Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,
Should in despite of light keep us together.
—John Donne, “Break of Day”
Margaret roused to the sensation of clever fingers stroking through her hair, and the sound of a steady heartbeat in her ears. Then, as she prised open her eyelids, warm lips brushed against her brow.
“Mmm. I can’t think of a lovelier way to be awakened,” she sighed.
She heard Gervase chuckle, low and deep. “The prince always awakens the Sleeping Beauty with a kiss.”
“What a flattering comparison, though I’m sure any mirror would give you the lie.” Her hair, loosed from its plait, must be a mass of knots by now.
“I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter.” His woodsmoke gaze traveled over her face. “Indeed, I cannot complain of the view.”
“Nor can I.” She reached up and stroked his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble beneath her fingertips. Not even Gervase was immaculate first thing in the morning, which she found oddly reassuring. “Any idea what time it is?”
“Hard to say. After sunrise, I think. I heard the maid come in to light the fire.”
Heard but not saw, Margaret noted, grateful for his foresight. At some point last night, he’d drawn the bedcurtains around them for warmth and privacy. She’d done the same to her bed before coming to his chamber. Some of the servants might suspect that she and Gervase were spending their nights together, but one should make an effort to be discreet. Besides, she liked the sensation of being closed in with her lover. Make of one little room an everywhere...
“Six o’clock, perhaps. I should return to my chamber, I suppose,” she added reluctantly. But lying here, her head pillowed on Gervase’s chest, felt so comfortable—and comforting.
His hand traced lazy circles over her back. “‘Tis true, ‘tis day. / What though it be, / O, wilt thou therefore rise from me?”
She laughed, was about to reply in kind, when a sound reached her ears and she froze.
“I hear footsteps.”
He stilled, listening. “Farnsworth. I think—he’s about halfway down the passage now.”
“Oh, God!” Margaret sat bolt upright, clutching the sheet to her. Even with the bedcurtains drawn, she couldn’t hope to escape detection indefinitely—not to mention that Gervase’s valet was sharper than most. “I never meant to stay so long—”
Gervase put his arm around her. “Don’t panic, chérie.”
She pushed away his arm. “Easier said than done! When I think about what happened last night, with Alicia—”
“There’s no comparison, darling—heart up!” He gave her shoulders a little bracing squeeze before releasing her. “You’re hardly the first to be caught unawares. Go into my dressing room—through that door—and I’ll get you out as soon as possible.”
Margaret hurtled out of bed, catching up her robe and flinging it on as she went. The dressing room smelled pleasantly of shaving soap and Gervase’s cologne. Arousal spiked through her at the latter scent, but she forced it back, leaning against the door and listening with bated breath as Farnsworth entered his master’s chamber.
“Good morning, my lord,” the valet began. “I’ve brought your morning coffee.”
“Thank you, Farnsworth.” Amazingly, Gervase sounded as serene and unruffled as ever. “Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas to you as well, my lord. By the fire, as usual?”
“Yes, that will be fine.”
In an agony of suspense, Margaret strained her ears as Farnsworth moved about the chamber with brisk efficiency. She heard the clink of china and silver, could imagine coffee and toast being set out. Once or twice, the valet ventured some remark that she could not quite make out, and Gervase’s replies were likewise inaudible.
Finally, the clinking ceased, and she began to relax. Gervase was clever, no doubt he’d come up with some pretext to send Farnsworth out of the room so she could make her escape.
Then the valet spoke again, every syllable clear and distinct. “Shall I—bring more toast, my lord? And perhaps a pot of chocolate?”
Margaret tensed against the door, her face burning and her mind racing in frantic circles. How on earth had he guessed?
Gervase paused for only a fraction of a second, then, “That sounds... like an excellent idea, Farnsworth. Thank you.”
“Very good, my lord.”
She heard the chamber door close again, waited a few minutes more, then opened the dressing room door the barest crack and listened intently.
“I believe it’s safe to come out now, darling,” Gervase announced with perfect composure, as if hiding women in his dressing room were quite an everyday occurrence.
Peering around the door, Margaret found him gazing back at her, his mouth crooked in that familiar half-smile, his grey eyes alight with sardonic amusement. Odious man.
