Twelve Days in December: A Christmas Novella (9 page)

Charlotte laughed. “I can see now the kind of father you are going to be.”

Uncertainty filled William’s gaze as he looked at her.

“A wonderful one,” she finished, swallowing the emotion that had risen in her throat. The past five days had found her more wont to cry and laugh than she had for quite some time.
I was numb for so long,
Charlotte realized. She had coped by feeling nothing, and now it seemed that William was causing her to feel everything.

December 28

William cradled a sleepy Alec in his arms as they left the church. Between his wedding, Christmas services, and the Sunday services today, it was the third time in a week he’d been to church, each time more favorable than the previous.

Because Charlotte is at my side.
On the day of their wedding he had been too consumed with worry to enjoy much of anything until after the ceremony. Christmas services had been pleasant, until Charlotte had to take Alec out to tend to him before the meeting was over. But today Alec had slept through most of the bishop’s message and the choir and congregation singing. William had offered to hold him, and Charlotte had happily agreed. For a toddler, Alec was already quite large, and no doubt her arms became tired.

For William the novelty of holding a sleeping child was a new and wonderful experience.
Innocence in my arms and perfection at my side.
After being in their presence for eight days, he’d come to think of Alec and Charlotte in those terms. Of course she was not truly perfect; no one was, though he’d yet to see many of her flaws.
She is perfect for me.
Marrying her was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He only wished he knew how to make her feel the same.

Charlotte walked ahead of him, pausing just outside the church under the shelter of its tall roof, looking lovelier than ever in a new outfit of deepest blue that had been delivered yesterday. Her expression was contemplative and serious, causing him to wonder— and worry— about the direction of her thoughts. Sometime during the service snow had begun falling again, so they took a minute to don their cloaks and coats and mittens and hats. In one arm he carried Alec down the steps, while his other hand held firmly to Charlotte’s.

William could not bear the thought of anything— even something as little as a harmless fall— happening to either of them.
How much anguish Charlotte must have endured, watching her husband suffer.
William had thought on this many times since she had shared it with him. That Matthew’s death still troubled her seemed a given. William only wished he knew how to lift such a burden from her.

With care he climbed into the carriage and sat beside her, leaving the seat across from them vacant. “Together we can keep Alec warm on the ride home,” he said by way of explanation.

Charlotte nodded while biting her lip, giving William no doubt that she saw through his flimsy excuse for being so close to her.

“Look. Our snow angels are still there.” She pointed out the window as they passed the park.

William smiled, recalling that enjoyable morning, remembering how he had first wanted to kiss her as she’d stood there, armed with snowballs, her cheeks rosy with cold. It was a desire he’d felt repeatedly over the last several days but had contented himself with holding her hand occasionally and sitting near her when they were together.

“I wonder how Marsali is faring,” Charlotte said, leaning her head against the seat. Her thoughts obviously lay a different direction from his.

“Marsali is well, I hope,” William said. “I expect we shall hear from her when she has found Mr. Thatcher. I expect Lady Cosgrove will return to us then also.” He found that he no longer harbored ill feelings toward the woman. After all, it was she who had suggested that Charlotte take Marsali’s place.

“Are you the least sorry that Christopher…” Charlotte’s voice trailed off, and she looked out her window, away from him.

“Am I the least sorry that Marsali’s husband is alive? No. Not at all.” He felt discomfited to realize he would have felt vastly different had he learned that Charlotte’s husband had somehow returned from the dead.

“Are
you
sorry?” William asked, suddenly worried that was what this line of questioning was leading to. That Charlotte felt regret for marrying him.

“No.” She turned to him, placing a gentle hand on his, as was her custom when she was in earnest about something. It was one of her many little traits he adored already. “I am most happy for Marsali and most grateful to be married to you.”

Grateful.
There was that word again. Charlotte used it daily, and if William could find fault in her for one thing, that was it. He appreciated her gratitude but yearned to be the cause of her feeling something more. He reminded himself again of her loss, of the wounds that still likely ran deep and had to be healing.
Patience,
he admonished himself. He hadn’t planned to want more from their marriage and to want it so soon. Certainly he could not expect her feelings to match his. But he wanted them to.

What will it take to get her to feel something other than gratitude toward me?

The folded paper held nervously in his hands, William approached Charlotte where she sat by the fire in the parlor, a forgotten book in her lap as she stared, apparently lost in thought, at the embers burning low in the grate.

“I was wondering if you would like your present now?” he asked.

She smiled as she looked up at him. “Doesn’t a woman always like presents?”

