Married By Christmas

‘Don’t turn the prude on me,’ Carstairs said with a frown. ‘Madeline was a hot-tempered beauty. We all envied you her favours.’

‘And sampled them as soon as my back was turned,’ Hal said, for he knew that the Spanish beauty had taken lovers as and when she desired. ‘I did not grudge her to you, my friend. She was too much of a firebrand for me—a man would have to give his soul to satisfy her needs.’

‘But the little redhead has something of her look, did you not think so?’

‘I saw nothing of it,’ Hal said, ‘but then I did not stare at her all evening as you did, Carstairs.’ He grinned lazily. ‘I dare say you have given her nightmares. And now you must excuse me, my friend. I think I shall go for a walk before I retire.’

Hal left the others to continue their roistering and went outside into the cool of the night air. It was a cursed nuisance coming across Carstairs and the others. He did not want to become involved with them, and hoped they were, as they had told him, en route to a mill and would not turn up in Bath.

Carstairs had begged him to join them on their expedition, but Hal had pleaded business. Indeed, he had business of his own in Bath, but it was of a personal nature. Carstairs would know Matt’s wife, as would one or two of the others, and for the moment he wanted to keep his mission a secret. He would help Ellen if he found her, but the news that she was expecting Matt’s child would need to be broken gently to Lord Beverley, for a sudden shock of that nature might kill him.

Jo looked out of the window before she was ready to sleep. Her aunt’s maid had not yet come up, but it could not be long now. It was a clear night, the moonlight falling on the inn yard and turning it golden, hiding all the scars of daytime so that it looked mysterious and vaguely beautiful.

She saw a man standing alone in the yard. He seemed to be staring at the moon, or perhaps he was just taking the air before retiring, which she would have liked to do had it been possible. She thought that he was one of the young men who had been making so much noise earlier, though not the one who had stared at her. He had been quieter than the others, thoughtful, though their eyes had met once before she looked quickly away.

She turned as the door of her bedchamber opened and Millicent entered.

‘Not in bed yet, miss?’ the maid asked. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, but it was the only room available.’

‘Not at all,’ Jo said with a smile, because she liked the woman. ‘I am glad to have you here. Some of the gentlemen downstairs are a little the worse for drink.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Millicent said. ‘Well, I shall be here—and we’ll make sure to lock the door, miss.’

‘Yes.’ Jo smiled at her and ran to get into bed because she had turned cold. Thankfully, it was a large feather mattress and they would not be too cramped.

Jo was up early in the morning. She had not slept well, for Millicent had snored most of the night, and she was glad to get up and go downstairs. It was not yet time for breakfast, but she wanted to walk outside for a little to clear a slight headache.

She saw some of the servants beginning their work as she went out into the yard and began to walk towards what looked like a pleasant garden at the rear. It was still chilly for the sun had not yet come out, and Jo hugged her shawl about her shoulders. As she entered the garden, she saw that the man who had blocked her path the previous evening was sitting on a bench, and looked as if he had just doused his head in water. He was stripped to the waist, his tanned skin exposed to the elements.

‘Oh…’ She hesitated as he looked up and saw her. ‘Forgive me…’

Jo turned away immediately, for it was embarrassing to come upon a gentleman in such circumstances.

‘You don’t get away that easily, my lovely,’ the man said and stood up. Before Jo could move away, he came up to her, taking hold of her arm, grinning at her in a manner she could only think of as suggestive.

‘Please let me go,’ Jo said. ‘I did not realise that anyone was here.’

‘Spying on me, were you?’ Carstairs said, a mocking grin on his face. ‘Don’t run away, little witch. I saw you looking at me last night. Your guardian isn’t here now. We could have a little fun together…’

‘No!’ Jo was suddenly aware that no one else was about and a sliver of fear went through her. ‘I have no wish to know you, sir. I must go in or my aunt will look for me…’

‘You shall pay a forfeit before I let you go,’ Carstairs said and grabbed hold of her. ‘I’ll take a kiss at least for my trouble.’

‘Let her go, Carstairs!’

