‘I will take up His Lordship’s tray,’ Rebecca said, before anyone else could claim the task.
Nothing else fuelled her but the need to ensure he was well. Despite whatever else had happened between them in that study—again—he’d held true to his word and given the staff half the day today, Twelfth Night, as well as Epiphany, ordering them to ‘pretend it is Christmas’. She felt keenly the fact that he would spend the time alone, whilst below stairs such merriment would be had.
‘I’ll only be a moment, so everyone can get settled.’
‘All right, then,’ Mrs Murray said, sliding the tray over. ‘Mind you, be sharpish—won’t have dinner getting cold. Thank the master for us.’
Rebecca nodded, and was unceremoniously shooed from the kitchens.
As she made her way upstairs, surrounded by the taunting smells of turkey, pies, roast vegetables, cinnamon and spice, she could hear a flurry of activity behind her. Delighted shouts and laughs as everyone readied themselves for dinner.
Picturing them all, dressed in their Sunday best as they were—even Sam had asked Gregory to assist with the tying of his fresh white cravat—scurrying about like excited children, Rebecca smiled to herself. She hadn’t been able to stop smiling recently.
Earlier, as she’d donned the elegant wine-coloured silk confection one of her previous employers had gifted her, worn and out of fashion though it may be, as she’d woven the gold ribbon—the only adornment she possessed—into her braids and fashioned them into a crown, she’d caught herself smiling into the mirror like a fool.
Making her way to the library, where Liam had asked for his meal to be brought, Rebecca found her smile fading, and concern for him growing. He, too, had missed out on Christmas, and when they’d spoken of the arrangements, what seemed a lifetime ago now, he’d seemed almost...excited. But since her illness, something had changed; he had changed. And though he would’ve spent Christmas on his own in any case, for him to be alone tonight... It somehow felt wrong.
Grabbing a sprig of holly from one of the arrangements, she set it on the otherwise sad-looking tray, and knocked on the library door.
‘Come in,’ Liam called. ‘Ah, Miss Merrickson.’
‘I come bearing your dinner, my lord,’ she said, setting it down on the small table by the chair he was currently slouched in, nursing a whisky. She tried not to notice how very dashing he looked in his fine evening dress, nor how very sad it was that he’d donned it. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘No, that’s all I need, thank you,’ he said, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe, making her feel as though the silk was utterly transparent.
Appreciation and a wistful sort of longing mingled in his eyes, as though he’d never known her till now, nor ever would again.
‘The colour suits you,’ he said finally, turning his attention back to the flames, which seemed to always possess the answers to his unasked questions. ‘I’m sure everyone is waiting for you. Enjoy the celebration, Miss Merrickson. A belated Happy Christmas to you all.’
‘Thank you, my lord. Happy Christmas to you,’ she said, wishing yet again that she had it in her power to make this day a happy one for him, in some small way at least.
But you cannot.
‘Someone will collect the tray later. There shouldn’t be any wassailers. I’ve been advised there haven’t been these past years.’
‘No, there wouldn’t be,’ Liam said as she made for the door with a curtsey. ‘And I will see to the tray. You should all enjoy yourselves.’
‘As you wish, my lord.’
With one last glance at the melancholy figure of the Earl of Thornhallow, Rebecca made her way back downstairs to the others.
This is how it must be. This is how the world is. Nothing to be done. Though if I had one wish for today, Lord, it would be that there be no sadness in this house. If only for a little while...
If Rebecca had thought Mrs Murray an exceptional cook before, she was astounded to find that the woman had quite outdone herself with the feast she’d prepared tonight. Every single detail had been seen to with care, and every dish was more delectable than the last, worthy of a king’s table. By the time they arrived at dessert, everyone was already moaning, having eaten far too much.
Whilst they indulged in pudding, gin and pies—with Tim being made King when he found the pea in the Twelfth Cake, whilst Betsy became his queen—they all exchanged the small trifles they had got for each other weeks ago.
