Christmas Grace Read online

  Cover image: Woman Wearing a Bonnet © Magdalena Russocka/Trevillion Images

  Cover design copyright © 2017 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Moore, Krista Lynne Jensen, Anita Stansfield, Chalon Linton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc. or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the authors’ imaginations, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  First Printing: October 2017

  ISBN-13: 978-1-52440-488-8

  For my own Ben, who I miss like crazy this Christmas.

  Chapter 1

  Ben thought he could actually feel Camilla Prince’s heart breaking as he watched her reaction.

  “Why would he send for you so soon?” She refolded the letter as tears filled her chestnut-brown eyes. “We thought you had years yet.”

  He handed her a handkerchief as the tears overflowed, leaving shining trails over her pink cheeks. “I know, Millie. I was surprised myself.” Ben had assumed once he reached his majority he’d join his father, a financial clerk for the East India Company, in Calcutta. But he was as yet only eighteen. He slipped an arm around her, leaning back against the massive tree trunk, and she buried her face against his shoulder.

  “India is so far away,” Camilla said in a whisper. “How shall I bear it?”

  “Come with me.” His heart pounded, both thrilled with the proposition and nervous to see her reaction.

  She swatted at his chest and huffed, as only a sixteen-year-old young lady in the midst of a bout of weeping is able. “Don’t tease me, Ben.”

  He held her at arm’s length as he watched the shadows of quivering leaves move over her face. “Listen. A few years changes nothing. It only hastens our plan. We’ll still be together, Millie. Just sooner.”

  Camilla wanted to travel the world more than anyone he knew. It seemed nearly every day she had a new destination she’d discovered in one of her father’s atlases that she just must visit. Her sketchbook was filled with drawings of jungles, ancient ruins, and exotic animals. This sense of adventure was one of the things Ben loved most about her. A flash of hope lit her face, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “You know my parents will never allow it.”

  “They must, if we’re married.”

  “Impossible.” She let out her breath in a puff that blew a dark curl from her forehead beneath her bonnet. “Neither of us is of age.”

  “That does not matter in Scotland.” His heart pounded as he said it.

  Camilla’s eyes went wide. She glanced around as if nervous they’d be overheard. Although they were in the very center of Ellingham beneath the grand elm on the green near the church, the sight of the two of them walking home together on a Sunday afternoon was such a common one that none of the other townsfolk even gave them a second look. “Ben . . .”

  “I know it’s not the grand wedding you’ve always dreamed of, with a new gown, flowers, and dancing—”

  She put her fingers to his mouth, shushing him. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, a sign that she was uncertain. But a moment later, a smile spread over her face. “We’ll have plenty of time to dance after.”

  His heart jumped and he smiled back. “We’ll dance together every day. Anytime we wish.”

  He pulled her into an embrace, kissing her quickly before anyone saw, then offered his arm. His heart felt light when she took it.

  They continued along the road out of town. “It must be tomorrow then, Millie.”

  She nodded, her lip drawing back between her teeth. “We’ll meet at the bridge?” The bridge crossing the stream that separated their families’ properties had been the pair’s meeting place for years.

  “Midnight.” He nodded.

  They walked in silence for half an hour, the magnitude of their plans settling heavily, but beneath it was excitement. He and Camilla had talked about marriage of course. He’d never dreamed of marrying anyone else ever since, as an eight-year-old boy, he’d been brave enough to steal a kiss from the pretty girl who lived in Prince Manor. They’d of course assumed a few years remained before they would marry, but his father’s letter had forced Ben’s hand. Marriage to Camilla . . . he could not imagine his life taking another course. She was his dearest friend, his . . . everything, and he’d loved her since he could remember.

  When they reached the bridge, a thrill moved through him. Tomorrow night, they’d meet in this very spot. He’d take the carriage—of course, convincing his guardian, Mr. Norwood, to arrange it would be no problem—and in two days, Camilla Prince would be his bride. He couldn’t control the grin that spread over his face. He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her then pulled her against him, resting his chin on her head.

  Her arms moved around his middle, feeling familiar and warm. “I love you, Ben.”

  “You’ll not change your mind?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing could keep me away.”

  ***

  Eight years later, Ben stood on the green beside the church, looking up at the old elm tree. He’d thought enough time had passed to erase the ache in his heart, but being back in Ellingham, surrounded by memories of his youth, memories of her, brought it all back in a rush.

  He shivered and stepped out of the shade, but the winter sun did little to warm him. He’d not remembered England being so cold. But perhaps it was more than the weather that brought a chill.

  He remounted his horse and turned along the main road out of town. He had business to attend to. His father’s death left an enormous amount of administrative procedures for him to finalize, and of course he’d left this one until last: selling his childhood home. The journey from the center of Ellingham to Lennox House lasted only a quarter of an hour on horseback, but the ride was torture. Every house, each bend in the road, even the very dirt beneath the horse’s hooves seemed saturated with memories; and moving through all of them, tainting them like a drop of ink in water, was Camilla’s rejection.

