Regency Romp - Happy Christmas Mr Jones (Regency Romps) (2 page)

             
‘I am very sorry for it.  I lost my own mother when I was but a boy – and my father some six years ago.’

             
‘Then I am sorry for you, sir.  It must have been hard to lose your mama when you were just a boy.’

             
‘It was,’ he agreed and a shadow passed across his face.  ‘I think it was almost worse to lose my brother though…’  He shook his head.  ‘We shall not speak of these things.  Though I fear they lay heavy on my mind since the news I bear is not good for Mr Jones.’

             
‘I should be very sorry to know that his son had been killed.’

             
‘Forgive me, I must not say – he will tell you if he wishes.’

             
‘Yes, of course,’ Lydia said.  ‘Look out of the window.  You should see the cottages I spoke of just ahead.’

             
He pulled the sash and the window slid down so that he could look out.  ‘Ah yes, I see them.  Thank you for accompanying me, Miss Lydia.  It has helped me – in more ways than you may imagine.’

             
The carriage was ordered to stop.  Captain Milliband got down and the coachman was ordered to return to the village.

             
‘Thank you again, Miss Savage,’ Captain Milliband said.  ‘I hope your sister is not too anxious or cross with you.’

             
‘She will not be cross and there is no reason to be anxious.’

             
Lydia leaned forward to look out of the window as he walked towards the cottages.  She had told him which one belonged to Mr Jones and, as he approached, the door opened and the elderly man came out.

             
Lydia sat back.  She did hope that Harry Jones was not dead.  It would be bad enough if he were wounded – but if he had been killed…Suddenly, the treats she had planned for the old man paled into insignificance.  It would not be a happy Christmas for Mr Jones if he had lost his son.

             
The carriage stopped in the main street of the village and Lydia got down, walking swiftly towards the haberdashery shop.  She would still buy that red wool for Mr Jones’s scarf and hope that the news was not as bad as she feared.

‘Mr Ernest Jones?’  Tomas Milliband asked, extending his hand.  ‘You do not know me, but until recently I had the honour to be your son’s commanding officer.  May I come in please?  I should like to talk to you.’

             
He saw the colour ebb from the elderly man’s face.  Harry had told him that his father had married late, taking a young and lovely wife when he was well into his forties.  Millicent had been a young woman of twenty, but in need of a home and someone to care for her.  By all accounts it had been a happy arrangement against the odds, until her untimely death of the smallpox at the age of forty-one.  Harry was his father’s only child – his only living relative.

             
‘My son…is he dead?’  Mr Jones asked, his hands shaking.  ‘You would not have come all this way unless the news was bad…’

             
‘It is bad, sir, but not the worst,’ Tomas said, looking grave.  ‘Harry was wounded saving another man’s life.  He is recovering but…I am sorry, there is no way I can put this easily to you.  He has lost a leg and will be given an honourable discharge from the army.’

             
‘My poor boy!’  Mr Jones seemed to stagger a little.  ‘The army was his life.  Now he is crippled and will find it hard to do any kind of work…’

             
‘He will learn to walk in time, sir.  I am paying for him to be nursed, and he will be fitted with a wooden leg when he can bear it.  For the moment the pain would be too much to bear, but in a few months…and I shall find him work on my estate.  Harry is intelligent.  He can work in my agent’s office.’

             
‘He would not want charity, sir.’

             
Tomas smiled.  ‘I would not offer charity.  When he is well enough to work he will be expected to pull his weight, which I have no doubt he will – but do not think of what I give as charity.  Were it not for your son I should not now be standing here.  I too was wounded, blown off my feet and knocked unconscious in the face of the advancing enemy.  Harry carried me over his shoulder for more than a mile before he found a wagon to transport me back to camp.  Had he left me behind I think I should probably had died, trampled beneath the horses and wheels of a retreating army.’

             
‘Thank you for coming to tell me, sir,’ Mr Jones said.  ‘Where is my son lying now?  In which infirmary have they placed him?’

             
‘He is not in an infirmary.  I was sent home at the same time as Harry and arranged for him to come to my home, where we have both been nursed and looked after very well by my sister.’

             
‘Your sister has been nursing my son?’  Mr Jones was astonished.  ‘Surely that is not fitting?’

