A Christmas Gone Perfectly Wrong: A Blackshear Family novella (B 0.5) (7 page)

Things changed, though, once a lady and gentleman got to exchanging family stories and confiding hopes of social success. She’d probably supposed they’d be friends of a sort for the duration of the drive. Admittedly, he’d given her some grounds to think so.

Still she kept her face to the window, the muted winter daylight bathing her lips, her cheek, the slope of her nose. She looked somber and alone and untouchable as an angel statue in a graveyard.

I’m sorry, Miss Sharp. I didn’t mean…

That wasn’t true. He’d meant it.

Forgive me. I don’t know how to speak to high-spirited people, and I sometimes say the wrong thing.

That was true. Why couldn’t he get the words out?

He rubbed his thumb in the opposite palm, the kid of his gloves squeaking in counterpoint to the ceaseless clopping of horse-hooves and the rumble of wheels on the road. And before he could manage to speak, or even decide if he really ought to, Miss Sharp’s shoulders rose with an inhalation. “I suppose we must be nearing Downham Market by now.” She leaned nearer the window to look up the road. “Does any of this scenery look familiar, Perkins?”

That quickly, her elegiac air was gone. She gave every appearance of having crumpled his incivility in one hand and tossed it over her shoulder, along with whatever cordiality might have grown up between them. Her mind was entirely on the horizon and all the novel enjoyments ahead.

That was for the best. He needn’t worry over making an apology now. And the changeability of her mood only confirmed everything he’d already known about how little suited they were to be friends, even for the length of a drive.

“Will half an hour be sufficient for your business here?” he said, once the maid had confirmed they were approaching her town. “That will give me time to change the horses and stretch my legs a bit.” His spirits, too, lifted at the prospect of this stop. They’d made good time on the first leg of the journey. If the road to Welney was equally smooth, and the weather stayed clear as it had been, he could deliver his passengers to Hatfield Hall by early afternoon. Then he’d bid Miss Sharp goodbye, sincerely wishing her well, and he’d hurry home, equipped with a tale to tell Kitty and the rest about the unexpected adventures into which one could fall when attempting the simple purchase of a falcon.

* * *

She’d never met the entire Perkins family before. Mr. Perkins had come to fetch his daughter home for a holiday on occasion, and she was almost sure one of these elder brothers had done so, too. But there proved to be a good many Perkinses beyond those ones, and now, in a dining room of the inn that Mr. and Mrs. Perkins ran, with siblings great and small showing such joy at the presence of their lady’s-maid sister, she felt herself turning melancholy.

She oughtn’t to be. She was on her way to a party and it was going to be perfectly splendid. There would be Twelfth Cake, and wassail, and engaging young men, easy to talk to, not requiring a lady to weigh all her words before speaking for fear of giving some obscure offense. It would be the jolliest Christmastide she’d ever known.

Though not, perhaps, the jolliest Perkins had ever known. Whatever festivities they provided for servants at Hatfield Hall could hardly compare to the joy and easy warmth before her here. She’d always supposed the holidays must be sweeter in the company of brothers and sisters, but she’d supposed it in vague terms. It was different now that she could picture a roomful of young men and women, all tall and handsome and dark-eyed, laughing together over the time they’d almost set fire to the house through careless handling of raisins. Now that she could think of boisterous small children throwing their arms about her and demanding to be given their presents, as a rosy-cheeked girl was doing to Perkins at this moment.

The maid’s glance crossed with Lucy’s. Laughter shone in her eyes. She looked different among her own family, in the way all servants probably did. A bit more assured, a bit less deferential. Quite pretty, really, with an auburn curl tumbling loose at her temple as she fished presents one by one from the valise in which she’d packed all her things. On the other side of the room a young man, friend to one of the elder brothers if she recalled correctly, now and again adjusted his position so he could see past whoever he was conversing with for a view of her. He probably thought no one had taken notice, but Lucy had.

