A Candlelit Regency Christmas: His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish. Louise Allen

two of them wedged on the floor. He looked up, through eyes watering from the impact, into her face, so close. The tip of her nose was pink from the chill, her lips were parted, her eyes were wide with concern. Adorable. She’s adorable. And outrageously arousing with every inch of her pressed to him.

      ‘Winded...’ he managed. ‘That’s all.’ He closed his eyes the better to enjoy the sensation of her curves, the erotic, impossibly innocent, scent of plain soap and a dab of lavender water.

      ‘Alex! Alex, can you hear me?’ She squirmed, trying to get to her feet without, he supposed, trampling all over him. ‘Have you hit your head?’

      Alex groaned, opened his eyes and found himself still nose to nose with Tess. This is more than any man can be expected to withstand, he told himself, gritting his teeth.

      With a dolphin-like heave she got herself up at the expense of no more than an inch or two of skin scraped from his shin bones. ‘I am so sorry I squashed you, Alex. Just lie still. I’ll pull the cord and tell John Coachman to drive direct to your doctor.’

      ‘No need.’ He found his voice from somewhere and sat up before Tess observed the interesting effect her squirming had produced on his body. ‘I’m fine. Just...’ Hanging on to my self-control by my fingernails. Alex put both hands on the squabs and pushed himself up and onto the seat next to her. ‘Winded, as I said. What were we talking about?’ Something, please God, dull and non-inflammatory.

      ‘A donkey!’ For a moment he thought she meant him, which was nothing but the truth, given that he was an experienced man about town reduced to a quivering mass of sexual frustration by a chit from a nunnery.

      ‘Oh, isn’t it sweet?’ Tess pointed out of the window to a costermonger’s barrow pulled by an improbably fluffy little donkey.

      ‘Yes,’ Alex agreed cautiously. It was not the word he would have used. ‘But we do not need a donkey.’ The way she collected things he could expect to come home to find an ass and an ox in the stables, just for Christmas. He wouldn’t put it past her to go to Pidcock’s Menagerie and borrow a camel for atmosphere.

      Tess smiled at him, apparently able to read his mind. ‘Of course not.’

      Alex was seized with a contrary urge to buy her one, just to see that smile again. He repressed the whim. ‘Now where?’

      ‘A toyshop. I want a doll for Daisy.’

      * * *

      The shop, whose owner had obviously stocked up well for the approaching season, was a treasure trove. Alex restrained himself from buying a full set of lead soldiers just to arrange on the study mantelshelf. The display of dolls was astounding, and he blinked at the array of miniature femininity. Tess was studying the far corner where the plainest examples were arrayed.

      Alex made for the most magnificent, complete with real hair and elegant clothing. ‘There’s no need to stint, I don’t expect Dorcas can afford to give the child many toys.’

      ‘She’s too young for one, really, but I think it is nice if she grows up with a doll who will become an old favourite. But a baby needs a simple, soft doll, like those.’ Tess lifted down a medium-size rag doll, then turned back to the counter past a row of wooden dolls, their hair and features painted on. She stopped and touched one, just with the tip of her finger, and something in her smile sent a cold shiver down Alex’s spine.

      ‘What’s wrong, Tess?’

      ‘Nothing. Only memories.’ Her hand hesitated for a moment over the brightly coloured skirt, then she gave herself a little shake and took the rag doll across to the counter. ‘I had a doll like that once.’ Tess was looking at the wooden dolls again. ‘Mama gave it to me for Christmas when I was six.’

      ‘What happened to it?’

      ‘The nuns took it when I went to the convent.’

      ‘But you were, what, twelve by then?’

      ‘Thirteen, and far too old to play with dolls, of course. I didn’t play with her, though, I talked to her. She was my friend,’ Tess said simply.

      When they were outside on the pavement she blinked as if she had been miles away. Or years, perhaps, Alex thought. ‘Did you not have friends?’

      ‘Not really.’ Her expression went blank. ‘We moved an awful lot. And not when we were travelling, of course. I was perfectly happy,’ she said hastily when he opened his mouth. ‘I had Mama and Papa. But you know what it is like when you are a child, you need an ear to whisper your secrets into, someone to tell your troubles to. Some children have imaginary friends, Patty was my confidant, that is all.’

       Yes, I know. Peter was all of that to me, but he was real. Friend, confidant, someone to tell my troubles and my secrets to. Only he hadn’t been able to tell me his biggest secret and because of that, he’s been cold in the ground these ten years.

      ‘Where do you want to go next?’ Alex asked and fished out his clean handkerchief for Tess.

      She blew her nose briskly, stuffed the linen square into her reticule and said, ‘A bookshop. Dorcas enjoys novels.’

      * * *

      Alex left Tess browsing amidst the stacked tables in Hatchard’s in Piccadilly. ‘Will you be all right here for half an hour? I’ve just remembered something I need to do.’

      By the time he came back she had accumulated a pile of six books, two new notebooks and some sheets of wrapping paper with gold stars stamped on it. ‘The notebooks and two of the books are for me,’ she explained as he carried them to the counter for her. ‘You must take those out of my wages.’

      ‘Don’t be foolish.’ Alex looked at the spines. ‘Cookery books and notebooks are essential housekeeping equipment.’ He waved aside the assistant waiting to carry the parcel out to the carriage. ‘Now we are going to Bond Street and Madame Francine’s.’

      ‘Madame—a modiste?’ Tess stopped dead on the pavement. ‘I am not going to help you choose garments for your light of love, my lord!’