A Wallflower's Christmas Wreath, page 1
A Wallflower’s Christmas Wreath
Christmas Wallflowers
Tamara Gill
Contents
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Don’t Miss Tamara’s Other Romance Series
About the Author
A Wallflower’s Christmas Wreath
Christmas Wallflowers
Copyright 2022 by Tamara Gill
Editor Grace Bradley Editing
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.
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Prologue
Christmas Eve, 1821
Heidi waved to her mama, who stood at the door to their cottage before she made her way along the icy road toward Lord Levinstone's great house.
Today was Christmas Eve, and she had been looking forward to seeing his lordship, her closest friend, again now that he was back from London.
The great, Tudor-style home overlooked their small fishing village, and she admired the estate as she came closer. Huddling into her kerseymere spencer and bear muff, Heidi was glad the stinging, cold air was not so bad during her walk.
Multiple carriages came and went, and her steps faltered with the uncertainty of whether or not she should have called. Had she come at a bad time? What caused such a flurry at his lordship's normally quiet estate?
She continued on, a slice of her mother's herb-buttered bread—a favorite of the viscount and a gift she gave yearly to him—safe in her hands. The thought made her smile, and she came to the front door after several minutes of walking.
Heidi knocked and beamed at Smithers, who greeted her. "Ah, Miss Lewis, Merry Christmas," the old retainer said, gesturing for her to come inside.
"Merry Christmas, Smithers," she returned, glancing past the butler and spying a pretty young woman hanging off Levinstone's arm.
Heidi smiled, hoping the gesture hid her shock and walked up to her friend she had known since childhood.
"Merry Christmas, Lord Levinstone, and welcome home. The village has been wondering when you would return from Town since the Season has been over for several weeks," she said, glancing at the young woman whose distaste was as clear to see as the ocean from his lordship's front door.
"Miss Lewis, what brings you here?" Levinstone sputtered, looking nervously at the woman at his side. "Was there something you needed to see me about?"
Heidi frowned, confused by his odd manner and question. "Of course not, my lord. I have brought you the yearly Christmas gift from Mama. Your favorite," she said, removing her hands from the muff and showing him the wrapped bread she had brought for him.
He barely looked at what she held. "Thank you, that is very kind. Please send my regards to Mrs. Lewis when you return home."
"What is that?" The woman at his lordship's arm snickered, her face one of distaste as if Heidi held a rotten, stinking fish instead of a loaf of bread.
"As I said, miss. It is her buttered bread for his lordship. A gift we give him yearly."
Heidi looked to Levinstone and wondered when he would introduce her to his highly polished, elegant friend. The silence stretched between them all, and unease settled in her stomach. For the first time in all the years she had known him, she felt unwelcome.
Levinstone cleared his throat. "Miss Lewis, may I introduce you to my betrothed, Lady Emma Arden. We're to be married before next Season. The wedding is to be held in London at St. Paul’s."
"Before all our friends," the woman sneered, looking Heidi up and down. "You should travel to London, Miss Lewis, especially if you're to call on your local lord. The modiste here is lacking, I must say," she did indeed say.
Heat kissed Heidi's cheeks, and she took a cautionary step away from them both, unsure of what was happening and why such a barb would be leveled at her for no reason.
That her oldest friend had failed to write to her and tell her of his betrothal was a point she would discuss with him alone, but to be insulted for no reason, well, that was uncalled for.
Heidi looked to Levinstone, waiting for him to defend her as he always had in the past, but nothing was forthcoming. He stood there, his eyes averted from hers. She ground her teeth, biting back the caustic remark of coward she wanted to throw at his head.
"Smithers," Levinstone called, the butler coming over immediately. "Take the loaf of herb-buttered bread to the kitchens, thank you," he ordered.
Heidi handed over the bread her mama had spent hours baking, using funds already scarce to gift something to his lordship, who had always been a kind and welcome friend to their home. What was wrong with him?
"I see I have come at a busy time. The ball is this evening, and we're very excited to attend," Heidi mentioned, smiling at several maids who moved about the house, finishing their chores before the evening guests arrived. "When would you like to hang the wreath, my lord?" she asked, meeting Lady Emma's eye. "It is tradition, you see," she explained. "I always help his lordship hang the wreath, and then the Christmas festivities can truly begin in earnest."
Lady Emma chuckled. "I'm hanging the wreath this year with my darling betrothed. I'm sorry, but as the future lady of the house, it is my right, of course," she spat, the lady's false smile slipping into a scowl.
