Read Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas for Free Online Page B

remained frozen in silence.
    Nicholas began assembling some essentials for the coachman to take with him. “Lady Anna, like it or not, we must be. . .”
    “Practical.” Her sigh blunted the edge of irony.
    “Sometimes, discretion is the better part of valor,” he murmured, adding a pair of extra mittens from his valise and the muffler from his neck to the packet of food in the other man’s hand. “Your courage and concern are commendable, but pushing onward might only end up being far more dangerous for all concerned.”
    She signaled her surrender with a small nod.
    “That goes for you, too,” he was forced to add as the coachman tried to refuse the food and clothing. “Now be off with you. Stick to the road, and if you encounter any difficulty, do not hesitate to turn back.”
    After looping the length of merino wool up over his ears, the man snapped off a brisk salute and slipped out into the cold.
    “Do you always remain so calm and unrattled in the face of an emergency?” asked Anna as the door fell shut.
    “Being a stick in the mud has its advantages—it takes a great deal to make me budge.”
    She colored. “Oh, dear! Must you remind me of all the regrettable things I have uttered over the course of this day?”
    To keep such a becoming shade of pink upon her cheeks, he would consider repeating their conversations word for word. In Latin and Greek, if need be.
    “You no doubt look on me as a hopeless hoyden,” she said softly. “Now that I have shown my true colors.”
    “I do not see you in quite so harsh a light, Lady Anna.”
    She shied back from the window as the sun scudded out from behind the clouds. In a moment it was gone again, dimming the uncertainty in her eyes.
    What inner turmoil drove her to seek refuge in shadow? Nicholas had an inkling he knew its cause, which seemed confirmed by her troubled reply.
    “Then you are the rare exception. Most gentlemen expect a lady to resemble bleached muslin—soft, pliable, and leached of all texture and hue.” Abruptly changing position, she leaned back to face the panes of glass and cupped her chin in her hand. “I have always loved winter, and the way the world appears after a snowfall. The pristine white blanket is so pure, so perfect. It covers a multitude of flaws, hides the imperfections, softens the jagged edges. . . .”
    Her voice trailed off as she stared at the pale trees. “Everything looks so hopeful and full of promise, as if life itself were a blank canvas, on which one could start afresh.”
    “And then it melts away,” mused Nicholas.
    “Yes, I know.” Her voice was sad, subdued. “It’s only an illusion.”
    He thought for a long moment. “In many ways, what you are speaking about is really the true spirit of Christmas. It seems to me that it is a time to remind ourselves that there is always hope, always a chance for the rebirth of light and laughter, no matter that the days are at their darkest.”
    “Why, Lord Killingworth,” she whispered after a moment. “You are a very wise man.”
    He smiled. “Sorry, I have no frankincense, gold or myrrh to offer you, just a piece of rather moldy cheddar.” From within another square of oilskin he produced half a loaf of dark bread. Cutting off a slice, he topped it off with a crumble of the cheese and presented it to her with a flourish. “Along with a crust of stale rye.”
    Her mouth quivered, then slowly curled up at the corners. “I think it quite the most lovely Christmas gift I have received since. . . since I was a child.”
    Nicholas was too well attuned to the nuances of language to miss her last minute change of words. A shapely figure was not the only thing hidden beneath the fur-trimmed coat. Secrets. She had secrets too personal, too painful to share.
    Ah, but didn’t everyone? he thought, uncomfortably aware of his own inner conflicts, and how carefully he tried to keep them under wraps.
    Lud, what a pair they made—two prickly strangers, forced to travel