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December 22, 1821
Archewyne Hall
Kent, England
“Bloody hell!”
Emmaline Hawkins, Countess of Archewyne, glanced up at the sound of her husband’s aggravated shout, and she smiled, barely tamping the urge to laugh at his difficulties. Currently, he conducted a weird, stilt-legged dance to avoid both the nearly six-month-old Charles on the ground as well as five geese—three white and two gray—meandering around them.
“Is there an issue, my love?” She drew the soft folds of her rabbit fur-lined cloak about her body and smiled at the baby, who grinned so wide the first tooth on his bottom gum line showed. Her heart fluttered. Every day that went by she fell more in love with the little boy. He was her miracle child when she assumed she could never bear children.
From beside her, five-year-old Jane, the daughter she’d been glad to mother upon her marriage the to the earl last spring, gasped. “Papa used vulgarity,” she said in a hushed whisper. Her golden curls, beneath a smart red velvet bonnet, gleamed in the weak morning sunshine. “Say you are sorry, Papa.” Her blue eyes grew round. She shook out the skirt of her matching red velvet dress. “It is not proper to say words like that in front of ladies.”
“I am trying my level best to make certain there is no problem,” Miles, the fifth Earl of Archewyne, snapped in response to Emmaline while he once more danced around to avoid stepping upon the life teeming at his boots. “As for my choice of words, well...” He shot a glance at his daughter, the child from his first marriage, and his expression softened. “There are times, poppet, when a person is under undue stress. Such things happen, but you are correct. They are not to be used in conversation or during dinner, or in front of proper ladies.” Then he snickered and ruined the serious air he’d tried to cultivate as he looked once more to Emmaline. “Unless those proper ladies are the more adventurous sort.”
“Imp,” she mouthed to him. It was well known throughout their households that she, herself, used such vulgarity on occasion. “But then, some women aren’t proper all the time, are they?”
“No, indeed, and thank the heavens for that,” he rejoined with a wide grin.
Was there any wonder why she was so gloriously in love with her husband?
Miles cleared his throat. “Regardless, little girls have no business saying such things.”
“I understand, Papa.” Jane nodded. A studious air befell her. “I should not say ‘bloody hell’ in front of my governess, even when she wants me to work sums and I do not wish to?”
“Never in front of your governess.” Miles pressed his lips together but his coffee-hued eyes twinkled with mirth.
Merciful heavens, the child grew more precocious with each passing day. I simply must ask Miss Wickham how she’s getting on. In the last month or so, they’d hired the young woman to the post, and as yet it was too early in the process to tell how she and Jane would mesh. Perhaps the girl would run the woman off; perhaps the governess would prove her mettle. Only time would tell.
Emmaline took pity on her husband and his distress even as she battled the urge to laugh out loud. “You should pick Charles up. I dislike the thought of him becoming muddy.” Though it was three days before Christmas and the weather was chilly, it had yet to snow. The grasses covering the rolling acreage surrounding Archewyne Hall still retained their greenish color due to more rain than any other precipitation.
“The boy wiggles too much for me to hold him properly, but for you, darling, I will do anything.”
“He is beginning to show his personality, as expected. I know you will prevail though.”
“Perhaps.” Inevitably, he stepped upon a goose foot. A loud honk rang out in the morning calm, followed by a hiss from the offended fowl. “Devil take these geese! Why must they choose me as their leader? What do I know of being a country bird?”
“Well, neither are you a city peacock, my dear.” Emmaline unsuccessfully stifled an unladylike snort. Poor Miles. He was doing his level best to maintain decorum and was failing miserably in the attempt.
One of the adult geese had a handful of goslings in late June, but the earl, in an effort to assuage his curiosity, was there when they hatched. The birds imprinted on him. Now the six-month-old geese followed him everywhere each time they happened to see them. To them, Miles was one of the flock, and they especially liked him. There had been times when he went to the stables to ride about his estate that he often returned with his feathered honor guard, much to his chagrin and the mirth of the stable lads. Once, a few of the feathered companions had intruded as far as the kitchens in an effort to follow him into the house. Cook had chased them out with a broom.
