Christmas Belles Read Online Free PDF Page A

bitter-cold Christmas Eve, he had his doubts. He
could not congratulate himself that he had been a wonderful father. What good
had he ever done for his daughters? He had seen that Emma was falling in love
with a poverty-stricken clergyman and done nothing to stop it.  Mr. Henry
was such a worthy young man, and Phineas genuinely liked the vicar. But so
poor! There could scarce be a poorer living in all of England than that of St.
Andrew's.
    Then there was Lucy—so beautiful, so taking with her
charming ways. He had indulged her too much, encouraged her small vanities
until she had become discontent and restless. And Agnes—he had so delighted in
her scholarly turn of mind, just what he would have wished for in a son. So he
had taught her Greek and Latin, turned her into a proper little bluestocking,
which would only make it more difficult for the poor child to ever acquire a
husband.
    But Chloe—what he had done to his little Chloe was the worst
of all. So lovely, so sweet, so much the image of his departed wife, it oft
brought an ache to his heart. He had stuffed Chloe's head full of fantasy and
legends. Even on the verge of leaving her, when he should have admonished her
to be more sensible, what must he do but encourage her to keep on dreaming?
    Dreams! What did they accomplish anyway, Sir Phineas thought
bitterly as he jabbed the poker at what remained of the glowing ashes of the
fire. Only encouraging a man foolish enough to try embarking on a new career at
his age, a career he had never had the drive or talent for even as a youth. He
could not delude  himself. He would not have been able to acquire any
position at all but for the intervention of his young relative.
    William Trent, now there was a hero, a man who was a rising
star. Before the age of thirty, the captain had become wealthy from prize ships
taken, with a myriad of influential friends both in the Admiralty and the
present government. Everyone predicted that Trent would be an admiral one day,
his name as legend as a Nelson or a Drake.
    But it profited Sir Phineas little to dwell upon Trent's
capabilities and his own inadequacies. Sighing, he put up the poker and
shuffled out of the parlor. He was about to set out upon what was a useless
enterprise at his age, the seeking of his fortune; but he had to try. The
impossible could be possible. He needed to believe that more than he had ever
needed to before.
    Ah, but leaving his little girls, that was going to be the
hardest part. He paused by the window in the vast silent front hall to utter a
silent prayer, commending his daughters to the care of more skilled hands than
his own inept ones.
    When he had finished, a sense of peace settled over him as
tranquil as the falling snow. By nature, Sir Phineas was a man framed for
optimism. Something was bound to come right. Good fortune was just around the
bend, and all he had to do was put himself in its way.
    With the suppression of his nagging doubts, he began to feel
the need for sleep, but it was a more mellow feeling of exhaustion. Yet he had
one last task to perform before going to bed.
    They had only one groom left at Windhaven these days, and
Dan was rather young, not always to be relied upon. Sir Phineas had ridden his
sorrel mare rather hard today. He would just check to be certain that the animal
had been properly rubbed down and was secure for the night.
    Swirling his cape about his shoulders, Sir Phineas let
himself out the kitchen door, which was the closest route to the stable yard.
It was snowing hard now, the wind whipping the blinding whiteness into his
face, threatening to extinguish the lantern he carried.
    His head tucked down, he made his way forward by dint of
following the low-lying hedge that surrounded the garden. The tops of his ears
were freezing, but his hearing remained keen enough to catch a faint sound
above the whistle of the wind.
    A lowing sound.
    Sir Phineas paused in astonishment until he realized that
the foolish dairy cow they