"I think my very favorite part though," Jules said slowly, "was at the end when Tiny Tim sprouted wings and flew off with Fezziwig and the Ghost of Christmas Past. Don't you agree?"
"Yes. Of course. I…" Lizzie jerked her head up, swiveled in her chair, and stared at her sister. "What did you say?"
"I suspected as much." Jules narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You weren't listening to a word I said, were you?"
"I most certainly was. You said…" Lizzie searched her mind. She did so hate to admit that her sister was right, at least in part. "You said you liked
A Christmas Carol
better than any of Mr. Dickens's other works."
Jules snorted in a most unladylike manner. "That was the very least of what I said." She sat upright on the chaise and craned her neck to see around her sister. "Whatever are you doing, anyway?" Lizzie shifted to shield the paper on the desk and adopted a casual tone. "Nothing of importance really. Just trying to find the right words."
Jules raised a brow. "For what?"
"For none of your concern, that's what," Lizzie said firmly.
"Is it something for Charles?" Jules fluttered her lashes in an exaggerated manner. Lizzie laughed. "No, it's not. And even if it was, I wouldn't tell you."
"Why not?" Indignation sounded in the younger girl's voice. "I'd tell you what I was giving the gentleman who was about to ask for my hand in marriage."
"Nonsense," Lizzie said quickly. "Charles is not about to ask for my hand." Jules smirked. "Would you care to wager on that?"
Lizzie stared at her sister, unease settling in the pit of her stomach. "Do you know something I should know?"
"Perhaps." Jules settled back on the chaise and smiled at her sister in that irritating way younger girls refine for the express purpose of torturing their older sisters. "I might know that Charles spoke to Father privately this morning. And I might further know, when Charles came out of Father's library, he had a look of relief and excitement on his face."
Lizzie waved off her sister's comments. "That could mean anything."
"Oh, come now, Lizzie. You can't be the least bit surprised by this." Jules studied her sister curiously.
"For as long as I can remember, everyone in both our families has expected a match between you. I rather thought you expected to marry him as well."
"Charles is a good man and an excellent match, and any woman would be honored to be his wife. Indeed, it seems to me there are any number of young women wishing to do just that." Lizzie smiled in a noncommittal manner and hoped her comments would satisfy her sister.
"I know I would. Charles is wonderful." Jules heaved a heartfelt sigh. "He's so handsome, with the brightest blue eyes and the merriest smile and the most charming manner. Indeed, I fear I have a penchant for men with blond, wavy hair. One is hard-pressed to keep from running one's fingers through it."
Lizzie bit back a grin. "You shall have to resist that in the future."
"In the future I shall have a merry, blond-haired, blue-eyed man of my own to wed." Jules cast her sister a wicked grin. "Then I should be able to run my fingers through his hair all I wish."
"I daresay one shouldn't choose a husband on the basis of his hair," Lizzie said wryly.
"I don't see why a man's appearance shouldn't be considered as well as the rest of his attributes. I should much rather marry a handsome man than a homely one." Jules drew her brows together. "Doesn't Charles remind you of Fred?"
Lizzie shook her head. "Fred?"
"Fred. Scrooge's nephew. He was terribly happy and jolly and handsome as well, although he hadn't much money."
"Charles has a great deal of money."
"So much the better. I think it's far easier to be happy and merry if one has money than if one doesn't." Jules thought for a moment. "Although the Cratchits had no money and they seemed happy enough. Except for Tiny Tim, of course. But then he didn't die after all, thanks to Scrooge. Or at least that's what Mr. Dickens implies." Her brow furrowed. "Do you think Mr. Dickens was trying to tell us that if you have enough money you can change your fate so that you won't die young and horribly?"
"Don't be absurd. He didn't mean anything of the sort." Lizzie scoffed. "He was obviously saying that charity and generosity of spirit can make a huge difference in the lives of those who have little. Indeed, I think the moral to the story is that we should all do what we can to help the less fortunate and not just at Christmastime but the whole year through."
"Probably, although I do wish you hadn't said that." The younger girl wrinkled her nose. "I quite liked the story just as it was without concern as to morals or lessons."