She wished she’d told Mr. Blackshear to come up the road to this inn after he’d finished arranging the horses at the posting inn where he’d stopped. He could have drawn up a chair next to hers, and told her how this scene of revelry and misrule compared to what went on at his house. Or, if he was still disinclined to speak to her, they could simply have sat here on the hearth, enjoying the warmth of the fire. They might even have lingered a bit, allowing Perkins more than a mere half-hour of Christmas merriment.

It was too bad, really, that this should be all the family Christmas the girl got. The reunion with the Navy brother had been everything a sentimental watcher could wish: he’d lifted her off her feet and whirled her round like one of her smaller sisters while she laughed with utterly un-servantlike abandon. That they should be parted again so soon—not to mention that Perkins must miss Christmas Day and Twelfth Night altogether, as well as being taken from the view of that admiring young man, loosed a guilty undercurrent in the melancholy that already flowed through Lucy’s veins.

By the time Perkins—Sarah, her name was among her family; Lucy had known that but thought of it so seldom as to have almost forgot—passed out all her presents and came to stand by the fire, the melancholy had begun to re-shape itself into questions. Questions that began
What if
and
Why not;
questions for which she was hard pressed to raise a good answer.

“Thank you, Miss Sharp, for finding a way to stop here today after all. I admit I’d be dreadfully sorry to have missed it.” The girl pushed her fallen curl back behind her ear. Her cheeks were flushed from laughter and what must be Christmas spirit. She really was very pretty.

“It’s been my pleasure.” Lucy cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I’ve forgot: who is the young man talking to your brother on the far side of the table? The one who’s looking at you?”

“Lieutenant Fletcher?” She cast a glance to that side of the room. Interesting, that she hadn’t had to look all about, or wonder which man Miss Sharp meant. “He serves with Tom aboard the
Cygnet
. He hasn’t any family to visit when he’s ashore, so Tom thought to bring him here for the holiday. Tom thinks he might captain his own ship in time.”

That, too, was interesting, particularly as it was more than she’d asked to know. “He’s rather handsome, isn’t he?”

“Is he? I don’t know. I suppose he is. I hadn’t really thought of it. Yes, I suppose he is. Tom speaks highly of him.” She flushed pinker and put up a hand to tuck back her curl, apparently forgetting she’d already tucked it a moment before. Her eyes darted once more to Lieutenant Fletcher, who’d moved several subtle steps to the left to gain an unobstructed view of the fireplace. He dropped his own gaze to the tabletop, color rising in his cheeks.

Well, then. There was only one thing a sensible person could do. “Perkins.” Lucy got to her feet. “Will you step into the next room with me for a moment? I need to apprise you of a change in our plans.”

* * *

“Please have the goodness to repeat yourself, because I know I cannot have heard you correctly.” Mr. Blackshear turned, slowly, to face her. He’d pivoted away, as soon as she’d first said her piece, to take off his hat and drag a hand over his face and stare at the inn’s stone wall for several seconds, during which he’d presumably composed himself. Though even now, with his hat restored, his composure felt fragile as pond-ice in March.

It was all rather stirring.

“My maid won’t be going the rest of the way with us.” She clutched her cloak together as December air gusted through the inn-yard. “I’ve decided she’s spending Christmastide with her family this year.”

He stared at her, his eyes dark as the rubble of a house burned down. His chest rose and fell with some number of breaths he must need in order to keep himself calm. “No,” he said at last.

“No, she is. I’ve left her with them already. It’s decided and done. There’s really nothing to discuss, unless you’re interested in hearing my reasons.”

“
No,
Miss Sharp.” He took a step nearer and loomed over her, which was quite the feat considering he only topped her by an inch or two. “Indeed there’s nothing to discuss, because whatever your reasons, they will not persuade me. You coerced me already into going against my principles and allowing you into my carriage. And the argument you clung to in that discussion, as I recall, was that the presence of your maid would make everything respectable. So don’t dare pretend to not understand what’s wrong with leaving her behind.”

“Mr. Blackshear.” She folded her arms and met his gaze, to let him know his looming didn’t cow her. She would be perfectly plain. “I know you’re not going to take liberties with me.
You
know you’re not going to take liberties with me. And no one else even knows we’ll be alone together. For us to concern ourselves with the judgment of society, when no representative of society will ever be in possession of the facts on which they could judge us, can be nothing but a frivolous indulgence.”

