One Christmas With a Wallflower, page 1
One Christmas With A Wallflower
By Nadine Millard
Copyright © 2022 NADINE MILLARD
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
For Daragh
PROLOGUE
“My little Harry. Come, let me show you something.”
Harry Sampson, at the grand age of twelve, decided then and there that a deathbed was no place for a child. Even so, when his beloved grandmother beckoned him closer, her hands gnarled and frail in a way he’d never before noticed, he took up a spot right by his weeping Mama.
“You’re a good lad, Harry,” his grandmother said, her voice coarse and wavering. He wished he didn’t feel scared in that dark, stiflingly hot room, but he did. “And now you must take care of your mother all by yourself.” At that, his mother wept even harder, but Harry kept his blue eyes, the same colour as his grandmother’s, trained on the woman in the bed and not on the woman having histrionics beside it.
He loved his mother, of course he did. But she was so highly strung, so emotional all the time, that he and his grandma always worked tirelessly to prevent her from being overset. Even through his grief, his fear of this unknown thing taking his beloved grandmother from him, he felt that burden land on his shoulders, heavier than before.
“Lisbeth, pass me that reticule.”
Harry looked to where his grandma pointed, her hand trembling as though the effort of lifting it were unbearable. His mother reached over and grabbed the reticule, eyeing it curiously as she held it toward Grandmama, but she shook her head. “Give it to the boy, Lisbeth,” she said, her voice tired and rough with strain.
Harry’s eyes smarted but he rapidly blinked away the tears. He wouldn’t cry. He would be strong for his grandmother. Strong for his mother.
Opening the reticule, he tipped the contents out into his hand, gazing curiously as the cameo in his palm. He studied the brooch, not recognising the intricate pearl jewel and not overly impressed with it either. He had no use for ladies’ jewellery.
“That belonged to my mother,” Grandmama said. “It was a gift from my father. They wed in secret because her family didn’t approve. My father was an Irishman of no fortune you see, and my mother’s family were horrified by the match. But they were young and in love which of course made them entirely foolish.”
Harry stared at his grandmother. He’d never heard her speak about her family before. All he’d known of his life was that his grandfather had died before he’d been born, and his own father had died when he’d still been in leading strings. But he’d never thought to ask about anyone else. Never wondered where he’d come from. He hadn’t even known that he was of Irish descent!
“They loved each other fiercely, Harry, though times were tough for them. Your great-grandfather worked tirelessly for years and years until he could provide his wife with a comfortable life. That cameo was a gift to her on the day that I was born five years after they’d married in Gretna. A gift of true love, he always said, because what but true love could have kept them together through all their trials and tribulations?”
Harry looked back down at the cameo, studying the lady’s profile for a hint of recognition.
“He became quite the successful solicitor, your great-grandfather. And we lived very comfortably. But no matter the diamonds and rubies he spoiled her with, nothing every meant as much to my mother as that brooch. Her gift of true love.”
Harry had no time for romantic tosh but something about this story, this story about his family and their gift of true love, felt special somehow.
“I’ve kept it all these years. I had hoped that I’d be around to see you give it to someone. Someone for whom you felt true love. The kind of love that can overcome anything and still burn as brightly as ever.”
His mother began quietly sobbing at these words and Harry couldn’t tell if it was from the grief of losing a beloved parent or because she had obviously never experienced such a thing. His father had been a scoundrel and a wastrel. That was how they’d ended up here, living with Grandmamma after the man had died in a drunken duel and left them utterly destitute.
And even though girls repulsed him, Harry decided in that moment that he would honour the tradition of the cameo. He would marry for true, all-conquering love or nothing at all. He would only gift it to a woman whom he loved with a fire as bright as that of his great-grandfather’s.
“I won’t get to see you give that gift to someone, my boy. But I know that you will choose well. And know that when you find the lady to gift your heart and that present to, I’ll be watching over you.”
Harry pocketed the trinket, his throat painfully tight from holding back the tears that he could no longer contain. Leaning over, his placed a kiss on his grandmother’s brow, inhaling the lavender scent that always surrounded her and trying to hold it in so he could carry it with him always, even when she went some place that he couldn’t follow. “I love you, grandmama,” he whispered. “I promise I’ll look for a true love. I’ll find someone for your gift.”
She didn’t respond, and he felt her breathing still and knew that she was gone. Straightening up, he could only gaze down at her beloved face, vaguely aware of Mama calling for the doctor, of being moved gently out of the way, of the crying and wailing and chattering going on all around him.
And throughout it all, he kept his hand clasped around the gift in his pocket.
One day, he told himself, one day he’d find someone to love that much.
Chapter One
“Ah, Harry my man. Good to see you.”
Harry Sampson shook hands with the man grinning at him from behind an enormous mahogany desk.