Rebecca received some paper flowers, a new knitted scarf, some ribbons, and a little tin thistle brooch from Mr Brown. Then, they moved on to the games—charades, Up Jenkins and Throwing the Smile—whilst they all continued to pick at the food and drink which seemed enough to feed an army.
Before long Tim took out his fiddle, and they alternately sang carols and folk songs, increasingly bawdy as they went. It was during one such vivacious rendition of a local tune that Tim stopped abruptly, his eyes widening like saucers.
Gregory, Sam and Thomas were next, their eyes travelling to the same spot, widening when they saw whatever was there.
‘What the blazes is wrong with you lot, then?’ Mrs Murray tutted, turning to witness whatever it was that had rendered them silent. ‘Oh, my...’ The rest of her words were swallowed by the shock.
Rebecca and the others on her side of the table turned, and she realised what had brought them all to silence.
It seems my little prayer has been answered...
Liam stood at the door to the servants’ hall, wringing his hands. Not even his immaculate evening dress could counter the boyishly hesitant, unsure and pleading air about him.
The men suddenly came to and scrambled to their feet, and Rebecca might have sworn Liam blushed slightly as he waved them back to their seats.
‘Please, everyone, I didn’t mean to interrupt your festivities, nor indeed to disturb you all,’ he said. ‘Quite the contrary, I only... That is...’
His words trailed off and he bowed his head, as though cursing himself.
Rebecca turned back to the others, silently pleading.
They all looked between themselves, hesitant, and wary. It was not unheard of for masters to fraternise occasionally with their staff—particularly at village fetes and the like—but here, now...for the Earl to wish for their company...
And yet, even though it meant awkwardness, and a touch of censure, none of them could refuse. For it was, after all, Christmas—somewhat—and they all held him in their hearts.
Thomas turned to Rebecca and nodded solemnly. She smiled and turned back to Liam, who had taken to raking his hair as he searched for words, unaware of the silent conversation between his employees.
‘You are more than welcome, my lord,’ she said softly. He looked up at her then, with such gratitude she felt her heart melt. ‘Gregory, a chair for His Lordship.’
‘And a drink mayhap, my lord,’ Gregory said, jumping to do as he was bid. ‘We’ve a nice sloe gin—’tis Hardy that makes it.’
‘If it is Hardy’s then I must try it,’ Liam said graciously, taking his seat. ‘Though I imagine I should be wary. I remember the last time I tried his concoctions I woke in the middle of the moors.’
Everyone laughed in unison, relaxing as they all returned to their places.
Rebecca chanced a glance at him across the table, and was rewarded with a gracious smile and a nod of thanks. The sincerity in his eyes, mingling with the extraordinary light she’d come to know too well, sent her stomach fluttering, and she quickly turned her attention back to Lizzie, who was currently trying to engage her in talk about the Hardys.
As they all settled back into their conversations, passing around the bottle of gin, helping themselves to pies and sweetmeats, Liam watched them, letting the warmth and joy of their company wash over him. He watched as they laughed and teased, talked and played, and for the first time, felt as though he was surrounded by family. He watched the woman across from him, engaged with everyone around her, tying them all together in a perfect harmony he knew had not been there before.
Liam realised then the extent to which she had managed to bring life back into the house. The extent to which she’d brought life back to him.
And though he did not realise it quite yet, in truth, it was at that very moment, when she burst out laughing at something Tim said, eyes afire in the candlelight, her auburn hair a flaming crown, that Liam fell completely in love with the housekeeper of Thornhallow Hall.
‘May I?’ Liam asked some time later, waving to the chair beside Rebecca.
Everyone had broken into little parties of conversation as they enjoyed the musical entertainment. Rebecca had been left alone—not that she minded.
‘I do not wish to intrude.’
‘Of course, my lord.’ She smiled, careful to turn her attention quickly back to Tim.
