Christmas Surprises Read online

  Not until he had laughed off the foolish melodrama did he stop to wonder who had spoken it. The brandy had addled his wits beyond redemption. Feeling a little more in humor, he reached for the decanter and searched through the darkness for the cynic who had read his thoughts.

  Read his thoughts. Damn, but he was more pickled than he realized. He returned the decanter to the table and scanned the darkness. “Who’s there?”

  A frustrated sigh answered his query. An irritated mutter drew his attention in the direction of the long library table in the center of the room. Although it was some feet from the glittering candle of the Christmas tree, he noticed an odd glow shimmering over the polished mahogany. He squinted into the darkness, and the glow seemed to take shape. He blinked, and the shape seemed to become a little more solid. He could still see the shelf of books on the far side of the table, but he seemed to be seeing it through the ghostly shape of a woman—wearing wings.

  He rubbed his forehead, glanced at the embers of the fire beside him, then glanced quickly back to the table again. She seemed to be slumped forward with her elbows on her knees. The wings formed a graceful curve at her back. She didn’t even look at him.

  “Are you satisfied?” she asked sullenly. “I’m not very good at this, as you can see. And I feel regularly ridiculous with these things flapping at my back.”

  Maybe he ought to have a little more brandy. But he couldn’t seem to lift his hand. He kept staring at the ghostly shape fading in and out in the faint light of the tree. He couldn’t see colors. He couldn’t tell if he saw blond hair or red, but he could definitely tell it was a she. Although now that he looked, he couldn’t say why. Flowing robes disguised any trace of a figure.

  “Not very good at what?” he asked, parroting her words rather than trying to think.

  She turned her face enough to give him a look of disgust. He could see that much, even if he didn’t hear it in her voice.

  “At this angel business. I’m not much good at anything up there. So I thought I’d come down here and try to be useful. It gets boring doing nothing but studying and watching all the time. I like doing. At Christmas, they need the extra help up there, so I accepted the offer. But look at me! I can’t even make a decent showing. Shouldn’t I be splendid with gold and glory so I can shock you into believing?”

  Amused, Darcourt crossed his hands over his chest and watched her twinkling shimmer. If he meant to lose his mind, he’d found a most pleasant way of doing it. “Why me?” he inquired, humoring his idiosyncrasy.

  Even if he couldn’t really see her face, he felt the flash of her smile, a sudden mischievous grin, and he grinned back at her reply.

  “I liked your curls.”

  “That’s not a particularly angelic thing to say,” he pointed out, reasonably .”And you’re beginning to fade out again.”

  She muttered something obscure and shook her wings until they ruffled slightly. The image became a little more solid, and she gave him a glare of defiance. “These things take time. One can’t learn to be an angel in just a day.”

  “Quite true, I’m sure,” he agreed affably. “Are you only an angel when you come down to earth?”

  She turned her glance with interest to the Christmas tree. “It looks that way. The rest of the time I’m supposed to be reading and observing and trying to improve myself, but I never was much good at that.” She gave a little puff, and the candle flickered out.

  The ghostly shape gleamed silver against the darkness, then faded. Darcourt decided his hallucination had ended, and he felt a peculiar disappointment at the thought. It was rather like waking up from a particularly interesting dream and wishing he could go back to sleep again and take up where the dream had left off.

  “This is better.” The voice came from the direction of the tree. “If I can’t be splendid, there’s no point in wasting my energy. It looks like I’ll need all my resources with you. Next time I’ll choose a starving orphan who needs a mother.”

  Jeffrey chuckled. A tin angel on the tree swung loosely on the branch where the candle had gone out. He didn’t remember Susan collecting a tin angel, but he could just see the gilt paint trimming its gown. The voice’s cynicism perversely appealed to him. He was no doubt mad. If anyone wandered in here, they would see him in Bedlam, but no one would come in here at this time of night. Relatively few things in life amused him anymore. He couldn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t talk to a tin angel. No doubt in the morning he would feel differently, but that was then and this was now.

