Chapter Twenty-Three

Christmas Eve Surrenders

It was Christmas Eve, seven days since Jasper’s wedding to Frederica, seven days since the birth of his new niece and nephew, and his sister-in-law still lived. The birthing fever never took hold. All seemed fine, but Jasper was on horseback racing the length of Grandbole, back and forth, then around its circumference.

On his seventh time, he stopped and shook his rapier. Shouldn’t the walls fall?

Of course not, he hadn’t blown a trumpet or rammed his head against them.

Frederica.

Frederica should be his battle cry.

He wore her battle armor today, a flaxen waistcoat she and her handmaid Martica had styled with embroidered gold threads about the buttonholes.

His wife.

The woman arose early every morning, tiptoeing out of their connecting rooms, instructing his valet and groom to take the chill from his rooms and reminding each of any errant task that Jasper had forgotten, like glossing his riding boots.

No wonder the duke, the gruff duke, had always been so content. He’d had Frederica’s ministry all to himself.

Jasper sped around the house again. He should be happy. Grandbole looked resplendent. Polished sconces, spotless glass fixtures, not a speck of dust in his study. In the mornings, a mix of his favorite foods for a private breakfast with his correspondences or a newspaper awaiting him in the dining room. In the evenings, family dinners with smiling daughters and six courses of delights. Perfect. Miserably perfect.

Jasper had the proverbial perfect wife, caring for his household, attending to needs he hadn’t spoken, and making plans for the New Year to sway Magdalen House’s committee for the lost girls—and he was miserable.

It wasn’t that he opposed anything Frederica did, but that she kept moving forward while he was stuck, mired in fear and regret.

Jasper’s ash-brown steed passed the music room, and he heard music, beautiful music.

A duet.

A duet on Maria’s instrument.

He couldn’t see through the curtains, but he heard laughing. Lydia’s and Frederica’s. That surely was a sight to see, almost as amazing as Anne and Martica sitting at Frederica’s feet learning embroidery.

His children had accepted her like a good friend.

His new wife was very smart. She wasn’t trying to be their mother or an overpowering governess figure, but their friend.

And Lucy.

Lucy’s love was there, bold and beautiful. She’d curl onto his wife’s lap for readings. And she smiled so brightly, following behind Frederica and Philip to decorate Grandbole. The Christmas decorations, green and red paper boxes, had been put out last night. Lucy had squealed with delight, stringing popped corn garlands with crimson gooseberries. Then all his girls and Philip had put up silver and gold bows along the stair railings. It was perfect. Frederica’s ministry on Grandbole was inspiring.

Except Jasper was miserable.

This time around, he saw a Tradenwood carriage outside. His brother must be leaving. He sped his Percheron forward, then jumped down into the courtyard.

At Grandbole’s entrance, Frederica held baby James in the bend of her arm, tucked in a mint green swaddle, his tiny body and big tan head content and sleeping. Philip, sweet Philip, was at her side, rolling a ball to Lucy who shouted commands at him.

Bless that young boy’s heart. Phillip was patient and calm like his mother.

And his sister-in-law had the other baby, the twin girl Eugenia, cradled in a pink blanket that matched her rosy cheeks. This one had Frederica’s coloring, and he wondered what a child of his nestled on his wife’s bosom would look like.

Jasper stopped wallowing. Death had passed. Even a fool should enjoy the present.

“Ewan, Theodosia,” he said, “we can’t convince you to stay? It’s Christmas Eve.”

“No, brother. Your wife has been too kind. But mine wants to be home. She wants these babies at Tradenwood.” Ewan came over to Frederica and stuck his finger over baby James and touched his nose. “It is time to go.”

Jasper stooped at the chair where Theodosia sat. “Sister, please stay. We can have a nice big family Christmas. Imagine the treats my dear Frederica will have our reformed cook make.”

Theodosia smiled. “That’s another reason to leave. She will kill us with all these rich foods.”

“But what a way to die.” Frederica giggled, then covered her mouth and looked at Jasper. “Sorry.”

Were his concerns for her a joke? Jasper bounced up, put Philip on his shoulder, saving him from his loud-talking daughter. “You’re very sure about leaving.”