Jo heard the voice behind her. She had not realised that anyone was there, but his command had an instant effect for the man let go of her and she pulled away. Turning, she found herself looking at the gentleman she had seen contemplating the moonlight the previous night. Seeing him close to for the first time, Jo realised that he was very good looking with his dark hair and eyes, and a firm chin that spoke volumes of his determination.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘I must go in before I am missed.’

‘You would have done better not to come out at all,’ Hal told her sharply. ‘An inn yard is not the right place for a young lady alone—especially at this early hour when few are about.’

‘I dare say you are right,’ Jo said and walked quickly away. She did not dare to look back, though she knew that a heated exchange was going on behind her.

‘Damn you for interfering,’ Carstairs said. ‘I only meant to kiss the girl!’

‘I know what you intended, and a kiss was the least of it,’ Hal said. ‘We are in England now and there is no war—no excuse for that kind of behaviour. I know what occurred at Badajoz and we don’t want that kind of thing happening here.’

‘You can’t blame me for what happened there,’ Carstairs said, but he could not meet Hal’s stern gaze. ‘The men were out of control, driven by bloodlust and the needs of a long campaign.’

‘I blame no one for anything that happened out there,’ Hal said. ‘We were all driven a little mad by it—but that was war. The girl you were molesting is innocent and deserves to be treated with good manners and respect.’

‘Well, no harm was done,’ Carstairs said, giving him an uneasy look, for he knew that he wasn’t up to Hal’s weight and would go down under a hammer blow from him. He would need a pistol in his hand to stand a chance against him. And the time might yet come when he would need it. ‘She has run back to her dragon of an aunt and I dare say that is the last I shall see of her.’

‘Take my hand,’ Hal said. ‘We should not be bad friends over this, Carstairs.’

‘Come to the mill with us,’ Carstairs invited again as he took Hal’s hand in a show of friendship that was not felt. ‘I can promise you a good time.’

‘Thank you, but I was on my way,’ Hal said. ‘Perhaps we shall meet in town?’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Carstairs said, an angry glint in his eyes as he watched Hal walk away. Arrogant devil! Beverley and his clique had always thought themselves above everyone else—but that hadn’t saved Matt Beverley from breaking his neck in a fall from his horse. A fall that might just have had a little assistance…‘And perhaps you may meet with a similar fate to your brother’s one day, my fine fellow.’

Jo glanced round the Pump Room, sighing as she saw that almost everyone was of her aunt’s age. This was the fourth time they had been here in a week, and she was finding it tedious, but at least they were to attend the Assembly that evening, where she hoped at last to meet some young people.

‘I think I shall bathe,’ Lady Wainwright announced suddenly, surprising Jo out of her reverie. ‘There is no need for you to stay, Josephine. You may visit the library or do some shopping if you wish. I shall take my nuncheon here and we shall meet for tea at home.’

‘Thank you, Aunt,’ Jo said feeling grateful that she was not required to accompany her aunt into the baths. ‘I hope you enjoy your bathing.’

‘It is not a matter of enjoyment,’ Lady Wainwright told her. ‘I am doing this for my health.’

‘Yes, Aunt,’ Jo said. ‘Is there anything I may fetch you from the shops?’

‘Yes, I should like half a pound of peppermint creams from the teashop near the library. Make sure they give you fresh stock and not something that has been tucked away under the counter for weeks.’

‘Yes, Aunt. I shall ask for fresh.’

Jo made her escape before her aunt could change her mind. It was only rarely that she was allowed to go off on her own, though she had managed to join a ladies’ debating circle and had attended their weekly meeting. Her aunt had allowed it because one of her friends had suggested that Jo might like to join, and had entertained Lady Wainwright while Jo was visiting a house just a few doors away. It was a treat to have the freedom to do as she wished for most of the day.

She lingered to look in a few of the fashionable shop windows, admiring the expensive items on display, but was not tempted to buy anything. Her aunt had seen that she had an adequate wardrobe for their visit, and Jo thought that the two bonnets she and Marianne had made were equally as stylish as anything that could be bought in the milliner’s. One shop had a display of gold and silver articles, and a little silver box caught her eye, because it had a singing bird that popped up when it was opened and sang a tune. She had seen one like it at the house of Lady Eccles, who was here for her health like Aunt Wainwright. She had admired it when she was shown how it worked, and thought that, if she could have afforded it, she would have loved to buy one for Lucy. She had spent only a few shillings from the purse Lady Edgeworthy had pressed on her before she left. If she had sufficient when it was time to return to Sawlebridge, she might ask the price of the fascinating trinket.