  He’d waited at the bridge, at first thinking she’d simply been delayed, or perhaps she’d fallen asleep. But as the hours ticked by, the excuses turned into uncertainty, then worry, until finally, the reality of the situation had become clear: she was not coming. Early the next morning, he’d hurried to Prince Manor but was turned away at the door by Nolan, the butler. The family was not accepting visitors.

  Ben had never been refused admission before and could only assume Camilla had confessed the entire scheme to her parents. From the harried look on Nolan’s typically calm face and the minister’s carriage in the drive, it wasn’t difficult to conclude the Princes were reprimanding their daughter. Though Ben had never heard them say it aloud, he knew they didn’t consider him worthy of Camilla, and any hopes he had of sneaking away with her were dashed.

  Camilla Prince had changed her mind, and her rejection hurt worse than Ben could have imagined.

  A cold cloud had descended then. He’d returned the carriage, thrown his things into a trunk, and bid farewell to his father’s steward, setting off within a few hours for Portsmouth to find a ship to take him to India and his new life.

  He’d not looked back, and though it was impossible to keep her completely from his thoughts, he’d done all in his power to do just that until years dulled the ache.
But being here, seeing this place—nearly unchanged over the years—brought the pain anew.

  Ben shook it off. It was done. Camilla was more than likely far away, married with a child or two. This trip would be good for him. He could sever the last tie that held him to Ellingham and get past this. With any luck, he’d finalize the accounts and say goodbye to this town. Then, as the sole owner of his late father’s ruby mine in Karur, he’d take his fortune and settle somewhere. Perhaps a villa in Italy . . .

  His thoughts cut off as he approached the bridge and a fresh ache arose, nearly stealing his breath. He urged the horse faster. He would conquer this. And he’d decided the best way was to face it head-on.

  He touched the small wooden box in his coat pocket. A silly thing, really, but when he’d seen the item in a dusty Bombay shop—a pencil box, a colorful peacock on the lid inlaid with precious stones—he’d just known Camilla should have it. It is not inappropriate for an old friend to leave a gift with a woman’s parents as he passes through town, he’d told himself. And in spite of his very gentlemanly intentions, he had to admit to an ulterior motive. Millie’s parents had never considered him worthy of her, and he suspected it was this very argument they’d used to convince her not to meet him that night, nor to contact him anytime within the last eight years. His financial situation had improved dramatically; in fact, if one were crass, one would say he was as rich as Croesus now. Wanting to prove himself to Millie’s father was beneath him . . . mostly.

  He shook his head at the childish thoughts. Tomorrow, all these old feelings and grudges would be set to rest. He’d pay a visit to Prince Manor. Being in the old house again, hearing where Camilla had gone, what she’d done with her life, would be the final step. A closure. He’d be able to move on. As she had.

  Chapter 2

  “Stop watching me and turn your face back where it belongs.” Millie was growing more frustrated by the minute.

  “I’m sitting on a rock, my nose itches, and I’ve been holding still for over an hour,” Ben complained, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Besides, I like watching you draw. It’s far more enjoyable than being the subject.”

  Millie set down her drawing pad and positioned Ben’s head once again. “We’ve only a bit of time left before the light changes. No more moving, or I’ll never get it right.” Sitting back on the blanket, she studied the line of his jaw then recreated it on her paper, shading along the edge and adding side whiskers. Ben had only started wearing his long hair pulled back within the last few months, and she had to confess, she liked it a lot. The style accentuated his cheekbones and made him look more . . . well, more like a man. The realization brought a burst of heat to her cheeks.

  “And what are you blushing about?” Ben said. “I’m the one being analyzed like a turkey in the butcher’s window.”

  “A turkey who can’t keep still,” Camilla scolded. She felt flustered. Something that was happening more and more often. She didn’t quite understand it. She’d always been perfectly comfortable with Benedict Talbot. But lately things between them had changed, and she struggled to understand why.

  She’d noticed little differences. Ben offering his arm when they walked together, instead of just running ahead and trusting her to follow. He’d started complimenting her dresses and offering to carry the basket that held her drawing supplies. Months had passed since he’d put a frog in her hair or teased her about her freckles.

  Ben’s shoulders seemed broader—perhaps because at fifteen years old, he wore a gentleman’s coat—and he stood straight, with a newfound confidence that she found she liked quite a lot, but it was also disconcerting. Was Ben outgrowing their friendship?

  “You didn’t tell me why you’re blushing.” She hadn’t noticed him move closer until she looked up from her sketch. Ben’s head was tipped to the side; his eyes squinted as he studied her face. He knelt in front of her and gave a half smile, revealing the dimple in one cheek.

  Millie’s heart tripped.

  Ben pinched her chin, causing her to release her lip from between her teeth. An old habit her mother lectured her about constantly. He pulled back into a crouch, rubbing a thumb over the knuckles of his other hand—his own nervous habit.

  She looked down and started putting away her charcoals. “I suppose I’ll have to finish tomorrow. Perhaps then you’ll be more disposed to remaining still.”