Liam sat with a weary sigh, extending his legs out before him. His eyes may also have been on Tim and Gregory, as they finished their joyful ditty, but his attention was solely on her. She felt it, as though everything in his being was reaching out to hers. A strange energy had come between them, linked them, and refused to be broken, despite her best efforts.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, then, my lord?’ she whispered, intent on refusing the lure of gazing into his eyes, or giving in to whatever folly these feelings were in any way. ‘Downstairs celebrations are more lively than those upstairs, I think.’
‘From my experience, yes, that is certainly true,’ he whispered conspiratorially. ‘But it has been many years indeed since I’ve lived the life of an upstairs gentleman. This feels much more...comfortable. Familiar. So, yes, I am enjoying myself. And you, Mrs Hardwicke?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ she breathed sadly, that name foreign and cutting now.
Fifteen years she’d borne it; it had been hers, and yet now she despised it. Despised him saying it. She longed to be called Miss Merrickson. She longed to be called Rebecca again, to hear him—
God, what is wrong with me? she chided herself abruptly, trying to focus on the music.
The music. That’s it.
The food, the drink, the atmosphere... It was intoxicating. Clouding her judgement and her mind. He was being kind, and friendly, and she...was once again making mountains out of nothing and letting her feelings run away with her. It meant nothing that he was here, now, with them.
Rebecca drew a deep breath, and focused again on Tim’s fiddling. Only then, she realised the tune had changed, and that Gregory had returned to his seat. Lizzie stood beside Tim now, breathtaking and haunting as she sang the ‘Coventry Carol’.
Rebecca felt the harsh sting of tears at the back of her eyes, but found she could not move to wipe them away. She could not wrench herself from the scene before her, the melody permeating every fibre of her being, resonating chords within her she had long forgotten existed. The purity, the beauty, filled her heart to the brim and stole her breath. And then, when she thought it might be impossible to feel anything more, she felt the faintest of touches against the little finger of her right hand.
Him.
Liam.
His own little finger almost imperceptibly there, against hers, their hands linked by the slightest of touches. Had anyone looked over, they wouldn’t have seen it, seen the connection, and yet to Rebecca it felt as though his entire body had wrapped itself with hers, as though they’d joined together in some pagan, magical, forgotten way.
She knew she should move, tear herself away, and yet she couldn’t. She didn’t understand it, and she did not want to. She only wanted to feel it, to feel him. To believe for the smallest of moments that he was hers, and she his, in a world beyond this one. For that moment they lived together, beyond time, beyond convention, beyond rules, somewhere only the other existed. Where their heartbeats kept in time with the music as one.
Sorrow, and a profound feeling of loss mixed with the elation she’d felt moments before, for she knew well that the magic could not, and would not last. That soon it would be stolen, and then she would spend years trying to understand it, without hope of ever doing so.
Lizzie finished the carol and was met by an enthusiastic round of applause. All at once the connection shattered; the moment faded into something of a distant memory.
Had it really happened at all?
Rebecca decided that it hadn’t. Coming back sharply to the room, she rose and excused herself.
When she returned minutes later, mostly herself again, she was glad to discover that Tim had returned to more spirited, lively tunes. Before long the table and chairs were pushed to the corners of the hall and everyone was on their feet dancing.
Rebecca avoided Liam; and he her. Though that prevented neither of them from enjoying the rest of the night as much as any of the others.
It was close to midnight when the drinks stopped flowing, the music died, and everyone began wandering off to bed, feet sore and hearts full. They left Mrs Murray sleeping in her chair by the fire. No one really had it in them to rouse her, and besides, it would be neither the first nor the last time she slept there.
Soon all that was left in the servants’ hall were the remnants of the evening’s festivities, and a snoring cook.
Half an hour later, Rebecca was certain she was the only one in Thornhallow still awake. She had volunteered to close the house for the night, acutely aware that sleep would not be easy to come by. Some quiet time alone, and the ritual of locking up, might help her find some normality and peace of mind again.