As she turned away from the window, she almost collided with a gentleman. He grabbed her arm to steady her, and she found herself gazing up into his face as she thanked him, the words dying on her lips as she saw that he was looking at her very boldly, his dark eyes warm with laughter, his mouth curving wickedly at the corners. For a moment she had the oddest notion that he wanted to kiss her, and her eyes widened in surprise, because it was the man she had seen gazing at the moon—the same one that had saved her from a rough handling by that other one in the inn yard.

‘Forgive me. I was not thinking…’ Jo’s cheeks flushed, for she was a little embarrassed because of what had happened at the inn, but he did not seem to recall it—he was behaving as if they had never met before. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Take care, sweeting,’ he said. ‘I might have knocked you down and I should have been grievously sorry for that—indeed, I should never have forgiven myself.’

‘It would have been my own fault, sir,’ Jo said. She stepped back and he let go of her arm. She decided that she would follow his lead. Perhaps he had already forgotten her. ‘I was thinking of my sister, Lucy, and how much she would like that singing bird in the window and I did not realise that you were there.’

‘Ah, yes, a pretty trinket,’ the man said glancing into the shop window. ‘Is your sister partial to trinkets of that kind?’

‘She has never had such a thing,’ Jo replied. ‘But she is a dreamer, a romantic, and I think she would love it, but I am afraid it may be too expensive.’

‘Yes, I dare say. Perhaps she has a birthday soon? Shall I buy it for her to make up for startling you?’

‘Oh, no!’ Jo was mortified. What kind of a girl did he think she was? ‘I could never accept…What an extraordinary thing to ask! How could I possibly accept such a gift from a stranger?’

‘How can we be strangers?’ he said a wicked twinkle in his eye. ‘I already know that you have a delightful sister called Lucy, and I am sure we could soon know each other better, if you would permit me to buy you some…hot chocolate, perhaps?’ His eyes were filled with devilment, a challenge that she found confusing.

‘Sir! I think you must have mistaken me for…’ Jo was torn between outrage and astonishment. ‘I am a perfectly respectable person! What happened that morning at the inn was not of my making, I do assure you.’

Hal looked thoughtful. He had not immediately recognised her, for she had acquired a little town bronze over the past few days, and his mind had been occupied elsewhere. He had merely been flirting gently with a pretty girl. Seeing the outrage in her face, he was suddenly overcome by a wicked desire to tease her, to see how far she would go.

‘Oh, yes, I am very sure of it,’ he said and she saw that he was laughing inside. ‘Perfectly respectable, if a little reckless. But Carstairs is a brute and a fool. If I spoke harshly to you then, I am sorry. My anger was for him, not you. You are a lady of quality and deserve respect. You are also irresistible when your eyes take fire. I feel that I have always known you, though not your name—for you have not given it to me. Mine is Hal Beverley, should you wish to know it.’

Jo gave him a straight look. ‘Are you inebriated, sir?’

His laughter shocked her, because it was so honest and appealing. ‘It is a question that is often asked. My father says that I am an irreverent rascal, but I assure you that my offer was made in good faith. You have a sister who would love a pretty trinket and I have money in my pocket—but forgive me if I have offended your sense of propriety.’

‘No, you have not,’ Jo said and surprised herself. ‘Do you know, that is exactly what Papa might have done had he been able to afford it. He often gave his sixpences to the village children.’

‘Perhaps another day we shall talk again,’ he said and tipped his hat to her. ‘Excuse me now, I must go, for I am already late for an appointment. Take care and watch where you tread. I should be most distressed if harm were to come to you.’

‘Yes, I shall…’Jo watched as he walked away. His hair was very dark brown and he had such bold eyes—just like the wicked earl in the story she was writing. She smiled—she had written of just such a meeting in her story only that morning.

Jo shook her head. She must not let her imagination run wild—that was for her stories, not for everyday life. She walked on, tired of window-shopping. She must hurry, for she was not perfectly sure what time the library closed. Jo paused to cross the road, waiting for a dray wagon drawn by four magnificent chestnut horses to pass by. A woman had just come out of the library; as Jo watched, she gave a little sigh and collapsed on to the pavement.

