On Christmas Eve Saunton strolled into the large, re-plastered drawing room painted in daffodil yellow and white. Miss Carstairs stood with her back to a tall window. His mother sat by the hearth watching Miss Harrington, the governess, supervised his sisters, Margaret, Elizabeth and Diana, who were making garlands of holly, laurel, rosemary and bay with Charlotte’s help. Clucked over by their nurse, Sophie and Cassandra were choosing greenery from a pile on a trestle table.
The baby of the family, five-year-old Cassandra, or Cassie as her brothers and sisters called her, clutched a sprig of holly bright with berries. Her face a picture of outrage, she dropped it and burst into tears. He took several strides across the room to pick her up but his ward reached Cassie first.
Miss Carstairs stooped over his sister’s head of black curls. “Show me your hand. Did a nasty leaf prick you?”
Cassie nodded and popped her thumb into her mouth.
Miss Carstairs wiped his sister’s face with a handkerchief. “At your age, my grandmother scolded me if I sucked my thumb. She said I would spoil the shape of my mouth.”
Dark brown eyes wide, Cassie stared at his ward.
“You don’t want to spoil your pretty mouth, do you?” Amelia asked.
His plump little sister shook her head. Cassie removed her thumb from her mouth. “Is my mouth still pretty?”
Miss Carstairs smiled. “Yes, pretty as a cherub’s.”
Nurse smiled at his ward but spoke to Cassie. “Come along, my little chick. You must wash your hand. We shall pretend you are a brave, wounded soldier.”
Cassie pouted. “I don’t want to be one. I want to be a princess.”
“So did I, when I was your age,” Amelia said.
Saunton smiled. One day, Miss Carstairs would be a mother. To judge by how she dealt with Cassie she would be an excellent one. The image of her with a babe on her lap and a child at her side pleased him.
His ward turned towards the table. She noticed him standing close to her. Colour rose in her cheeks. “Perhaps you think I should not have told your sister not to suck her thumb.”
He inclined his head. “You are mistaken.” He stepped towards her and reached out a hand. “There is a holly leaf in your hair. May I remove it?”
She nodded, the colour in her cheeks increasing.
Careful not to pull her hair he disentangled the leaf from the silky strand. Close enough to inhale her perfume redolent of a summer garden with an undertone of lemon, he caught his breath. A jolt of unexpected desire surprised him.
As though she were not out of favour with him, Margaret claimed his attention. “Look at the swag I made to decorate the mantelpiece. Do you think it is pretty?”
Her hazel eyes shone, her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the wood fire. He patted her cheek. “You are prettier, sweetheart. But don’t think you can cajole me into changing my mind about sending you to the seminary.”
Miss Carstairs smiled at her. “I envy you.”
Margaret frowned. “Why? You are-” She looked at her brother and changed her mind about whatever she intended to say.
Miss Carstairs studied Margaret’s sulky face. “You will learn more than Miss Harrington can teach you and make friends.”
His sister eyed Miss Carstairs and opened her mouth to speak. She stared at him. Her lips pressed tightly together, Margaret returned to the trestle table.
Saunton’s shoulders relaxed. Good, could she be learning discretion?
Saunton scrutinised his ward. So far as he could judge she enjoyed each of his sisters’ company. “Miss Carstairs, I hope you are not bored.”
“No, how could I be? At Grandmamma’s estate in Lancashire, where we always spent Christmas, the servants decorated our house, but unlike Longwood, it was always very quiet.”
He laughed. “My sisters are noisier than usual. They enjoy helping to prepare the house for Christmas. They are eagerly looking forward to all the festivities and to receiving their gifts on the sixth of January. I hope their incessant chatter will not give you a headache. However, I promise you they will be quiet on Christmas Day at morning service in the chapel.”
Miss Carstairs raised her eyebrows. “Not the church?”
“No, during Queen Elizabeth’s reign my family adhered to the old religion. To avoid suspicion, they worshipped in the village church but whenever they could, they celebrated a secret Roman Catholic mass in our chapel.”
“Hypocrites. How shocking!”
He waved his forefinger at her. “Ah you have been brought up as an Anglican who despises popery.” He laughed. “There is even a priest’s hole at Longwood. If you wish I will show it to you.”
“Very well,” she replied somewhat hesitantly. “I assume none of your family adhere to the Church of Rome?”
“Not since the eighth earl escaped execution for his faith. After Queen Elizabeth died, he recanted. King James I pardoned him when he converted to the Church of England. Mind you, according to family history the king always regarded him as warily as you are watching me. We were fortunate, but less so when the eleventh earl fled the country because he supported Charles Edward Stuart’s claim to the throne.”
