Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology Page 4

  “The bedchamber be this way, madam,” the chambermaid said, showing them into the adjoining room and lighting a candle beside the bed. A fire kept this room warm also. A tall feather bed was piled with what appeared to be freshly laundered quilts, and velvet apricot-coloured curtains ringed the bed.

  It was far nicer than the room Charlotte had left behind in London.

  She could not disguise her pleasure. “Well, children, I think this is going to be a very comfortable room.”

  Susan still clung to her mother’s neck. “It looks very nice.”

  Eddie had not let go of Mr. Fenton. “Can I jump on the bed?”

  It was much higher than the one he normally slept in.

  “Most certainly not,” Charlotte answered.

  At least the children were no longer frightened.

  “Then the accommodations are to your satisfaction?” Mr. Fenton asked.

  She hadn’t wanted to look him in the eyes. She had avoided looking at him since she’d seen the raw hunger in his gaze earlier. But she could avoid it no longer. “This will do very nicely. Where will you sleep?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “Soldiers can sleep anywhere,” Eddie said. “Mr. Fenton used to be a soldier.”

  “So,” Mr. Fenton said, “I will instruct the staff to bring breakfast to your parlor at eight in the morning, when I’ll join you.” He moved to the door, then turned back and addressed Eddie. “As a soldier, you’ll need to look after the ladies.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once Mr. Fenton was gone she sighed. How kind he was not to mention their lack of bags. How embarrassing it was not to have even a gown to sleep in or a change into dry clothing. Fortunately the small clothes remained mostly dry. She hung all their wet clothes on the drying racks near the fire before they climbed into the bed.

  Once more, the children fell fast asleep. It felt so comforting to have the children so close in a warm, dry bed in such a nice bedchamber, a bedchamber far nicer than she was accustomed to. For that, she had Mr. Fenton to thank.

  It was comforting on a night as miserable as this to be safe and warm with her children. Hopefully they would be able to make Gosingham Hall by tomorrow evening.

  If the roads remained passable. She did not know what she would do otherwise. Three guineas would not pay for much in the way of accommodations. Or food.

  The following morning they dressed in dry clothing and went into the parlor where a very fine breakfast had been delivered. There was toast and marmalade and tea and cold meat and milk.

  Eddie wanted to pile up a plate, but Charlotte insisted that he wait until Mr. Fenton arrived. She had a strong feeling Mr. Fenton was the one who would be paying for the food. She certainly hoped so.

  She only hoped his generosity was not being tied to a potential seduction. She could not purge from her mind how in the span of a few seconds the evening before he had gone from being a jolly uncle type to a seducer of young mothers.

  I will not make eye contact with him.

  She kept watching the clock upon the mantel. It was now fifteen minutes past eight. She walked to the window and looked out. Rain still pounded against the foggy windows. She wiped a circular clearing. The streets were a quagmire.

  Of course she saw no sign of Mr. Fenton.

  “I’m hungry,” Eddie said.

  When it got to be half past eight, she told the children to go ahead and eat.

  Mr. Fenton was not coming.

  He had left her stranded in Bury St. Edmunds.

  After she paid for the inn, she would not even have enough to pay for a stage coach to Lincolnshire.

  What was she to do?

  Once more, life had dealt her a cruel blow.

  Chapter 4

  Even knowing that she might never again be offered so hearty a breakfast, Charlotte could not eat a single bite. Not when she wondered how she was going to pay for it, how she was going to pay for the coach ride on to Lincolnshire—or, if the roads kept them stranded more nights at the White Lion—how she could manage to pay the additional bill here. Three guineas could only go so far.

  How could she feed her children when the money ran out? Worse yet, what would she do if they were tossed out into the snow? For it had now started to snow. They had neither rug nor blanket for warmth.

  No matter what obligations she might be forced to meet, she must keep back enough to frank a letter to Gosingham Hall, begging the duchess to assist her. She hated to have to throw herself on the kindly duchess’s charity, but at the same time felt comforted to have that safety net to fall back upon. She had hoped to never have to use it.

