A Magical Christmas Present Page 5

  As Annie turned to select some spices at a stand, Jason pondered her reply. In the late 20th century, where selfishness was vogue, Annie’s attitude might well be deemed foolish. Here, he found her outlook far too endearing. Again he reflected on how refreshing she was, how different from the self-absorbed women he had known in his time. She was truly an old-fashioned delight. Yet Jason was also left struggling with the reality that Annie’s very self-sacrifice might well prove her undoing—especially if she persisted in her plan to marry Stephen.

  Annie made the rest of her purchases, and they left the marketplace together. They headed back toward the Strand, where the coach was parked.

  Jason caught Annie’s sleeve next to the doorway of a quaint shop with expensive cheeses and hams displayed behind leaded glass windows. “Annie?”

  She regarded him shyly. “Yes?”

  He smiled. “Thank you for today.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  He touched her hand. “Will you think about something for me?”

  “What is that?”

  Carefully, he said, “I think that sometimes, when we try so hard to please others, we may end up bringing unhappiness not only to ourselves, but to everyone. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  She chewed her lower lip. “I suppose.”

  “Then perhaps you could start thinking of yourself just a little more?”

  All at once, Annie would not meet his gaze. She turned her head to watch an elderly couple, laden down with packages, emerge from the shop doorway.

  Jason cupped her chin in his fingers, forcing her to look at him. “Annie? What is it?”

  With a guilty smile, she admitted, “I’m not above thinking of myself.”

  “Oh, you’re not?” he teased. “In what way?”

  Her expression bordered on mischievous as she admitted, “Well, when I invited you to come along for the Yule activities, I was actually being—”

  “Yes?”

  She gazed up at him raptly and whispered, “Rather selfish.”

  “Oh, Annie.”

  Jason would not even notice until later that he had dropped all her packages. With a groan, he pulled her close and kissed her ardently. She did not resist; indeed, he heard a tiny sigh escape her as his mouth claimed hers. Her lips were warm and sweet, trustingly parted, on his. Her softness, her heat, seemed to seep into his very blood as he clutched her tightly and inhaled the heavenly essence of her—lavender and woman. Never had a woman thrilled him so, touched him so deeply, and he cherished her against his hammering heart.

  After a moment, he could feel her hands reach around to stroke his back, caressing him, even as her lips eagerly moved against his. Her surrender ignited such a firestorm in his blood that he crushed her to him and thrust between her lips with his tongue. Even as he yearned to plunge deeply into the sweetness of her warm mouth, he felt a shudder rack her and he pulled back, afraid he had gone too far.

  For a moment, they stared at each other, both breathless and wide-eyed following the moment of intimacy and discovery. Annie, too, had been left reeling. She felt vulnerable, bewildered, tremendously shaken. Never had any man stirred her as Jason just had with his kiss. She realized that her father had been right. She was behaving imprudently—and couldn’t seem to stop herself!

  At last, Jason said hoarsely, “I’m sorry. I was out of line, wasn’t I?”

  Annie didn’t answer, but stared up at him with a tenderness and uncertainty that twisted his heart.

  He stroked her flushed cheek. “Annie? I just feel you are selling yourself short. I want you to realize that there are other men in this world besides Stephen.”

  Then he saw the tears brim in her beautiful, golden eyes, and the sorrow and poignancy there lanced him like a knife in the heart.

  “Unfortunately,” she replied in a voice so low he could barely hear her, “at the moment, there is only one.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Over the next ten days, Jason became better acclimated to 19th century London. He started his job at the Bloomsbury Times, writing nostalgic pieces about the city amidst Yule preparations. While it was an adjustment to write the stories by hand, without the aid of a modern computer, he did have Annie Simmons to thank for the wealth of material he was able to draw upon for his articles. She insisted that Jason be included in all the Yule events she attended with Stephen and her father—much to the exasperation of the two other men, Jason was certain. Yet both Annie’s father and her fiancé were obviously consummate British gentlemen whose innate sense of good manners forbade them to exclude the American guest who so obviously needed assistance with his new duties. And Annie often invited along on the excursions an unmarried friend of hers, Harriet Pierce, whose presence lent a more balanced effect—and no doubt somewhat appeased Stephen regarding Jason’s continued presence.