             
‘Angela is a widow and nothing would do for her but to nurse the man who had saved her brother’s life,’ Tomas said, smiling.  ‘Now, sir – will you allow me to take you to Harry?  He is recovering but I feel that he would do better for seeing you – and I am sure you would wish to see him for yourself.’

             
Tears rushed to the elderly man’s eyes.  ‘You are too kind, sir.  If you would wait but a moment I will gather what I need…’

             
‘You shall be brought home again, sir.  I promise,’ Tomas said. Privately, he thought it might be a good idea for Mr Jones to live with his son in the cottage he intended to provide, but he knew the old man’s pride would not accept so much all at once.  It was a matter that needed delicate handling.

             
He nodded his head, contenting himself with looking out of the window, his thoughts dwelling on the pretty young woman who had so kindly directed him here.  It was good of her to have gone out of her way, especially as she had been obliged to put her trust in a man she did not know.

             
Tomas smiled.  Both she and her sister were attractive young ladies, though not in the first stare of fashion.  He thought Miss Lydia the prettiest of the two, though both would make a stir in London society given their chance.

             
Now why had he thought that?  He could not know their circumstances, though something told him they were not wealthy young women.  Obviously of gentle birth, they had perhaps fallen on hard times now that they had no parents.

             
Tomas did not know why the thought of Miss Lydia having to live with someone other than family should disturb him but it did…

             
‘I’m ready now, sir.’

             
Turning as Mr Jones spoke, he put the errant thoughts away.  He doubted that he would ever see the young woman again, and perhaps that was for the best.

             
Tomas had obligations.  His father had begun negotiations for a marriage some years ago.  As far as he knew they had come to nothing for the young lady in question was no more than fourteen at the time, but, since he’d returned from the wars, it had been forced upon his notice that a certain young lady was expecting a proposal of marriage from him.

             
He had no desire to marry Miranda Jenkins but according to his sister, she expected a proposal daily.  Tomas did not know how he was to avoid it - if indeed his father had made the promise for him…

*

Lydia was thoughtful as she accompanied her sister home to the Manor.  She hoped the news about Harry Jones had not been too dire and had made up her mind that she would visit his father at her first opportunity.  The thought that he might have lost his son was too lowering and quite cast her spirits down.

             
‘Is something troubling you, Lydia?’ Jane asked as they came in sight of the Manor.  ‘That man…he did not harm you in any way?’

             
‘What? Oh no,’ Lydia laughed.  ‘Nothing of the sort, sister.  He was the perfect gentleman.  I was concerned for Mr Jones.  Captain Milliband came to bring news of Harry and I fear it may be bad news.’

             
‘That is unfortunate,’ Jane said.  ‘We shall ask Millie to inquire when she visits her granny this weekend, unless we hear sooner.  If something has happened I am sure my uncle will visit and do what he can.’

             
‘Yes, of course.’  Uncle Simeon could do more to help his former employee than Lydia, of course – but she would go herself as soon as she could.  With all the work she had taken on for the Christmas gifts her time was not her own, for if she neglected it the handkerchiefs and the scarf for Mr Jones would not get made.  ‘I do hope the news was not the worst.’

             
Lydia wished that Captain Milliband had confided in her, but of course he had thought it proper to tell Mr Jones first.  She could in any case do very little, but she would continue with her gifts just the same.

             
Her thoughts turned to Captain Milliband himself.  He was very handsome, so charming and thoughtful…and it was unlikely she would meet him again.

             
Sighing deeply as they entered the house, Lydia thrust her thoughts from her mind.  She would meet someone she could like enough to marry one day, perhaps at the Christmas Ball…

             
Yet she could not help thinking of how blue the captain’s eyes had been and of the way he’d held her hand and smiled at her.

             
Now what foolishness was this?  Lydia laughed and shook her head.  One did not fall in love on such slight acquaintance.  She knew nothing of Captain Milliband or his family – and it was unlikely that she would meet him again.

             
A sigh left her as she regretted the fact, for he had been so very charming.

‘Have you finished the handkerchiefs?’ Jane asked three days before Christmas.  ‘Annabel thinks we should distribute the gifts tomorrow.  All the sweets and cakes have been tied up in muslin bags with pretty ribbons, and Uncle Simeon has given us the gifts he promised.  All we need is the kerchiefs and the boxes will be ready.’