"Oh, of course," Heidi replied, unsure what else she could say. The heat on her cheeks increased, and for a moment, she thought about bolting out the door and running home like a coward.
"We also, unfortunately, have to rescind your invitation. The ball this evening is a practice for our wedding breakfast, and I oversee who will attend. And as I do not know you well, it is best that you do not attend. Attending a ball with so many people you do not know will only make you uncomfortable. But you will have the pleasure of the company of your own family, will you not?" Lady Emma said, the false smile back on her angelic features.
The woman was no angel. She was the devil's spawn. Had Heidi known her an hour or five years, she doubted her opinion of her would have altered. How could Levinstone not see how horrible she was? And to one of his oldest friends.
"You do not wish for me to attend, Matthew?" she asked him, wanting to hear from his lips what his choice would be. Tears welled in her eyes, and she fought not to show emotion, but it was too late. The pain of such a statement thrown against her was the final blow in this awful reunion with her friend after many months apart.
"Matthew? Oh, my dear, you must not be so familiar. It is Lord Levinstone to you. His is your better, not your equal."
Heidi did not look at Lady Emma. She deserved no such respect, not after her cruel and hurtful words. She stared at Levinstone, and only after what felt like several minutes did he meet her gaze.
"Is that what you wish, my lord?" she asked again, watching him as he debated her question.
At length, he nodded. "I think you should return home before the day grows colder. Please thank your mama for the bread. I shall be sure to enjoy it."
Lady Emma scoffed but did not say anything further, and with nothing more to be said between them, Heidi turned on her heel and strode from the hall, the shocked, disappointed visage of Smithers the last thing that swam in her vision.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she returned to the village, for what had been a day of celebration, expectation, and joyful tidings was no more.
Her dearest friend was betrothed to the devil herself, and there would be no friendship from this day forward. He had allowed his fiancée to belittle and demean her, and to her face no less.
That, in Heidi's estimation, was no friend at all.
Only an enemy.
One
Christmas Eve, four years later
Heidi placed her hands on her hips and glared at the local butcher Mr. Jones. The elderly man's mouth was moving, but she did not appreciate the words coming out of his lying lips.
"You promised you would save me two pigs for my Christmas supper and town ball. You know we hold one each year at the hall, and now you're telling me there will be nothing for the guests? I cannot merely serve them seafood and turkey, not everyone enjoys such fare, and it will mean people like you and me, Mr. Jones, people who work hard and labor for their funds, will go hungry."
The older man rolled his hands together, a deep shade of pink kissing his already mottled cheeks. Heidi continued to glare at him, wanting him to feel embarrassed and lowly. How could he do this to her?
She scoffed, turning away not only out of anger, but because his words made her eyes fill with tears, and she would not let the local butcher or her cook, her only live-in staff, know how much such truths hurt. "Need I remind you that I saw you making merry with the food I purchased for the ball last year? Perhaps you should not attend the village ball this year since we're not worthy of the food you sell. You are only interested in selling to those with titles and influence."
These past two years since her parents died of a respiratory disease had not been easy, and she had done all she could to reverse the damage her parents had bestowed upon the family purse. But there was only so much she could do, and only so long she could pretend to be something she was not.
Mr. Jones's reminder that she was poor and growing poorer every passing year was a reality she had not wanted to face.
Her annual Christmas party had been a yearly tradition that her grandparents had started in the village, and she had wanted to continue it. But this year, the first time she would not serve pork seemed like the first death knell to her Christmas cheer and her status in the community.
"Come, Miss Lewis. I meant no harm," he argued with her.
She shook her head, disappointed in the man more than she thought she ever would be. "I thank you for your honesty, Mr. Jones. Good day to you," she said, leaving the small shop and starting up the village's main thoroughfare to her home.
The seaside village was picturesque and overlooked the sea and the many ships that passed on their way to London.
She glanced up to the sandy shoreline that the town sat against, the ragged cliffs some miles away, and the great estate that loomed over all of them.
Viscount Levinstone's grand Tudor estate was one she had once loved to visit and had spent many a happy day on the extensive grounds. The then viscount's son, Matthew, was her closest friend, but even he, too, had turned on her because of her dwindling financial means. Not to mention the horrible woman he betrothed himself to.
A shiver stole through her at the memory of the woman and her harsh words that had cut her to shreds. Well, that was not entirely true. Matthew's inaction against his future wife had cut deeper still.
How was it that when one needed most friendships and support, people turned their backs, looked the other way, and no longer cared?