  Together, the five attended church, watched bell ringers and mummers perform in the London streets, and delighted at the colorful wares of the toy vendors, as well as the beautiful Christmas cards, greenery, and lovely gifts displayed in the various shop windows. They viewed a glorious pantomime of Aladdin at the Drury Lane Theater, as well as a tableau vivant at the Royal Opera House. Jason even helped Annie hand out small mince pies to the jolly carolers who seemed to appear nightly on the stoop of the hotel.

  The highlight of the activities for Jason was an evening the five spent at St. James’ Hall, hearing Charles Dickens perform a public reading from A Christmas Carol. For Jason, never had history so sprung to life before his very eyes than when he watched the stately, energetic author read his own brilliant descriptions of London at Yule. Jason could even feel something of Dickens’s message of inspiration and hope seeping into his own blood.

  Daily, Jason recorded his observations for the newspaper, in a manner Mr. Spencer found fresh and lively. Annie, too, was thrilled with Jason’s progress. One morning at breakfast, with Jason, her father, and the two spinsters present, she read from his new column, “An American in London.”

  As the others listened and Jason sipped his tea selfconsciously, Annie quoted, “This American sees in London a time of great misery, but also a time of great hope. A spirit of reform is sweeping the country, as evidenced by the many fine proposals being presented to Parliament. Yes, there are children slaving away in the factories, or selling flowers for pennies in the markets, but there is also concern and caring. An innkeeper and his daughter took in this stranger from America who arrived here without a farthing in his hand, and with no one to recommend him. Women such as the innkeeper’s daughter are busy this season preparing baskets for the poor. This reporter finds here in London a very human time, compared with the impersonal world he left behind. Perhaps Charles Dickens summed it up best when he recently read publicly from A Christmas Carol, which is itself a tribute to the redemption of the human spirit. To quote Tiny Tim, ‘God bless us, every one.’”

  Annie finished her reading and flashed a bright smile at Jason. The two spinsters clapped and oohed and aahed with delight, while Jason tried to hide his embarrassment. Annie’s father responded with a subdued nod toward the younger man.

  “Your article is splendid, Mr. Burke,” exclaimed Media.

  “And do you indeed find America much more impersonal compared with Great Britain?” Mary added.

  Jason nodded, turning to smile at Annie. “To tell you the truth, America seems a world away right now.”

  “A world that we are glad you left, so that you can bring us your beautiful insights, Mr. Burke,” Annie replied sincerely.

  “Well,” Annie’s father added, clearing his throat, “I am pleased to note that your employment is progressing so well, Mr. Burke.”

  With reluctance, Jason drew his gaze from Annie and nodded to her father. “And for that, I must thank you and your daughter.”

  Jason had not again kissed Annie, although he sensed that she felt the same tension and attraction that stirred him each time they were together. Being around her was, in
so many ways, torture for him. She was so bright, so full of life and vitality. She seemed to take delight in every minute of the Yule activities. To Jason, she represented all the hope and optimism and zest for life that he himself had lost. He feared he was more than a little in love with her, and he had no way of knowing whether that love would ultimately save her or destroy her. He was frequently tortured by doubt. In wanting to rescue her from Stephen’s clutches, was it possible that he was pushing her farther toward disaster—at his own hands?

  While Annie was often nearby, she was also frustratingly untouchable. The solid barrier of her engagement to Stephen continued to loom between them. Watching Prescott perpetually hover about her, holding her hand or even kissing her cheek, was almost more than Jason could bear. He remained determined to disabuse Annie of her desire to wed Stephen, but he still wasn’t completely sure just how he would accomplish his goal. If only he could arrange for more time alone with her—but, aside from the one excursion they’d taken together, her father, Stephen, or Harriet was always present.