“Yes,” Ewan said, “I suspect a Grandbole Christmas breakfast won’t be like old times—no angry shouts—but I’ll pass. I want my wife in the place she loves and is most comfortable.” Ewan tried to scoop up his wife, but she stood with her head high.

She took one step at a time until she and Eugenia were at the bottom of the portico’s steps. “But I will come back for dinner in the future,” Theodosia said. “Grandbole is much better than I remember. So much better. I shouldn’t let the past limit me.”

His sister-in-law stared through Jasper, and he put her point in his pocket for later. He handed Theodosia into the carriage, taking the opportunity to snuggle his niece and watch her chestnut eyes sparkle.

Once Philip was settled inside and each baby was in Theodosia’s arms, Ewan grabbed Jasper in a bear hug. “I’m very happy for you, brother. Don’t be a fool. Time is precious. Don’t waste it.”

Jasper was foolish and miserable.

He watched the carriage go down the long drive, and when he turned, no one was on the step. He was alone in the cold.

When he came inside, ready to shed his coat and gloves, all the girls and Frederica were in their bonnets and thick outer coats. “What are you ladies doing? Abandoning Grandbole, too? Traitors.”

“No, Papa,” Lucy said. “We are going on an expedition.”

“What?” He looked at the three, no four, impish ladies. “Where?”

“Get your sword, sir,” Frederica said. “Put back on your hat and button your coat. You’ll walk us into the park and help us retrieve fir branches.”

“Fir branches, Frederica?”

“Yes, Papa. Fir branches,” Anne said.

“And holly berries. We need more,” Lucy said as she tied on her yellow bonnet.

Frederica had on an emerald-green coat and matching bonnet, and carried her white wedding muff. “Yes, we are lacking in evergreen fir.”

“Fir. That’s what you want, Lady Hartwell?”

“Yes, my lord. That’s all.”

“Anne, Lydia? Have you joined in this conspiracy?”

“Yes. We’ve been cooped up for days with a cold, Papa.” His eldest’s voice was still a little hoarse.

“We want to go out.” Lucy tugged on her gloves. “Otherwise we’ll have to figure out something to do in Grandbole.”

That could mean more pranks. More buckets of cold water. “Let me get the correct equipment.”

He put his rapier back in its place in his study, then ran back and grabbed a dulled blade from the hall. He claimed his wife’s arm and led his girls into the woods behind Grandbole.

The feeling of acting foolish fled as he and his expedition party laughed and traipsed up and down the hills, examining the snowy trails. “Duck, Lady Hartwell.”

Frederica heeded Lydia’s warning and bent her head.

Then Jasper received a face full of cold snow.

He scooped snow and hit Anne about her middle, but soon snowballs were coming from four directions—four. “Et tu, Lady Hartwell?”

“I’m afraid so.” Her voice was sweet even as she launched the biggest snowball he’d ever seen.

Trying to dodge it, he fell back in laughter and all the girls piled on him, even his big one. “Ladies, I surrender.”

“Hold on, girls,” Frederica said. “Let me see if he’s serious. He might be pretending for effect.”

When she leaned over him and their gazes locked, he surrendered. Why was he letting his fears rob him of his wife? “I give, my lady. I yield.”

The smile on her face made him want to reach for her now and make up for every moment of his foolishness that had kept them apart.

She held out her hand to him, but she took hold of his sword. “Ladies. Let’s take our prisoner back to Grandbole for hot tea and—”

“Biscuits,” his daughters said in unison.

Frederica was rather cute waving his sword, but he took it from her and captured her hand. “You should not taunt a man with his weapon. That’s like waving chocolate biscuits at you.”

“Yes, Hartwell, that would be rather cruel.”

He stood still, clutching her hand. He was being ridiculous. And Jasper hated being ridiculous.

They went back to the house, each of them with a pile of fir branches.

“Lydia,” Frederica said, “you’ll be in charge of setting these in the windows in the parlor and drawing room. Anne, you’re in charge of the candles. Don’t light them until Christmas morn.”

“What about me?” Lucy poked out her lips.

Frederica bent and took the sprite’s hat from her head. “You, Lucy, will go to Cook and put out the apples. Ask Martica to help. This will be her first great Christmas.”