             
‘Yes, here they are,’ Lydia said, taking a pile of neatly hemmed linen kerchiefs from her workbox.  ‘I just have to finish my scarf for Mr Jones.’

             
‘We do not know if he will be at home for Christmas,’ Jane reminded her.  ‘When Papa called, he was told that Mr Jones had gone to visit Harry at Captain Milliband’s home – and we do not know if he has returned.’

             
‘At least we know that Harry was wounded but still alive when his father went to visit,’ Lydia said.  ‘I shall finish the scarf this afternoon and his box will be ready to deliver tomorrow.’

             
‘And the next day will be the day of the Christmas Ball,’ Jane said.  ‘Are you excited, dearest?’

             
‘Yes, of course,’ Lydia’s face lit up.  ‘We shall be wearing colours again, Jane – and perhaps…perhaps we shall meet someone exciting.’

             
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Jane said, but turned her face away.  Jane had a secret that she had never told anyone.  She was in love with someone, but it was hopeless and she could never reveal it to anyone.  ‘I know Annabel and Mary have new gowns, but I had a new gown just before we went into mourning and do not need one.  Shall you wear your jonquil silk?’

             
‘Yes, it has been worn only twice before and I did not like to ask my uncle for a new one,’ Lydia said.  ‘I am quite content with it, Jane – and I have a new pair of satin dancing slippers.’

             
‘Yes, I know.’  Jane smiled affectionately at her.  ‘I wish it might have been different, my love – but I fear we must make the best of things as they are.’

             
‘I am content as we are, Jane,’ Lydia assured her, but it was not quite true.  She did not envy her cousins their new gowns, but she had been unable to get the thought of Captain Milliband out of her mind.

             
As Jane settled down with a book to read, Lydia went on with her knitting.  The colour was a deep scarlet and looked warm and cosy, though some of her stitches and been dropped and picked up again, and she feared it was not as perfect as the scarves Annabel and Mary had knitted.  However, it had been a labour of love and Lydia hoped that Mr Jones would not notice a few untidy stitches.

             
She worked diligently, her thoughts transgressing from the work in hand only half a dozen times.  Had Captain Milliband thought of her at all?  Of course he would not.  He would not be interested in a young woman of no fortune who was only moderately pretty.

             
What a foolish girl she was to let her thoughts dwell on the handsome captain.  She must forget him and think of the Christmas Ball, when she might meet an earnest young farmer who would fall in love with her and sweep her off her feet – it was the most she could hope for in her circumstances.

*

Tomas Milliband saw the young woman coming through the park and took a hasty detour.  It was most ungallant of him to avoid Miranda, but he really could not bring himself to propose marriage to her.  He knew that his sister had asked Miranda to their Christmas Eve party and if he must speak that would be the time – but he knew that if he allowed himself to be bullied into it, it would be the worst mistake of his life.  The girl was attractive if you liked insipid silly creatures – but she sounded like a horse when she laughed and that would drive him out of his mind.

             
Besides, Tomas could not get the picture of a girl’s face out of his mind.  Miss Lydia Savage.  He knew nothing of her other than that she had a kind heart and her smile made his heart leap in his breast.  She was probably not at all suitable as the bride for the heir to a great estate – but did that really matter if she was the one?

             
Tomas had not truly believed in love, though some of his friends raved over the young ladies they had married or become engaged to.  As a young officer he had been attracted to a score of ladies, most of them married, older – and a few of them available.  He had enjoyed some very pleasant liaisons with these ladies and imagined that he would be content to marry a girl of good birth and some fortune and find his pleasure in his mistresses.

             
One smile from Miss Lydia and all his notions had turned upside down.  Tomas knew that he was being very foolish, but somehow he had to see her again...

             
‘Captain Milliband…or your lordship, as perhaps I should say…’ Tomas turned to meet the old gentleman with a smile of welcome.  Mr Jones had been a pleasure to know and his devotion to his son had worked wonders.  ‘I think Harry is on the mend now and I ought to return to my cottage.  There’s a few things I need to do if I am to live here, sir.’

             
Tomas looked at him in delight.  ‘So you have made up your mind to take up my offer, Mr Jones.  I am so very pleased.  I know it will give Harry peace of mind to have his father close at hand – and your knowledge of gardens is much appreciated by my head gardener I can tell you.’