O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,185

cold had got to him.

“Well? Tell me, young sir. Why did you throw it in the river? What was wrong with it?”

Josiah opened his mouth, intending, at first, to tell this obtrusive person to mind his own damn business. But the man’s voice held a genuine hint of interest. Concern, even. It touched something vulnerable, deep inside.

“Everything was wrong with it,” Josiah replied, clenching his fists. “The way the light reflected on the water. The movement. The contrast. I see it clearly in my head, but I’m never able to recreate it in my paintings.”

The gentleman lifted his chin a smidgen, and regarded Josiah. “I suspect you’ve been here too long, my boy,” he said. “It’s probably time you went home.”

Josiah suppressed another shiver. “Thank you for your concern, and yes, I probably should.” In truth, he knew his small garret room wouldn’t be much warmer, but at least he’d be out of this blasted wind. “It’s bitter cold out here tonight.”

“I meant home to Highfield Hall,” the man said. “Swallow that damnable pride of yours, will you, Joe? There’s no shame in admitting you’ve made a mistake.”

Josiah shook his head, certain he must have misheard. “How do you…?” He rubbed at his temple. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” the man replied. “Why I’m here, does. And I’m here to help you see sense. This valiant attempt at your bohemian dream has gone on long enough.”

“Did my father send you?” Josiah’s heart sped up. He’d long held a secret fantasy that his father might hire someone to find him. Someone who would tell him how much he’d been missed, and insist on bringing him home.

“No, he didn’t. Your father has no idea where you are.”

So much for that. Josiah’s little bubble of hope popped. “Then how do you know about Highfield?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“What the bloody hell does that mean? And how do you know my name?”

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“That is not an acceptable answer, sir.” What was left of Josiah’s pride lifted its defenses. “I don’t know who you are or what this is about, but I think you need to mind your own damn business. It doesn’t matter what you or anyone else does or says, I’ll never go back to Highfield.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” He shot a brief glance at the rose window. “Because I vowed never to set foot in that place again, and I meant it. My father and I didn’t see eye-to-eye and I left on bad terms. I’m certain I would not be welcome.”

“Hmm.” The man frowned. “I’d like the chance to change your mind about that.”

“You’d be wasting your time,” Josiah retorted. Yet, even as he spoke the words, a tiny spark of interest, somewhere deep inside, flared to life. What was this man’s interest? What was his motive?

“Will you at least let me try?”

“And what, precisely, would that entail?” Josiah demanded. “Let me guess. A boring lecture about how a son should honor and obey his father. And probably a sermon delivering guilt by the bucket load. Am I right? Thank you, but no.”

“It would be neither of those things,” the man replied. “I just need one night in your company. That’s all.”

“One night in my…?” Josiah’s eyes widened. Then he laughed over a sudden, sickening understanding. “Oh, so that’s what this is. Christ. Do you really think I’m that vulnerable? That bloody hard up? I’m sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I’m afraid you’ve been completely misled. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but you either have the wrong idea or the wrong information.”

“And you have a habit of misunderstanding people.” The man heaved a sigh. “I suggest you think about what I’ve said.”

Josiah returned the smile, though his held no warmth. “I don’t need to think about it, I can assure you.”

“I’ll be here tomorrow. Same time.”

“Whereas I won’t be.”

The man touched the brim of his hat. “For your sake, young sir, I hope you will be.”

“I—” Josiah had intended to fire off another retort, but was startled by a sudden burst of laughter behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see a couple, arm-in-arm, heads bent against the wind, heading his way. Then he turned his attention back to his strange companion. “I have no—”

The nearby gaslight illuminated the empty cobbles. A page from a discarded newspaper, snatched by the wind, hurtled by. A few errant snowflakes from a passing cloud whirled around like tiny feathers. But there was