He spun away again, muttering something under his breath. His greatcoat whirled out behind him to interesting effect, and whirled again when he spun back to face her. “Miss Sharp.” He braced his fingertips against his temple, in the manner of someone fighting off a headache. “I understand your education in these matters has been lacking. But propriety is no true propriety at all if we adhere to it only when others are watching. It is a matter of my personal honor that I observe
all
the rules of decorum rather than picking and choosing the ones that suit me. And a gentleman’s honor, let me assure you, is no frivolous indulgence. If he’s any sort of worthwhile man it’s his very backbone.”

He was dreadfully handsome when he spoke of honor. So righteous and terrible and vigorous he nearly gave off sparks. A more persuadable lady might be pledging to run off and join an order of nuns now, or whatever it was that zealously proper ladies did, just to win his approval.

Her part, however, was not to be persuaded but to persuade. “I’m sorry for my choice of words. I do respect your dedication to your honor.” She unfolded her arms, clasping her downward-pointing hands because that gave her a more earnest look. “I’m convinced, though, that your honor will survive a few more miles with me. Whereas I’m not convinced my maid would soon have had another opportunity like the one to which I’ve left her.”

“Opportunity? What possible opportunity—”

“Her whole family is gathered for the holidays, including a brother who’s usually at sea. And he brought a friend with him, a man from his ship with good prospects, and I could see this man liked her. She might have good news by the time I see her next.”

A certain sagging came to his aspect, and the hand he’d held to his temple dropped back to his side. He walked away from her—no whirling this time—and sat on a bench against the inn wall, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “Let me be sure I understand. You left your maid behind in hopes that, between Christmas Eve and Twelfth Night, this visiting man will make her an offer of marriage?”

“Also that she might enjoy Christmas with her family, as I would hope you’d be able to understand. But yes, I would say the deciding factor was the possibility of her receiving an offer.”

His eyes closed for a second, as though her foolishness were some bright light that physically pained him. “What man in his right mind would propose marriage to a woman he’s been acquainted with for all of twelve days, and what woman in her right mind would accept him? They couldn’t possibly know in that time whether they’d suit.”

“He’s a Navy man!” She didn’t mean to raise her voice, but really, he needn’t take such a patronizing tone. “He’s not on land long enough to undertake a leisurely courtship. I expect such marriages happen all the time, among men who go to sea, and I expect many of them are perfectly happy—certainly every bit as happy as marriages contracted between people who meet in ballrooms and care chiefly for their partner’s noble lineage or abundant property.”

“That’s different. The alliance of one respectable family to another is a time-honored and useful—no. Never mind.” He swiped his hand through the air, scrubbing away the topic that apparently hung there. “Even if I believed there was likely to be a proposal, and a successful match, it’s entirely out of the question for us to continue on without your maid. You shall have to go back and tell her that you’re very sorry, but you were wrong to excuse her from her duties, and she must come with you after all.”

“I won’t do that.” She abandoned the posture of earnest clasped hands: his arrogant order-giving called for something openly defiant, like arms folded across the chest. “It would be a terrible disappointment to her and her family. You’d never propose such a thing if you’d seen how glad and grateful they all were to hear she’d be staying.”

“Very well, then you may prevail upon their gratitude for the next twelve days. I’m sure they’ll be honored and delighted to host their daughter’s benefactress for the holidays.”

“I cannot possibly impose upon them in that way!” Deep within her roiling outrage, a few wisps of panic began to coalesce. She’d nearly lost the house party once already, and managed to snatch it back. Could circumstance—could Mr. Blackshear—be so cruel as to take it from her all over again? “Only think of how awkward it would be for them. How could they enjoy their Christmastide when they must be worrying over whether the accommodations and entertainment are grand enough for a baron’s daughter?”

“Then the only other option I see is to take you back to Mosscroft.” He folded his arms, too, and leaned back against the inn wall for good measure. “I’ll convey you back there if you wish. I will not convey you even a yard farther in the other direction.”