It wasn’t the answer he had expected, and he felt glad of it. That she had not started off with the list of things he had already done for her seemed a good sign. He had not intended to tell her what he had done so soon, but rather to take her to see it sometime after Marsali was settled and she and her sister might visit. But William had found that he wished to tell Charlotte now of the action he had taken. He sensed there was more on the subject of Charlotte’s husband that needed to be shared between them before they might move forward, and if they did not discuss it before he returned to work, who knew when the opportunity would present itself?

She had shared with him much on Christmas Eve, concluding with the fact that Matthew had nothing to mark his grave, in a lone corner of a small churchyard. William had determined to fix that, to put Charlotte’s mind at ease regarding her first husband, insomuch as he could.

“I had planned to show you in person, but with the weather as it is, that might be months away. And I thought this might bring you a measure of peace.” He held the letter out to her. It had arrived this evening, along with the servant he had dispatched to accomplish the errand in the first place.

Charlotte straightened in her seat and took the paper from him. She unfolded it and began to read aloud.

Dear Mr. Vancer,

As per your request, a headstone bearing the inscription
Matthew Holbrook, loving husband and father
, was fashioned from our finest granite and placed as directed. Please inform us if we may be of further service.

Sincerely,

Robert Keeler, Mason

“I didn’t know the dates to put on it, but Mr. Keeler said those could be added later.” William shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to appear nonchalant as he awaited Charlotte’s reaction.

She read the letter once more, to herself this time, as if she did not quite understand or believe its contents. When at last she looked up at him, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I don’t understand. Why would you go to the trouble to do this? You didn’t even know Matthew.”

“But you did.” William ventured closer, taking the chair opposite her and scooting it near to hers. “This was important to you. And I hoped it might bring you some measure of peace— a sense of closure.” He winced inwardly, realizing how selfish the latter sounded. Likely one could never have closure when a spouse died.

Charlotte refolded the paper carefully and placed it in her lap. “This was exceedingly kind and thoughtful. Thank you, William.” She did not look up at him but kept her gaze downcast and took a deep breath, alerting William that she was not finished speaking and that there was a good chance he would not care for what she had to say.

“I will always love Matthew. I must.” Charlotte twisted the silver band on her finger. When William had asked her if she wished to continue to wear her other wedding ring also, she had told him she’d never had one. They had been too poor. “To do anything less would seem wrong.”

“I understand.” William stood abruptly, unable or unwilling to hear the rest of her explanation or rejection.
Perhaps someday…
But certainly not now. He could not expect her affection to turn toward him as quickly as his had turned to her. He was going to have to extend his patience far beyond these twelve days in December. He must remember that he had achieved the purpose of his marriage.
Because of her, my business is saved.
But somehow that seemed to matter little right now. Running Vancer Furs did not hold the appeal it had before his marriage.

“Goodnight, Charlotte. Sleep well.” He left the room before she could say more, hurrying to his own, where he lay awake for quite some time, staring at the door separating them. When he was finally nearing sleep, the sound of weeping woke him again. William climbed out of bed and stood near the door, even going so far as to try the knob. He was not surprised to find it locked. Feeling helpless, he stood in the dark, listening to his wife cry out her sorrows in the room beyond.

He hung his head, wondering how he could have been so wrong in the selection of his gift and in believing— even for a few days— that Charlotte was feeling the same attraction he was and that their marriage would become something far more than either had hoped for.

How he wished he hadn’t been mistaken.

December 29

Charlotte thanked her dance partner and returned to the side of the Frederickses’ ballroom, where she attempted to blend into the crowd and stand inconspicuously, waiting and hoping for William to join her.

As with the balls in England, she had discovered that there were rules in America as well, one of them apparently being that a husband and wife rarely saw one another when attending a ball together. The night was nearly over— thank goodness— and Charlotte had yet to dance with William once. Rarely had she been at his side either, as Mrs. Frederick had whisked her away from the moment of their arrival and had been busy introducing Charlotte to one person after another all evening.

Seeing their hostess coming her way yet again, Charlotte stepped behind a group of gentlemen, then ducked around the corner and into the hall, away from the stuffy ballroom.

A curtained alcove to the side beckoned her, and Charlotte stepped into it and was relieved to discover it empty. She sank into the nearest chair and kicked off her slippers, bringing blessed relief to feet unaccustomed to dancing the night away.

At breakfast, when William had first tentatively reminded her that they were to attend the Frederickses’ ball this evening, Charlotte had fretted over what an evening of dancing with him would do to her fragile resolve. The previous evening, when he had presented his gift, showing her the receipt for Matthew’s headstone, Charlotte had feared she might kiss him, she was so overcome. She had started to explain herself, to share her theory on different kinds of love. But William had not stayed to hear it, rushing off to bed, leaving Charlotte knowing she had disappointed him.