moment before answering. “Do you know, I believe I like both equally.
Not knowing all that much about either outside of their beauty, both supply ample
opportunity for reflection. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Lord Needles considered her answer—as did the rest of their party. Learning whether
the man was marriageable would be impossible as long as they entertained an invested
crowd.

“You’re quite clever, Miss Merriweather. And correct,” Lord Needles replied, a twinkle
of amusement in his eyes.

“It is true enough, Lord Needles,” Jane’s mother offered. “Her tutors all claimed
she was by far the brightest pupil they’d ever had the good fortune to teach.”

Lady Merriweather gestured at Jane, much as Farmer Doyle had done with his prized
pig at last year’s Autumn Fair.

“And thirsty,” Jane blurted out, belatedly smiling in apology. “That is to say, Lord
Needles, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the refreshments?”

Jane’s mother didn’t bother with subtlety. Instead, she grasped her daughter’s wrist
and held on. “Jane, dear, we’ve only just met Lord Needles. Do you mean to drag him
away already?”

Jane loved her mother. Even adored her at times. But the woman had very little confidence
in Jane’s ability to attract and retain a suitor. Rightly so, some would say. But
still, it grated on Jane’s nerves.

As did Lucas’s silence. He had yet to say a word to recommend Jane—in a subtle yet
effective way, of course. He was rather good at that type of thing, and she was relying
on him, as unfortunately it was a skill Lady Merriweather would never perfect. Jane
supposed the short span of time between now and when they’d made Lord Needle’s acquaintance—a
mere two minutes ago—should be considered.

Even allowing for that, Lucas’s presence was irksome. Irritating. Distracting. Jane
most desperately needed to focus on her future, not the past.

“Yes, Mother, I do,” Jane answered, arching one brow at Lord Needles and inviting
him to follow. “Only for a little while. I’ll return him shortly.”

He bowed to the ladies and offered Jane his arm. “To the punch, Miss Merriweather.”

Jane looped her arm through his and set off at a determined pace. Next to her, Lord
Needle’s frame felt comforting, reliable, welcome.

“I admire a woman who doesn’t dawdle,” he commented, smiling down at Jane.

She purposely slowed, embarrassed by her impatience. “I apologize, Lord Needles.”

“I wasn’t being facetious, Miss Merriweather,” he replied earnestly, releasing her
arm as they stopped in front of the table. “You have a mind and you use it rather
than hiding it away. That is to be commended.”

He procured two glasses of punch then looked about the lively room. “Where shall we
sit?”

“Did you mean what you just said, Lord Needles? About a woman having a mind
and
using it?” Jane asked, searching his face for any evidence of dishonesty.

“Perhaps the most important thing to know about me, Miss Merriweather, is that I always
mean what I say. Otherwise, what is the point in saying anything at all?”

Jane stared at him, waiting for a subtle curve to lift his upper lip or a tick to
begin in his left eye. Nothing. The man appeared to be telling the truth.

“Very well, then,” she said, continuing to watch him. “I believe we’ve need of a touch
more privacy. Come, let us retire to the settee near the pianoforte.”

Jane didn’t wait for the man to respond, but instead headed for the corner, dodging
her mother’s frustrated glare and Lady Pearson’s encouraging smile along the way.

She rounded the pianoforte and took a seat on the end of the settee, smoothing her
skirts hastily as Lord Needles sat down.

“Were you in fact thirsty? Or did I carry the punch all this way for nothing?” he
asked with amused politeness, offering her one of the glasses.

Jane accepted the offered cup and smiled conspiratorially. “Actually, I was. Quite
thirsty, indeed.” She sipped her punch delicately.

“As am I,” Lord Needles replied, taking a drink from his glass. “Inquests will do
that to a person.”

Jane choked on the fruity drink but managed to swallow the punch before spraying it
all over the front of the man. “Yes, I suppose they do.”