| |
December 22nd
“Are you quite certain you will be all right in the attics, Lady Archewyne?” Willoughby asked as Emmaline, Miles and Jonathan took a leisurely breakfast the next day.
“Oh, yes. I’ll take Jane with me, but thank you for your concern.” She dabbed her lips with her linen napkin as she looked at the butler. As if it were the most important duty, the older man carried a glass carafe of coffee to the table and refilled Miles’ cup. Then he moved on to Jonathan and finally her. She declined any more of the brew. “Actually, Willoughby, I might enjoy your company as well. No doubt you know where the decorations from Miles’ youth are stored.”
“Oh, I am afraid I couldn’t possibly accompany you,” the older man hedged as he returned to the sideboard.
“Capital idea, Emmy.” Miles cut through a piece of hamsteak. “Willoughby, it’s just the task for you. Then we will both stop worrying about the countess’ safety.”
With significant willpower, Emmaline stopped herself from rolling her eyes.
“Very well, my lord.” The butler’s smile took years off his face. His faded brown eyes twinkled. “I would be honored, my lady. Once my chores here are seen to, I’ll join you.”
As he quit the room, Miles nudged her leg beneath the table with his knee. Tingles of warmth raced up her limb. “You have quite a knack, my dear.”
She furrowed her forehead. “A knack for what?”
“For making everyone around you feel at ease and giving them a purpose.” Miles chewed a bit of ham, and after he swallowed, he forged ahead, “You do it all the time, and with such aplomb, I doubt you realize it.” He grinned and wiped his mouth. “It’s one of the first things I noticed about you upon renewing our acquaintance and one of the reasons why I love you.”
“Pish posh, Miles.” But she smiled from his praise. “I merely enjoy talking with everyone around me, and I do consider Willoughby part of the family, as is everyone on our staff.” It was a forward-thinking idea, to be certain. Where many members of the peerage didn’t give even a passing care to their servants, Emmaline rather thought things in life would come to a crashing halt without the work of those good people. And there was no reason to treat one man or woman better than another based only on class separation.
“You are a good woman, Emmy.” Miles continued to eat his eggs.
Jonathan nodded. He neatly cut his own hamsteak. “It is the truth, Lady Archewyne. Not many are as accommodating or caring as you in the ton. I have seen domestics treated horribly, regardless of the company present at a function. England would be a better place if you could but teach compassion.”
“I do what I can.” After pushing her mostly untouched plate away, Emmaline glanced at her husband. “Will you come with me to search out your childhood trinkets?”
“As much as I would adore such a mind-numbing errand, I do, fortunately, have other plans.” His smirk pulled another grin from her. “Hudson and I have important work to finalize before Christmas.” He held up a hand. “Don’t ask me about it, for I cannot tell you. It’s a secret I’m already hard-pressed not to tell you.”
“Ah, the mysterious project.” She wrapped her hands around her still-warm mug of coffee. “I understand, though I may try to tease it out of you later.”
A faint flush rose over his cravat. “None of that now.” He looked at Jonathan who studiously ignored them both in favor of shoveling food into his mouth. Then Miles regarded her, this time with an expression of concern. “Are you feeling up to snuff?”
“I am fine. Why?”
One of his eyebrows sailed upward. “Never say you’re increasing again.” Was that... hope winking deep in the dark depths of his eyes?
“Miles!” Heat jumped into her cheeks.
“Good God, man,” Jonathan spat, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Do you have an inkling of what proper meal time conversation should be?” He threw the linen square down. “There are other people present who have no desire to hear about your wish to expand your nursery. It should be discussed privately with your wife.”
“It’s not a wish, per say, since Charles was unexpected. It wouldn’t do to tempt fate overly much, but I wouldn’t begrudge the new life if it were to happen.” The earl calmly continued with his breakfast as though nothing untoward had occurred. “What?” he asked when they continued to stare at him with varying degrees of astonishment. “I assumed we were close enough friends that this topic wouldn’t be a shock.”
