O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,211

over a blood feud with an old adversary, Lord Wethersby. It had not ended well, and Alex had a duchy forced upon him, along with all that it entailed. He was ready to go back to Canada despite being one of the richest, most powerful men in England. He did not want any of it.

Of a certainty, he would be pressured to marry again and that was the last thing he wanted. Dynastic marriages for the sake of power and prestige were abhorrent to him. He had done his duty the first time… and his wife and son had been killed because of his position.

He looked at himself in the glass. Reflected back at him was an older, bitter version of the Alex he used to be. The thick beard he wore to protect his skin from the harsh winter winds in Canada made him look untamed, feral even. After seeing his wife and son murdered, he felt wild. The only way to bear the guilt was to harden his heart.

It was nearing Christmas and the last thing he felt was joy. It was his duty to go home to Hartmere and present a false façade to his tenants. He had hidden in London while tying up the necessary papers and formalities to become the duke, and now he must perform his duty—surely the dirtiest four-letter word in the English language.

Leaving instructions for his servants to close up the house, he packed a small bag and set off on his oldest, most reliable steed, Midnight. He had rescued the gelding in Canada, and brought him back to England. Sometimes it seemed as though the horse was his best friend.

He welcomed the long, hard ride to Sussex, finally allowing his mind to release its troubles and glory in the harsh elements and challenge of sitting in the saddle for a few days.

When he entered the village of Upper Hartfield, nostalgia swarmed his senses with the sights and smells of his childhood. Smoke was rising from the chimneys, filling the air with the delicious smell of burning wood, mixed with spicy aromas of Christmas baking. Frost covered the ground with crystals that glistened in the light glowing from the houses.

It should all put him in the mood for the festive season, but he felt nothing but bitterness. He slowed the gelding to a walk, for darkness had fallen early, as was its habit at this time of year. The familiar shops were there – the baker, the butcher, and the blacksmith. Old Sam looked up and waved as Alex rode past. The gates to Hartmere were at the end of the village, but he had to pass the one place he had avoided for eight years now. It was impossible not to wonder if she was happy with her choice of husband. She probably had several babies by now.

It had been so long, why did it still sting?

He regretted how they had parted, and that he had been his father’s puppet and married where he was ordered. He had not hated his wife, but it had not been a love-match as it would have been with Anna. Since it did no good to dwell on the past, he forced himself to move on down the road. She must know he was a duke now and would be returning. As Lady Lynley, she would be bound to be invited to the same gatherings. They would see each other socially and have to behave as though there had never been anything between them.

He started when he saw a young girl of about six years hobbling along on a crutch slip on the ice. A pretty little thing she was, and he felt a twinge of sadness for his lost son, who would have been almost of an age with her now.

Without thinking, he drew Midnight alongside the child. “Good evening, do you have far to go?”

“Oh, no, sir. My mother and I live at Splatmore Cottage. I was delivering some dresses for her.”

“Alone?”

“It is only in the village, sir. The doctor says it keeps me strong.” She smiled brightly and indicated her handicap with no hint of shame.

There was a hint of familiarity in the little girl’s dimples when she smiled. Perhaps she was the offspring of one of the village children he had known in his youth. Many people in small areas were related in one way or another.

She was noting Midnight with curiosity.

“Do you like horses?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, sir. My father