The Earl of Fincham had been instructing Harry as his solicitor for years. They’d met first at Eton, a school that Harry’s generous inheritance from his grandmother had paid for. They’d reconnected at Oxford and a sort of friendship had started between them.
Over the years though, their working relationship and lukewarm acquaintance had grown into a solid friendship. Alexander Stratford had become one of the most important people in Harry’s life.
A few years ago, the earl had been headed down a path of depravity and debauchery. But then he’d met his wife, Olivia. Harry had never seen a man so turned on his head as Alex had been by his bride. It had been quite amusing to witness.
He hadn’t been in London when they’d fallen in love, but he’d been able to tell from Alex’s letters that the earl was positively smitten. And now that he’d seen them together, he could see it for himself. Real, true love. The type of love worthy of his grandmother’s gift. Harry was happy for his friend but damned if he didn’t feel a little pang of envy when he thought about the cameo gathering dust in his house. He’d thought he’d found her; the woman to whom he could gift it. What a mistake that had been.
“Drink?” Alex asked as he moved toward the decanter and tumblers by his desk.
“Do you even need to ask?” he laughed as he took a seat.
“How’s business?” The earl handed Harry a tumbler before returning to his own seat.
“Busy as usual. Especially for this time of year. Not many families stay in London for Christmastide as you know, so there are plenty of correspondences to get through.”
“Ah, but Christmas in London has a special meaning for Olivia and I.”
By the sudden heated look in the earl’s eyes, Harry was quite sure he didn’t want to know exactly why that was. He already knew that theirs had been a whirlwind romance and that they had, in fact, been enemies right up until they’d fallen in love. He’d never really gotten many details. Just that they’d been trying to help Olivia’s sister with something and had fallen in love somewhere along the way.
Christmas in London had been a tradition of theirs ever since and even though they quit Town at Season’s end like the rest of the ton, they always returned for the yuletide. Harry was only here this year because his mother had passed away last summer, and he still wasn’t ready to face holidays in that big old empty house. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
“Hmm. Well judging from that expression on your face I can assume your special meaning isn’t something I want the details on,” he quipped.
Alex laughed, completely unperturbed by Harry’s faux disgust. “So, what brings you by?” he asked. “I don’t think we have anything outstanding, do we?”
“No, nothing,” Harry said. “I thought to come by and deliver my response to your invitation in person.”
“Let me guess. You’re far too busy and important to spend Christmas with an old friend and will instead be off overseeing one of your countless investments in some far flung corner of the country? Or perhaps you have some party in Paris that you cannot miss? Or a gathering in Ghent? So many trivialities, Harry. So little time.”
Harry answered with a crude gesture that earned another laugh. Granted, the Finchams had invited him to join their celebrations ever since they’d been married. And every year he’d had to send his apologies. He
“As it happens, I’ve decided to be charitable and carve out time in my busy schedule for you.”
“You mean you’ll be joining our celebrations?” Alex asked.
“Indeed,” he confirmed with a smile. “I’ll stay at my home, but I am happy and grateful to accept any and all yuletide invitations you throw my way.”
“That’s excellent news, my friend,” Alex said with a grin. “Olivia will be thrilled. And you’ll finally get to meet her sister. I cannot believe you two haven’t crossed paths yet.”
Jane, if Harry’s memory served. The sister who’d almost been embroiled in some sort of scandal. With that bastard Elliot St. Clare. Harry only knew that much because Alex had instructed him to make sure St. Clare stayed as far away from Olivia’s family as possible. He’d also seen to the wastrel being blacklisted in almost every reputable place in London be it White’s, or certain gambling halls. Even some private residences. Harry knew the man now spent his time hanging around the less than salubrious haunts of St. Giles. He knew because it was his job to know.
It was true that he’d never actually met the sister though. She was something of a recluse as far as he could make out. She never came to London for a Season anymore. He knew she’d occasionally stayed at Fincham Hall with Alex and Olivia along with her parents but that was as about it. And truth be told he wasn’t really in the mood to entertain a spinster sister but of course he could never and would never say such a thing.
So he planted a smile on his face and raised his nearly empty glass to the earl. “I shall look forward to making her acquaintance then,” he said, his tone carefully even. “And to a wonderful Christmas with you all.”
“Jane, dear. Please reconsider. The yuletide celebrations simply won’t be the same without you.”
Jane Darington smiled at her sister, trying not to let her humiliation show. As much as Olivia, now Countess Fincham, meant what she said, and as much as she and Alex tried to include her and treat her like a beloved family member and not a thoroughly shelved, costly spinster, Jane simply could not face another house party.
Her parents weren’t even attending Olivia and Alex’s London celebration this year. They’d chosen to stay home and have a modest celebration in their village. Olivia had begged and pleaded for Jane to visit so she had come, and they’d agreed that she would leave this morning to be home for Christmas.
This way she got to see her sister but didn’t have to suffer through another demeaning Christmas of being the single sister. The older sister. The spinster. The wallflower.