Miles shot her a smoldering glance. “Shall I preen for you? Mayhap you’d revise your opinion.”
She did snort then. “Indeed.”
“Do remember we were talking about the geese,” he reminded her with annoyance thick in his voice. “Which is our current issue.”
“I would hardly call them an issue. They are more like an adorable addition to our family.” Her lips twitched. “Besides, you were the one who wished to bring the children and yourself out here. I could have simply done the errand with Cook and been back before you realized I was gone. Some of this is your responsibility.” It was such fun teasing him.
As a family, they had set out for the duck and chicken pens kept on the country estate in Kent. From beside her, the cook chuckled with indulgence, for she had invited Emmaline to accompany her on the mission—selecting the goose for Christmas dinner. The woman had known Miles since he was a boy, and she carried a soft spot for him. Miles, once he’d discovered the trip, had decided with alacrity that the family as a whole would venture out of doors.
“I don’t mind the master’s company, my lady,” Cook said with shining eyes. “As a lad, he often ran about the estate, getting up to mischief and begging me for sweets. He and his brother were first-rate troublemakers. This is like the old times when I’d have to shoo him from my kitchen.”
“Those sweets were worth being chased off by your broom, Cook,” Miles assured the servant. “What you say is all true enough, Emmaline.” He scooped up the baby and held him in one arm. The folds of his gray greatcoat swallowed the child while the feathered personal escorts remained about his feet. Soft honking filtered through the small flock. One of the white geese stepped upon Miles’ boot. “In my defense, I wish the children to have a robust education that transcends the schoolroom. Both of our childhoods were supplemented with adventure. Our children shall have the same.”
“I believe we are doing splendid in that regard.” Once the children were older, she and Miles would take them on trips abroad, for there was no greater education than traveling the world and finding life therein. “However, it would be more prudent of you to explain your wish to observe traditional Christmastide games and festivities to Jane instead of letting her and Charles muck about in the dirt. They do not know why we are in Kent. Jane, especially, had hoped to be with her friends in Town during the holiday.”
“Since I am holding the baby and Jane is standing beside you, they are hardly mucking in the dirt or anywhere else.” He winked at her. “Regardless, you are correct in this too.” With a shift of his focus to his daughter, he held out his free hand. “Come, Jane. While Mama and Cook pick out a few unfortunate fowls, let me tell you of Christmastide from my childhood.”
Emmaline nodded. “I shall join you shortly.” Then she turned to the steel-haired cook. “Perhaps we should get on with it before the earl changes his mind and orders us all back to the house. Or worse, expects you to show Jane how to dispatch a bird.”
“He always was a restless sort.” Cook led the way toward a low, stone building with a thatched roof not far off. A door opened in a cottage nearby, and a slim woman stood in its frame, a hand raised. “Never liked to stay in one place for long.”
“It would seem he hasn’t mastered that urge.” Emmaline frowned. She waved back at the poulteress. Perhaps they should have remained in Town for the holiday season after all. At least in London, there would be enough entertainment to keep Miles occupied and enough companionship to help ward off loneliness.
“And so he shouldn’t,” Cook murmured. “The master is just fine as he is.”
“I quite agree.” Emmaline patted the woman’s arm lest she think the words were a slight against the earl. Perhaps it was best to drop the subject. “How many geese will we need?”
“One for the earl’s Christmas dinner. Two for the servants’ Christmas dinner and one to be delivered to the tenant of the earl’s choice on Boxing Day.”
“Excellent. Let’s see which birds will suit, then you can come out of this chill.”
The cook bobbed her head. The lace on her cap fluttered. “Much appreciated. The cold isn’t good for my bones, that’s what. Nothing a nice hot toddy won’t cure.”