"Morals and lessons are good for your character."
"My character has had quite enough, thank you. Between Mother and Grandmother and all the aunts, someone is always trying to tell me something that is good for my character. Or my mind, for that matter."
"Perhaps that's an indication that your character and your mind need improvement," Lizzie said primly.
"I would scarcely comment about the need to improve one's character or one's mind if I were you."
"Juliana Effington, how can you say such a thing?" Lizzie gasped in mock dismay and clasped her hand to her throat. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with my character or my mind. I am intelligent and well-read, honest and forthright, and my moral standards are beyond reproach." Jules eyed her sister wryly. "Then it must be exceedingly difficult to fool the entire world, as you, among all the varied and assorted Effington and Shelton cousins, are considered perhaps the merriest and the most frivolous."
"Indeed it is. I work very hard at it." Lizzie nodded solemnly, then met her sister's gaze, and both girls burst into laughter. Lizzie sobered and sighed. "In truth, Jules, I learned long ago that in this world a woman, as opposed to a man, is judged far more on her appearance than her intelligence, and men quite prefer a frivolous nature to a serious one. Someday, when I am old and long married, I fully intend to allow my mind free rein and explore all sorts of fascinating interests."
"I do hope I live long enough to see that." Jules thought for a moment. "Still, I doubt that Charles would object. I daresay you could do almost anything and Charles wouldn't mind in the least."
"He is a wonderful man," Lizzie murmured.
"Indeed he is. Aside from the dozens of blond-haired, blue-eyed children you shall have—"
"Dozens?" Lizzie raised a brow.
"Well, perhaps not dozens, but several." Jules shrugged. "You and he are well suited. Everyone has always said so. Why, I believe you and Charles are fated to marry."
"Everyone has always said so." Lizzie echoed her sister's words. She too had always assumed she would marry Charles. Had, in fact, loved him in a fashion since childhood.
Charles Langley was heir to a sizable fortune and respectable title. His family had long been friends with her own. Indeed, Charles was one of her older brother Jonathon's closest friends. He would make an excellent husband and father, and no girl could ask for more. Why, he was quite simply wonderful. But his eyes weren't dark and smoldering. And his demeanor wasn't overly serious and somber. And when he stole a kiss in the shadows at a party, it was quite nice, but it didn't curl her toes and snatch her breath from her lungs and make something deep inside her melt with a heretofore unknown yearning.
"Do you know who reminds me of Scrooge?" Jules said thoughtfully. "Nicholas Collingsworth."
"Nicholas?" Lizzie drew her brows together in a forbidding manner and ignored the way her heart skipped a beat at the mere mention of his name. "What a terrible thing to say! He's not the least bit like Scrooge. He's kind and generous and—"
"He's stiff and proper and far too serious and somber and not at all fun," Jules said firmly. "Why, his only redeeming quality is that he is so devilishly handsome."
"Jules!"
Jules continued without pause. "And I don't care what you think, he reminds me very much of Scrooge in his younger days. I don't know why Jonathon and Charles consider him such a good friend. They haven't the least bit in common."
"They have been friends for years, and it is lucky for him that he has friends who are not so critical as you," Lizzie snapped. "You must not forget, his life has not been as pleasant as ours."
"Yes, yes, I know, he's an orphan and all that," Jules muttered, sinking deeper into the chaise. "Obviously my character needs more work. Still, if the man would simply smile now and again…"
"He does smile now and again," Lizzie said more to herself than to her sister. And it was a smile made all the more wonderful for its rarity.