Jo hurried across the road now that it was clear and knelt down beside her, feeling for a pulse, which was still beating strongly. Even as she wondered what she ought to do, the woman moaned again and opened her eyes.

‘Oh, I must have fainted,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, but could you help me to get up?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jo said offering her hand. The woman took it and pulled on her as she struggled to stand up. As she did so, her shawl fell from her shoulders and Jo saw that she was quite obviously carrying a child. She retrieved the shawl and placed it about the woman’s shoulders. ‘Are you still feeling a little unwell?’

‘Just a little,’ the woman replied in a faint voice. ‘If I could sit down for a few minutes…’

‘Let us go into the teashop.’ Jo said and offered her arm. ‘Lean on me and we shall drink a dish of tea together—and perhaps a cake, if you feel able?’

‘Yes, that would be nice,’ the woman said. ‘I was in a hurry to come out this morning and did not eat anything. I believe that may be the reason for my faintness.’

‘Yes, I dare say,’ Jo said. ‘You really ought to eat properly in your condition, ma’am.’ She had noticed the wedding ring on the woman’s left hand. ‘Would you like me to fetch someone for you—your husband, perhaps?’

For a moment her eyes were dark with pain. ‘My husband is dead and there is no one else. I am forced to fend for myself, and that is why I was in such a hurry this morning. I am working as a seamstress from home, and I had promised to deliver some embroidery I had finished to one of the shops here. I ought to have gone straight home afterwards, but I wanted to look for a book in the library. Let me introduce myself—my name is Ellen Beverley.’

‘I am very sorry to hear about your husband,’ Jo said. She had found a table for them by the window and they sat down. ‘It must be awful for you, especially in your condition.’

Ellen placed a hand on her swollen belly and smiled. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Matt’s child is a joy to me. Had it not been for the baby, I think I might have given way to despair when he died, but I had to live for my child’s sake—because my husband would have expected it of me. He was a brave, kind man, and I shall love his child as I loved him.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jo said. She had wondered for a brief moment if she might be related to the man she had met briefly outside the jeweller’s that morning. His name was also Beverley, but it was clearly not so—Ellen had said she was alone. Her name was simply a coincidence. ‘But is there no one who could help you?’

‘I ran away to marry the man I loved,’ Ellen told her with a wistful look. ‘My parents disapproved and so did his—but we loved each other and there was never any question of giving each other up. We had almost a year of complete happiness, but now…’ She sighed and shook her head.

Jo thought she looked very young and vulnerable, though exceptionally pretty with softly waving fair hair and green eyes.

‘Perhaps we could be friends, at least while I am in Bath,’ she offered impulsively. ‘I know it will only be for a short time, but we may write to each other when I go home—and if you are ever in trouble I would try to help you.’

‘Oh, how kind you are,’ Ellen said. ‘I do not believe you have told me your name.’

‘How silly of me,’ Jo said and laughed. ‘I was too concerned for you to think of it. I am Jo Horne and staying here in Bath with my aunt, Lady Wainwright. I used to live in Huntingdonshire, but when I leave here I shall be living with Great-aunt Bertha in Cornwall.

‘My whole family has gone to live with her, because Papa died and we had to leave the Vicarage. We were offered a home at the Lodge, but Mama did not like it there and poor Lucy was ill, and so we shall all live with my great-aunt from now on, but I was promised to Lady Wainwright for this visit.’ Jo pulled a face. ‘And now you know all there is to know about me, and very dull it is, too, compared with your life—’ She broke off as the waitress approached and ordered tea and cakes for them both. She held up her hand as Ellen reached for her purse. ‘No, you shall not pay a penny, Ellen—I may call you that, I hope?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Ellen said, her smile lighting up her face. ‘I am so very pleased that we have met, Jo. I was feeling very alone—I do not go out much, except to deliver my work or look in shop windows. I have no friends, for my old companions were left behind, though of course we had many friends in Spain.’

‘Was your husband a soldier?’