  “Why the urgency?” he asked. His voice was low and serious.

  “Well, I’ll need to remember how you look, won’t I?” She closed the leather flap over her portfolio and put it into her basket. “When you return to school.”

  He grimaced. Over the summer holiday, the two had had an unspoken pact to avoid speaking of the inevitable end of their time together. He stood and helped her to her feet then folded the blanket she sat on, tucking it into the basket and setting the handle over his arm.

  She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they started back toward her house so she could wash and dress for supper.

  “I don’t need a drawing to remember you,” Ben said after a moment. He spoke without looking at her. “In spite of all your efforts, your curls escape their pins and fall over your forehead. You blow them out of your eyes with a puff of air. You have twenty-seven freckles on your nose and cheeks. Your eyes are the color of rich coffee with just a splash of cream, and in some light, I can see flecks of gold in the irises.” He darted his eyes to the side. “When you laugh, your nose wrinkles and your eyes squint, and I can always tell when you’re concerned, because you bite your lip.”

  Camilla felt like she couldn’t draw a deep breath. A funny feeling moved through her stomach. She glanced up at Ben and saw his cheeks were a bit red as well.

  “I picture you every day,” he said, looking straight ahead. His voice had lowered to nearly a whisper. “So I don’t forget.”

  ***

  The memory rushed through Millie’s mind as she stared down at the calling card Nolan had just handed her.

  Benedict Talbot was here at Prince Manor. Right this very moment. She thought she might be ill. Why had he come? What would he say? What should she say? So many questions swirled through her mind that she started to get dizzy. What if she swooned?

  “Of course we’ll see Mr. Talbot, Nolan.” Millie’s mother took the card from her hand. “Please show him in. And send for tea.”

  “Mother, I—” Millie began.

  Her mother’s lips pursed and she shook her head. “Now, Camilla, the past is the past. And I hear he’s very rich now. He pays us quite an honor by visiting.”

  “But he mustn’t know . . .”

  “Of course not, dear.”

  Footsteps sounded outside the drawing room, and Millie’s heart seized. Her mother took her arm and helped her to rise. The pain in her legs and back cleared away her foolish thoughts.

  Nolan opened the door. “Mr. Benedict Talbot,” he said then stepped aside.

  Millie fought back a gasp and hid it by curtsying. If she kept one leg bent and put all her weight on the other, she could lower herself just enough to be proper and rise back up without falling. Her heartbeat was wild.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  It was him, Ben. Her Ben. Everything about him was so familiar: his voice, the way he inclined his head ending with a little jerk, how he stood with his legs apart and his head tipped the slightest bit, as if waiting for her to speak.

  She couldn’t speak if she’d wanted to.

  “A pleasure to see you, Mr. Talbot,” Millie’s mother said. “You remember my daughter, Camilla.” She held her hand toward a chair. “Please, do sit.”

  “Thank you.” Ben sat.

  Millie sank down onto her seat, keeping her face from showing the pain the action caused. The chair’s custom cushion made it easier for her to sit comfortably, but maintaining an erect posture still required effort. She tucked back her legs beneath the seat, hoping her skirt concealed their irregularity, and concentrated on breathing calmly.
br />   “What brings you to Ellingham, sir?” Mrs. Prince said, settling back into her chair.

  “I am just seeing to estate business, tidying up loose ends, making certain everything is in order as I take possession. My father’s holdings were quite diverse, as you may know.”

  “Am I to understand that the elder Mr. Talbot has passed?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “I am very sorry to hear it. From the few interactions I had with him, he impressed me as a fine man.”

  “He was indeed, Mrs. Talbot.”

  Millie kept her eyes downward. She felt a swell of sorrow for Ben. His father had been his only family.

  “And my steward tells me I have sympathies of my own to offer,” Ben said. “I am very sorry for your loss. I admired Mr. Prince very much.” His words were surprising. Millie’s father had tolerated Ben at best, had not kept it a secret that he didn’t consider the son of an absent trader a suitable companion for his daughter.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Prince said. Millie could hear the sadness in her mother’s voice.

  “And I extend condolences to you as well, Miss . . . or is it Mrs.?”

  Millie’s gaze snapped up when she realized Ben was speaking to her. “Miss, sir. And I thank you for your concern.”

  “So sorry, Miss Prince.”

  She didn’t miss the way Ben’s brow rose when he heard that she still retained her maiden name. He’d no doubt expected her to be married. Her stomach sank a bit. He’d not come today expecting to see her, then.

  He regarded her with a look she couldn’t decipher. As familiar as he’d seemed moments earlier, there were definite changes in Benedict Talbot. For one thing, his skin color was darker, no doubt from living in a hot climate then traveling by ship for the past months. His clothes were different as well. Much finer than she’d seen him wear. Why, the waistcoat must be pure silk, and so beautifully embroidered. She remembered sketching his face, and though much was the same in his overall appearance, the planes of his cheeks had become flattened, and his neck was wider. His side whiskers were thicker and cut off in a deliberate line beneath his ears.