Twelve Days in December: A Christmas Novella (5 page)

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Bishop Lewis’s grin spread nearly ear to ear.

Blessed relief washed over William, and the gratitude he felt for Charlotte grew even more as he watched her brave smile and noted her blinking fast to keep her tears at bay.
This cost her.
No matter that she had said she was prepared for it; marrying again had cost her.

I will do everything I can to make it worth that cost.
He could not make her stop loving her first husband, nor would that be right. But he could ease the worries and burdens she had borne since his passing. William could see she was comfortable and warm and safe; he could afford to buy her the nicest gowns and take her to France or anywhere else she desired. He would do all that and more, for she had truly saved him.

Not just his business, but him.
If she had not married me today, I should never have married at all.
Instinctively he knew losing Marsali would have been too much for him to ever try again. Charlotte had saved him from himself, from the lonely existence that had been his for so long. And someday, in years to come, God willing, she would assure that his line went on, that he had children and grandchildren to bless his life.

He owed her the moon, if that’s what she wanted.
And the sun and the stars as well.
As they made their way down the aisle, hand in hand, amid the well-wishers, William could not recall having ever felt so happy before, nor more filled with purpose. The world seemed alive with possibility. All because of the woman beside him.

“How do you feel?” Charlotte’s new husband asked a question she did not wish to answer. Yet she could be nothing less than truthful with him. She turned her face from the window to look at Mr. Vancer seated across from her in the carriage.

“Exhausted,” she said. “I had not realized that there would be so many people, so many faces and names to remember.” They had gone directly from the church to the wedding breakfast, hosted by William’s friends, the Fitzgeralds. It seemed the whole of the congregation had come, and the breakfast had stretched well past noon, a three-hour-long celebration wherein she had eaten very little but had been introduced to and spoken with what felt like hundreds of people.

Such an event should have been a good distraction to her tender emotions, but the constant congratulations and reminder that she had just married again had kept her on edge the entire time, fearful she might lose control and burst into tears at any minute.
And that would never do.
Only the thought of the embarrassment and anguish this would cause to Mr. Vancer had allowed her to keep her brave face as she mingled and greeted their guests. But oh, how she wished for the peace she had felt up until the very minute when she’d had to pledge her love to a man other than Matthew.

She had prayed his forgiveness too many times today to even think it again. What was done was done, and it had been the right thing to do. Hadn’t it? Charlotte hated the doubts plaguing her even this minute.

“I am sorry I did not warn you about that,” William said contritely. “The breakfast was the last thought in my mind this morning.”

“That is understandable,” Charlotte said with a tired smile. “And your friends are too kind, especially the Fitzgeralds. I liked them immensely. I promise to be better company in the future.”

“You were fine company,” he assured her, sounding genuine in his compliment. “I daresay there were a few men there today who were jealous of my good fortune.”

Jealous because you had to marry your fiancée’s older, widowed sister at the last minute when the woman you really cared for discovered her first husband to still be living? Doubtful.
But Charlotte kept her peace on the matter. By and far those in attendance had been understanding and gracious when hearing of the circumstances that led to the last-minute change of brides. She’d been able to spot at once, those women who’d been overjoyed with such a juicy story to gossip about. But so long as she and Mr. Vancer— William, she must call him now— got along in the future, she did not see that there would be much to continue to gossip about.

Charlotte determined that it should be that way. She and her husband would get on well, in spite of such an unusual and awkward beginning. Marriages had been arranged for centuries; and while they might be lacking the love she and Matthew had known, she believed that she and William could be good friends.

We can help and comfort and support one another as Bishop Lewis instructed.

It appeared that William intended to begin that immediately, as he scooted forward on his seat, rose, then turned around so that he was seated beside her instead of across from her as he had been.

“You are practically falling asleep,” he noted. “Rest your head against me and close your eyes until we are home.”

Home.
What a lovely word. So long it had been since she’d felt as if she’d had one. All through her marriage to Matthew, and even before that, while staying at her aunt’s house in Manchester, Charlotte had not felt as if she had a home. Always they had been guests or employees of someone else. Not since her family had left France had she known the sense of security that having a home meant.

William’s arm came awkwardly around her, as if he was not quite certain how to make good on his offer, or if, on second thought, it was an entirely good idea. Charlotte wasn’t certain it was either, but she could not deny that closing her eyes and resting sounded divine. So she scooted closer to him of necessity and leaned her head against his side. Gradually she felt the weight of his arm descend across her shoulder and arm, its warmth comforting.

She closed her eyes and sighed with contentment, giving into the need to be held for just a few minutes.
So long it had been since anyone, aside from Alec, had shown her affection. To be cared for, just a little, returned some of the peace she had felt earlier.

This is right and good.
Her eyes drooped, and she gave into sleep.

What seemed a minute later they were home. Mr. Vancer’s voice was soft in her ear.

“Would you like me to carry you into the house?”

