O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,104

sea-bound creatures, dolphins, a turtle, shark, and a mermaid combing her long hair. She picked one of the figures up and examined it closely—truly beautiful.

She chose to sit in the coral-colored chair in front of the fireplace and sighed, taking an enormous breath, which she held. Did she have a fairy godmother? Was an angel of mercy watching over her family? A secret admirer? Who could have done this, been so kind when her own flesh and blood brother had been nothing but a hardhearted scoundrel?

As of late, whenever something wonderful happened to her, she found herself gazing over her shoulder in fear that something ominous was about to destroy her joy. It happened when her father died unexpectedly two years ago, and now that the mourning period for her mother had ended, well, her brother had cast them all out.

Jen joined her upstairs a while later with a pitcher of water and fresh linens, and helped Rose wash and dress in a new day gown. Then Jen brushed Rose’s luxurious dark hair out and braided it at the sides, leaving its length down her back. Living in such a remote place had advantages—she could wear her hair as she liked—dress as she wished to—and wander freely without someone reprimanding her about tarnishing her good name.

In fact, the call of the sea had already sounded inside her mind, and Rose put on a sturdy pair of leather boots, chose a shawl and matching bonnet, then ventured out the front door, the cold air and gusty breeze rejuvenating her. She found the water’s edge, staring across the vast expanse of gray as if she could see who or what waited on the other side.

Yes, she could see herself with an easel and watercolors set up here, painting, dreaming, wishing—hoping…

“Miss?” a feminine voice called from somewhere.

Rose turned around and found a young woman waving at her, a smile on her pretty face.

“Yes?” Rose said as the stranger approached.

The woman curtsied, then said, “Are you Lady Rose, the daughter of the late Earl of Brentley?”

Perhaps this young woman would have the answers she sought about the cottage? “Yes, I am Rose. If I may inquire, who are you asking for?”

“For Lady Whitmore, of course, your godmother.”

Godmother? Rose laughed bitterly to herself—she had no such benefactor. If she had, her family would have never been in these circumstances. “Forgive me,” Rose said. “I am unaware of such a person. And I have never met Lady Whitmore.”

The woman nodded. “Yes. But your dearest mother, best friend to my mistress, named her ladyship your godmother on the day of your birth, though it has been kept a secret all these years.”

“But…” Rose did not know how to react, what to say.

“Your presence, and that of your brother’s, is requested tonight at an informal supper at Lady Whitmore’s estate.”

Rose once again gazed across the water. “Where is Lady Whitmore’s estate? For I arrived with no carriage of my own, no horses.”

“A carriage will be sent for you at eight of the clock.”

Once again, hope filled Rose’s heart, and that small ball of fear that lived in the pit of her belly began to unravel.

“Do you accept my lady’s invitation?”

“Of course,” Rose found herself saying without thought.

“Very good, Lady Rose.” The woman turned to go.

“Wait!”

“Yes, ma’am?” She turned around.

“Your name, please?”

“Styles. Emily Styles. I am Lady Whitmore’s secretary.”

Rose watched the young woman walk away, impressed by her respect for the rules of society, but also envious of the streak of rebelliousness she sensed in Emily.

Tonight would likely be an evening Rose would never forget.

Chapter Two

Rose and Timothy arrived at the ancient castle that included two towers and a bailey that had been converted into the perfect garden. The massive arched doorway had hellish creatures carved into the stones, but the oak door was beautiful, etched with roses and thorns. As Rose assisted her brother up the stairs, the door opened and revealed a flawlessly dressed butler.

“Lady Rose?” he asked.

“Yes, and my brother Timothy. I hope we are on time?”

“Of course.” The servant bowed and offered his shoulder to Timothy, which he accepted, placing his hand on him for balance.

Once inside the grand foyer, the butler took Rose’s wrap and her brother’s overcoat. The garments were handed to a footman, then the butler introduced himself. “My name is Gentry, Lady Rose, and I am to welcome you to Lady Whitmore’s home. Mr. Timothy, your presence is highly anticipated as well.”

Timothy gave the servant a warm smile.

“Now, if you will