‘Yes,’ Ellen replied her eyes soft with memories. ‘Captain Matthew Beverley. He always took a little house for us wherever we were, and all his friends would come and dine with us. It was such fun, for they were all so brave and gallant…and it broke our hearts when some of them died. Not many of them had wives with them, but one or two did, and another had his sister and mother. They used to follow him from place to place, as I did Matt, staying wherever there was a house that was safe and away from the fighting.’

‘It must have been exciting,’ Jo said. ‘Though I should think it was hard having no proper home for all that time.’

‘I would have been content to lie with him beneath the stars,’ Ellen said. ‘Indeed, once or twice I did when there was no suitable accommodation to be had. I do not know what would have happened if Matt had lived, for I should have had to stay behind somewhere because of the child. Though perhaps he might have sold out like some of his friends did…’ A tear trickled from the corner of her eye and she dashed it away with her hand.

‘Are you able to make a living with your sewing?’ Jo asked, for she did not like to see her new friend cry, but could think of no way to comfort her.

‘I am quite good at embroidery and bead work,’ Ellen told her. ‘It is the kind of work that takes a lot of patience and time, and the French lady I work for has been generous so far. Besides, I have some money I raised by selling things that belonged to my husband. I shall manage for the moment, though I am a little anxious about when the child comes.’

‘Yes, you must be,’ Jo sympathised. She wished that Mama was still living in the Vicarage, for she knew that her mother would have befriended Ellen, even if only until the child was born and she was able to work again. ‘But you must find a woman who will come in and care for you, Ellen.’

‘I shall have to make inquiries,’ Ellen agreed. ‘It is so good to talk to someone, because it helps to make up your mind. I hope we shall meet again, Jo?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Jo said. ‘If you agree, I shall walk home with you once we have had our tea, and then I shall know where to visit you.’

‘Will you really?’ Ellen’s cheeks turned a little pink. ‘I know that some ladies look at me and wonder if I was ever truly married, but I promise you that it was so.’

‘I did not doubt you for a moment,’ Jo said, and then, boldly, ‘Even if you had not, I should still have been your friend, Ellen.’

‘Then you would be a true friend,’ Ellen said. ‘These cakes are delicious. You must come to tea with me another day, to let me say thank you for your kindness today.’

‘I need no thanks,’ Jo told her. ‘But I shall be very pleased to come to tea with you, Ellen.’

She smiled as they left the teashop together, for she had made a friend, someone she could truly like and relate to, which was not true of many of her aunt’s acquaintances. At least she now had someone she could visit whenever she had the time.

Chapter Two

Jo was thoughtful as she walked home after leaving the rooms where Ellen was lodging. They were respectable, though a little cramped, and were bound to be more so once the child was born. Ellen had put her individual stamp on them, her table covered in a pretty lace cloth, and her books and sewing on the table she used for her work. She had not apologised for her home, and Jo thought she was very brave to have accepted her circumstances the way she had, for she had clearly been used to better.

They had talked for a long time, and Ellen had told her about her parents’ home, which was a substantial house in Hampshire. Her father was the son of a wealthy merchant, and had been well educated, becoming even richer than his father had been.

‘He was determined that I should be properly brought up and I had a French governess,’ Ellen told her. ‘Father wanted me to be a lady—but when I wanted to marry Matt he was angry, because Lord Beverley would not accept me. He said that he was the equal of any aristocrat and that he would not allow me to marry the son of a bigot—and so we were forced to run away.’

‘Do you not think that your father would welcome you home?’

‘No, for we married at Gretna Green, and my father said that it was no true marriage. He said that I would be living in sin and that he wanted no more to do with me—and if he knew about the child he might demand that I give it up. He is a very religious man, Jo—and I think he would punish me for going against his wishes.’

‘I see…’ Jo felt sympathy for her. She realised how fortunate she had been in her parents, for Papa would never have behaved in such a fashion. He would have offered love and understanding, and forgiveness if it were necessary. ‘But what of your mama?’

‘Mama might forgive me,’ Ellen said, ‘but my father would not allow her to see me. I have wanted to write to her and tell her that I am well, but I am afraid that she might show him the letter.’

‘Surely she would not,’ Jo said. ‘Besides, you need not tell her that you are in Bath, Ellen. I am sure she worries about you, even if she dare not show it.’