Expelling a pent-up breath, she demanded, “How did he—”
“This, at a guess.” Gervase held out one of her unmistakably feminine slippers. “My apologies for the oversight, Cinderella.”
She made a face at him, tugged on the slipper, and went in search of its mate, which she located under the bed. Shod again, she sank down onto the mattress with a distressed moan. “I don’t know how I’m going to look your valet in the face again!”
“If I can, then so can you,” Gervase retorted, coming to sit beside her. “They say that no man is a hero to his valet, and by now, I suspect my life is an open book to Farnsworth. Besides,” he added bracingly, “he appears to have twigged to your presence, so why not stay a while longer? Otherwise a perfectly good pot of chocolate will be going to waste. And Farnsworth will likely have a private word with your maid, so she won’t be alarmed by your absence.”
“Don’t you think I’m a bit underdressed for the occasion?” Margaret reminded him.
He studied her with a lingering appreciation that both warmed and flustered her. “I wouldn’t say that, necessarily.” Then, at her exasperated glare, he relented. “Very well. You can borrow one of my old nightshirts—there should be some in that chest-of-drawers.”
The nightshirt was soft and limp with age, but fragrant with lavender; more importantly, it covered everything of her that needed to be covered. She also plaited her hair again, so she was quite decently arrayed when Farnsworth returned with another tray.
“Lady Bellamy has accepted my invitation to take some early morning refreshment,” Gervase informed him with unshakable aplomb, as he and Margaret seated themselves at the small table by the fire.
“Very good, my lord.” Farnsworth’s sang-froid was clearly a match for his master’s. “Toast and chocolate, Lady Bellamy?” he inquired with perfect courtesy.
“Thank you,” Margaret replied, trying to sound as composed as the men. As Farnsworth set the plate and the chocolate pot before her, she found herself wondering if he’d ever waited like this upon other women who might have shared Gervase’s bed? She felt what she knew to be a completely unreasonable stab of jealousy at the thought and hastily suppressed it.
Pas devant les domestiques. While Gervase had assured her of his valet’s discretion, it seemed prudent not to add fuel to the fire by acting clingy or possessive.
Once Farnsworth had served her, he withdrew into Gervase’s dressing room, closing the door behind him. Margaret flushed, despite knowing that she had left no trace of her presence in that inner sanctum. Hiding her lingering embarrassment, she took a sip of the rich chocolate, nibbled at the lavishly buttered toast.
“Is everything to your satisfaction?” Gervase inquired, sounding almost anxious.
“Everything’s fine, thank you,” she assured her. “And your valet is a marvel of efficiency. I wonder how he knew to offer chocolate instead of tea.”
“Farnswoth is nothing if not observant. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d somehow learned all the guests’ preferences during his time at Denforth.”
“Sounds like a servant worth his weight in gold,” she remarked.
His eyes crinkled. “Indeed. Which is about what I pay to keep him in my employ. More toast?” He nudged the rack closer to her.
They ate and drank in companionable silence, broken now and then by desultory conversation. There was something almost delightfully decadent, Margaret reflected, about this early morning interlude with her lover. Alex had always been too busy about the estate to linger abed in the mornings, and while she’d admired his energy and dedication, she’d sometimes felt a bit wistful that he seldom stayed with her once he was awake. Would Gervase be the sort to let his wife breakfast alone? She knew he worked hard at his profession, so perhaps he too would be similarly hard to hold once the sun rose.
“Do you rise this early in London?” she asked.
“More or less. There’s usually something to be done at the office. But even when there’s not, I find I rather enjoy the earliest part of the day because it’s so peaceful and unspoiled. Although,” Gervase paused, his expression pensive, then resumed almost diffidently, “I find that even the loveliest morning is the better for... someone to share it with.”
Warmth shimmered through her at his words. “As it happens, I quite agree with you,” she managed to get out, then added more lightly, “Although we should enjoy the peace while it lasts, because I suspect the children will be stirring at any moment. Remember how we used to be on Christmas morning?”