  “I should think an orphan would be a much better recipient of Christmas tidings than I am,” he offered when she said nothing more. “I have everything a man could want.” He gestured to his wealthy surroundings.

  She made an inelegant noise that could almost be a snort. “You have nothing but material goods, and you’re wasting them wickedly. You’re worse than a little boy who takes his ball away when the other children won’t play the game his way.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Her reply stung, and he answered with curtness. “If that’s the best you can do, you definitely are an incompetent angel. Maybe you’d better go back and find someone with a little more experience.”

  “Oh, yes, incompetence! One of your pet peeves, I’ve been told. Were you never incompetent? How lordly that must make you feel. You can strut down the street and hear people cry, There goes Lord Darcourt! There isn’t anything he can’t do.’ It must be pleasant to be so certain of one’s self.”

  “Don’t be foolish! Of course I can’t do everything, but I can do what I’m supposed to do, which is more than you can say.”

  The tin angel tinkled slightly in the breeze, although there didn’t seem to be any other ornament close by to cause the chiming noise. “And just what is it you’re supposed to do?” she called, from what seemed to be a distance.

  Somehow, he knew the question was rhetorical. She was no longer there.

  * * * *

  Darcourt woke with a thundering head and a sunbeam piercing his brain through his closed eyes. Groaning, he turned over, and his hand lashed the bedside table. A distinct rattle of something hitting the floor ensued, and he grimaced, trying to remember what he could have left sitting there last night. With difficulty, he pried open one eyelid and glared down at the floor.

  The garish tin angel glared back at him.

  He almost laughed, but his head hurt too much. Bigad, he must have been drunk as an emperor last night, seeing angels and talking to them! That he’d carried the damned ornament upstairs with him was testimony enough to that.

  He groaned as the ornament reminded him that his family would arrive any day now. He’d have to send someone into the village to pick up something in the way of gifts. Susan was easy. He’d just have someone craft the most superb sugar-plum fairy they could make up. Maybe his mother would like one of those fancy shawls the women in town knitted and sold this time of year. He didn’t know what to do for George’s widow; he didn’t even want to think about Helen.

  “She wants a marriage proposal, but she’d settle for a string of pearls.”

  Jeffrey jerked upright and stared around the room. Sunlight peered through the cracks between the draperies, and he could see every corner of the spacious chamber. No one was there.

  Disgruntled, he threw his legs over the side of the bed. He’d sent his valet off to bed early last night, and he apparently hadn’t managed his shirt buttons well enough to get his shirt off. The wrinkled linen fell to his knees, and he cursed. Jasper would give him holy hell for wrecking the shirt like this.

  “Drat! Now I suppose I’m going to have to materialize again so you remember I’m here. It’s that or get a rather interesting initiation into the male anatomy.”

  Jeffrey nearly jumped off the tin angel lying on the floor between his feet. Cursing, he grabbed the ornament from the floor and set it back on the table.

  With laughter, the voice said, “Well, at least I know I’m quite competent at making myself hea
rd.”

  Jeffrey grabbed the ornament and flung it against the farthest wall. The tin halo bent forward over the angelic face, the wings crushed awkwardly against glittering skirts, and the angel fell in a mangled heap to the floor. With satisfaction, he pulled the bell rope to summon his valet.

  “I rather liked that little toy,” the voice said sadly. “You have a vicious temper, you know.”

  The ephemeral winged figure glittered briefly from the edge of his bed. Jeffrey stepped backward, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Could alcohol continue to affect the mind the day after?

  “You don’t have a problem with alcohol yet,” the angel replied carelessly. “You will in the future if you continue as you are. I suppose that’s one of the things I’m supposed to prevent.”

  His valet appeared and the shimmering image vanished. Jeffrey wondered viciously if she was still there, taking lessons on male anatomy, but he refused to admit that the hallucination was real. He stripped naked and proceeded to wash while his valet hurried about the room, gathering his clothes. Finding the damaged ornament, Jasper gave his employer an odd look, then set it carefully on the bedside table.

