Free Christian Regency Romantic Suspense
This post is part of my serialized novel, The Spinster’s Christmas.If you’re new, you can begin with the summary and complete chapter list on the Intro Page.
Chapter 5
Miranda welcomed the distraction of picking Christmas greens to decorate the house. Everyone was in a merry mood, no one paying attention to her, and she could calm herself.
She had thought Gerard would not expend much effort for her request to his mother, and had expected that path to be closed to her. His actions in enlisting the help of Cousin Laura had not only surprised her, but had caused hope to blossom in her chest.
She ought not to hope. It always led to disappointment.
And yet what else could she do when two people were suddenly championing her? She was unaccustomed to such consideration, for her parents’ treatment of her had taught her to avoid depending upon others.
Therefore, it had been particularly difficult for her to ask Aunt Augusta for help, only to be accused her of ingratitude for Cecil’s benevolence. After such criticism, Miranda had nearly not approached Laura with the same request. But then Laura had been so concerned, and Gerard had surprised her with his persistence in helping her.
Would they succeed in convincing his mother? And yet, she was afraid to hope.
She took a deep breath, letting the quiet of the forest soothe her. The trees had the feel of age and patience, perseverance through storms and overzealous woodchoppers. She imagined she could hear the trees whispering to each other even now, rustling in arboreal gossip over the excited chatter of women and children gathering greenery.
How the paths of her life had shifted only a scant hour or two ago. Everything seemed too wonderful to possibly be more than a dream that would melt away—staying with Ellie and the Foremonts, and then with Cousin Laura. Escaping the Beattys. No longer needing to withstand Felicity’s impatience and determination to put Miranda in her proper place as a humble, grateful dependent.
Would her circumstances truly be different after Twelfth Night? It was hard to imagine how they would be, because she had felt for a long time that she was slowly disappearing, like a ghost fading away into mist. She didn’t know if she could be happy. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been.
“Randa.” Ellie broke into her thoughts. She had been following Miranda and holding the fir boughs that she cut.
“Yes, darling?”
“Paul said he will get the biggest branch.”
“Oh, did he? We shall see if we can best him.”
Ellie grinned, and it was Miranda’s cousin Edmund who smiled at her in the shape of her mouth, the crinkling of her eyes. But she had her mother’s blue eyes and golden-brown hair, fine as cornsilk.
Miranda had done this every Christmas Eve with her Belmoore relatives—the women and children picking mistletoe, ivy, and fir boughs while the men and farmhands went out to collect the massive Yule log, which would burn in the oversized medieval fireplace in the great entry hall until the end of Twelfth Night.
Gerard came up beside her, but spoke to Ellie, whose arms were so full of fir boughs that they trailed down behind her. “Take care, Ellie, or you will trip over your green dress.”
She looked at the dripping fir, then giggled and twirled in a circle, making the branches fly out around her, and a few flung off through the undergrowth.
“You’ll lose everything we’ve collected,” Miranda said with a smile.
“I’ll go get them. Come, Ellie.” Gerard went off the path, making a dramatic effort as he swung his cane at the scraggly bushes, pretending to get lost as he searched for the missing firs.
The last time Miranda had gathered greenery with Gerard had been sixteen years ago, the Christmas before he went to sea. He would have been with the men and the Yule log if his knee had allowed him to keep up, or allowed him to ride a horse without pain. He joked with Ellie and with the other children, but every so often, the distant sound of a man’s voice in the woods made him look up, and a harshness would settle over his face like a mask.
Or perhaps his cheerfulness was the mask.
She admitted that some of the fear—no, probably most of the fear she felt was how, if she went to the Foremonts’ home, she would be so close to Gerard for the first time in years. Yes, fear that she wouldn’t be able to hide her feelings from him, or even worse, from his parents.
She was used to hiding. She’d had to hide who she was, it seemed, all her life—from her own parents, from most of her family. People seemed to constantly remind her that she could never be quite the same as the rest of society. That she was different.
Her father had been disappointed that she wasn’t charming, that she was too quiet and uninteresting. Her mother had been upset that she’d been hopeless at catching a husband during her season. Felicity disliked her so much that she was eager to foist her off rather than keeping an unpaid servant.
And aside from all that, there was the one secret no one could know, the one sin she could never rub out.
She had no wish to open herself to anyone, and certainly not handsome, confident Gerard. He would find her lacking, as so many other people in her life had done, and if she loved him, his disappointment or rejection would flay her alive.
