A Christmastide Kiss, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Lana Williams
All rights reserved.
By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.
Please Note
The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Thank you.
Cover Art by The Killion Group
A Christmastide Kiss
Book 5 of The Mayfair Literary League
Bonded by books and united by a purpose, The Mayfair Literary League has taken on a new mission—For Better or Worse. The bachelors of London won’t know what hit them when these bookish ladies set their sights on the men in their lives who don’t see them for who they truly are—yet.
Can a Christmastide kiss lead to love?
Frances Melbourne strives to overcome her shyness but fears she will soon be facing life as a spinster since the one chance she had for love slipped through her fingers. Making matters worse, her well-meaning father increases her dowry. Unwelcome suitors approach her at every turn and make planning a Christmas charity ball nearly impossible.
Thomas Sinclair left Her Majesty’s Navy wiser but not richer. After his heart is caught by the daughter of a wealthy man at a house party, he knows the only chance of winning her hand—and her father’s approval—is to seek his fortune in America.
He returns home for Christmas to tell Frances what’s in his heart and ask if she’ll wait for him. Yet how can he convince her that he truly cares for her and not her fortune? And when he learns of a dark side to the charity she’s working so hard to help, he fears the truth will end his chance to make her his.
Frances gathers her courage to make a bold move by sharing a Christmas kiss with Thomas. He’s everything she’s longed for but his news about the charity throws her careful plans in disarray, along with her heart.
Other Books in The Mayfair Literary League
A Matter of Convenience, Book 1
A Pretend Betrothal, Book 2
A Mistaken Identity, Book 3
A Simple Favor, Book 4
A Christmastide Kiss, Book 5
A Perilous Desire, Book 6, Coming February 2024
If you'd like to make sure to know when my next book is released, sign up for my newsletter.
Contents
1. Prologue
2. Chapter One
3. Chapter Two
4. Chapter Three
5. Chapter Four
6. Chapter Five
7. Chapter Six
8. Chapter Seven
9. Chapter Eight
10. Chapter Nine
11. Chapter Ten
12. Chapter Eleven
13. Chapter Twelve
14. Chapter Thirteen
15. Chapter Fourteen
16. Chapter Fifteen
17. Chapter Sixteen
18. Chapter Seventeen
19. Epilogue
20. Author’s Note
Other Books by Lana Williams
About the Author
Prologue
London, England 1870
“I volunteer to lead the planning of the Christmas ball.” Frances Melbourne’s breath hitched even as the words left her mouth. What was she thinking? She held back the urge to slap a hand over her mouth to prevent anything else untoward from escaping.
The shock on the familiar faces of The Mayfair Literary League members confirmed how out of character her offer was.
Yet a tiny voice somewhere deep inside her rejoiced. That part of her danced with glee that she was doing something so bold for a shy wallflower who’d already seen six unsuccessful Seasons and could only stammer when asked to dance.
Was this the moment that would change everything? That would help to fix the broken part of her that made her so timid and allow her to claim her future?
Doubtful. That brief flicker of excitement was snuffed out as if it had never been. As if damp fingers reached forward to end the warm glow before it could take hold and light the way.
It had been too much to hope that the voice—one of reason and practicality—would remain silent. After all, it was her constant companion, insisting on protecting her even when she longed to shrug off its endless dire warnings and overcome her shyness.
“That is if you all agree to aid me,” Frances quickly added. There. Surely that would quiet the cries of alarm in her mind that demanded she withdraw her offer.
“Frances, that is very generous of you,” Phoebe Stanhope, the Countess of Bolton and fearless founder of the group said. “Are you certain?” Her dark brow crinkled with worry.
This was it—the moment when she could renege with no harm to anyone.
Only to herself.
Frances straightened, gathering her courage, though the attempt felt fruitless, like reaching for autumn leaves dancing in the wind.
She would wrestle with her courage later. For now, it was enough to pretend to have it.
The league had recently visited a workhouse, and the memory of the hopeless expressions of those inside filled her mind. It was a stark reminder of how important the ball, which would be a fundraiser to aid them, was. Her worries and fears were minor compared to those poor souls.
“Absolutely.” Frances cleared her throat and ignored the nerves that pricked her stomach. “My mother will be pleased to assist us as well.” She glanced at her friend, Lady Harriet Persimmons, out of the corner of her eye, and a hot wave of remorse and embarrassment flooded her. “I need something with which to occupy myself.”
