Bedded Under The Christmastide Moon_Regency Novella Read online

  Perhaps that’s what made it all the more difficult for Brigham to spend time with her when he was at Hockcliffe.

  While fate had stepped in and altered their courses, Brigham could have offered her aid without marriage. He could have found a suitable chaperone for Mellie, moved her mother and her to Hockcliffe, and acquired adequate medical treatment—all without tying her to him.

  Brigham had been selfish, and continued to be selfish with each passing day.

  He’d made certain she was forever bound to him, and then he abandoned her.

  Mellie had insisted he remain in London during her mother’s final days…and had sent word only after she’d been laid to rest. All the while, Brigham knew he should have been here, should have ignored her pleas for him to remain at his work.

  A large portion of him was weak, the truth of the matter lowering his honor. Brigham hadn’t had the strength to see Mellie go through the hardship of losing yet another parent. The first time had nearly killed him.

  And now here they were, together once more. Though she stood so still, he’d almost forgotten she was in the room, not just a vision he’d conjured.

  Brigham moved from behind his desk, his Hessians weighing down his feet as he stopped before her.

  There was nearly a foot separating them. Brigham didn’t trust himself to move even a fraction of an inch closer to her, though he could feel her warmth. Her chin tilted up slightly, and she met his stare once more, her green eyes softening.

  Could it be that she sensed the struggle he faced? Had word reached her about his failed bill in London? Did she seek to comfort him when it was she who needed his strength?

  Brigham longed to reach out to her. Desired her in his arms. Wanted nothing more than a brief moment with her as they’d had in their youth. No distractions, unburdened by the present, and free of obligations.

  Thus far, he was unworthy of even so much as touching Mellie.

  “I think it best I retire to my chambers,” he scoffed, taking a step back from her. “I am filthy and wrinkled from travel, and in need of time to freshen up before our evening meal.”

  She gave him a slight nod.

  With a curt bow, Brigham fled his study.

  He didn’t pause to glance over his shoulder. He did not slow down when he reached the main stairs. He did not so much as acknowledge Mellie’s lady’s maid when he passed her in the upstairs hall.

  No, Brigham did not stop until he was safely in the confines of his private chambers. The sound of the door closing echoed loudly down the hall as he shut himself inside and threw the latch into place. Leaning against the door, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to collect his thoughts—and suppress the urge to return downstairs, pull Mellie into his arms, and kiss her as he’d longed to do since their wedding day.

  Sometime later—it could have been a few minutes or several hours—he heard footsteps in the hall outside his door. But, quickly, they retreated, and the only other door in the corridor opened and closed as Mellie no doubt entered her own chambers.

  Chapter Four

  Mellie stared at her image in the looking glass, truly seeing herself for the first time in ages. The full-length mirror had always been in her chambers, but in recent years, Mellie barely noted her appearance. It was far more common that she turned down her maid’s assistance when dressing or pinning her hair. The state of her appearance hadn’t mattered, for it was her mother’s care and comfort Mellie applied herself to day in and day out…not the cut of her gown or the quality of her slippers, or even the stylish flare of her curls.

  Who would have been near to notice anyways?

  But things had changed since the previous day, had they not?

  A light tap sounded at her door. “Enter.”

  As she watched in the mirror, Lilly closed the door behind her and hurried to Mellie’s dressing table. “Can I pin your hair, my lady?”

  For the span of a moment, Mellie wondered if it mattered if her curly locks were pinned atop her head, bound at her neck, or sheared off. Brigham had sent his regrets the night before, calling off on their meal due to his exhaustion, and so Mellie had had a plate delivered to his room as she dined alone in the hall. Not the way she’d envisioned spending her evening; however, it had given her much time to think.

  “Allow me to tie my sash, and then I think I would like my hair down, mayhap pinned behind one ear?”

  The glow of Lilly’s excitement beamed, illuminating the already sunlit room. “Very good, my lady.”

