The Christmas Secret Read Online Free PDF

good gambler. He courted a pair of cousins from a prominent family and he forgot about horse breeding.
    One morning several weeks later, when Henry returned to his hotel bleary-eyed and reeking of whiskey after a particularly memorable night spent in a Southwark gaming hell, the concierge extended a silver tray to him upon which lay a folded vellum. It bore the seal of Ballynaheath in Ireland, and a gentleman had written that the Earl of Donnelly would receive Henry now, in December of 1808.
    Henry grinned. At long last, he would meet the man who, everyone in London agreed, bred the best horses in Europe. Henry packed his bags, called for a coach, and very soon thereafter, he set off across the lovely English countryside for Wales, where he would board a ship for what a fellow gambler had assured him was a mere “skip and a hop” across the Irish Sea.
    But the moment Henry arrived in the quaint little Welsh village of Holyhead, the salty smell of the sea and fish reminded him of his ordeal in coming to England and rendered him a bit queasy. To make matters worse, a storm was brewing on the horizon into which they’d be sailing.
    “All aboard, sir,” the steward said to Henry.
    Henry glanced uneasily at the sailor. “Do you mean to sail into that storm?”
    The sailor gave the horizon a casual look. “She’ll blow by, aye,” he said. “All aboard, if you please.”
    Henry looked suspiciously at the vessel and then cast his gaze for the land he’d been led to believe was practically visible from England’s shores. It was not.
    “Come on then, gent,” the sailor said impatiently.
    “Yes, all right,” Henry said. He drew as deep and steadying a breath as he could manage, adjusted his hat, shifted his bag onto his shoulder, and stepped onto the gangplank.
    As the sails unfurled, the ship was at once greeted with lashing rains and icy winds, and Henry could do nothing to help himself. He found a seat near the railing, beneath wooden awnings that protected passengers from the elements, and prayed for deliverance.
    He was delivered of his supper almost straightaway, and his physical state went from frightful to disastrous. As the sailor said, the storm eventually blew past them, but the winds remained high, and the ship creaked and moaned and surged up, then crashed down, over and over again, until Henry’s illness was entrenched in his marrow. He thought it cruel that the stars twinkled serenely overhead as the world seemed to twist and turn, tossing him about as if he were a small child instead of the strong and sturdy man he’d always fancied himself to be.
    In the midst of his personal calamity, an angel descended from grace to him. Henry felt hardly conscious, but he suddenly smelled roses. Then someone soothed his face with a cool cloth. A handkerchief, he discovered when she pressed it into his hand. White linen, scented with rose oil.
    “You must stand up, aye?” she said soothingly. Her voice had a soft lilt to it. “If you do not stand and look at the horizon, the illness will not leave you.” He felt delicate hands on his arm, tugging him up. Somehow, Henry got to his feet. Somehow, he put both hands on the railing and opened his eyes. He thought there could be nothing worse, nothing more horrifying than to lose his stomach in front of this sweet-smelling angel.
    “Look there,” she said, her voice coming from somewhere below his shoulder. He saw her outstretched hand, the pointing of her slender finger, and made himself look in that direction. In the light of the full moon, he could see stars twinkling above the lift and fall of the sea. Henry could feel that lift and fall in his belly. He must have groaned, for she put a steadying arm about his waist and held him up. “Don’t look at the waves, sir,” she said. “Look at the sky above them. Keep your eyes on something that does not move.”
    Swallowing hard, he did as she instructed. A moment or two passed. His belly roiled, but not as