  Before he went down to breakfast, Jeffrey grabbed the bent angel and shoved it in his pocket.

  He set it in front of him as he breakfasted on coffee and toast. His pounding head had eased somewhat, but he was taking no chances on his stomach. He’d best stay off the brandy for a while.

  He studied the tin angel as he ate. The halo now dipped rakishly over one shiny cheek. The wings spread out to the sides as if she meant to take flight. He blinked when the halo seemed to straighten itself.

  “A proper mess you’ve made of it, but I suppose a tinsmith could straighten it out.” Complacently, his own particular nemesis shimmered enough so he could see her sitting boldly on the table, her legs—or her gown, if she didn’t have legs—swinging back and forth.

  “You’re a ghost,” he accused her. “You mean to haunt me.”

  She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Now that’s an interesting concept. I’ll have to take it up with someone more learned than I am. But I think ghosts tend to stay earthbound. I have to leave by Christmas.”

  “That’s a relief,” he said wryly, draining his coffee cup. “What do you mean to do in the interim?”

  “Lots of things, I hope,” she answered with enthusiasm, once more swinging her legs. “I haven’t been down here in forever. There’s so much I want to see. Will you take me with you into town?”

  “Do I have a choice?” he muttered, then realized he’d had no intention of going into town.

  “Well, no, you don’t really.” She leapt off the table to examine the abominable oil landscape over the sideboard. “Some habits die hard, apparently. I was always used to asking politely.”

  “No doubt you were an angel of decorum in another life,” he said sarcastically.

  The footman entering to clear his plate gave him a startled look and glanced around to see to whom he was speaking. Jeffrey gave him a glare, and grabbing the tin angel from the table, walked out.

  “Very well done,” she mocked from somewhere over his head. “Just glare them into retreat. So very polite of you.”

  His fingers wrapped around the toy in his pocket, nearly crushing it, but no protest came from his nemesis, and he eased the pressure. Even in his madness he realized the toy had little or nothing to do with the voice.

  He grabbed his hat and greatcoat from the butler as he stalked out. If he meant to converse with thin air for the rest of the day, it had best be out of sight of others. He had the curricle brought around and refused a groom’s accompaniment. Let the damned angel look after the horses while he shopped.

  “They’re beautiful animals, but I don’t think I’d have much control over them,” the voice replied doubtfully from the seat beside him.

  He glanced over at the empty seat but saw only a slight waviness to the air, as if heat waves rose from it. “You showed up better this morning,” he said grumpily.

  “It’s the light. Sunlight tends to fade everything. Will you stop to see the vicar on the way in?”

  Jeffrey had a dozen questions he wished to ask, but the thought of questioning an apparition stilled his tongue. Besides that, she kept bombarding him with impossibilities until his head spun. It was all he could do to keep up with her questions and demands and silliness. “Why would I visit the vicar? I see him in church every Sunday.”

  He might not be able to see her clearly, but he felt her scathing look.

  “His daughter is dying,” she reminded him, her voice laden with irony. “You might stop to inquire as to how she is and if there is anything you might do. The poor man has already lost one child and a wife. He will be all alone if this one dies. Your compassion would make his day brighter. He is easily pleased.”

  “Why in hell would my compassion make a difference to him? Sympathy never made it easier when George died. Dead is dead. Nothing anyone can say will make it different.”

  “Oh, I forgot. Lord Darcourt knows everything. Of course you know all about grief and pain and how one deals with it. Just visit the vicar and quit being such an obstinate jackass.”

  Jeffrey could swear the shimmer beside him glowed brighter with her anger. He could respect her temper easier than her platitudes. For whatever reason, he gave in to her judgment. Seeing the vicar’s vine-covered cottage ahead, he eased the curricle to a standstill in front of it.