  Could it be that Mellie was not the only one brightened by Brigham’s arrival? She’d noted a positively lighthearted air in the house during her evening meal. Cook had even taken her guidance and prepared shepherd’s pie, Brigham’s favorite.

  Mellie moved slowly to her dressing cabinet, the doors already thrown wide from when she’d searched for the perfect gown—among her six options. She’d never been one for finery in excess or even vanity for that matter. Her cabinet held only what she needed: several gowns, two pairs of slippers, one pair of half boots, and underpinnings. A few ribbons were nestled in a tiny shell Brigham had brought her from Sheerness in Kent for their first Christmastide as husband and wife. She possessed no jewelry beyond the plain gold band he’d given her on their wedding day.

  Quickly riffling through her stockings and such, Mellie had a moment’s hesitation as she pulled out a long, midnight blue silk sash. The material was smooth and cool against her fingertips. So far, Mellie hadn’t strayed from blacks and greys during her time of mourning—but she suspected this day was important. This day, she would take great care in her attire and appearance, if for nothing but to gain Brigham’s attention.

  Her husband’s stay at Hockcliffe would not last longer than a day or two, at most.

  Lilly stepped forward, taking the silk sash from Mellie and wrapping it about the high waist of her gown before tying it at her back.

  “It is lovely,” her maid sighed. “But it will be all the more attractive when I am done with your hair.”

  Attractive?

  Mellie had never seen herself as striking in any way. Certainly, she had the classic appearance of an English rose, though her hair had always held a bit too much red for her liking, her skin had turned pale and sickly over the last several years, and it was only recently that she noted her gowns no longer hung limply from her thin frame.

  She took a seat at her dressing table, and Lilly went to work with her brush and pins.

  Turning her face slightly, Mellie scrutinized her reflection. Perhaps there had been a time when she’d thought herself pretty, or at least comely enough by Hertfordshire standards. If she lifted her chin at just the right angle, her neck appeared nearly swanlike, her petite ears tucked under her hair, and her large almond-shaped eyes sparkled.

  “Should I change my gown?” she mused. “Perchance I have something with a—“

  Mellie’s voice cut off as she met Lilly’s knowing stare in the mirror.

  She was going to say low-cut neckline.

  “Oh, do not look at me thusly, Lilly,” Mellie chided, in hopes of distracting her maid. “And do hurry, or I will be late for breakfast.”

  “Breakfast with Lord Whitmore?” the girl prodded.

  “Do you mean my husband?” Mellie corrected, narrowing her stare on the servant. “Because, yes, with Lord Whitmore. That is what wedded couples do when in residence with one another—they dine… together.”

  Mellie held Lilly’s stare, refusing to be the first to look away, mainly because she wasn’t sure if the words were meant for Lilly or to reassure herself that dining together was, in fact, what wedded couples did. Heavens, there was a great possibility Brigham would request his meal in his room, as had been the case the night before.

  And she would be made to dine alone…again.

  Poppycock. If Mellie sought to tempt her husband, she would actually need time in his presence. Her gown and hair would not matter a whit if he never laid eyes on her.

&nb
sp; “Done, my lady.” Lilly stepped back and clasped her hands at her throat. “You are beautiful.”

  “I appear adequately gowned and coiffed for a morning meal,” Mellie corrected, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the woman staring back at her. Her hair was pinned behind one ear but hung free down her back and over the opposite shoulder, highlighting her tanned skin. She’d spent much time outdoors in recent months, and her complexion was the better for it. “Thank you, Lilly.”

  Mellie stood from the bench, careful not to muss her hair as she smoothed the wrinkles from her skirts.

  It was time to tempt her husband.

  She only prayed he was below and not cloistered in his room.

  “Enjoy your meal, my lady. I will have your cloak brought down to the hall for your morning walk.”

  She smiled at Lilly. The maid was skilled at her post and had provided Mellie with a listening ear on more occasions than could be counted on two hands.

  “Again, thank you,” Mellie said and hurried from the room to the main stairs.