Gervase groaned. “One occasion when Denforth never seems big enough to hold us all! But seriously, belle amie,” he sent her a smile over his coffee cup, “the chaos of Christmas notwithstanding, I could grow accustomed to mornings like this one.”
She smiled back at him and gave his hand a brief squeeze. “So could I, dear friend.”
Much to Margaret’s relief, no whisper of Alicia’s indiscretion appeared to have circulated, and she offered silent thanks to heaven that Gervase had judged his brother’s response accurately. Otherwise, Christmas morning turned out to be as noisy and tumultuous as she had predicted. Once awake, the children proved unstoppable, rooting through their laden stockings and gleefully tearing open brightly wrapped parcels, while their parents—roused earlier than they might have preferred—attempted to smile and stay awake. While Simon and Oliver were too young to participate in this ritual, Richenda, Harry, and Beatrice more than compensated for their siblings’ absence, chattering like magpies as they opened their gifts, littering the floor of the Great Hall with shreds of paper and coils of ribbon.
Harry fell upon his rocking-horse with a jubilant shout and immediately started to ride for “Banbury Cross.” Richenda grew wide-eyed over her toy theater, examining every prop and costume that came with it. Madeline was no less captivated, and mother and daughter were soon engaged in moving the “actors” about in miniature dramas. While Beatrice divided her attention between a skipping-rope and a doll almost as big as she was, with eyes that opened and closed.
The adults opened their own gifts more sedately, but with just as much pleasure. Margaret had purchased cashmere shawls for the women and woolen mufflers for the men. Still, even practical gifts could be handsome—and she’d taken particular pains over Gervase’s scarf, choosing a deep blue with a narrow stripe of silver-grey. He’d not got round to opening it yet, but she looked forward to seeing how the colors would complement his changeable eyes.
Meanwhile, Gervase was giving books to most members of his family. Smiling over the memory of his gift to her five Christmases ago, Margaret felt certain that he’d picked the ideal title for each of them. Hadn’t Jason, of all people, commended his brother’s gift-giving ability?
“Open this, please, Meg?” Alicia, her new blue-and-cream cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders, had come to sit beside her and was holding out a large parcel. “Happy Christmas.”
The diminutive reassured Margaret more than anything that their tentative peace was still in place. She was likewise relieved by Alicia’s apparent composure this morning—Berthe had successfully repaired the damage from last night’s storm of tears—though she noticed that her sister avoided glancing in Reg’s direction, at the far end of the Great Hall. “Happy Christmas, dearest,” she replied, and began to unwrap her gift.
From a nest of tissue wrappings, she lifted one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever seen—of lush silk-velvet in a rich shade of emerald green. “Oh, Alicia, this is just—”
“It’s cut in the very latest style,” her sister explained. “So there’s hardly any bustle, though it does have a bit of a train. I thought—perhaps, you might want to wear it tonight, at the party? It ought to fit,” she added, “I asked Tilda to send me your current measurements before I ordered it from Monsieur Worth, though there’s still a little time to alter it, if necessary.”
“It’s lovely, dearest,” Margaret assured her. “Exquisite. And I should be delighted to wear it tonight.” She kissed her sister’s delicately perfumed cheek.
Alicia relaxed and smiled with all her old sweetness. “And there are slippers to match, exactly. Paris can’t be bettered for that sort of thing!”
“Mais, oui,” Margaret agreed in an exaggerated French accent, and Alicia rolled her eyes.
They laughed together, and Margaret saw Gervase glance in their direction and smile.
Alicia demurely excused herself a moment later, saying she hadn’t given Madeline and Elaine their presents yet, and once she’d withdrawn, Gervase strolled up to Margaret.
“So, all’s well, then?” he inquired, taking the chair her sister had just vacated.
“Better, at least. And she gave me the most beautiful gown to wear tonight, at the party.” Folding back the wrappings, she allowed him a glimpse of the green velvet, and saw his eyes brighten most gratifyingly.
“I look forward to seeing you in it.” From his breast pocket, he drew out a small parcel that was decidedly not a book. “And perhaps—you can find an occasion to wear this as well.”
Margaret caught her breath as he handed her the box. Because it was a box—she could tell that through the brown paper wrapping—and from its size and shape, it most likely held...
