O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,335

are Charles,” she said, scarcely louder than a whisper. “And if we are to kiss, you should know that my surname is Brown, not Doyle.”

He chuckled. “I am… not surprised. I’ve a past, Miss Brown. This isn’t the only name I’ve gone by.”

“Florence.”

“Florence. I have my own stories. I’m the last person to judge anyone for such a small use of subterfuge.”

She pressed her lips to the side of his mouth as he finished speaking. “Then, I hope to hear them one day.”

“One day,” he said in agreement. “But not tonight. Tonight, you rest.”

She hated to admit that he was probably right to remind her.

One did not faint if one was well-rested. Generally. She did not know how she would sleep with him so close by, not because she worried about what he would do, but because he made her feel so compelled to touch him, speak to him, that she did not know if it was possible for her to sleep. Her consolation was that he did not seem keen on leaving her to her fate.

He won’t leave until he is sure I am settled. And if settling were to involve this man whom fate decided to cast into her path, then so much the better. Some might consider her overly hopeful.

But she could dream the same as everyone else during this time of year.

Chapter Twelve

December 1817

A year had made such a difference to Charles Mason’s life. He was married—by habit and in the legal sense—he was now a merchant, and he was more thankful for this coming new year than he had been for any other.

Ullinn House was warm, now in good repair, and teeming with life. They did not live here regularly, but Florence suggested they visit to mark the year’s end.

Nigel would join them soon. Mother and Mr. Maclean, to no one’s surprise, would not.

As he sat in the library, a fire in the hearth before him, he remembered his last conversation with his uncle, whom he had avoided since arriving two days ago. They had not seen each other for a year.

This room, though pleasant enough now, made him think back to the man’s confession.

Mr. Lester, a Mason. Once he revealed that fact, similarities between them were made plain. Charles could never call himself observant again, that was for certain.

The commonalities were only in some of their features. Both of them were solid and tall, both of them were darker in coloring.

Still, it was as though the name held the power, and once he knew the truth, he saw it. The man had tearfully explained all, and Charles believed his spirit of repentance.

That did not mean he had to accept him with open arms. Lester, truly James Mason, frightened his mother so badly that she broke her marriage despite having a child. As James had said, the association was regarded as a marriage “by habit”—something that would not have legally held in England, should she have gone there.

His father apparently thought she would return. He remained in constant contact, or tried to, but she refused his letters and support.

Then she met Mr. Maclean.

Charles had new respect for the man: he must have truly loved Mother, for there were probably few who would marry a woman with a very young son without love’s motivation. Their marriage was, as Charles already knew, customary and regular.

He mourned the dark opinion he’d formed about his father from an early age. It was clear that he’d been wrong, but he could see why Mother had never spoken of him highly.

From time to time, he did wonder why she’d never tried to tell him the truth but understood that some truths were too painful to discuss.

She had kept his name for Charles, at least.

In all, it was James whom he blamed most. A feeling that they shared.

“I knew immediately,” James said. “I knew when she declared she wished to leave Ullinn House without Roderick, that I had ruined more than myself.”

Over the years, he’d put aside money for his nephew in the hope they might meet again. He’d given it to Charles the morning after they spoke in the library.

But there was no amount that could amend the pain his parents experienced.

A permanent rift had formed between the brothers. They existed in the village as acquaintances, with the younger brother even taking a new surname in practice. In time, the villagers grew accustomed to it. James Mason became James Lester, and his wife and child were Lesters.

He had certainly not been