It wasn’t only that which had passed with Liam—that which she remained intent on convincing herself hadn’t happened at all—it was all the rest that was troubling her. The whole day, indeed everything about her life at Thornhallow. Over the years, she’d lived in many homes, met many different people, shared many celebrations, but somehow it all felt so different here.
Unique. Rare.
She hadn’t spent such a wonderful time, felt loved and cherished, and part of a family, in, well...twenty years. Nearly her entire life. Her father had tried so hard to give her that, and he had, but when he’d been taken... Well, everything had changed. Over the years she had purposefully and instinctively kept her distance from those she served and worked with. Even from those she took to bed.
Liam had been right about that. She’d passed through life alone in a sea full of people. Always knowing she would leave, that she need only rely on herself, had helped keep her safe in more ways than one.
Rebecca sighed heavily as she checked the door and window latches in the dining room, and closed the curtains on the moonlit frozen landscape. She’d done well convincing herself that the life she lived, that she’d built, was enough. Coming here... She’d realised just how wrong she had been. Thornhallow felt like home.
Familiar. Safe.
And everyone here, despite difficult beginnings, had become like family. Perhaps it was the circumstances, the lack of constraints of a normal household, which made it easier to grow close. Whatever it was, they’d all managed to insinuate themselves into her heart, and Rebecca dreaded even more now the day that would take her from Thornhallow.
But you know full well the day will come, Rebecca... He will never stop hunting you.
Pulling the curtains in Liam’s study closed with more vehemence than she meant to, she knew that no matter how she wished it otherwise, she would have to resign herself to the fact that she would leave Thornhallow. No matter how delightful, how wonderful today had been, in the coming weeks she would need to take care to regain some distance from, well, everything.
Yes. You know the rules Rebecca. Chin up, she thought, pushing open the door to the library with purpose and confidence.
‘Devil, Miss Merrickson, are you trying to frighten me to death?’ Liam exclaimed from the other side of the room, jumping nearly as high as Rebecca. ‘Whatever did that door do to you?’
‘Apologies, my lord,’ Rebecca said, trying to calm herself. ‘I thought everyone in bed.’
‘So you decided to come lurking in the library again?’
‘No, that is, I wasn’t tired, so I told Mr Brown I would see to closing the house.’
A tense, thick silence took over the room as they awkwardly stood there, staring at each other. Liam seemed as awake and yet as tired as she felt, and though it hadn’t even been an hour since she’d last seen him, seeing him now, standing there in his rolled shirtsleeves and waistcoat, lit only by the fire, Rebecca felt her heart skip a beat.
He must have noted her gaze; the next moment he was unrolling his sleeves and slipping his jacket on.
‘I should retire,’ he said, downing the rest of his drink. ‘It is late. Please, don’t let me prevent you from finishing your rounds.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ Rebecca said with a nod, moving to do just that.
She checked the latches, closed the curtains and glanced quickly at the fire, before finding herself retreating from the library in unison with him.
‘Goodnight, then, my lord,’ she said, as lightly as she could manage.
‘Goodnight, Miss Merrickson.’
With a smile, Rebecca turned away and made for the drawing room. She heard his footsteps across the tiles, and then on the stairs, and they seemed the saddest sound she’d ever heard.
Shaking her head, she cursed herself yet again for her foolishness.
‘Wait,’ Liam said sharply.
Rebecca turned, shooting him an enquiring look.
He stood halfway up the staircase, with the strangest expression on his face. Rebecca cocked her head, and he nodded to something above her. Glancing up, she spotted the branch of mistletoe above the door.
An ambivalent mix of feelings washed over her as she realised what he meant to do. She could laugh it off, move away, break the moment, and she could do so easily enough, for he was still on the stairs, waiting for her to make the final decision. She could do it—refuse, walk away, force them to continue as they had these past weeks, save them from themselves. She could do all that, if only she could will her body to do so.