He laughed at her dismayed expression. “Come, come, you have no cause for alarm. If I believed the pope is Christ’s representative on Earth instead of adhering to the Anglican faith, I could not have taken my seat in the House of Lords.”
The Countess joined them waving a letter in her hand. “Go,” she ordered her daughters and the servants.
Alarmed by her scarlet cheeks and agitation Saunton raised his eyebrows. “Bad news, Mamma?”
“To the contrary!” She handed him the letter. “Read this. Midland will visit us on Saturday. Is that wise? The roads are covered with deep snow.” She shook her head. “He plans to arrive two days after Christmas! I expect he will travel from his estate near Didcot to visit his twin sister in Aylesbury. He asks if it will be convenient to stay here for two nights.” She sank onto a chair. “A duke! How will we contrive? So many preparations to make. His Grace’s rooms to be made ready. Gifts must be given to the poor of the parish. On Thursday, the villagers will gather in the barn to eat and drink, and-”
Saunton caught hold of his mother’s hands. “There is no need to be so flustered.”
Lady Hortense rolled her eyes. “Yes, there is. Cook has made plenty of brawn, black apple butter, pies and puddings, but I am sure Midland will despise them. He is sure to have a French chef who includes luxuries such as truffles from France, spices from India, Wesphalian ham, olives from Spain and much more in His Grace’s menus. My poor cook cannot compete.”
“Don’t agitate yourself, Mamma. The duke is only twenty-four-years old. He is not a disagreeable fop. You are an excellent hostess. I am sure he will be pleased with English fare and your hospitality. Mind you, I advise you to lock Margaret up while he is here. I don’t trust her not to say something outrageous that would offend even the most easy-going gentleman.”
Hortense shuddered at the idea. “I shall caution her.” She snatched her hands free from his. “What of Charlotte?”
He frowned. “I beg your pardon, Mamma.”
“Only imagine if she could snare him – become a duchess. His pockets are not to let. And, from what I have heard, he is not addicted to any vices.” Her eyes gleamed like a tabby cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. “Midland prevented your father from you know what at that gentleman’s club. He must have an interest in my dearest Charlotte.”
“Don’t set your heart on a match between them. Due to the extremely bad weather, he has probably chosen to break his journey at Longwood without any thought in his head of Charlotte.”
Hortense turned towards his ward, whose presence she seemed to have forgotten. “Miss Carstairs, please forgive me for ignoring you. I am overcome by His Grace’s forthcoming visit.”
“There is no need to apologise to me, ma’am,” Amelia murmured. “Please excuse me, I have correspondence to answer.”
Hortense acknowledged the words with a nod and launched into speech. “Saunton, if only your brothers were here. I shall never forgive you for allowing Julian to become a mere curate whose duties don’t allow him to be with us for Christmas. You should give him the living at Longwood. And whenever I recall you gave Giles permission to visit his godfather instead of being in the bosom of his family words fail me.”
“I wish they could fail you. Your mind flits from one topic to another,” Saunton teased her. “Please try to sympathise with Julian. He is convinced his destiny lies with the church instead of the army or navy. Who am I to deny it? With regard to the living at Longford, Julian shall be appointed curate after Chorley is ordained and given his own parish.”
“Your father would never have consented.”
The muscles in his cheeks twitched but he kept himself well in hand and ignored his mother’s remark. “I understand you would like Giles to be here at Christmas but you know what is at stake. If he passes muster the well-heeled old gentleman will probably make him his heir.”
“Oh, you don’t understand a mother’s wish to gather all her children under her roof at this time of the year.”
“A roof in urgent need of repair,” Saunton jested, amused by her theatricals.”
“How can you be so unfeeling?”
“Practical, not heartless, Mamma,” he objected.
Hortense took a deep breath. “Is it impossible for you to understand why I am so agitated? There are only four days to prepare for Midland’s visit and none of the bedrooms have been redecorated. You would think His Grace has too many obligations on his estate at Christmastime to leave it.” She shook her head as though she were in the depths of despondency. “I must consult with the housekeeper.”
She stood, the expression in her eyes sharp. “Saunton, you and the butler must discuss the wines to be served during Midland’s visit. ‘Tis a mercy we still have some of the finest vintages your father bought. It would have been sacrilege to have sold them.
“So much to do. Before we dine the children will entertain us,” she babbled on. “The carol singers will come and you may be sure the poor of the village will beg for meat and bread with which to celebrate our Lord’s birth.” Her hands fluttered. “It will be an honour to receive His Grace, but what will he think of us, my dear Charlotte, and our dilapidated house?”
