Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas by Andrea Pickens

feat.”
    Count Federov, who had been rendered momentarily speechless, recovered enough to sputter, “You mean to say my Anna is with you?”
    “At the moment, sir, she is downstairs with our housekeeper, freshening up from her ordeal.”
    An odd rumble started deep in the count’s throat, and his hands began to twitch.
    It was, decided Nicholas, a reaction that did not bode well for peace and harmony. In one fell swoop both his limbs and any prospect of a treaty between England and Russia looked about to be ripped asunder.
    “Grrrr. . .” With two quick strides, the count crossed the carpet. “Thank God! I am eternally grateful to you, tovarich .”
    Nicholas found himself enveloped in a bear hug and lifted off his feet.
    “Royster,” called Count Federov, his craggy face wreathed in a joyous smile. “You told me that your son was a remarkable young man, but you were too modest by half. Ha! I do not know how he discovered my plight, but to have acted so quickly and decisively.” He shook his head. “It’s a miracle.
    “Sometimes even I am astounded by my son’s resourcefulness,” drawled the earl. “Er, perhaps if you would allow him a breath of air, we may hear all about the dramatic rescue. It promises to be a fascinating tale.”
    “Yes! Of course.”
    Nicholas hit the floor with a thump. His knees wobbled, but he kept his balance and cleared his throat. He did not need to look at the earl to know that he was treading a very fine line. One small misstep and he would go from being a hero to a goat.
    A goat staked out on the Siberian steppes for the wolves to devour.
    “It was a dark and stormy night, Count Federov. . .”
    The earl gave a small cough. “Forgive me—something must have lodged in my throat.”
    A laugh, unless Nicholas was much mistaken. His reproachful glance was met with a nod of contrition.
    “Do go on,” murmured Royster, after swallowing a sip of his brandy.
    “Through the swirl of the snow I happened to spot a wink of light. . .” His secret delight in the novels of Mrs. Radcliffe and the Minerva Press was now proving quite useful in cobbling together a suspenseful narrative. “Then, above the howl of the snowstorm, I heard a faint cry for help. . .”
    Jaw slightly agape, Federov perched his bulk on the edge of the desk and leaned forward.
    “Half frozen, and on death’s door from the blow he had suffered trying to stave off the falling tree, the coachman lay unconscious inside the coach,” went Nicholas. “The stalwart young lady had braved the elements to save him from a certain demise, but with the weather worsening, things were looking very grim.” For the most part, Nicholas was able to adhere to the spirit, if not the letter, of the truth, with just a few omissions and embellishments to gloss over the unconventional parts.
    His father’s brows crept fractionally higher as the tale went on, but he remained silent. The count was a good deal more voluble, interrupting every few moments with a gasp or a mutter in his native tongue.
    “Extraordinary!” he exclaimed, when Nicholas was done recounting the arrival in Grosvenor Square.
    “Extraordinary,” echoed the earl.
    “With such admirable talents, I think your son is destined for a brilliant career in your foreign service, Royster,” said the count.
    “Yes, well, I have always stressed to him that one of the keys to success in diplomacy is creativity—along with the ability to think on one’s feet.”
    “Actually, I’m not quite finished,” said Nicholas.
    Federov looked slightly perplexed. “There is more?”
    “I have left until last mentioning that I have asked Anna for her hand in marriage.”
    He was rather amused by the stunned silence that followed the announcement. It wasn’t often that two such gentlemen could be rendered speechless.
    “And she has accepted?” asked Fedorov warily.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Without —how do you say—fireworks? Or your having to call in a regiment of the