Twenty minutes later, the birds had been selected. Emmaline bid good day to the cook and the poulteress, then she rambled over the grounds until she found her family. They walked through a meadow, heading toward the east, their progress marked through the longish grass. A few hardy wildflowers yet bloomed, for the frosts hadn’t come. It was the long way around the property and eventually they would reach Archewyne Hall, but for now, the exercise was welcomed and provided a level of privacy they were seldom afforded.
“My brother and I used to search over the acreage for fir boughs and the elusive mistletoe,” Miles was saying to the children. He pointed at a copse of thick trees not far off from their current location. “If we’re lucky, we might find mistletoe there still. And if your mama has her way—and she usually does—we’ll have an evergreen tree in our parlor. It’s quite a popular tradition in the Bavarian region.”
“What did you do with that mistletoe, Papa?” Jane’s bonnet had fallen back and hung from around her neck by its ribbons. A few flyaway tendrils and curls of her golden hair escaped the braids wound around her head like a gleaming coronet.
“We hung the fir boughs over all the doorways. In the drawing room and parlor, we tacked the mistletoe.” Miles’ dark eyes twinkled. “Even as children, we tried to trick young ladies into kissing us.”
Jane’s eyes widened as she listened to the story. “Why did you want a kiss?”
“The tales go that if a young woman finds herself beneath a sprig of mistletoe, a young man in the room can give her a kiss. It is the one time such behavior is allowed.”
“I see.” The little girl nodded. She scratched her head. “I do not wish for a kiss from a boy, Papa.”
“Excellent stance,” he agreed and looked up as Emmaline drew near. “You probably shouldn’t worry about such things until you’re my age.” His chuckle rang with indulgence and a tinge of anxiety. Poor man. He already worried about her Coming Out. “In fact, I don’t even recommend your mama attempt standing beneath mistletoe, for I should be the only man allowed to kiss her.”
Even after all this time in his company, brief heat flared in Emmaline’s cheeks. He was protective and territorial. It was as endearing, for she felt the same way. “Never worry, my love. Yours are the lips I crave.”
“Because he is your brave knight, right, Mama?” Jane’s inquiry brought out a smile in both her parents. Quite by accident, the designation of knight to princess had been bandied about shortly after she’d been introduced to the girl. Jane, being as precocious as she was, assumed it was part and parcel of their lives, and the whole romance between her parents. She had accepted it as fact. Emmaline hoped she would keep those ideals as she grew and would court them when it became time for her to form relationships of her own.
“I am that, poppet.” Miles patted the girl’s head. He met Emmaline’s gaze with a grin that woke the butterflies in her belly. They’d been married nine months and being with him was as exciting as it ever had been. “I will forever be your rescuer, Emmy.” The baby squirmed in his arms and he looked at the child. “Learn how to be a dashing hero, my boy. Sometimes the ladies lead us into trouble.” He tweaked the boy’s nose. “They require our insight to help them out of a bumblebroth occasionally.”
Charles laughed and then stuffed a fist into his mouth.
“And sometimes, the lady adventurers need to rescue their knights,” Emmaline reminded them both. She had experienced amazing and incredible things in her life, but being here in Kent with her little family was the absolute best. “That is how it should be. An equal balance of power.”
“Well.” Jane propped her hands on her hips. “I do not like kissing, so I will not go beneath the mistletoe. You and mama can do that. I enjoy watching because you are pretty when you do.”
Miles cleared his throat. “I suppose there is that.” He looked to Emmaline once more and they both shrugged.
Jane reached out and touched one of the geese on its back, giggling when it darted away. “Father Christmas will come and we will feast.”
“Yes.” Emmaline nodded. Did the girl understand that most of poultry raised on the property would grace a table at one time or another? “No doubt we shall also play games and dance and generally have a gay time.” She sighed, for it was the first time she would spend the Christmastide season on her home soil of England. All other years had seen her flung the world over, with first her parents proclivity for wintering in Egypt, and then with her husbands as they continued the adventure. Even last Christmas with Miles had been spent abroad in Italy, where they’d kept the spirit of the holiday stranded in the hill country surrounding Mount Vesuvius after an earthquake.