Saunton shrugged. “Mamma, I doubt Midland would make a match with Charlotte who does not have a substantial dowry. Even if he favoured Charlotte, her portion would probably be too small for him to stoop to wed her.” Without another word, his mother hurried out of the large drawing room.
‘If you married Miss Carstairs,’ his inner voice whispered, ‘you could provide for Julian, Giles and all your sisters, and restore Longwood for the son and heir you will father.’
He dismissed the temptation. His parents’ marriage of convenience agreed on by their father and mother only brought brief happiness. To enjoy a harmonious marriage, he must choose his future bride very carefully. A mature lady who would understand and foster his commitment to his mother, his brothers, sisters and estate. Not a twenty-year-old with little experience beyond her former life in which every detail seemed to have been controlled by her grandmother.
* * *
Saunton joined his mother, Charlotte and his ward in the large drawing room. To one side of a temporary stage beneath the windows candlelight shone on Margaret, Elizabeth and Diana’s glossy hair and white muslin gowns. Attended by Nurse, Sophie and Cassie sat near them.
Margaret ascended a step and stood on the centre of an almost threadbare Axminster carpet which covered the stage. “My lord and ladies, it is my pleasure to announce Lady Cassandra who will recite Little Bo Peep.” She beckoned to her sister. Cassie shook her head. Margaret hurried to her and whispered something in her ear.
“Sweetmeats?” Cassie asked.
Margaret frowned at her. “Yes. Come. There is no need to be shy.”
“How early on in life bribery and corruption begins,” Saunton murmured to Charlotte.
“Surely you don’t accept bribes.”
“No, I don’t.” He would never be an unscrupulous person, who attempted to use bribery to gain what he wanted or to alter the course of justice.
He watched Margaret hand Cassie a small crook decorated with multi coloured ribbons. A hand in the middle of the five-year-old’s back, she helped her up onto the stage.
“She looks like an angel,” Amelia whispered.
Charlotte shook her head. “Don’t be deceived. Appearances are misleading. Cassie is a small rascal.”
Saunton spent more time observing his ward than watching his sisters perform. She clapped enthusiastically after each recitation obviously charmed by such simple performances.
He congratulated each of the performers. “Tomorrow, your reward shall be ice cream.”
“No, cook has enough to do,” Hortense protested although she smiled at the children. “I doubt any other mother is blessed with such accomplished daughters.”
The remark did not seem to be addressed to a particular person, so no one replied.
“Dinner is served,” Fletcher announced.
After they ate they settled in the small drawing room and played cards until Fletcher interrupted them.
“My lord, ladies, the carol singers await you.”
* * *
Snug in warm pelisses the ladies hurried to the open front door with Saunton encased in his great coat. Beyond the flight of steps which led up to the house, a group of men carried lanterns which cast a golden glow on the snow. One of the boys who accompanied them sang the first verse of The Holly and The Ivy.
The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.
His clear treble voice rang out across the snow concealing an imperfect lawn which stretched toward a belt of trees, their limbs stark against the night sky lit by a full moon and brilliant stars.
Miss Carstairs, who stood next to him, caught her breath when the choir joined in. Until she smiled at him, Saunton concluded she protested over the butchered carol.
“Your sisters’ recitations, plum pudding when we dined, and now carols. It is magical. Indeed, in the words of the psalmist, my cup runneth over. If only Grandmamma could be here to share this.”
Saunton pitied his beautiful, wealthy ward from the deepest recesses of his being. Her presentation at court ensured her entrée to the ton and all its pastimes but he doubted anything ever exceeded the pleasure afforded by this evening’s simple entertainment.
The singers began their last carol, the old favourite, While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night.
His ward hummed the first verse until her voice rose unselfconsciously during the second verse. When her clear soprano resounded beyond their immediate vicinity, the choir fell silent until she sang the final verse in which the soloist joined.
“All glory be to God on high,
And to the Earth be peace;
Good will henceforth from heaven to men
Begin and never cease,
Begin and never cease!”
Saunton gazed at her pure profile. An angel’s voice. Memories of arduous years fraught with danger while fighting the French flickered through his mind. If only the Earth could be forever at peace.
“Saunton,” his mother prompted. “Have your wits wandered?”
He handed a drawstring purse full of coins to a footman to give to the oldest carol singer. “Thank you, my lord.” He looked up the steps at Saunton and tugged his forelock.
“God bless you all,” Saunton said automatically, still bewitched by the sweet sound of Miss Carstairs’ voice. “Go to the kitchen where all of you will be served mince pies and ale.”