To Wed His Christmas Lady by Christi Caldwell

Author:Christi Caldwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Regency, Romance, Historical
Publisher: Christi Caldwell
Published: 2015-11-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

From where he stood at the hearth, William cast another glance at the stairs. The faint, aged contralto of the old innkeeper’s wife sounded behind him and he glanced back. A collection of greenery littered one of the inn’s tables and she quietly sang as she worked.

Oh! how soft my fair one’s bosom,

Fa la la la la la la la la

Oh! how sweet the grove in blossom,

Fa la la la la la la la la

Oh! how blessed are the blisses

He joined his baritone to her ancient voice.

“Words of love and mutual kisses,

Fa la la la la la la la la la.”

Martha widened her eyes and stopped mid-song. Surprise sparkled in her eyes. “You know the Welsh song then, my—” She stopped just shy of that proper address.

William winked. “I spent one Christmastide season in Wales and learned the lyrics to Nos Galan.”

She nodded slowly, approval in that subtle movement. With a jaunty hum of the same tune, Martha returned her attention to her bough.

He pulled out his watch fob and consulted the timepiece. Did the lady plan to sup in her rooms? Of course, that was the proper thing for a lady to do without the benefit of a brother or chaperone’s protection and he didn’t doubt Cara had lived the better part of her life conforming to be that proper English miss. Still, disappointment filled him at the prospect of not again seeing her.

“I expect she will be down soon.”

William spun about. “Hmm?”

Martha sat with her head bent over the wreath while working the threading of her sewing needle with gnarled fingers. “I expect your lady,” she said not picking up her gaze from her efforts, “should be down shortly.” She tied a wrinkled, red satin bow about two branches, connecting the evergreen. A smile played on the woman’s lips. “And her coming will have nothing to do with the lady’s leaking ceiling.” She picked up her head and spoke on a conspiratorial whisper. “Even if she tells herself it is.”

A dull heat climbed up his neck and he resisted the urge to yank at his collar. He, who’d never struggled with words, came up empty when presented with the older woman’s knowing look. Had he been so very transparent in how each moment spent with Cara had drawn him more and more under her spell?

Since early that morning, when they’d parted, he’d not been able to rid his thoughts of the golden-haired beauty. Of what she’d shared. Of her past. Where most young women of eighteen were filled with a carefree innocence and hope, her light had been dimmed by the darkness she’d known at her father’s hands. Through all their exchanges, however, there had been the flicker of light and spirit, and it would kill him the day their paths would eventually intersect once more at a ton event when he was the proper duke’s heir and she was the frigid, unapproachable lady he’d first met in this inn.

The fire snapped and hissed noisily. William balled his fists.

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