  At the same time, Christmas Eve—the very night on which Stephen would supposedly desert Annie, and she might well die—loomed ever closer. A sense of frustration bordering on desperation nagged Jason as he wondered if he could do anything at all to stop the coming disaster. Each time he glanced at the lovely Annie—watched her eyes sparkle with joy, her cheeks dimple with laughter—and then thought of her dead, his blood ran cold. And he could not even resolve to protect her on Christmas Eve, when he had no idea if he would still even be here in Victorian London then. He could not begin to understand the mystical forces that had brought him here—or to know whether, at any moment, he might be swept back to his own time again. Often, he remembered the ominous last line on his invitation, “You’ll come back on Christmas Eve.”

  On an evening a week and a half before Christmas, Annie invited Jason and Harriet to accompany her, Stephen, and her father to a Christmas dinner given by her father’s cousin. Using the better part of his weekly wages, Jason bought himself a new black suit for the occasion. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he had to admit that he looked rather dapper in the black cutaway, matching trousers, and ruffled linen shirt. Picking up his silk top hat and ebony walking stick, he felt like an authentic Victorian gentleman.

  He went downstairs and paused outside the drawing room at the sound of voices. He could hear Annie and Stephen inside—and clearly, they were arguing.

  “Must you drag along Burke again?” he heard Stephen ask irritably. “He is behaving rather like a stray dog who refuses to quit following us about.”

  “Why, Stephen, what a cruel thing to say!” Annie cried. “Mr. Burke is our guest. He is a newcomer from America, with no contacts in London, and he needs our help. Haven’t you read his marvelous articles in the Bloomsbury Times each day? Why, if we hadn’t taken him about with us, he never could have published those articles—or provided for his own livelihood.”

  “Why do I have the feeling that you are far more fascinated with the man than with his writing?”

  “Stephen, that is simply not the case. And you are sounding jealous.”

  “I am jealous!”

  “Mr. Burke may only be here for a fortnight longer. You and I will marry in the spring, and then we will be together. In the meantime—”

  “In the meantime,” Jason heard Stephen cut in, “I must remind you that I have no one else in my life—not even a casual lady friend. I’m simply asking the same level of devotion and commitment from you.”

  As Annie and Stephen continued to bicker, Jason silently seethed with anger. Oh, the cad, he thought, feeling incredulous over Stephen’s lie. How could Prescott claim to Annie that he had “not even a lady friend,” when the scoundrel kept a mistress on the side? How could he blatantly deceive Annie, then demand that she end her friendship with him?

  Silence had fallen in the parlor, and Jason, fearing that Stephen was kissing Annie, felt jealousy shoot through him. He strode into the room, only to draw a breath of relief. The two were yards apart. Stephen stood scowling with his elbow resting on the fireplace mantel, while Annie had wandered over to pick up a small doll ornament that had fallen off the Christmas tree.

  “Good evening,” Jason said, flashing a cheery smile to both. “Are we ready to leave?”

  Annie, looking gorgeous in a green silk evening dress with a low neckline and gigot sleeves, turned to smile a greeting at Jason. “Of course, Mr. Burke. And don’t you look dashing. Father should be down any moment now, and then we shall all go pick up Harriet.”

  “Great,” Jason said.

  “Ah, yes, splendid,” Stephen added with a sneer. “There is nothing I like better than courting my fiancée by committee.”

  The four left the hotel in Stephen’s elegant custom coach. Heading into the city, they crossed London Bridge to the South Bank and picked up Harriet Pierce at her parents’ charming Queen Anne town house on St. Thomas Street. Harriet, a vivacious creature with dark brown hair and green eyes, took the only remaining seat, next to Jason—and then greeted one and all with effusive hellos.

  “Well, I must tell you, dears,” Harriet said brightly as the carriage rattled off, “I have been running myself ragged today on Bond Street, trying to complete my Christmas shopping.” She smiled at Stephen. “Mr. Prescott, I simply must get by your haberdashery to get Papa a new cravat.”

  “We have some very nice silks, just in from the Orient,” Stephen replied.