  There was a gentle tap at the chamber door. Her heartbeat soared. She prayed it was Mr. Fenton. “Yes?”

  The same serving maid who had delivered the food re-entered the chamber. Charlotte caved with disappointment. “Would you like more ‘ot water for tea, madam?”

  “No, thank you.”

  The woman gave no signs of leaving. “It looks like the guests won’t be leaving any time soon.”

  Charlotte gave her a quizzing look as her heart plummeted.

  “The coaches can’t continue on until these roads dry.”

  “What of the post chaise?”

  The other woman shook her head. “Not even the post.”

  So Charlotte would not even be able to contact the duchess. She cleared her throat. “My lodgings were paid for in advance, were they not?”

  “Oh, yes, madam. The first night’s always paid for in advance—as was yer meal this morn. Yer ‘andsome traveling companion took care of that. Pity there was no room for ‘im last night. Always ‘appens when the weather’s wretched like this. On nights like last night we could rent out a hundred rooms and still ‘ave ‘em beggin’ for more.”

  Handsome. Yes, Mr. Fenton had been an exceedingly handsome man. How Charlotte wished that he had been the gentleman she had at first taken him for. How she wished he were here with them now—if he had been the kindly man they had thought him. For a short time it had been nice to put her cares into the hands of a capable man.

  She should have known such good fortune was not to be, not after all the ill fortune that had befallen her during the heartache of this past year.

  It was while Charlotte was thinking of Mr. Fenton that she saw him through a crack the serving maid had left in the door. He stood in the corridor, gazing at Charlotte solemnly.

  “Mr. Fenton!” she exclaimed. She was unable to conceal the elation in her voice.

  He moved into the chamber as the serving maid curtsied and left. “I beg that you’ll forgive my muddied boots. I ended up sleeping at the room I’d paid for at the Lamb and Staff and had the devil of a time getting from there to here this morning, given that the roads are impassable.”

  “It looks as if you walked in mud up to your knees.”

  “Indeed I did. That’s why I’m so unpardonably late. I kept hoping another solution would present itself, but, alas, it did not.” He bowed. “I must offer my deepest apologies.”

  “Given that you, sir, most generously paid for the breakfast, you have nothing for which to apologize.”

  He eyed the table, still piled amply with food. “May I?”

  “Please do.”

  “I hate to track the mud into your nice clean chambers.”

  She was so happy to see him, she did not object to allowing him to partially disrobe in front of her. “Should you like to remove your boots and set them by the fire? They could dry much more quickly that way.”

  “I would do exactly that were I not in the presence of a lady, but I cannot.” He stopped and offered her a gentle look. “Though it was a generous offer for you to make, my dear Mrs. Leeming.”

  She waved an arm at the breakfast offerings. “Do help yourself, my dear Mr. Fenton.”

  “I confess I am famished.”

  “Mama hasn’t eaten, either,” Susan said.

  “Ah, waiting for me?” Mr. Fenton said teasingly
.

  “’Twas only good manners, given that you are the one who paid for the meal.”

  “My mama has very good manners,” Eddie said, stuffing toast into his mouth, streams of rich orange marmalade oozing down his face.

  Charlotte crossed the chamber and blotted away the drippings with a napkin. “Your table manners are deplorable, young man.”

  Eddie looked at Mr. Fenton. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Eddie?”

  “When you blow your nose into a handkerchief, do you look at the handkerchief? Mama says that it is very bad manners.”

  “Eddie!” Charlotte shrieked. “That is not a topic for polite conversation.”

  “But you’re always polite and you told it to me.”

  Mr. Fenton guffawed.

  It was all Charlotte could do not join in his mirth.

  Mr. Fenton cleared his throat. “I do not look at my handkerchief after blowing my nose. Like your mother, my mother also attempted to teach me good manners. I do hope she was successful.”