That woke her. Charlotte sat up quickly, her heart beating a panicked staccato as she realized her proximity to her new husband and his own, rather rapidly beating heart.

“No. Thank you.” Where would he have carried her? To his room or hers? She couldn’t think of that yet, of any intimacy beyond what they had just shared. And she prayed he would not either. “I should go check on Alec. He may be wondering what has become of me.”

“Of course.” Mr. Vancer withdrew his arm and straightened, putting as much distance between them as possible on the seat. “I meant to tell you— to ask, that is.” He paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Marsali and I were to take a wedding trip through the end of the year. We had planned to go to Philadelphia and to see some of the other countryside, weather permitting, of course. You and I might still go, if you would like. I’ve allotted these last twelve days of December for the trip. Or, perhaps, with your son to care for, you would prefer not to travel?”

Charlotte definitely preferred not to travel, and not simply because that would mean leaving Alec. Mr. Vancer’s house was grand, with plenty of space and bedrooms and the possibility that she might retain her own. But an inn in Philadelphia would likely prove an entirely different arrangement, one she was not at all ready for. “Might we stay home?” she asked. “It
would
be difficult to be away from Alec so long.”

“I understand,” Mr. Vancer said, his tone indiscernible and his expression unreadable in the low light of the carriage. “You two can get settled in, and there is always plenty of work for me to do at the office.”

“There is not much settling in to be done beyond that which we have already accomplished,” she said. An idea began to blossom through her haze of her exhaustion. “What if you were to— would you consider still taking your twelve days in December off from your work?”

“You wish me to travel alone?” He sounded apprehensive, wary, and she hurried to explain.

“Not at all. I wish you to stay at home with us— with Alec and me. So he might become better acquainted, more familiar with you. You will be the only father he is to know. He is too young to remember Matthew.” Her voice quavered at the last.

Relief eased the lines of Mr. Vancer’s face. “I would be most happy to remain at home with you. And who is to say that we cannot take some day outings. It is the season of festivities, after all.”

“Yes,” Charlotte agreed, not feeling very festive at all, at the mention and thought of Matthew.

As if he knew the direction of her thoughts, Mr. Vancer took her hand in his. “This time will also allow you and me to become better acquainted. If it would not be too painful for you, I would like you to tell me about your first husband.”

The tears that had been threatening all afternoon surfaced once more. “I am not certain that would be wise.”

“I feel it not only wise, but necessary,” Mr. Vancer said. “He is a part of your life, a part of you, the woman I should very much like to know.” He released her hand, then used his own to brush a tear from her cheek. “But wait until you are ready. We have time enough— even beyond our twelve days, the first of which is nearly gone. Shall we go inside?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to do more than that. He knocked on the door of the carriage, and it was opened at once by a footman waiting outside in the cold. Charlotte wondered how long he had been there and how much of their dialogue had been overheard.

Mr. Vancer stepped down and waved the footman away, then turned to hold his hand out to her once more. She took it and noted that he did not let go, but kept hold of her as they made their way up the steps and into the house.

Just inside, it seemed that every servant had gathered in the foyer to greet them. Mr. Vancer paused just inside the doors. Looking most pleased, he announced, “May I present to you the new Mrs. Vancer, your mistress.”

Cheers and applause erupted at this announcement, and Charlotte was overcome with another wave of well wishers.

“Bless you,” the butler said as he shook her hand heartily. “It’s a good thing you have done.”

“Praises be. Finally,” said Mrs. Duff, the housekeeper, going so far as to take Charlotte in an embrace before stepping back and giving a hasty curtsy. “We’re all pleased as punch, ma’am.”

“As am I.” Mr. Vancer leaned close and dropped a kiss on the top of Charlotte’s head. “Welcome home.”

December 21

Charlotte awoke early as was her custom, washed and dressed herself and Alec, then hurried below to the breakfast room. She had learned since her arrival several weeks before that Mr. Vancer— William, she reminded herself yet again— dined each morning at eight-thirty. It was difficult to think that yesterday morning the two of them had chatted amiably about the day to come, neither realizing that it was to be
their
day.

But the silver band on her finger confirmed that she had not dreamed yesterday’s events. Marsali and Lady Cosgrove were gone; only she and Alec and William— along with an army of servants— remained at home.

How long will it take for this place to feel like home?
Charlotte wondered as she carried Alec down the winding staircase. The house she had grown up in had been fine, but not nearly so grand as this. And now, in some measure, this one belonged to her.

“Good morning.” She greeted the maid assigned to take Alec to the kitchen for his meal. It had been a change for them both, this eating separately, and often Charlotte made it a point to take her lunch with him in their room. But for now, the arrangement of dining alone with William had best be observed. They all had adjusting to do, and any changes she wished to implement would require both time and patience.

With a quick kiss to Alec’s cheek and a promise that he would be given a cup of milk, she handed him off, then continued on her way to the breakfast room, where she found only two places set out— the one at which William was already seated, and the one directly to his right.