  The older man had just stepped outside when Darcourt came up the stone path between the overgrown rosebushes. He looked up in surprise and pleasure at the approach of the young viscount. “Lord Darcourt! How good to see you. What brings you here today? Is there something I can do for you or your family?”

  The vicar seemed to have aged tremendously since Jeffrey had last noticed him. He wasn’t given to observing the man in his pulpit, but faced with him like this, he could see the threads of gray in his fading blond hair and the way his shoulders bent with the weight of his many burdens. The man couldn’t be much older than fifty, but he had the wrinkled lines of age about his eyes and mouth.

  “I came to ask after Clarissa. Is she doing any better?”

  The vicar shook his head sadly, patted the viscount’s back, and led him back into the cottage. “Come and have a cup of tea. It’s chilly out here and you are in an open carriage. You must look after your health, my son. You can never be too careful.”

  Jeffrey thought he felt the rush of wings as he stepped across the portal, but he ignored the notion. He let the older man call for tea and took the seat offered in the best parlor. His mother usually did the visiting. He looked around him with curiosity, noting the volumes littering the tables, even though he knew this would be the room reserved for entertaining guests. Apparently the vicar’s idea of entertainment was to produce volumes of text.

  “My health is quite strong, sir. Females are more tender. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  The vicar shook his head sadly and took the cup of tea served by his housekeeper. “The physician says he has done all he can. It is up to her now, and she doesn’t seem to wish to live,”

  The gossip came back to him now, and Jeffrey nodded with understanding. Clarissa’s fiancée had been killed in the same battle that had taken George in the Crimea. She had grieved this past year as if she had been his wife in truth. But unlike Helen and his mother, she apparently hadn’t been able to put the death behind her. He sipped his tea and sought polite words to say.

  “Perhaps if we found stronger medications, and brought Christmas to her?” he asked tentatively. “A tree and candies? Children singing?”

  The vicar wiped surreptitiously at his eyes behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. “You are generous, my lord. I am willing to try anything. The physician says the infection is in her lungs, and he has no medicines to make them stronger. He says sometimes patients recover on their own, but mostly he has no control. He believes it is hopeless. But I will try anything. I will ask the
choir to sing for her.”

  “And I’ll see that she has a tree and candles.” Jeffrey stood up, satisfied that he had done as much as he could. He remembered Clarissa as a quiet, unobtrusive spinster, very different from the fine-feathered birds of society. He thought he might genuinely regret her illness.

  “Would you like to see her?” the vicar asked anxiously. “She sleeps most of the time now, but perhaps your voice will remind her of this world.”

  The last thing he wanted was to walk into the sick chamber of a woman he scarcely knew, but trapped, Jeffrey nodded agreement.

  He tried not to look too closely at the sleeping form beneath the blankets as he entered the darkened chamber with the vicar by his side. The face on the pillow was pale and lifeless, as if death had already overtaken her. The only thing alive about her was the glorious crown of burnished chestnut hair spread across the linen. Apparently someone took the time to keep it brushed.

  He had no idea what to say, but the voice whispering in his ear prompted him and he repeated what he heard. “She is too lovely to die so young, sir. I will see the tree delivered tomorrow. Perhaps when she wakes and sees it, she will have renewed interest in the world.”

  The figure in the bed convulsed with a racking cough, and the vicar hurried him out. With a few hasty words of farewell, Jeffrey found himself on the way to his curricle again.

  “There! See, even if she does not get well, you have made a difference. You have given him hope, made him feel less helpless and alone, and renewed his faith in people. Everyone needs that occasionally.”

  Jeffrey growled irascibly and contemplated throwing the tin angel into the shrubbery. “What good is hope if she dies? I have only made it harder for him.”

  “You are a stupid wretch, do you know that?” she asked angrily, shimmering beside him again. “Didn’t you see the tears of gratitude in his eyes? He was feeling lost and alone and you showed him that someone cared. Can you imagine what it would be like to lose your entire family? His faith in God can only waver at such a time. You have given him strength.”