England, December 1817
The fire crackled merrily in the hearth at Damonson House, while the enticing aroma of cinnamon filled the air. With Boxing Day only three weeks away, Cook was deep in her usual Christmas baking. And although it was early days for gathering greenery, the drawing room mantel already boasted an especially delightful display of holly and ivy.
As usual, the estate embodied the joys of the holiday, but Merry Damonson felt none of her usual anticipation for the season’s pleasures. Instead, she paced in front of the hearth, restless and anxious, lecturing herself with each step.
When she began to fear she’d wear down the intricately patterned threads of the Axminster carpet, she made her way across the room to gaze out the window.
The morning light reflected off a fresh fall of snow that blanketed the park and clung to the evergreens in lacy patterns that reminded Merry of the chore she’d abandoned. She was supposed to be tatting an edging to adorn the caps she and her mother were sewing for the family’s annual gifts for the poor.
If only she could concentrate on her work. She should be able to concentrate. The Christmas season had always been her favorite time of year, and helping her mother create gifts to distribute on Boxing Day had previously instilled in her a deep sense of peace and joy.
That peace had abruptly ended a year ago. Now Merry merely went through the motions, hoping to get into the new year without allowing her melancholy mood to spoil the season for her parents or the twins, who did not deserve having a pall cast over the festivities.
That meant pretending to be happy. Which, in turn, meant not thinking of Edward.
Not that she should be referring to him—even in her thoughts—as Edward any longer. He was now the Earl of Branford.
Perhaps if Merry could not banish him from her memory, she would think of him solely as Branford. He would seem more like a stranger that way.
Sighing, she was about to turn and make her way back to her seat when the flash of a red cap caught her eye, and a smile lifted the corners of her lips. She should have known: the twins were engaged in a snowball fight. David had been home from school a full week now, and he and Dora had immediately fallen into their old ways, each trying to best the other. Obviously, Dora had forgotten that at the age of fourteen, she was expected to behave like a young lady instead of a scamp. Merry decided she’d better intervene before their mother looked out a window and spied her snow-covered daughter. Mama would no doubt set poor Dora to tatting lace for the next two weeks.
Merry paused long enough to grab a shawl to wrap around her shoulders before heading toward the front of the house. Fortunately, none of the servants were nearby, so she quickly slipped through the entrance hall and opened the door. David and Dora now stood on the porch, both laughing as each tried to brush snow off the other.
“Here, let me help.” Merry stepped out into the chill air and quietly closed the door behind her. “Turn around, Dora. Your back is covered in snow. Have you been making snow angels?”
Dora giggled, a habit she’d developed over the past few months. “I’m not telling. Ouch!”
“Sorry,” Merry murmured, aware that she’d brushed Dora’s backside a bit too enthusiastically. “But I do wish you’d learn not to giggle, Dorie. Gentlemen do not find it attractive.”
“And I don’t find gentlemen attractive,” Dora shot back, stepping away from Merry’s ministrations. “Never mind the rest. It’ll melt when I get inside.”
Merry shrugged. “As you wish. David, you’d best stamp your feet. If you track that much snow into the house, Foster will have your hide.”
“Foster’s our butler, not my keeper,” David pointed out. But he also started stamping so that the crusted snow fell off his boots.
Merry nodded. “That’s better. There’s a fire in the front drawing room. Both of you should try to dry off while I find Foster and order some hot chocolate and biscuits.”
“Ask for some cake too,” David said. “I’m half-starved!”
“You’re always half-starved,” Dora said, sticking out her tongue and then dashing inside.
Merry sighed. She was well aware that because he had been away at school, David’s level of sophistication was rapidly outpacing his sister’s. “I do wish you’d use your influence with Dora to get her to behave more sedately.”
David bent to brush snow from his knees, then straightened, a frown pulling at his brow. “I’ll try, Merry, but you know how strong-willed Dorie can be.”
Merry smiled and ran a finger gently across his chapped cheek. “I know, love. And at some point in the future, no doubt I’ll be wishing she were not so grown up.” She turned to go inside, but David grasped her arm and pulled her to a stop.
She looked into his face and felt her heart drop. “What’s wrong, dear?”
David appeared to have trouble meeting her gaze. He again bent as though to brush more snow off his knees although his trousers were now clean. He straightened and swallowed. “It’s about Edward Everton… I should say, of course, the Earl of Branford.”
He hesitated, looking to her before he went on. “I hear he’s returning to Summerton for Christmas. Probably next week.”
“Summerton?” Merry realized she’d phrased the word as a question, just as though she didn’t know of the estate that bordered her father’s land for miles on the east side.
Just as though she and Edward hadn’t once had a secret meeting place beneath the limbs of a massive old oak that straddled the border.
Just as though she hadn’t once believed that someday she’d be the mistress of Summerton Hall.
David nodded. “That’s what I heard at school.”
“But what about his other estates? What about Branford Manor? Why isn’t he going there for Christmas? Why would he come back to simple little Summerton?”
“I don’t know.” David took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mer. I hated to tell you but I thought you should be forewarned.”
“Thank you, David.” She turned away from the sympathy in his gaze and stared, unseeing, at the tree line that marked the edge of the forest. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”
His eyebrows rose in confusion. “In your slippers?”
Merry glanced down at her soft, satin footwear and forced a smile. “Silly me. I’ll go change first, of course.” She stepped back inside and hurried up the stairs to her bedchamber, leaving David and Dora to order their own refreshments.
For her part, she needed to get away from the house and into the fresh air for a while. Perhaps a nice, long walk in the forest would help her in her unending efforts to force thoughts of Edward—no, Branford—out of her mind.