So she had to somehow crush her feelings for him. Burn them out of her heart.
Not all the trees had lost their leaves, and combined with the fitful winter sun, the dimness made it seem even colder. Gerard and Ellie had wandered away from Miranda, and she determined to keep herself apart from him. Ellie needed to become used to Gerard, who was a stranger to her.
Miranda tramped through the undergrowth, distancing herself from the other women and children, deeper into the silence and darkness of the forest. Even their voices became muffled by the tree trunks and low-hanging branches.
Behind her, leaves rustled, then a stick snapped. And then something heavy collided with the base of her neck.
Pain exploded throughout her skull. She didn’t remember falling to the ground, but she became aware of dead leaves under her cheek, the overpowering scent of mildew and dirt. Her limbs felt chained to the ground.
Something blocked the dim light, and she saw the edge of a dark cloak dragging in the wet leaves. Hands ran over her body as though searching for something. She tried to roll over, but the attacker was leaning hard against her back.
Then she felt, through the ground, the heavier tread of boots, the lighter touch of a cane. No. She had to warn Gerard. He had Ellie with him.
The steps stopped. “Miranda!” he shouted.
The hands touching her froze.
He hastened toward her at the same time her attacker moved away. Miranda rolled over.
There was a blur, a swirl of skirts, and then a heavy branch swung though the air at Gerard’s head. He ducked, but the action made him stagger against his cane.
“Gerard!” she gasped. Miranda was behind the attacker and saw nothing but a dark cloak.
Then she saw Ellie standing a few feet away from Gerard. The girl had frozen, her face aghast. Fir boughs slowly rained down upon the ground.
Gerard’s expression looked more shocked than injured. But then the woman swung the branch again and hit his hip. He grimaced and fell to his knee, losing his cane.
But this time, the branch clipped Ellie on the head, and the little girl crumpled.
“Ellie!” Strength surged through her, and Miranda scrabbled through the leaves and bushes on her hands and knees.
The woman aimed a third blow at Gerard’s head, but he was able to grab the branch in both hands. The two of them struggled.
It seemed an age before Miranda reached Ellie’s form on the ground. The little girl was screaming. She gathered her into her arms and tried to drag her away from Gerard and the woman, turning her back to them to protect Ellie.
Grunting, frantic movements in the undergrowth. Then the woman cried out, her voice sounding as if she were being flung away.
Miranda turned her head to look and saw a heap of wool fabric several feet away from Gerard. He had taken the heavy branch the woman had used. He tried to rise to his feet, but his knee buckled and he fell again.
The woman scrambled up and darted away into the trees.
“Stop!” he shouted. Miranda heard the razor edge of frustration in his voice as he rose unsteadily, leaning for support on the branch that he still held.
Miranda used her scarf to dab at Ellie’s forehead, which was smeared with blood. The branch had cut her, but it did not appear to be deep, and Ellie’s cries were wrenching sobs of terror rather than pain.
Gerard retrieved his cane and hobbled toward them. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know,” Miranda said.
“Did you see her face?”
“No.”
“Are you injured? Is Ellie hurt?”
At that moment, Cousin Laura ran toward them. “What happened? Good gracious, is that blood?”
Aunt Augusta followed close behind with some of the other children. “What happened?”
“A woman attacked Miranda,” Gerard said. “When I came upon her, she appeared to be looking for valuables in Miranda’s cloak. When I tried to stop her, the woman accidentally hit Ellie.”
“Poor dear.” Cousin Laura drew near, but Ellie buried her face deeper into Miranda’s shoulder, her crying muffled.
“Let us take the children back to the house,” Laura said. “We should have enough greenery by now. Who would attack you?”
“Was it a gypsy?” Aunt Augusta asked. “I hadn’t heard of any gypsies in the area.”
“I don’t know.” Miranda started to shake her head, but the movement made pain cloud her vision.
“Miranda, you’re injured,” Gerard said.
“I am well. We must take Ellie away from here.”
They all turned back toward the house. Cousin Laura and Miranda’s aunts counted children and went to collect any stragglers while Miranda carried Ellie tightly against her.
Gerard was walking more slowly, leaning more heavily on his cane. She watched him, and had a drowning feeling in her lungs. Suddenly her plan to somehow erase her feelings for him no longer seemed so simple.
When the woman attacked him, and she’d seen Gerard go down, she’d known deep in her heart that she couldn’t bear to lose him.
Chapter 6
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