His daughters scrambled from the entry, leaving Frederica and Jasper.

He took off her bonnet and helped her slip off her coat, then gave it and his own to the footman. He then took her hand and led her to his study.

“Jasper, I should help the girls. You might have business to do.”

He backed her against his freshly dusted bookcase, surrounded her with an arm on either side. “I’m captured, Frederica. I want more. What about you?”

“It seems you’ve captured me, my lord.”

“No, you did two summers ago at the Flora Festival. I am yours. Have me.”

She put her palm to his cheek. “Are you sure? There are risks with loving me.”

“I think I know that. I know I’m ready to stop being stupid.” He dipped his head as she lifted onto tiptoe, but a knock on the door made her slip to his side.

“Enter,” Jasper said, hoping his voice did not show the impatience stewing inside.

Ranson entered and put letters and a box on his desk. He nodded and left quickly.

Frederica moved from him and headed for the box. “Could it be a wedding gift?” She checked for a note. “It’s addressed to you.”

“Hmmm.” An unease settled on Jasper. Was it some trinket sent from her father to excuse another delay? “Frederica, why don’t I open this later. You can go deck the halls. We can resume our discussion tonight.”

Her smile vanished. “Open it. I think we both know that it’s another delay from the duke. I’d rather be disappointed now than later.”

With a sigh, he tore open the paper covering the box and prepared to comfort her. With the blue ribbons removed, he slid off the lid. Digging through the tissue paper, he removed the burned nameplate of Reverend Frank Pregrine and blue stationery.

“That was on the vicar’s home, Jasper. The thief burned his—” Frederica collapsed into Jasper’s arms.

Her golden skin paled, and it took a whole minute of fanning for her to revive. She popped up with arms swinging. She turned to the box and lifted the nameplate and set it with a thunk onto his desk. Then she picked up the note.

Jasper tore it from her fingers. “No, you’re not recovered.”

“I wasn’t prepared. Things were too perfect. I know now to expect the worst. That’s what you have been trying to teach me.”

Had he done that? Perhaps he had, and that shamed his soul. Jasper pried the note open. “We’ll look together.

Missed you at St. George’s and at Pregrine’s parish. Are you here?

There was ash smeared on the letter, and it smelled of burned pitch.

“No wonder Pregrine didn’t respond to my letter, Jasper. The fiend burned him and those boys because of me.”

Jasper gathered her in his arms. “We don’t know that they were harmed. It appears the villain may have burned the Pregrine’s vicarage, but the vicar and the children may have escaped.”

“You don’t know that. He could be outside now, waiting to set Grandbole aflame, or Nineteen Fournier or Tradenwood. No one I love is safe.”

“If we knew who was doing this, then you would be safe.”

“How? We’ve searched our uneven memories of that night. Someone who was at the party, someone who knows the duke left you as my protector, who knows where my friends live, is guilty.”

“Just the Bexeleys. He’s not sent a thing to Tradenwood. I checked with Ewan and Pickens. It’s someone who has seen you in Town who knows you.”

“Is that to comfort me, Jasper?”

“Frederica, these notes are meant to scare you. He doesn’t want you happy. He wants you to live in fear.”

“Like you? You won’t touch me. You won’t love me because you are afraid. And I have to live like I did with the duke, unsure of your commitment. I need to go away. A married woman can travel. I’ll take Martica, and we can travel. We’ll be free.”

“You would leave us, Frederica?”

“To protect you and the girls, or my friends, I would. I’ve pretended it doesn’t kill me a little bit each night to sleep alone, knowing you’re fearful. But this is not pretend. And I won’t wait until he sneaks up on us. I don’t even have Romulus and Remus to signal that a fiend is coming to hurt us.”

He went to the desk and pulled out Templeton’s list. “One of these names is your thief. We can figure this out. I won’t let this fiend hurt you, or anyone.”

“Tell that to Vicar Pregrine.”

Frederica turned and ran from the room.

Jasper sat upon his desk. How could he ask her to live without fear when he’d asked her to live with his?

No more.

There was a name on this list, of a man who needed to be stopped, and there was a woman in this house who needed his love without reservation.