“I... You... It would always be a shock, Archewyne, and never proper with any sort of company, no matter how close.” Emmaline gawked at him as her mind spun. Did that mean he wanted another baby, now when their lives were finally settling into some semblance of a pattern? She sent an apologetic look to the viscount. He rolled his eyes. Finally, she huffed. “I am not increasing. Whatever gave you that impression?” She smoothed a hand along her stomach. Her figure might not be exactly what it was before she was delivered from Charles but it wasn’t hideous either. Dear God, did Miles want more children when she wasn’t certain she could bear another babe? Charles had indeed been a surprise miracle. And if she could not, would he forever be disappointed?
“The last time you were with child, you didn’t have an appetite early on in the process.” He shrugged and chased the last bits of food around his plate with his fork. “You did not eat much of your meal.” Miles pointed to her plate with his knife once he’d taken his final bite.
“Oh.” Emmaline pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. “Rest assured, my appetite has fled this time around due to my excitement regarding Christmas.” She stood. “I’m going to find Jane and then adjourn to the attics.” And hopefully collect my wits.
Jonathan scrambled to his feet. “I believe I will accompany you.”
“You are not going with Miles on his mysterious errand?”
“Not a chance. I’ve had rather enough of the earl for one morning.” He grinned at Miles. “I cannot hear him wax romantic again over what he’s planning for your Christmas gift. He’s already nauseating enough with his lovesick musings.”
“Can I help it if I love my wife?” Miles drained the remainder of his coffee from his cup and then set it onto the table.
“No, but you can talk about your wonderful life together less in my presence.” The viscount came around the table and pounced, catching Miles in a headlock. “I fondly remember the days when I tried to coax you out of your townhouse and accompany me to the clubs. Before you went soft.”
“Soft?” Miles grappled with Jonathan, much like they probably had in their early days of friendship. “You are mistaken if you assume love doesn’t build a man up.”
Emmaline snorted as her husband pushed out of his friend’s hold. “Leave him alone, Jonathan. He’s adorable, and I like him that way. I love that he holds the spirit of Christmas in his person this year.” It was a big change from the man she met in that long-ago library.
Then she fled upstairs to the nursery, her mind crowded with confusing thoughts of expanding their family.
“Mama, does Papa enjoy Christmas?” Jane wanted to know as Emmaline sorted through a trunk. Jonathan sat on the floor five feet away, looking through a chest.
“It appears, this year especially, your father is excited for the holiday.” There was nothing except clothing in the trunk, ancient, delicate things probably from the early days of Miles’ parents’ marriage.
“Is Papa Father Christmas?”
“No, pet, he is merely exuberant about the season.” Emmaline smiled as she drew forth a christening gown, now yellowed with age. Dear God, did this belong to Miles or to his brother? Perhaps both had worn it. A throb of longing went through her and her mind fell to the earlier conversation. I don’t know if another baby will be possible. None of her carnal couplings with Miles since Charles came into their lives had resulted in a pregnancy. Perhaps the boy was the only child she would carry. Would Miles resent that eventually? When she realized Jane waited on an answer, she sighed. “I think it’s because he feels thankful this year in light of everything that has happened to him—to us as a family.”
“Because of all the adventures and the men who hurt you and Papa?” Jane fingered the christening gown and then left Emmaline’s side for Jonathan’s.
“Yes, exactly.” She replaced the dress and closed the lid on the trunk. The memories contained therein were for another day. As would the concerns over their family keep. “Any luck over there, Jonathan?”
“I believe this box is but one you’re searching for.” He pulled out a brace of harness bells. Their ring and tinkle through the airy space immediately gave the impression of sleigh rides and snow-filled forests. “Perhaps this can be put on a door.”
Jane immediately delved into the box. “Let me look.”
Emmaline stood, shook out her skirts and then moved to a different leather-bound trunk. “I’m glad you’re here,” she told the viscount. “After that comment by my husband at breakfast, I’m feeling out of sorts and didn’t wish to be alone with my thoughts.” With something as simple—and complex—as the mention of another child, her perfect Christmastide season had dimmed.