It wasn’t even as though she was particularly old. She’d not long had her twenty-fourth birthday. But it didn’t matter. Their family’s name had already been dragged through scandal when Papa had gambled away their fortune. Everyone had known of their fall from grace. Everyone had read about it in the papers.
And that meant that everyone knew that the family had only regained its social standing and full coffers because of Alex’s generosity. Because his love for Olivia had made him determined to fix their broken family. He couldn’t stand to see Oliva unhappy. So, they all benefited by proxy. And it was shameful. Utterly shameful.
“Come now, Livy. We agreed. Alex has his coach waiting outside. Milly is already sitting out there with my trunks. And mother and father are expecting me.”
“Nonsense,” Olivia said in that firm, no-nonsense way of hers. Olivia had always been brutally forthright. She never cared what people thought of her, never had. She wouldn’t be mortified by being a spinster sister for example.
She wouldn’t have allowed herself to be taken in by a cad such as Elliot St. Clare then left humiliated by him. That was another thing that Alex had fixed. When St. Clare had made unwanted advances then threatened to ruin her completely, Alex and his man of business had magically made it all go away. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t particularly want to. But it stung. It shouldn’t, but it did. She was monstrously happy for Livy and Alex but – well – Olivia would have handled this lot in life a lot better than Jane could.
“Milly can travel home perfectly well without you, as you well know. And she’d prefer it since if you’re not there she can spend longer with her family. I have plenty of staff here to tend to you.”
“But –“
“The coach will see Milly safely home. It makes no difference to the driver if you’re there or not.”
“Olivia, I –“
“And as for mother and father well, honestly dear, do you really think they’ll notice or even care if you’re not there? Come, you know you’ll have a better time here with me than watching father get so drunk that he falls face first into his goose.”
It was an accurate enough description that Jane found herself snorting with laughter. But it was there and gone. A fleeting moment of levity.
“Livy, I love being here with you and with Alex. You’ve been so good to me. But I just feel –“
“Feel what?”
Jane sighed, not sure how to articulate what she wanted to say. She picked up a shawl that she’d forgotten to pack and ran the soft material through her fingers as she spoke, unwilling to meet Olivia’s chocolate gaze, so like her own.
“I feel as though I’m nothing more than a burden,” she finally admitted with a sigh. “As though every time you host a dinner or a party, or even just an At Home, everyone looks at me and thinks there she is – the wallflower. The spinster. The sister nobody wants, living off her brother-in-law’s kindness. It – it’s unbearable.”
The silence in the wake of her words was deafening and when she couldn’t bear it any longer, she risked glancing up. Olivia’s face was a picture of shock and pain, and Jane felt her gut twist with guilt. She hadn’t wanted to upset her sister. That was the last thing she wanted to do.
“Jane.” Olivia’s voice was laced with enough shock that Jane knew she’d genuinely taken her sister by surprise. “How could you think such a thing? You are young, and beautiful, and kind, and – and wonderful. Wonderful,” Olivia emphasized, reaching out and grasping both of Jane’s hands in her own. “Nobody views you as anything other than that. And if they did, they would no longer be welcome in my home.”
Jane could only smile at her sister’s fierce protectiveness. It had ever been thus. Even when their family had come close to ruin, both financially and in society, Olivia had been the one to keep their spirits up. Olivia had been the one to ignore how awfully they were treated. Jane on the other hand had tried desperately to cling to any semblance of their old life. So much so that she’d put herself in the path of that dangerous cad, Elliot St. Clare. Even now the memory of that time made her shudder.
“You know,” Olivia continued, “there are so many eligible gentlemen who would jump at the chance to court you, Jane. If you would let them. Tis only your own choices that make you the wallflower that you claim to be. You refuse every dance; you ignore invitations for drives or trips to the theatre. If someone caught your fancy, you could –“
“Please, Livy. I don’t – I can’t –“ She stumbled to an awkward halt, not quite sure how to put her feelings into words. She wasn’t scared of men because of her experience with Elliot St. Clare. She knew that not all of them were dangerous blackguards. But it wasn’t just that he’d tried to take advantage of her. It was that he’d made her believe that he cared for her. Made her believe that she’d be able to get herself out of the genteel poverty they’d sunk to, and find love, too.
And it had been nothing more than a cruel joke.
He hadn’t loved her. He hadn’t wanted to marry her. And in the end, she’d had to watch from the wings as Olivia had found a love that fairy stories were written about and had saved them all from destitution.
The idea of dragging herself through another Season when she was older than almost every other single woman, listening to drivel about hunting and Tattersalls, painfully conscious of her lack of dowry and connections beyond Alex made her feel sick. And even though it was Christmas and therefore not going to be the cutthroat marriage mart of a Season proper, it would be more of the same on a smaller scale. She quite simply couldn’t face it.
