Chapter 2 #2
She sighed. Her son was wise beyond his years.
“No, and at times remembering is difficult. There should be no room for sadness at Christmas.” Or regret.
She pressed her lips together. Did she mourn that long-ago decision?
Only sometimes in the dark of night while she lay in her empty bed.
“This year I cannot quite slip into the joy of the season.”
“Then let’s liven things up, shall we?” Lydia asked with the certain gleam in her eye that signified trouble.
“What are you hatching over there?” She asked, caught up in the fun Lydia conjured.
“Just this.” Her sister’s smile was positively impish. “I wager that I will win a kiss on Christmas Eve before you will.”
Simon snorted. “That will be an easy win. Mother doesn’t encourage any man to court her, let alone pay her a compliment.”
“True.” Lydia tapped her chin with a forefinger. Then her expression cleared, and she smiled. “How about this? If you find a match before I do, I’ll take the children on holiday, thereby giving you time away from them.”
Beatrice protested next. She spilled a few drops of tea upon her dress. “No fair! If Mother finds a match, she will have alone time with the gentleman and will of course wish for time away from us, so that spoils the wager.”
Lucy exchanged an amused glance with Lydia. “You’re not very good at this.”
“Don’t I know it, which should please Fegley immensely. My soul isn’t in imminent danger.” They both shared a laugh. She turned her attention to the children. “Sadly, your mother will never remarry. She’s bound and determined to embrace a life of widowhood, forever wearing that sad little smile.”
“There is nothing wrong with being alone,” Lucy reminded her.
Both Beatrice and Simon exchanged glances, but neither said anything.
Silence brewed in the cozy room before Lydia spoke again.
“I have it.” She turned to Lucy with a triumphant grin.
“If you initiate a kiss with a gentleman during the house party at any time—and you tell me about it—I will write Fegley and inform him that he needn’t worry about you, that he should stop dropping by for his check-ins. ”
“Oh, how can I turn that down?” She shot her sister a return grin, but worried just the same at how in the world she’d be able to find a gentleman let alone build up enough interest in one to actually talk to him.
And encourage a kiss? What an impossible task, especially when she wished to undertake none of it.
“Done and done,” Lydia said, and her eyes twinkled while the children discussed if that would ever happen or not. They even went so far as to ponder what sort of a gentleman she should single out, but she stopped them both before they could lay down odds with pin money.
Lucy sighed. Fegley would be pleased she was retreating to Derbyshire once she signed the paperwork that would sell the property in Hanover Square due to her reduced circumstances.
Telling Simon and Beatrice was her next task, and she aimed to break the bad news to them after the Christmas holiday.
No sense in spoiling their fun and entertainment prematurely, but oh they would take the news badly. They were very much city children.
While her offspring and Lydia talked of all the activities they’d involved themselves in once at Lancaster Hall, or the food they wished to eat, Lucy let her mind wander.
What had become of Colin? She didn’t move in the same circles he did within London, for he was more immersed within the ton than she.
Though she was loosely connected to the gentry, that sort of life didn’t interest her, but she heard rumors surrounding him, read the gossip rags which featured him regularly.
Disappointment always crept over her to find he hadn’t changed, not really, though he had been married for a time years back.
She hoped he’d found happiness and love.
He was the sort who needed both in his life.
But had he learned anything over the intervening years? Had taking a wife forced growth?
When she’d known him, he’d been everything selfish, spoiled, and immature.
The dreams he’d had for himself were so fantastical she’d had doubts as to the execution of them.
He’d needed direction in his life, and he hadn’t been suited for the rigors of marriage.
Logic dictated that love was nice in its place, but it wouldn’t allow the necessary things that life required.
And since his father had cut him off from income, Colin had been at sea.
Her heart hadn’t cared. It had told her they could survive despite the challenges, but her brain said wedding one such as him was folly, that the life they would have would be hard and fraught with heartache.
So she’d made the irrevocable decision that had sent her in the opposite direction of him…
and into the path of his best friend, and later her husband, Jacob.