  “I do believe she was,” Charlotte said. How indebted Charlotte now was to Mrs. Fenton. She sat down beside Mr. Fenton, and the two of them began to fill their plates and eat in a most contented silence.

  This morning she even found herself peering into his gaze without the discomfort she’d felt the night before. She was so grateful for his return, she no longer resented the manly ways he was incapable of suppressing. Truth be told, she admired him for refusing to remove his boots in front of her.

  Somehow, she knew that even if he did desire her in the way a man desires a woman, he was too much a gentleman to act upon his own needs.

  Midway through breakfast he confirmed that they would not be able to continue their journey that day. “Don’t worry,” he assured. “I’ve paid another night’s lodgings.”

  So he understood she hadn’t the money to do so. She hated being the recipient of his charity, hated being indebted to him or to any man, hated that she might be asked to make some sort of “payment.”

  She started to say, “I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” but she thought better of it. As a woman who had been married, who had made love to a man, she knew how a man would wish to be repaid.

  And she could not bring up such a topic.

  The children had finished eating and were restless and bored. Unable to sit still, Eddie raced around the small table where Charlotte and Mr. Fenton were eating, and it took all of Charlotte’s patience not to reprimand him for the rambunctiousness her son was powerless to control.

  Susan had no such qualms. “Quit running around. You’re aggravating me!”

  Mr. Fenton exchanged an amused gaze with Charlotte, then lowered his voice. “Your children need a diversion.”

  “Indeed they do. What do you suggest?”

  He drew a breath. “I think the coachman could take them to the mews and give them some lessons on horsemanship. Show them what’s entailed in dressing a horse, what they eat, even how they sleep. The way The White Lion is configured in the shape of a square, they can reach the mews without getting muddied.”

  As much as her children—Eddie especially—would adore that, warning bells went off in Charlotte’s head. He wants to get me alone. In the bedchamber. She glared at him. “I can hardly be alone with you here in these private chambers, Mr. Fenton.”

  He pursed his lips in thought. “There is that.” He slathered marmalade upon his toast and bit into it. A moment later he rose from the table, crossed the chamber, and locked the door to the bedchamber. He took the key and strode to the children, who had been watching him with quizzing expressions on their tiny faces.

  “As man of the family, Eddie,” Mr. Fenton said, “you need to guard over this key to your family’s bedchamber. Can you do so without losing it?”

  Susan put hands to her hips, elbows thrust out. “You ought to give it to me, Mr. Fenton. My bwother loses everything. I’ll guard it for him. He can still be the man of the family.”

  Eddie nodded solemnly.

  “Very well.” Mr. Fenton handed the key to Susan, who placed it in a lacy little reticule she carried over her slender arm.

  Next Mr. Fenton rang for a servant, and when a maid came, he asked that she send their driver to these chambers. When that man appeared moments later, Mr. Fenton explained that he was to instruct these children in the care and dressing of horses.

  Eddie squealed in delight, and both children happily skipped from the chamber while Mr. Fenton resumed eating his breakfast and freshened his tea.

  Now Charlotte’s fears were allayed, and she was beginning to once again feel comfortable in this man’s presence. Not only that, she was happy her children would have something that would greatly amuse them and take their minds off the dreariness of the weather.

  “I will own,” she said, “I was at my wit’s end to think of something that would amuse Susan and Eddie. They’re too young for chess or games that might amuse older children.”

  “And Susan doesn’t even have Augusta.”

  She smiled at him. What a good memory he possessed to remember the name of her daughter’s doll. “A pity. She could have amused herself for many hours had she that ridiculous doll.” She shrugged. “She wasn’t so ridiculous. Her papa gave it to her. I suppose that’s why she was so special.”

  He nodded sympathetically. “Of course, even without the sentimental attachment, dolls can be most amusing to little girls. My sister certainly enjoyed playing with hers.”

  “You have just the one sister?”