Nicholas Collingsworth had entered their circle of acquaintances more than a decade or so ago after the death of his parents. The orphaned boy had come to live with his bachelor uncle, the Earl of Thornecroft, who, in turn, was a longtime friend of Lizzie's parents, the Duke and Duchess of Roxborough. Jonathon and Charles had immediately accepted the young man as one of their own, and the trio had been inseparable in their youth, attending the same schools and spending holidays variously at one of their respective families' estates or another. Nicholas was somewhat more reserved than the other boys, and Lizzie had paid this friend of her brother's, as she'd paid all her brother's friends, scant attention. He, like Charles, was simply always present and, unlike Charles, of no real significance. Three years ago, Nicholas and his uncle had gone off on a Grand Tour, not simply of Europe but of the entire world. They'd returned four months ago. The earl was unchanged by their travels, as friendly and jolly as ever, if a shade older in appearance, but Nicholas was not at all as she'd remembered. The boy she'd paid no heed to had become a man she could not put out of her thoughts. He was strong and handsome and even mysterious, with a jaw chiseled by determination and a look in his dark eyes of purpose and resolve. He seemed to stand apart from the rest of them, in truth from the rest of life really, as if he were an observer rather than a participant and was indeed as somber and serious as Jules had claimed. But it was a sobriety born of desire and ambition. She had never known anyone with the ambition of Nicholas Collingsworth.
He was the only heir to his uncle's wealth and title and had no need for more, yet he was set on making his own fortune. Jonathon had told her it was a point of honor and pride. Nicholas wanted to atone for the failures of his father, who had also sought to make his own fortune but had been trusting and naive and unsuccessful in every venture he'd attempted.
From the very moment Lizzie had laid eyes upon Nicholas again, she'd been intrigued and curious. Soon after his return to London, she had made it a point to come upon him alone on the terrace at some now-forgotten event. For the first time in their years of acquaintanceship they'd spoken of matters not relating to friends or the weather or other polite utterances. Her well-practiced flirtatious banter had faded under the assault of his steady, assessing gaze, and she'd found herself asking about his travels and confessing her envy at what he as a man could do and would do and she could not. He'd talked of lands as yet unexplored and endless possibilities and his own awe at the carefree nature of her family and their obvious affection for one another. She'd spoken of wishes and desires and the curiosities life might hold. He'd responded in kind with his own hopes and dreams and his determination to make his mark on the world beyond what he would achieve by virtue of who he was rather than what he was.
He'd spoken to her as he might have to her brother or his friends. As if she were not pretty and frivolous and lighthearted but rather intelligent and competent and of an interest beyond her blond hair and green eyes and dowry. No man had ever spoken to her like that before.
But then she had never known a man like Nicholas Collingsworth before.
It had been the beginning of these odd feelings for him that now churned within her and the start of a friendship that was odder yet. More and more she'd found herself seeking him out, and she'd fancied he'd sought her out as well, for a continuation of their private discussions about their lives and their futures, their opinions and reflections. And more, they'd spoken of art and music and even politics and the state of the world. And the wonders it might hold.
Their conversations in the presence of others had remained of little significance. They would dance together, on occasion, no more or less often than she would dance with any other young man. And if he'd held her during a waltz a shade tighter than the others or murmured polite, proper phrases with an underlying meaning only she could understand, no one had known it save Lizzie and Nicholas. Nothing improper or personal or untoward at all had passed between them in public. Nothing anyone could raise an eyebrow at, nothing even the most ardent gossip could speak about in hushed, smug tones. But her gaze would meet his across a room and her heart would leap in her throat, and she'd known, with a certainty that had come from somewhere deep inside, that what she'd been feeling had been shared. Until finally, inevitably perhaps, they had met privately at some gathering or another and their voices had faltered. For the first time they'd been awkward and ill at ease, as if what had been silently growing between them had sprung now full blown. There had been a hundred things, a thousand things she'd wanted to say. A thousand things she'd wanted to hear in return, yet the words would not come for her or for him. She'd turned to leave and brushed against him, and his gaze had met and meshed with hers in an endless instant of recognition and desire and even, perhaps, love.
Then she'd been in his arms and his lips had crushed hers in a kiss that had stolen her breath and her heart. A kiss she had never imagined possible save in her dreams. A kiss that lingered in her soul. It had lasted forever and no time at all. When they'd parted he'd looked as shocked as she and as moved. He'd muttered a polite apology. She'd waved it off with an awkward laugh. And they'd pretended it hadn't happened and had gone on as before save they did not meet privately again. But she could not forget his kiss or the look in his eyes or the tremulous feelings he'd aroused within her.