  “Oh, and Papa does so love those fancy things.” She turned her glowing smile on Jason. “And what of you, Mr. Burke? Have you gotten around to Bond Street as yet? If you need more background material for your series of articles on our city, I should be delighted to assist you in any way.”

  Jason smiled at the young woman. Harriet was lively and pretty, and he suspected she was already rather enamored of him. The problem was, she wasn’t Annie. He did often wonder why Annie so frequently included Harriet in their outings—and he fervently hoped it was to appease Stephen regarding his own presence, rather than to interest him romantically.

  “You are very kind,” Jason murmured.

  “Why don’t the three of us go over to Bond Street tomorrow afternoon?” Annie suggested. “I’ve shopping to complete myself—then we could go by Stephen’s haberdashery, and perhaps the four of us could have tea together.”

  “Ah, a wonderful idea,” agreed Harriet, clapping her hands.

  Stephen, meanwhile, scowled darkly, but was evidently too much of a gentleman to veto Annie’s suggestion.

  They soon arrived at the home of Oscar Simmons’s cousin, Catherine Holcomb, who lived with her husband, William, in a modest Georgian town home in the East End. Yet, while the Albert Gardens address was unpretentious, the cozy home was as festively decked out for Yule as the most lavish mansion in Regent’s Park. As Catherine and her husband received Jason and the others, he glanced about the hallway, which was festooned with holly, and decorated with the traditional candlelit “kissing bunch” suspended over their heads, as well as angels, tambourines, trumpets, a gingerbread house, and a Nativity scene gracing the various tables.

  Several other family friends, as well as Jason’s employer, Mr. Spencer, had been invited for the dinner, which was held in the homey, paneled dining room. The table was set with the finest Irish linen and Paris china. A boar’s head, stuffed with an orange, served as the centerpiece. The main course was roast turkey with chestnut stuffing, served with fresh vegetables, hot bread, and white wine. By each plate, the hostess had placed a “Christmas cracker” for the guests. The crackers were rolled cylinders of colorful paper cinched near each end. The cylinders made a loud popping sound when pulled apart, and the laughing guests cracked them open to find tiny treasures—toys, small bells, paper flowers, or hats. Annie toys, small bells, paper flowers, or hats. Annie exclaimed over the paper rose found in hers, while Jason was amused by the paper crown in his.

  The conversation was convivial, several of the
guests congratulating Annie and Stephen on their engagement. While Stephen and Annie accepted the fond wishes graciously, Jason noted a mood of tension between them that had been present ever since they had all left the house in Stephen’s carriage. There was mention of the current clash in Parliament over Disraeli’s new budget, and the rumors that even the queen and Prince Albert were growing concerned over the escalating crisis.

  Several of the people complimented Jason on his recent articles. Their host, William Holcomb, said to Jason, “Mr. Spencer here tells me that you may not be staying long here in England.”

  Jason nodded. “That is true.”

  “But your pieces in the Bloomsbury Times are fascinating,” put in Catherine, “and you seem to favor this country over your own. Have you not considered staying here permanently?”

  Before Jason could answer, Stephen cut in rather sardonically, “Perhaps Mr. Burke might better seek his fortune back in his own country. It is not that easy making a life for oneself here on a newspaperman’s salary.” He glanced meaningfully at Harriet, then at Annie. “I should think that if Mr. Burke remained here, he could never hope to support a wife and children.”

  Harriet, not about to be baited, winked at Stephen and said, “I should wager that Mr. Burke feels as I do. Why worry about being rich if one can be happy?”

  The guests seemed to agree. A couple even murmured, “Hear, hear,” and raised their glasses.

  Then, with a twinkle in his eye, Mr. Spencer spoke up to Stephen. “You know, you might be speaking precipitously, Mr. Prescott.” He nodded proudly to Jason.

  “As talented as young Burke is, and as old as I’m getting, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see him running the Bloomsbury Times before too long.”

  At this pronouncement, both Annie and Harriet beamed at Jason, and he grinned back at both. As other appreciative murmurs drifted down the table, Jason could have sworn that he heard Stephen’s jaw grinding.