“I wouldn’t worry about Archewyne, my lady. You know as well as I that he’s quite content in his life.” He tugged a glass ball from the box. Inside, spangles and glitter acted as snow upon a tiny painted couple who appeared to ice-skate. “Talks of nothing except how proud and fortunate he is with his children. That’s when he’s not making me ill with his doting upon you.” The viscount snorted. “Really, the man needs saving from himself.”
“Papa likes us,” Jane told the man with a pat to his knee. “If you would stop being a growly bear, you would like us too.”
Both the viscount and Emmaline laughed. Jonathan smiled at the girl. “How can you think I don’t like you, no matter if I’m grumpy or not?”
Jane didn’t answer. Her attention was occupied with a multitude of red satin bows she was removing from the box.
As Emmaline knelt beside the trunk and opened it, she asked, “Was Miles always such a devotee of Yuletide celebrations? I’m curious, for last year, even though we were Italy, he made certain Jane had a special day with what we had around us.”
“Archewyne has always been fascinated by Christmas.” Jonathan had no choice but to hold the countless tin bells and red bows Jane kept handing him from the box. “Once, the first year we’d signed on as agents just after the war concluded, we were holed up at Rathesborne’s country estate near Cornwall. He’d invited his team out for the Christmastide season as an introduction of sorts, but a damned storm blew up from the sea and put a damper on everything.”
“This was before he’d met Constance?”
“Yes.” A small grin curved Jonathan’s lips. “Actually, he would go on from that party to meet her shortly after, once we returned to London. I never thought he’d settle down so soon, but he was always one for romance.”
A twinge of jealousy speared through her even though she was married to the man in question and enjoyed a beautiful life with him. It was silly to feel thusly; they each had their pasts. “What happened during the storm?”
“Archewyne insisted we play a plethora of asinine games to dispel the gloomy atmosphere. After that, he cajoled the duke into wassailing about the village even though the rain was fierce.”
Emmaline’s jaw dropped. “Did you go?” She unearthed a stack of red linen-bound caroling books. Perhaps these were the very ones Jonathan spoke of.
“Oh, we went all right. Put enough rum and brandy-laced tea into a man and he’ll do anything anyone suggests.” He laughed as his eyes went soft at the memories. “We were so much in our cups, we barely noticed the chill or the wetness, but the villagers appreciated our efforts, off key as they were.”
“Miles sang?”
“He’s the only one of us who has control of pitch.” Jonathan shifted and one of the bells fell to the floor with a faint peal. “Now that I’m talking about it, I haven’t heard Archewyne sing since that night. A couple of years later, he and Constance were married. He resigned his position as an agent in order to spend time with her and Jane, who was an infant.”
“And then disaster befell his family. He became the earl.” She’d heard some of history directly from him already.
“Yes, but he never quite lost his love of the holiday. He and Constance made certain the residences were decorated and old traditions were held.” Jonathan accepted a few glass balls in varying colors from Jane. Her attention was absorbed with the treasures found inside the box. “After a fashion, she urged him to return to his life as a King’s agent, and the rest you know, I assume.”
“I do.” It would appear his choice in wives shared his enthusiasm for the season. “I’m glad to hear Miles has always been so light-hearted. I was afraid his life experiences had damaged him.”
“He’s made of stern stuff, Lady Archewyne.” Jonathan met her gaze. Compassion swam in his hazel depths. “Just like any of us, he’s suffered, but once Christmastide visits again, he tends to turn a blind eye and dwells on what he’s thankful for instead.”
“My husband is a good man.” She banished her maudlin thoughts. There was nothing to be sad or jealous over. “I want to make this holiday as special for him as it ever was.”
The soft clearing of a masculine throat at the door brought their attention around to Willoughby’s arrival.
“You have made an admirable start in that endeavor, my lady,” the butler added as he glanced about what they’d unpacked. “I believe the trunk next to the viscount also contains decorations as does the one to your left.” He gestured. “Shall I assist in bringing them to the parlor?”
“Oh, Willoughby, these are too heavy. Do summon a couple of the footmen.”
He cocked a feathery gray eyebrow but nodded. “Very well, my lady. Will there be anything else?”