To think she’d been so caught up with what—or rather, who—she thought she wanted, that she’d nearly lost Harriet’s friendship continued to fill her with dismay. Frances’ actions during her family’s house party a few months ago had been incredibly selfish.
She had mistakenly thought her affections were caught by Viscount Joseph Garland because of a small act of kindness he’d shown her. She’d been so convinced he was the one for her that she’d ignored not only her true feelings but Harriet’s as well.
A mix of sympathy and what appeared to be regret took over Harriet’s expression. “Frances—”
“No need to say anything, Harriet.” Frances shook her head. She was happy her friend had found love with Viscount Garland. Thrilled, in fact. She couldn’t wait until they announced their betrothal, which would surely come by the end of the year.
Yet somehow, the joy that claimed three of her friends and fellow league members after they’d made a bold move toward their secret tendre made Frances feel all the lonelier, not to mention hopeless.
It was clear the For Better or Worse agenda that Phoebe had proposed to the book club last spring wasn’t for her. Taking action to catch a gentleman’s eye and help him see her in a different light had nearly cost Frances a dear friend.
And she feared her determination to pursue Viscount Garland had cost her a chance with the man who might truly be perfect for her. The news of Thomas Sinclair’s departure to America had been another blow from which she had yet to recover.
He had also been at the house party. His patience each time he’d spoken with her, along with his kindness, had won her friendship. Only too late had she realized her feelings went beyond that.
Suddenly aware of the group’s attention, Frances added, “All is well. Truly.” She forced a smile. “But I should like to have a task to keep me busy for a time.”
The original members of the league nodded in understanding but the newest members, Lady Eliza Chadwick and Mrs. Rebecca Hatch, were obviously confused by what she’d said. They would hear the story soon enough, but not today and not from Frances.
“Very well.” Phoebe looked around the group. “Frances will manage the ball with our help.”
The conversation continued around her, allowing Frances’ thoughts to drift. The months ahead felt so empty without a chance to see Thomas to fill them. Planning a charity ball would help ease the ache of loneliness inside her.
And if there was any chance of learning to overcome the debilitating shyness she experienced when speaking with gentlemen who weren’t family members, she would latch onto it with both hands.
Having a mission would help the weeks ahead to pass quickly. By the time the holidays were over, surely the ache in her heart would ease.
Chapter One
Two Months Later
“It’s even dirtier than I remember.”
Thomas Sinclair glanced at the boy who stood at his side with an amused smile. “Take a deep breath of the fresh sea air now as it will be your last for a time.”
Campania, the steamship they’d traveled on from America, moved slowly toward the London docks. The b
The skyline of the city was a welcome sight after Thomas’s months in America.
Dirty or not, London was home.
He’d felt it deep in his bones each time he returned from abroad. His trips away had been numerous because of his time in Her Royal Majesty’s Navy.
Now he wore a brown suit rather than a uniform, but that didn’t change how he felt. He heaved a sigh, reminding himself that he was home temporarily and would have to leave again soon after the new year. England didn’t hold opportunities to make a fortune.
At least, not for him.
He needed to stay the course in New York City where he’d already seen some success with his uncle’s assistance in J.P. Morgan’s banking business. His father’s youngest brother, who lived there, had allowed him the chance to learn the business without any prior experience or training, something no one in London had been willing to do.
Coming home for the holidays was a luxury he shouldn’t have indulged in. But he’d missed so many special occasions with his family while in the military that it had been easy to agree to his mother’s pleas to return home for Christmas.
Plus, there was the child at his side to think of.
Peter Schmidt was a lad of seven years whose parents had fled Germany and come to London with the hope of finding a new life nearly a year ago. However, their hopes were dashed when Peter’s father was injured in an accident at a sugar refinery. With no income, the family of five had been forced to move into a workhouse.
Unfortunately, Peter had been separated from his family at some point in the process. The details of what happened were unclear, but somehow, the boy had been shipped to America to work on a farm, along with five other boys. When he’d arrived ill and weak, the family who had arranged to take him had refused to do so.
Thomas had found him living on the street not far from his office and brought him home. Why he’d felt compelled to do so when there were others of all ages in a similar predicament, he couldn’t say.
Perhaps it had to do with the hopeless look of the lad. Perhaps it had been when Peter had caught the coin Thomas had flipped him then promptly given it to an older woman who sat in rags a short distance away.
His uncle had warned him not to so much as look at those living on the streets. “You can’t help them all,” he’d said.
While that was true, Thomas could help one. Well, two if he counted the money he’d later given the older woman in addition to bringing Thomas home.
