Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

A low laugh escaped Flick as she poured the wine. “He’s made do with me all these years. But I always knew I was second best.”

Canforth stared hard at the woman he’d married. She’d been an enchanting girl, but this more mature version fascinated him. “You’re second best in nothing.”

He’d loved how his new bride had blushed, although her modesty left him feeling perpetually guilty about his lascivious thoughts. He was pleased that he could still make her go pink. And over the years, the lascivious thoughts had only intensified.

“Thank you. Is it good to get off your leg?”

“After four days in the saddle, I’m looking forward to staying in one place.” He accepted the glass she passed him. Digby settled down, propping his nose on Canforth’s ankle. “But most of all, it’s good to be home.”

She returned to her seat, and the glass of wine she’d poured before he appeared. “You’re looking better already.”

He rubbed one hand over his now smooth chin. He’d arrived looking like a vagabond. A wash and a shave, and changing out of his uniform made him feel like a new man. Or more likely, the sight of his lovely wife made the difference. Which reminded him…

“We’ll have to visit London, or at a pinch Shrewsbury once Christmas is over. None of my clothes damn well fit anymore.”

“You’ve grown sadly thin on army rations.” The hint of fondness in her smile made his foolish heart leap. “Perhaps Biddy and I should just do our best to feed you up in the next week or so.”

“I’ve returned to you much reduced. I suffered a fever after Waterloo. It left me close to a skeleton.”

Distress darkened her coffee-colored eyes, and he cursed himself for mentioning his wound. Especially on this first night, when he edged toward establishing a rapport with his wife. He was surprised and delighted that she didn’t feel nearly as much a stranger as he’d expected.

“You never told me. Even after you recovered and started your secret missions to secure the peace.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

She frowned. “Yet you must have known I’d worry anyway.”

“Did you? I’m sorry. I always tried my best to protect you from the worst of what happened.”

“I know, and I appreciate your consideration.” Irony twisted her lips. “But even someone as sheltered as I’ve been understood that fighting the French across Spain and Portugal was more than a carefree picnic in the hills.”

He took a mouthful of wine, savoring the excellent vintage. He’d shoot himself before he drank another drop of sour Spanish red. “When we wrote, we didn’t venture beyond trivialities. You didn’t give me any bad news from here either.”

“You didn’t need the added burden of hearing about troubles at home—especially when we always managed.”

“You never spoke of your feelings. I found myself wonder

ing whether you were happy or sad, lonely or fulfilled, busy or bored.”

Her expression turned somber. Once more, he noted how the girl he’d married had changed into a strong and intriguing woman. “Right from the start, we never spoke about our feelings. And you never asked. I assumed you preferred to keep our communication on a superficial level.”

“And in turn, I assumed that’s what you preferred,” he said softly. “We knew each other so little when I left to join my regiment.”

“Now we’ve been blessed with a second chance,” she said, equally softly. Unspoken lay the words, “when so many others didn’t survive to pick up the threads of family life.” She sent him a straight look. “Let’s not waste it, Canforth.”

“No, let’s not.”

Flick’s wry smile shifted the heavy silence. “My tales of the household and snippets of village gossip must have struck you as frightfully flimsy.”

With a grunt of amusement, he bent to rub his wounded thigh. His leg felt better with every hour he spent away from his horse, but it still ached. “I won’t countenance anyone speaking ill of those letters. They saved my life.”

Doubt and gratification vied in her expression. “You exaggerate.”

“Perhaps a little. But not if I say sanity rather than life. So many times, you gave me a smile when things were at their grimmest. And your letters reminded me what I was fighting for.”

She mightn’t have discussed her feelings or her worries in the letters that arrived so faithfully over their long separation. But that didn’t mean they’d revealed nothing about his bride. Her courage and steadfastness in his cause had been impressive, if no surprise. But what a beguiling discovery her quirky humor had been.

She blinked, and he caught the shimmer of tears in her pretty eyes. Then to his regret, she looked toward the fire, although her voice trembled with feeling. “That’s a beautiful thing to say. I’m sure those silly letters are unworthy of such praise.”