  She took hold of her skirts as she descended to the foyer.

  A cold draft hit her squarely in the face when Mr. Danvers, the Whitmore butler, closed the front door.

  “Good morn, my lady,” he greeted with his usual cheerful tone. “Shall I have Cook bring your meal to the dining hall?”

  Mellie glanced over his shoulder at the front door, but try as she might, she could not see through the thick wooden panel. Someone had recently left, but who departed the house at this ungodly hour? And where could they be going? Even the market in town was an hour from opening.

  “My lady?”

  Shaking her head, she smiled at Danvers. “If that is where Lord Whitmore is pleased to dine, yes.”

  “My lord has broken his fast and left.”

  Left? Her skin prickled at the word. Could Brigham have departed for London so quickly? Certainly, he had no pressing matters to attend to on Christmastide Eve morn.

  “Where, may I ask, has he gone?”

  “He went to the steward’s cottage.”

  “But Mr. Briars is away to visit family for the holiday,” Mellie countered.

  “I told Lord Whitmore as much, but he thought the time good to look over the ledgers for the year.”

  Mellie pursed her lips to keep from snapping at the butler. If Brigham were avoiding her, it was between her and her husband, not the servants. Though she could not tamp down her ire. Certainly, there was time after the holiday for business matters.

  There was no time to contemplate why Brigham’s early rising and departure irritated her so much.

  “I will make certain he knows Mr. Briars is away,” Mellie said, turning toward the stairs. If she were going outdoors, she was not senseless enough to brave the elements without her cloak. And true to form, Lilly made her way down the hall from the servant’s stairs with Mellie’s long, black wrap in hand. “I will not be long,” she called to the butler as she slipped her arms into the waiting garment. “I will break my fast when I return from the steward’s cottage.”

  “Shall I have a horse brought round?”

  “No, it is only a brisk walk away.” Mellie waved off the servant, thankful for his concern, but she was in a rush to set off after Brigham.

  If she didn’t catch him at the steward’s office, it was likely he’d find yet another task that needed his attention which would keep him from the main house.

  It would be harder than that to avoid Mellie.

  She had plans, and they had naught to do with poring over old ledgers in the dusty steward’s cottage—and everything to do with capturing Brigham’s notice.

  Mellie only hoped she knew what to do with his attention once she had it.

  Chapter Five

  Brigham adjusted his position in the rickety chair his estate steward, Briars, used when maintaining the ledgers for Hockcliffe. The seat was too hard, the back too straight, and the location too far from Mellie. But again, he’d spent the last five years keeping his distance from her…a simple few minute’s ride by horse was far closer than London—or the wilds of Scotland. He glanced at the empty hearth, debating the merits of starting a fire to ward off the early morning chill. There was no doubt he’d be at the steward’s office for some time as he was finding it difficult to rein in his thoughts long enough to study the accounts.

  There was something else...someone else he’d much prefer to study.

  Instead, he was in Briars’ office, and Mellie was likely still abed, gaining her final hour of restful sleep.

  Tenant dues. Crop rotation schedules. Staff allowances. Kitchen receipts from the market.

  It was all a haze. Turning another page in the accounting ledger for the crop sharing land nearest the village, Brigham attempted to concentrate on the columns neatly scripted on the paper.

  Corn was in high demand, while wheat and barley had seen a decrease since last winter. The oat crop had suffered a major catastrophe when an unidentified insect contaminated the fields closest to the manor. The livestock had been kept clear of the land and moved to the east for grazing before being herded inland toward Oxford and away from the coastal breezes that still managed to make their way to Hertfordshire.

  Briars was a shrewd asset to Hockcliffe Manor and the Whitmore family as a whole. His detailed accounting made it possible for Brigham to surmise how his estate was doing in just a glance. For many years, that was all the time Brigham could allot to the scrutiny of his ledgers.

  However, if Brigham were to make a smooth transition to his country seat, he must needs better educate himself in the ways of his property.

  It was no different than collecting data, compiling research, and proposing a reform bill.

