Free Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas by Andrea Pickens

where he had slept looked stone cold.
    Perhaps he had gone to fetch more water, or forage for food. . .
    The sheet of foolscap, stark as snow against her folded cloak, told her otherwise. Her name was scrawled in the same leaden hue that had recently darkened the skies, and she had no doubt the words inside would weigh just as heavily on her heart. She knew, of course, what they would say.
    Nicholas was gone.
    Drawing the blanket around her shoulders and coaxing the last of the firewood into flames did nothing to ward off the chill seeping into her bones.
    Dear Anna , it began. The lettering was smudged and looked to have been written in a hurry. I am truly sorry that you will awake to find yourself alone on Christmas morning. I should like to have shared one last carol and . . . He appeared to have crossed out a word or two. However, having spent most of the night mulling over the situation, it became clear that I must be gone before anyone sees us together. As soon as I reach an inn, I shall see to it that a rescue party is sent . Stick to the following story, and I am confident you will weather any threat to your reputation. Your servants will support whatever account you give, so there is no worry there. . .
    She slowly read over the advice, which detailed how she was to tell everyone, including her uncle, a carefully edited version of the truth.
    Say only this , advised Nicholas. You tried to beat the storm, but the coach suffered a mishap and the storm caught up to you. Your driver went for help, leaving you stranded in the wilds. The snow forced you to take refuge in the abbey ruins, where you decided to wait for the weather to clear and a search party to find you. No one, not the highest stickler or the strictest guardian, will find fault with such actions.
    Anna looked up. Not if she remembered to never,ever make mention of a gentleman companion. Skimmingthe last few lines, she looked for the ending.
    Your friend, N.
    A dear friend indeed, she thought, blinking back thepearls of moisture clinging to her lashes. If she hadbeen thinking clearly, she would have realized long beforenow that the solution he had come up with wasthe only way to avoid a terrible scandal. But her reasonhad been clouded by more than a passingsnowstorm.
    She knew she ought to be very grateful for his unassailablelogic and his practical skill at putting a planinto action. And yet a small part of her could not help butregret that he had moved with quite such a show ofefficiency. A tiny voice in the back of her head echoedthe disappointment, whispering that there had, in fact,been one other alternative to his sudden departure.
    But seeing as he had not proposed it, there was nopoint in dwelling on what might have been. . .
    It would only make the future harder to bear.
    No, Nicholas was right—it was best that the partingbe swift and sure.
    Her fingers closed around the small gold coin in her pocket. She would treasure the memoryof this Christmas, and the coin’s burnished hue would always be a special reminder of a certain blond gentleman. For a glimmering interlude, they had warded off the bleakness of winter with shared friendship.
    How could anyone wish for a better gift than that?
    Anna smiled through her tears, hoping that he taken away with him something more meaningful than a chipped wooden bear and a broken watch fob. She wanted very much to believe they did not lie discarded by the roadside, along with all thoughts of the time they had spent together.
    However, the truth was, she knew so little about his personal life. For all she knew, he had a fiancée waiting to welcome him back to Town.
    Or a chere amie .
    Before her spirits could sink any lower, a shout from the distance recalled her to the present.
    “Lady Anna!” Her coachman’s familiar voice. True to his word, Nicholas had wasted no time.
    “Yes—I am here,” she answered. Gathering up her things, she stood and began to stamp out the last flickering of the fire.

    N