  “Oh, one was quite enough. She is most didactic, and since I was the youngest, I was constantly finding myself subjected to her manipulations at every turn.” He shrugged. “Though in spite of her authoritarian ways, my sister is most likeable. Loveable, actually, and I’ll be deuced happy to see that pretty face of hers again.”

  “I know you have an older brother, the one with the two children. Were there just the three of you?”

  He nodded. “Mama—like my sister—is a delicate beauty, and such delicacy apparently did not aid in breeding. She lost a half a dozen babes.”

  Charlotte’s brows lowered sympathetically. “My mother had similar problems. “I was the only daughter, and I had three brothers, two of whom survived to adulthood.”

  “And where are your brothers?”

  “One is a soldier in the Peninsula. He’s never married. The other is married, lives in remote Yorkshire, and is father to . . .” She rolled her eyes. “Eight. His wife is a most prodigious breeder. And they are only thirty!”

  They both smiled.

  “Who is it you’re to see in Lincolnshire? Your parents?”

  A melancholy look on her face, she shook her head. “No. My parents are dead.”

  “How difficult it must be to have lost so many whom you’ve loved.”

  It was such an empathetic statement. Most men lacked such sensitivity. Perhaps almost losing his mother had deepened his appreciation of family. She nodded. “But I have been richly compensated with my children.”

  “Indeed you have.” There was a wistfulness in his eyes when he gazed at her, swallowing hard.

  “One last cup of tea, Mr. Fenton?”

  He nodded. “Only because I’m still trying to get warm.”

  “Was the Lamb and Staff terribly cold last night?”

  “I’m still shivering. It offered the flimsiest fire I’ve ever seen—and that sputtered out in less than two hours. The chamber was so drafty, I got up in the middle of the night to close the window, only to discover it was closed! The counterpane upon the straw bed was no thicker than my shirt. All in all, a most unpleasant night.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Then it’s a very good thing a soldier such as yourself has learned to sleep anywhere.”

  An amused expression on his face, he smiled back at her. “Indeed it is. And what about your accommodations, madam? Did you sleep well—in rooms that would have been mine were I traveling all by my lonely, forlorn self?”

  “
Ah, the price one has to pay for having such charming traveling companions,” she responded flippantly.

  “It’s not every day one has the opportunity to travel with another fellow with whom one can share a winkiepiddle.”

  They both roared with laughter. She could not remember the last time she had laughed like this. “In all seriousness, as you could have guessed, the children went to sleep right away. I followed not long after and slept very well. It was an exceedingly comfortable chamber, and we are truly indebted to you.” She was careful not to say I am. He was, after all, a man, and she must be careful not to arouse his desires.

  But here she was allowing herself to be alone with him, allowing herself to peer into those dark, mesmerizing eyes of his, allowing herself to be . . . enchanted by this man who had been a complete stranger less than four-and-twenty hours ago.

  For in spite of her most stringent cautions, she trusted him. God help her if he proved her a fool.

  She watched him eat. He appreciated his food with the same enthusiasm as Eddie. In some ways, he reminded her of Eddie—and not just in their obvious admiration of the military. Like Eddie, Mr. Fenton easily integrated with strangers without being wary of them.

  She had once been like that. It seemed now like that woman had been another person. As indeed she had been. Would any of the old, carefree Charlotte ever return?

  “I’m wondering, Mr. Fenton, how you manage to stay such a cheerful sort when I know that if you served in the Peninsula you must have experienced much loss, must have seen a great deal of death.”

  He set down his cup and turned to her, his brows lowering. “You’re right, Mrs. Leeming, but I’ve found life is what one makes of it. If one dwells on melancholy topics, one’s life will be sad. I choose to reach for happiness.”

  “I would choose the same, were I not concerned over how I’m to feed my children.” She could not believe she’d abandoned her pride and made such a confession to him. “You, sir, must never have had to worry about money.”

  A pensive look crossed his handsome face. “I will own, madam, that you are right. It has been my good fortune to never have had money woes.”