  He only need apply himself to the task at hand.

  Yet his thoughts continued to return to another task that was much overdue and should demand his attention over all else.

  Mellie.

  Her happiness. Her comfort. Her well-being in every form.

  It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to keep from seeking her out the night before—at her meal or later in her private chambers. He was up at first light, prowling the hall in hopes she’d exit, and he could gain another view of her splendid beauty.

  She hadn’t left her room…and Brigham knew, for the time being, it was for the best. Until he could gain a firm hold of his longings, it was not advisable for him to allow his emotions to overtake his good sense. There was much he owed the woman and lusting after her like a randy London dandy fresh from University was not one of them.

  He leaned back in his chair and massaged his temples, though the light pressure gave no relief to his aching head.

  They need speak of the grave matters between them; namely, Brigham’s need to cast himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness before anything could develop anew. Be it a renewed friendship or the resurgence of the closeness they once shared, he would not hedge his hopes on either. It was just as likely she’d grown accustomed to her life of solitude and wished naught for his presence at Hockcliffe.

  He need remember the folly of misplaced confidence. Had he not learned a severe lesson over the last several weeks?

  The fact that he’d come face-to-face with the woman he’d once known was what had thrown him off course, given him pause, and incited a long dormant lust he hadn’t known still burned so strongly within him.

  Brigham glanced at the windowpane next to the door of the cottage as the sun rose ever higher in the sky. No matter how much time he spent away from Hertfordshire, he never grew accustomed to any other sunrise. Something—or someone—kept his heart at Hockcliffe. His time at University had been no different, as he’d counted the days, the hours until he was free to journey home. Was it the place or Melloria who tethered him to this land?

  If she’d agreed to accompany him to London after they wed, would the need to return here still be as strong within him?

  It was said that home was where the heart lay, but Brigham c
ould not understand the bonds linking him to a woman who did not know she held his heart. And he would not delude himself into thinking her heart was meant for him.

  He would not question his decision.

  Pushing back his chair, Brigham strode to the hearth and stared into its sooty, cavernous cove. Hockcliffe was where he belonged, where he should have remained, and where he needed to be to find his future. So many years had been squandered chasing after dreams and aspirations that, while vitally imperative to England’s future, shouldn’t have overshadowed his duties at home: to his wife, his servants, and his land.

  Worse yet, it was only now, in the aftermath of his failure, that he realized Mellie was more important than any calling in London. In the blink of an eye, everything in town had been stripped from him—it had all disappeared—and he was left with only one thing… Mellie.

  With shaking, unsteady hands, Brigham piled the logs high in the hearth and spread the small twigs and sticks at the base before turning to collect the flint from its place. As he struck the metals together, a sense of rightness filled him. Using his hands to produce something as basic as a fire for warmth had his confidence increasing.

  He could do this. He could admit his failures, confess his betrayal, and beg for Mellie’s forgiveness.

  The time was upon him and certainly long overdue.

  He owed her the option to cast him from Hockcliffe—as was her right.

  Returning to his seat, he lowered down with a heavy sigh.

  After stating his piece, Brigham had to be man enough to accept whatever dictate Mellie set forth.

  Her mercy was something he was uncertain he was worthy of.

  Perhaps a few more hours away from the manor would strengthen his resolve, and he’d find the right words to tell her all while keeping his longing for her from spilling forth and further muddling their precarious situation.

  He was hiding…and he damn well bloody knew it.

  The question was, what was he willing to do about it?

  # # #

  Mellie watched Brigham through the thick grime on the window as he rubbed his temples, knelt to start a fire, and then sat lax in his chair. He was an academic man, a lord more accustomed to the darkened halls of Parliament than the stalls at Tattersalls, yet that did not diminish his presence. He did not appear any less broad of shoulder or tan of skin than the servants who worked the fields around Hockcliffe. Perhaps Brigham had taken up fencing or bare-knuckle boxing while in town to hone his physique and remain active.