“Ah, there you are!” Juliana’s voice hailed them gaily. “Just the two I was looking for!”
Annoyance flashed across Gervase’s face but was quickly suppressed. Dropping his gift into the hanging pocket of her dress, Margaret strove for a similar expression of polite interest.
“Are we indeed? Dare I ask the reason, Ju?” Gervase inquired with resignation.
“Because your Christmas presents are becoming impatient.”
Despite her apprehension, Margaret had to smile when Juliana placed a wicker basket on her brother’s lap—a basket that quivered noticeably once she set it down.
He examined it dubiously. “Should I open this, or drop it down the nearest well?”
“You do, and I’ll never speak to you again!” Juliana retorted, glaring at him.
Still keeping a wary eye on the basket, he lifted the lid. And Margaret was not in the least surprised by the sound that emerged—or the head that now appeared over the basket’s rim.
Gervase regarded his present in silence for a moment, then gave an almost imperceptible sigh and extended a hand. The ginger kitten with the propensity for high places mewed imperiously and swiped at it, though Margaret could see that his claws were retracted.
“I thought you might do very well together,” Juliana explained, her face the picture of innocence. “You’re already acquainted, after all.”
Gervase surveyed the kitten, who had seized his forefinger in two tiny paws and was pretending to bite it. “Feste,” he said at last. “If you’re going to insist on playing the fool like that. And clearly you require someone to keep an eye on you before you run through all your nine lives at record speed.”
Margaret consulted the pocket watch she wore on a pretty braided chain. “Well under five minutes,” she observed. “You’re growing soft in your old age, dear friend.”
“Soft in the head, it would appear.” Gervase gently disengaged his finger and ran it between Feste’s ears in a brief stroke before lowering the basket lid again over the kitten’s squeak of protest. “Go back to sleep, little pest, and dream of fresh mischief.”
Juliana grinned outright and produced another basket, which she handed to Margaret.
This kitten was female, a dainty little thing with bright green eyes and tortoiseshell and white patches that reminded Margaret of motley. “Touchstone,” she decided, lifting her new pet out and cuddling her close. “Your name is Touchstone.”
The kitten appeared to have no objection, turning three times in Margaret’s lap before settling into a softly purring heap.
Gervase’s lips twitched. “That one’s clearly no fool, in spite of the name!” He glanced at the basket that housed Feste. “Perhaps he can learn a thing or two from his sister.”
“All brothers could stand to learn a thing or two from their sisters,” Juliana remarked pointedly. “And I’m glad to see that someone appreciates my gift properly!”
He favored her with a wry smile. “Well, life with this one certainly won’t be boring. So thank you for that at least, brat.”
“Hmmph.” Juliana put her nose in the air but looked slightly mollified all the same.
Just then, the duke, who’d been in and out of the Great Hall for much of the morning, strode back in, bringing with him a swirl of winter wind and a palpable air of satisfaction.
“If I may have everyone’s attention,” he began, smiling broadly. “Another present—a very important present—is being delivered in the courtyard at this very moment. And I would appreciate all of you coming out to see it.”
Curious murmurs and speculative glances greeted his announcement, and the duchess shook her head indulgently. “You’re as big a schoolboy at Christmas as any I’ve seen, Harold.”
He flashed her an unrepentant grin, not denying it. “But you will come, my lady?”
“But of course.” She rose like a queen from her throne. “We shall all come.”
And such was her presence that no one even considered declining. Instead, they rose practically as one to follow the Whitboroughs from the Great Hall.
The first thing Gervase saw as they trooped out to the courtyard was one of the Denforth grooms standing before the front steps, holding the reins of a horse. A hunter, to be precise, at least fifteen hands high, its chestnut coat gleaming richly in the pallid winter sunlight.
A sharp exhale behind him drew his gaze to Reg, surprising a look of hope, even longing, on his older brother’s face, such as he had not seen in years.
Oh. Enlightenment dawned with breathtaking swiftness. But before he or Reg could utter a word, their father’s voice rang out jovially in the still morning air, “Jason, come down and meet your Christmas present!”