Instead, she stood there, rooted to the spot, her feet unwilling to comply with her rational mind. Her eyes found him again, and as soon as they did he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and descended the stairs. Slowly, he made his way to her, and in those precious seconds Rebecca decided that she was not being foolish at all. That she would allow herself this one tiny, brief moment in time, to imagine, and to dream. She would offer her cheek and revel in his closeness, in the lightest of touches, and then they could return to reality. To life as it should be.
Yes. It is Twelfth Night, after all.
Rebecca smiled, concentrating on controlling her shallow breathing and rapid heartbeat. This was nothing. Tradition. It would be a swift, chaste kiss on the cheek, not some monumental event. How many other friends across time had met thus and survived, unchanged and unharmed? The world had not come off its axis before for such kisses—why should it today?
She quietly ignored the impact the slightest of touches of his hand had on her not hours ago.
Liam stood before her now, the makings of a smile at the corners of his lips, and his golden eyes twinkling in the fading firelight of the candles around them. Rebecca turned her face slightly, offering her cheek, only to feel not his lips upon it, but the back of his knuckles as he gently brushed against her skin, asking her to turn back to him.
What could she do but obey? How could she resist so sweet an entreaty, so delicate a command?
But she should have, she knew, as soon as their eyes met again. There was resignation and determination behind the warmth and excitement. Rebecca’s heart nearly broke with the realisation that she had just allowed them to jump over a precipice, and with a sigh, she rose to meet him.
All at once their lips had joined, his hand had found its way to the back of her head, and her own clung to his lapels. It could have ended there; she could have ended it there. His kiss was slow, and sweet, and gentle, not tentative, but kind. Chaste enough that she could have pulled away. But she might sooner have ripped her heart from her chest. She could not part from such sweetness, such delicacy—she could only savour it, enjoy it for as long as it might last.
She should have stopped it. Before, almost in unison, they opened themselves further to each other. Before the kiss deepened with their exploration of each other’s mouths. Before their tongues entwined and raw heat and pleasure coursed through her body. Before her soul was warmed by his touch. Before she was lost again with him in their place beyond time, beyond reality, where only they existed. Before they molded together, their mouths moving in such divine unison it was impossible to say where one ended and the other began. Before his arms were around her, and hers around him, and their chests pressed together, wound up in each other’s heat, their bodies sharing both breath and heartbeat.
Rebecca had experienced many different kisses in her life, but none like this. None so deep, so raw, so full of passion and tenderness it threatened to tear her heart in two should it stop, should she be taken from this other being who had become part of her. None that threatened to sweep her feet from beneath her, threatened to make her forget who she was. None which promised so much more should they forget themselves.
For behind the lingering, slow exploration, behind the savouring, the testing, the teasing, the offering, lay an even hotter passion which, should they unleash it, would consume them both.
It was only dread of that, fear of what might happen should she let go completely, that pulled Rebecca back from the edge. With a breath, and a slight push against his chest, she broke the kiss. Taking a step back, she dared not even look at him, preferring instead the hall tiles.
Still, she could taste him, could feel him around her as though she were still enveloped in his embrace.
‘I think perhaps, my lord,’ she whispered sadly, ‘you should not have done that.’
‘Yes, Miss Merrickson,’ he groaned. ‘I think on this occasion, you are right.’
‘Goodnight, my lord.’
‘Goodnight, Miss Merrickson.’
Rebecca’s eyes did not leave the floor until she’d heard his footsteps traverse the hall and climb the stairs.
Not until she had heard the distant echo of Liam’s door closing did she raise her head, tears pricking at the back of her eyes, feeling utterly bereft and lost. Pushing away everything that had just happened, Rebecca finished seeing to her duties.
An hour later, however, safely ensconced in her bed, she finally allowed herself to cry the tears which had threatened to fall since she and Liam had parted.
For everything was always better once one had cried.