Not that she believed Lord Levinstone cared now, for he did not. In fact, she knew who it was that had ordered all the pigs, and the bastard had done so merely to beat her, to ruin what could potentially be her last Christmas party in the town hall. As host in any case.
She ought to travel up to the grand estate and have her opinion shared on what she thought of the obnoxious bachelor and his uppity Christmas ball that he also held on the same day as hers.
Over the years, her attendees had forgone her forever dwindling fare and entertainment to that of the viscount's abundant party. Those members of the village who had money in any case. People like her remained at the village hall, happy not to step into that glittering world of the nobility up on the hill.
Heidi returned to her cottage and, with heavy feet, made her way upstairs. She entered her room and slumped on her bed facedown, only then allowing the tears she had held so stoically to run free.
Her life played out before her through the blurred vision of her bedding. A life of toil, of becoming a maid or cook in a great house like where one of her long-lost friends lived. Of waking early morning and retiring late in the evening to make another's life easy.
How had she allowed her life to become so hard?
Heidi rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling where the paint had started to flake off. Well, she may not be able to change her fate, but she’d be damned before she would allow the uppity Lord Levinstone to get away with acting the selfish prig.
He would get a piece of her opinion on his dealings and his blatant thievery from his neighbors, and she would not sleep until she had her voice heard.
Jumping from her bed, she clasped her shawl and bonnet and, with determined steps, started downstairs and outside, slamming her gate shut before walking toward the great house.
It was time Lord Matthew Stanford, Viscount Levinstone, was brought down a peg or two, and she would relish being the one to do it.
Matthew slumped back into his leather wingback chair and threw the short missive from Mr. Jones onto his desk. He cringed and rubbed a hand over his brow, already feeling the telltale signs of an impending headache.
He sighed, having not known that Mr. Jones had bestowed on his house all the pigs for his ball tomorrow evening, leaving none for the locals.
Well, one local in particular. Miss Heidi Lewis, his once closest friend, now his adversary.
He could picture her now, blowing fire out of her pretty nose, her plump lips pulled into a displeased line.
Matthew ran a hand through his hair, glad at least that his sister was not here this year for his annual ball, having decided to remain in Scotland with her husband, the Earl of Grandison.
She would not have been pleased that his household had taken all the pigs and would have demanded he return some, but how could he? He already knew his cooks were preparing and baking them for tomorrow night's dinner and ball. He would have, of course, had he known the butcher had played such a hand, and would have stopped the order, but it was done now. He would merely have to ensure it did not happen next year.
The wind picked up, and one of the shutters on a front-facing window slammed against the glass. Matthew walked over to the window, opened it, and, grabbing the shutters, pulled and locked them closed. He then rang for a servant, and his butler entered with haste.
"You called, my lord?"
"Yes, there looks to be a storm rolling in from the sea. Please have all the shutters closed so no windows are damaged, and notify the stables to bring in all the horses for the night."
"Yes, my lord," Smithers said, leaving to do his bidding.
Matthew strode over to the fire and threw two more logs on the already-stoked blaze, a dropping chill in the air warning that a storm was brewing.
The sound of unrelenting knocks on his front door made the pit of his stomach drop before the windswept, high-of-color Miss Heidi Lewis stormed into his library with burning, angry eyes, and a finger jabbing dangerously in his direction.
"How dare you— You … you … intolerable, selfish man. How dare you take all the pigs for your gluttonous friends and family? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, and if you think I shall allow you to get away with this, you are mistaken. I'm going to let everyone in town know what a greedy little lord you are, and believe me, Levinstone, you will have zero friends when I'm finished with you."
A crack of thunder rumbled in the sky, making himself and Miss Lewis start. Footsteps sounded in the foyer, up and down the stairs, and Matthew did not have time to reply before the butler entered a second time. "My lord, this storm coming in from the ocean seems fierce and sudden indeed. I fear we're about to get a drenching, and it could make traveling to and from the village impossible."
Matthew looked to Heidi, understanding his butler's words exactly, and the last thing he needed was the termagant before him being caught here. "Excuse me, but what are you saying?" Miss Lewis asked, dabbing at her rain-covered face with a handkerchief. "I just walked through the causeway, and it wasn’t flooded," she said.
A servant ran into the library and passed the butler a note. "Not anymore, Miss Lewis. I just received word young Buckley barely made it through bringing your mare in from the top paddock, my lord. It's rushing through and rising quickly." His butler paused. "You are stuck here, Miss Lewis, for this evening."
