Chapter 1

Charles Farrington had long ago resigned himself to the fact that his deviant nature meant he was destined to be alone. He found himself unable to return the affections of a lady, and was unwilling to set up a pretence, so he embraced his solitude and satisfied himself with the very occasional foray into London for business and places where he could seek out likeminded company. After Napoleon’s eventual defeat he had resigned his commission and set up home in small, but pleasant house on the outskirts of a small village on the edge of the North Yorkshire moors, not too far from the coast. There was a distinct lack of local young ladies who might wish to pursue a bookish ex-officer, which pleased Charles, but this also meant that there was a complete lack of likeminded company which in many ways was a relief. To counteract the lack of company, Charles surrounded himself with things that gave him pleasure. Things like his growing collection of snuff boxes, his garden, and lately his writing of, what he considered to be, rather daring novels involving dashing young men flinging themselves into battle. So life, for the most part, was pleasant. Or so he told himself.

Over the past year or so he had spent rather more time with his writing, and to his everlasting surprise he had published some of his stories, making a small sum of money from it. This supplemented his military pension nicely, and supported his rather expensive snuff box collection. So, as winter approached, he was happy to while away the dark hours hunched over his manuscript, fortunate in the fact that he could afford a good number of candles. As Christmas drew near, and the weather worsened, he tucked himself away with only his cat, housekeeper, and groom for company. Mr. and Mrs. Darnley lived in the village and came in daily to wash, clean, and feed both him and his horses. Horatio, an enormous ginger tom, kept the mice at bay. It was a good arrangement.

They had established a routine for the Christmas period that suited all of them; Mrs. Darnley left the house laden with food for both him and the cat, her husband organised the livestock for him, and then they returned to their family on Christmas Eve, not returning until after Boxing Day. He couldn’t quite countenance the idea that they would forsake their large, jolly family during the Christmas period to hang around to see if he needed anything. When the weather turned particularly nasty, he begged that they leave early on Christmas Eve.

“But it isn’t even lunchtime,” Mrs. Darnley said, shaking flour from her apron.

“Have you seen the weather?” Charles said, pointing to the window. “If you and Darnley don’t go now you may not make the village. I would not wish to be answerable to your entire family if they missed out on your dinner.”

She looked out and sighed just as her husband came into the kitchen, stomping snow from his boots making Horatio flick his tail in disgust.

“Darnley, my dear fellow, will you have words with your good wife?” Charles said. “You need to leave. I have enough food to feed an army. Several armies. I will not starve if you leave now.”

Darnley stuffed his cap in his coat pocket. “He’s right, m’love. Temperature is dropping and there’s a north wind coming in. I reckon snow’s set in for a day or two.”

All three stared at the whitening landscape and listened to the howling wind for a moment and then Mrs. Darnley sighed. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“My dear Mrs. Darnley. No harm shall befall me. I will enjoy the solitude and no doubt laze the days away in front of the fire.”

“You should consider getting someone to live in, you know,” she said for the hundredth time as she bustled about. “Not right, a lovely gentleman like you on his own. Not right.”

Charles smiled at her. “I give you my word I shall consider it,” he said, laying a hand on his heart. What she really meant was that he should find a wife.

With a little more huffing and puffing the Darnleys finally left, but not before she had made him a pot of tea. After he closed the door on the dreadful weather he took the tea and the plate of cake into his study, piled the fire high with logs, and settled himself in with a sigh as the well-banked fire blazed and drove away the worst of the cold. Listening to the howling wind and watching the falling snow blanket the landscape from the safety of his study made him feel exceedingly cosy. He picked up the paper, sipped his tea, and propped his feet on the stool. Horatio promptly settled himself on his lap and he was tempted to kick off his shoes and toast his feet by the fireside Mrs. Darnley had adorned with holly, making the room feel almost festive.