Yes, he was Colin’s best friend, but he’d also been hers, and he’d comforted her after her dreams crumbled.
Then he went off to war and continued to write her letters, making certain she did well.
Would Colin visit Lancaster Hall this year?
If tradition held true, he wouldn’t. In fact, he hadn’t returned for the duke’s house party at Christmastide since the year she’d refused his proposal.
Lucy’s stomach muscles clenched. Perhaps that was all to the good.
Neither of them needed the memories; life was difficult enough.
One thing was certain: she vowed to find the will to enjoy this last holiday before the less than wanted reality set in.
December 20, 1821
Lucy stood outside of Herrick’s Pawns and Treasures, with a gloved hand on the brass door knob of the Brooks Street shop.
Her sister and the children had departed London for Derbyshire six days ago.
Even now they should be enjoying all the wonders the Hall would offer.
She was scheduled to leave in less than an hour, for she couldn’t bear to spend an extended time at a place where so many sad memories existed.
Tears misted her eyes, and she again glanced at the silver pocket watch resting in her other hand.
It had belonged to her husband, a gift from his best friend once upon a time—Colin.
Jacob had treasured the piece above everything else he’d ever owned, for he and Colin and been as close as brothers…
before he went off to war while the viscount had set London on its ear with his scandalous exploits.
Two unforgettable men, but on opposite sides of the moral scale.
He’d kept the watch as a reminder of better days in the hopes he and Colin could mend their rift.
“I cannot do it,” Lucy whispered to the wooden door as she slipped the watch into her reticule.
She couldn’t bear to lose the memories attached to that piece of jewelry—of both men.
For once it went out of her possession, she wouldn’t have cause to think about it again.
Jacob and Colin were a part of her, and she wouldn’t trade the last physical connection she had to either for the world.
Releasing the door latch, she scuttled to a shop a few doors down and entered, vowing to use the remainder of her pin money to secure a few last-minute gifts for her children and Lydia.
There was nothing left to do but hurry through the streets of Mayfair in time to meet with the property agent who would handle the sale of her Hanover Square townhouse.
“Mr. Fleming,” she greeted, somewhat breathless as she met him on the steps of her home. “I am sorry I’m late.” She fished in her reticule and then offered him a set of three keys. “I trust you have everything you need from me?” Do not cry, Lucy.
“That I do, Mrs. Ashbrook.” He patted a leather folio in the crook of his other arm, the keys jangling merrily in his hand. “I expect an agreement by the New Year. This is prime property, you know.”
“Oh, I am well aware.” She glanced past his shoulder to the green-painted door, and her chin quivered.
I will miss this place. “Jacob was so fond of the house. It was a matter of honor with him, and he kept it in good repair. We, ah, do not have use for such a large property any longer.” Better he not know the real reason for the sale, for she despised pity.
She swallowed down the urge to indulge in tears.
“Everything personal has been packed. A couple of my husband’s contemporaries will contact you in a few days to remove those effects.
Most furniture except for a couple of pieces that are tagged, will be sold with the house. ”
For what would she have use for such things when her life would be reduced to a bedchamber?
“Very well, Mrs. Ashbrook. I shall take care of the rest.” The older man gave her a chipper smile. “Best of luck. Happy Christmas to you.”
“Thank you. I must go. Spending the holidays with family.” If she was to catch the post coach, she needed to hurry. So saying, she picked up both of her carpetbags and made her way quickly to the nearest stopping location.
A handful of passengers were already aboard, and when she gave her bags over to the driver, she barely had time to squeeze inside the full coach before the conveyance started off.
They’d been underway for a quarter of an hour before calamity befell them.
The mail coach lurched and then leaned at a startling angle, for a wheel had no doubt broken.
A heavy-set woman next to her was now crammed against Lucy’s side, which slid her into a stout man who smelled of sweat and tobacco.
Everyone in the vehicle squirmed to remain upright, but it was a losing battle.
Then a pounding rained upon the door and the panel wrenched open. The driver stood in the gaping maw. “Everyone out. Axel’s busted. Ain’t goin’ nowhere this afternoon. Find alternative forms of transportation.”