His uncle had strongly disapproved when he found out. But Thomas had told him that he needed a valet and taking in the lad would allow him to train for the position. Luckily, his uncle had seemed to believe the lie.
Peter lifted onto his toes as if that would improve his view of the city. “What if we can’t find them?”
Thomas didn’t have to ask who. Peter missed his family almost more than he could bear. Only Thomas’s promise to return him home and help locate his parents had lifted him from the doldrums.
The boy had been working on his accent, trying to sound more British than German as he insisted it would help him find a position. The lad was determined to free his family from the workhouse if they were still there.
If...
The word had been ruling Thomas’s life for the past few months.
If he could make a fortune.
If Miss Melbourne would wait for him.
If he should have stayed in England or if it had been better to go to America.
His circling thoughts had nearly driven him mad of late. Thank goodness Peter had come into his life and distracted him from the never-ending ifs.
But one thing remained clear. If he wanted Miss Frances Melbourne to wait for him to make his fortune, he had to ask her.
If she even remembered him.
Blast it. He resisted the urge to tap his temple with the hope of knocking out the other ifs.
Of course, she would remember him. He had made a promise to himself to speak with her, and he would keep that vow. Before Christmas Eve.
Nothing like a deadline to keep a person honest.
Peter shivered, and Thomas reached to pull up the collar on the boy’s jacket. The December air was crisp, especially this morning. But Thomas thought it was anticipation that caused Peter’s reaction.
“Do you have traditions for Christmas?” Thomas asked.
The boy frowned as he looked up at him, the weak sunlight making his pale skin look all the paler. Thomas had done his best to feed him well with the hope of putting some weight back on his thin frame. But he missed his family so deeply that it had been a challenge to convince him to eat.
“Traditions?” Peter asked. While the boy’s English was good, there were still words he didn’t know.
“Things you do at Christmas every year to help celebrate it.”
Thomas’s memory was filled with them. Ice skating on the small pond near their home. Snowball fights with his older brother. Gingerbread and wassail. Decorating the Christmas tree. Roasted goose dinner and mince pies. Burning the Yule log. Christmas pudding set alight. Those and so many more.
“Mama makes bratwurst with red cabbage and potato dumplings.” Peter licked his lips as if he could almost taste it. Then he shrugged. “Course, that was before we had to move.”
From what he’d told Thomas, his family had left their home when the threat of France and Germany going to war became a reality. Unfortunately, England had not been kind to them and any luck they’d had seemed to have run out.
Thomas intended to change that. But he’d been careful not to make too many promises to Peter. London was a big city, and there was a good chance his family had been able to find employment and restart their lives.
Peter had explained that his father was a Zukerbäcker, or a sugar-baker, at a sugar refinery near the docks. Raw sugar was shipped to London from various places around the world where copper pans were heated using coal to boil it. The refined product was then exported.
The work, using a special technique that the Germans had mastered and closely guarded the secrets of, was dangerous. The workers were supplied with unlimited beer to help battle the hot temperatures in which they worked. Many succumbed at an early age because of the melted sugar that coated their lungs.
The boy wasn’t certain of the exact nature of his father’s injuries, only that a piece of equipment had fallen on him, so it was difficult to know if he’d been able to recover and find work.
What puzzled Thomas was what had happened to separate Peter from his family once they entered the workhouse. He knew families were divided with only the young able to stay with their mothers. The men slept in one area, the women in another, and the same for the boys and girls.
There was a chance his two younger sisters had been able to remain with their mother. But why had Peter been transported to America when he had a family? It might’ve made sense for orphans or perhaps even those families who couldn’t support their children and so agreed to send them away. The way Peter spoke of his family suggested they were very close, and he insisted his parents never would’ve agreed to the plan.
Thomas certainly hoped taking boys from their families wasn’t a common practice. Thinking of the others who’d been sent away made Thomas feel terrible about the city where he’d been born and raised.
Thomas intended to settle Peter at his own parents’ residence and then visit the workhouse to see if he could find Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt—if they were still there.
He shook his head, detesting the blasted word. Somehow, he would find answers even if it meant spending his holiday to do so.
Frances studied each of the lists she’d written and revised over the past weeks to aid with the planning of the Christmas ball. Most items had been completed successfully with the help of her mother and the ladies of The Mayfair Literary League.
A few details remained, most of which Frances intended to see to herself.
“I do believe you have everything well in hand,” her mother said with a smile of approval as she reviewed one of the lists where they sat together at a table in the drawing room. “Ticket sales have been going well, according to Mr. Seaton.”