“Yes.” She beckoned him farther into the room. “Tell me a story from Miles’ childhood. Did he gain his love of Christmas from his parents?”
“The elder earl and his countess didn’t mark the holiday as anything important, if I recall correctly, as was the wont of the ton at the time.” His dry chuckle rasped through the air. “He was dutiful and faithful to his title. Didn’t allow much to pull him away, even what he referred to as frivolity.” His faded eyes sparkled with memories. “The young Archewyne wasn’t deterred. A few years before the family began spending their winters in Egypt, Master Miles got the idea into his head that he would usher in the season in the hopes that Father Christmas would visit.”
“Papa hoped for presents?” Jane wanted to know with round eyes.
“No. In fact, the only thing your father wanted that year was for laughter to visit Archewyne Hall, and dancing. He was fascinated with the colors and pageantry of ton affairs when his parents threw them. And singing. He wished his home would ring with the sounds of revelry.”
“How adorable.” Emmaline’s heart skipped a beat. “He never grew out of wishing his home was full of laughter.”
“Except you and Papa don’t laugh because there are no more adventures,” Jane reminded them all. She stared at Emmaline. “And you never dance. Why, Mama? Do you not think Papa is dashing enough?”
Jonathan unsuccessfully stifled his bark of mirth. “Yes, Lady Archewyne, please tell us why you never dance with your husband.”
She glowered at the viscount. “You think to badger me after I saved your life this fall?” It wasn’t entertaining to be on the receiving end of his teasing.
He laid a hand over his heart. “You have cut me to the quick, my lady.”
“Do shut up, Jonathan.” Emmaline rolled her eyes. Then she looked at Jane. “I do not have a good answer for you, pet.” On the few occasions she and Miles had danced, it was either at a ton function or Miles’ birthday party wherein Jane was already abed. “It will need to be rectified swiftly.”
“I hope so, Mama.” Jane handed the viscount a length of gold lamé ribbon. “This house should be magical, like Father Christmas. I hope you look like a fairy princess.”
She’d had one gown made up, but was it as enchanting as her daughter imagined? Only time will tell. “I shall see what I can do.”
“In any event, my lady, I shall go downstairs for the footmen,” Willoughby informed her. He ambled toward the door and then paused, looking back over his shoulder at her. “There are times, Countess, when it is not a good thing to grow older and forget about the magic and faith you once had as a child. Thank goodness there are adults on this Earth who embrace such things—the earl included. Underneath his starch and title, he’s still that little boy waiting for the wonder of the holiday to find him.”
“Thank you, Willoughby,” Emmaline said in a soft voice. Why did it feel as if she’d been chastised? “I will remember that. I... I suppose it’s too easy to forget when I’ve never known a traditional Christmas like he has.”
“Indeed.” The butler exited and the ring of his shoes upon the wooden stairs echoed back.
Jane hopped to her feet. “May I go now?” She held up the bows and ribbons. “I want to decorate the nursery.”
“Yes, go ahead.” Emmaline, suddenly weary, waved a hand. “Please enlist Miss Wickham’s assistance.”
Jonathan gained his feet. “You have nothing to feel sorrow for, Lady Archewyne,” he murmured as he carefully placed the bounty Jane had given him into the box. “You have made a life with Miles and he’s been all the better for it. If you put too many expectations on a holiday, there will be disappointment somewhere.”
“Thank you.” When her chin wobbled, she busied herself in closing and latching the trunk. “I simply wish everything to be perfect this year—for Miles.”
“Perhaps the very fact that your celebration will be imperfect is the most important thing.” He hefted the box into his arms and gazed at her over the rim. “For me, Christmas has ceased to hold fascination. With so much upheaval and heartache, it is merely another day.”
“That is so sad.” She wiped her hands on her skirts as she struggled to her feet. “I shall not give up hope. For Miles, Jane and even you, Jonathan, I will do the best I can to encourage that magic and goodwill to find you all.”
How the devil was she to do such a thing when her expectations, and everyone else’s, seemed so far apart?