“You and Papa may dance.” Jane waved a hand, dismissing the conversation. “That is for grownups. Charles and I will play and adventure.” She glanced up from the geese. “Now that he can crawl, it is more fun.”
“I imagine that it is.” Emmaline rested her gloved fingertips over her lips to hide her smile lest the girl think she made jest of her. “Regardless, we shall decorate Archewyne Hall. I’m told there are boxes of glass trinkets and baubles as well as tin bells in the attics from your papa’s childhood. It shall be a wonderful time.”
“And don’t forget the Yule log we will have brought in, or the mummers that are scheduled to entertain on Christmas Eve.” Miles set the boy down in the grass. The child promptly began crawling toward the geese that milled about the earl’s feet. “For the first time in a long while, I am looking forward to Christmastide, even if some of the traditions are a touch old-fashioned.”
“I do hope so, Papa.” Jane bounced her gaze between Emmaline and Miles. “If we must stay in England, Christmas will be our adventure.” The girl turned back to the geese, and when Charles crawled after the feathered fowl, Jane set out after in pursuit.
“I’m beginning to realize we will soon be at sixes and sevens in regards to our daughter. I pray we have the fortitude to survive the chase she will lead us on.” Miles held out a hand to her.
The fact that he referred to Jane as “their” daughter never failed to swell her chest with pride. “I quite agree, but then, did you really think a child of ours would be meek and mild or biddable?” She slipped her fingers into his palm and he closed his hand around hers.
“I did not. Please remind me of this when she is seventeen and has a bevy of suitors filling our parlor.”
“I shall do my best.” Though she hoped Jane would possess a streak of independence and change life around her, she didn’t look forward to the battle of wills that was sure to come. Yet, there was the hope as well that since she and Miles were progressive enough, Jane’s transition to womanhood would happen without incident.
“It is too early to worry about such things, for it would spoil our enjoyment of her now.” His grin chased away the chill and promised wicked things later. “Did you finish your errand with Cook?”
“Yes, and a handful of fine birds will make the sacrifice for our celebrations.” With a tiny sigh, she let him pull her into an embrace. Never would she tire of being held in her husband’s arms. “Our Christmastime promises to be as cozy as I dreamed it would.” She looped her arms loosely about his shoulders as the sound of their children’s delighted laughter echoed in the air. “The only thing that would make the holiday perfect would be snow.”
Miles glanced at the sky where fat, gray clouds scudded across the heavens. “I’m not certain about snow, sweeting, but we’ll undoubtedly have rain.”
“Mayhap Father Christmas will bring snow with him,” Jane suggested with the stars of imagination twinkling in her blue eyes.
“It remains to be seen,” Miles agreed as he returned his focus to Emmaline. “If I had the power to control the heavens, I would give you the snow you desire.”
“Being with you and the children is enough.” She burrowed into his warmth and his arms tightened about her. “After everything we’ve been through, I couldn’t ask for more. I intend to enjoy every moment we’re afforded without drama or peril interrupting our peace.”
He slipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head until their gazes met. “It will be a glorious stepping stone to new adventures,” he whispered seconds before he claimed her lips in a series of gentle, teasing kisses.
Just when tiny flames licked through her blood and tingles played up and down her spine, Emmaline pulled away. “As much as I would like nothing more than to continue this interlude, we must conduct ourselves with some discretion. The children are nearby.”
“Hang discretion.” He took another kiss.
“Language, dear.” But she smiled and her heart beat a little faster.
“Perhaps later tonight then,” he said in a low voice that reverberated in her chest. “I do so adore unwrapping you, and I cannot think of a better gift.”
Emmaline shivered, whether from the chill in the air or his words, she couldn’t say. She pressed a kiss to the tip of his chin. “I would like nothing more than a midnight rendezvous.”
Yes, life was indeed as close to perfect as she could make it.