Carla Kelly - Regency Christmas Gifts

Amalie figured it was time she asserted herself. For months now, she had decided on nothing for herself, letting the winds of life blow her whatever way they would. She had become the very kind of woman she had always pitied before. No more of that. If her life was to be her own, she must direct it.

“I will marry him, Mother, and you are not to worry.” She plucked one of the samples. “I choose the blue, a simple empire style, no embellishment, save a white lace frill at the neckline.”

Her mother frowned. “You are certain? About Napier, I mean.”

“I am certain. He is the one.”

That drew a small gasp. “I should have a talk with you before you’re wed. Your father says I should.”

Amalie patted her mother’s hand. “Unnecessary, I assure you.” Tempted as she was to see just how her mother would address the matters of the marriage bed, Amalie would spare her sensibilities. “I am well-read and observant, too.” She leaned to kiss her mother’s cheek. “And I will muddle through as all women do, I expect.”

She noted her mother’s frowning glance at her immobile legs and the slight shake of her head. Mama said nothing, but she was very obviously wondering how…

“Either we will manage or we won’t. As it stands now, Napier wishes our marriage to be in name only.”

And when that changes, Mama, Amalie thought to herself, you need never know it.

“In name only. My, what a relieving notion.” Satisfied, her mother kissed her cheek and left, humming a little tune. Amalie belatedly recognized it as the off-color song she had played as a poor jest to discombobulate them soon after her betrothal.

Perhaps Mama knew her better than she thought.

Well, Amalie realized if she meant to take charge of her life, there was no time like the present to begin. She envied Napier his mobility. She envied his determination. And she dearly wanted to prove him right about her own ability to walk.

Could she have given up too soon? The truth was, she had never felt she deserved a normal life after the tragedy that was her fault. If only she had not been so set on riding Morgana, the mare Father had warned her not to attempt.

She had made friends with the roan, had her taking sugar lumps and apples out of hand without biting. Amalie had even sat astride Morgana’s back without incident. It was only when she took her out of the enclosure that the poor thing had gone wild.

Then Jem, the stable lad she had known since their infancy, was trampled to death trying to keep the mare from attacking Amalie after she’d been thrown. And Father had ordered the beautiful Morgana put down.

Two needless deaths, Amalie thought with a sigh. Her fault entirely. Did she have the right to recover?

On the other hand, did she have the right not to make the most of her life in recompense for the loss of Jem’s?

She made her decision.

Carefully, Amalie did a half turn, braced her hands firmly on the arm of the settee and pushed herself up. She balanced, stiff, tense, afraid to breathe. But she had barely straightened fully when the muscles in her legs trembled and then, as if her bones turned to liquid, gave way. She fell back to the cushions with a solid thunk.

“So much for will and effort,” she grumbled under her breath. But in that all too brief second or two, she had felt almost whole again and she craved more.

Plans marched forward for a wedding that would take place just after the holidays. The new year would mark the beginning of Amalie’s new life as a married lady. Mrs. MacTavish would stay on for the ceremony. Little David had been the deciding factor there. She would not leave without him and knew that Napier would not let him go.

Whatever the reason, Amalie was delighted the boy would be there. She grew fonder of the child every day. He was noisy, overactive and into constant scrapes just as her younger brother had been at that age.

It would be such a joy to have a little one about for the holidays. And afterward, too. Perhaps for good if she could convince Napier that they could manage him better than the grandmother.

If only her secret attempts to stand on her own, to eventually walk again, were more successful. Then they could have some semblance of a normal family life to offer David. She knew she would keep trying.

Each time she tried, she managed to balance upright for a few seconds longer. Almost a full minute now, though she couldn’t take a step to save her life. But one day she meant to go skipping about the meadows the way she used to, hopefully with a child or two in tow. The burgeoning hope certainly put her in a holiday mood.

Amalie always considered herself fortunate to live in the country where they celebrated the holidays. City folk hardly ever did, so she heard.

Thankfully, this house always spent the entire month of December festooned with greenery and berries. The mouthwatering smells of baking cakes and puddings filled each day as preparations got well under way.

No one reveled more in the expectations of good things to come than the younger Napier. This evening they would exchange gifts to mark the season. David crouched eagerly beside the fire as Michael helped him roast chestnuts.

“Do you think Grandmama will like these?” he asked her brother.

Michael raked a few from the coals and set them into the pile that was cooling on the hearth. “When you sack them up in that silky pouch you helped Amie to stitch, your grandmama will love it. Marvelous idea you had there, mate!”

David looked so serious as he gripped the bag they had made out of scraps and ribbon. His sooty little fingerprints only added to its charm as far as Amalie was concerned. Mrs. MacTavish had better think so, too.

Amalie thought of the jaunty cap she had made for the boy from a length of wool Napier had snipped from his Blackwatch plaid. A braw bonnet, Napier had called it as he voiced his approval. She had of necessity asked his opinion as to whether it resembled enough the tams that Scotsmen wore. She had added a pom of red yarn to the top and banded the cap with black grosgrain.

Napier had whittled a small wooden sword and carved intricate designs upon it. Michael had driven Mrs. MacTavish to Maidstone earlier in the week on some errand. Amalie suspected the woman had gone to buy something for David. In any event, the boy should have a holiday to remember.

“Will those cool in time?” David was asking Michael.

“Oh, in plenty of time for the gifting. Here, these few are ready now, you see?”

David gingerly picked up the chestnuts and dropped them one by one into the pouch. His smile warmed Amalie’s heart as it always did.

Napier swung into the room on his crutches, a bit more practiced and agile after frequent outings in the garden these past few days. “Good evening,” he said, taking a seat beside her on the settee. “Quite warm out for the time of year.”

She smiled. “It is freezing and you know it, but I doubt a blizzard would keep you inside.” She leaned sideways and surprised him with a kiss on his cheek.

He smiled in response, but the kiss did seem to discomfit him. So much so that he didn’t comment on it.

Her parents entered just then, her father bearing a basket of gaily wrapped gifts. Moments later, Mrs. MacTavish made her entrance with one large gift. When all were greeted and seated, Michael took charge.

“We haven’t a huge yule log, but Father, David and I have provided one that should keep us warm through the festivities.” The two proceeded to dump the oversize section of a tree trunk onto the smoldering ashes in which they’d roasted the chestnuts. He stoked it to a flame, then turned to the boy. “Now, my man, it is time for you to present our gifties whilst I provide music!”