A Winter Wish

by Christi Caldwell

  Tears tightened her throat, and she struggled to swallow around them. No one had ever dreamed of a different future for her than that of servitude. Not even her own family. Not because they hadn’t or didn’t love her, but rather, because dreams such as those weren’t permitted for servants.

  Luke had spoken to her of more. And wanting more for her.

  She loved him.

  She—

  Would one day soon become his housekeeper.

  And never more had Merry been filled with this great need to cry. To curl up in a ball and give over to every last emotion a servant wasn’t entitled to feel and weep until she broke from the pain of what could never be.

  As they neared the White Parlor, Merry struggled to put order to her feelings and emotions.

  After all, unless a situation merited her attention, the Countess of Maldavers didn’t bother with servants aside from the head housekeeper and butler.

  Oh, the lady of the household had received a reputation for being firm but fair.

  None would ever dare accuse her of being warm. Neither did they speak unkindly of her.

  Meetings were granted between the countess and a servant in only two circumstances: extreme pleasure on the lady’s part, or displeasure.

  “Here we are, ma’am,” the butler murmured upon their arrival.

  As Merry was shown into the White Parlor—the beautifully adorned White Parlor—just one glance at the countess’ tight lips, pursed like she’d sucked the very lemon that had gone into Merry’s special shortbread recipe, confirmed one fact—this was not to be a meeting where one was awarded the countess’ extreme pleasure.

  Merry forced a smile to her lips. “My lady,” she greeted.

  Seated on the ivory satin sofa with its gold piping, a tray of tea and a platter of shortbread neatly arranged before her, the countess made no attempt to rise. “Come in, Miss Read,” she said coolly. “If you would, Blake?”

  Merry stiffened as the butler hurriedly drew the door shut behind him.

  Folding her hands primly before her, Merry remained at the doorway.

  For all the warmth and joy of her meeting that morn with Luke, Merry was met with only a frosty cool from his mother.

  Luke, who didn’t treat her as if she were no more than a servant. Luke, who saw her as an equal. And, oh, how she hoped that when she left, and the only company that remained were the proud lords and ladies of London, he didn’t lose who he’d been these past days.

  “Come, come,” the countess said, impatiently gesturing her over. “Sit.”

  It wasn’t an invitation.

  Drawing back her shoulders, Merry walked with the same dread Joan of Arc must have known. As she settled onto the indicated King Louis XIV chair, Merry noted the official-looking envelope that lay upon the table.

  “I’m not a cruel woman,” the countess began, snapping Merry’s attention up and over to the lady of the household. Luke’s mother.

  Merry cleared her throat. “No, my lady. No one would ever say—”

  The countess wagged a finger and with a tsking noise commanded silence as though she would a cat.

  Merry flattened her lips. No, there could be no doubting that this meeting wasn’t to be one in which the pleased mistress praised a servant for her work.

  “I love my family greatly. I wish nothing for them but their happiness.” She winged a thin, icy brow. “I trust you know something of that?”

  “I… do,” she said cautiously.

  Fury snapped in the other woman’s eyes in the greatest display of emotion Merry ever remembered from the woman, but when the countess spoke, there was only her usual regal calm. “The reason I asked you to oversee the holiday decorations was so that Lord Grimslee would be… occupied.” Merry stiffened. “And nothing more. I didn’t want a friendship, because let us be honest with one another.” She casually stirred a spoon in her tea. “Lords and servants? There isn’t room for any relationships.” She paused and glanced up. “Not one that is proper, anyway.”

  She knows. Balling her hands into fists, Merry kept her eyes directed forward. All the while, her stomach churned and twisted.

  “Of course I know,” the other woman said, as if speaking on the weather, in command of Merry’s thoughts as easily as she was the moment. She paused that distracted stirring and pinged the residual drops on the spoon against the side of the teacup. “Imagine my surprise when I came to the nursery to speak with you regarding the final preparations.”

  Oh, God.

  Merry’s eyes slid briefly closed, and she concentrated on breathing.

  “My son was frolicking in the snow, Miss Read. Frolicking.”

  The reasons Luke had been aloof were clearer than they had ever been. What a sad existence it must have been, having a mother so horrified by his happiness.

  The countess set her spoon on the edge of her plate. “And various forms of frolicking, at that.”

  Mortification brought Merry’s toes curling tightly into the soles of her boots.

  She’d seen them.

  “I expect most employers wouldn’t care either way. A young lord dallying with a servant isn’t at all uncommon.” The countess spoke through tightly compressed lips. “But my family does not need salacious stories. And Lord Grimslee does not require distractions from his future responsibilities. Not that I need speak to you about my reasons why or…”

  While the countess went on, outrage sparked in Merry’s belly, then fanned and grew until fury roiled in her chest. How dare this woman? She’d speak of Merry as though she were less than a person? It was not at all different from how Merry had viewed herself. What had changed, however, was her. Because of Luke. Luke, who’d allowed her to see she was as entitled to her dreams and happiness and hopes as any person born to the peerage.

  “As such,” the countess was saying, “I’m left to determine just what to do now.” With you.

  Those two words didn’t even need to be voiced.

  If the countess expected she’d be cowed, the woman was to be greatly disappointed. Merry was not the same woman who’d arrived to oversee the holiday preparations. “With the meticulous care and thought you put into everything,” Merry said, “I trust you’ve already arrived at an answer.”

  Surprise lit the older woman’s eyes. “Very well.” The countess reclined slightly on her sofa. “I’ll cease with the games or dancing about the matter.” So that was how Lady Maldavers would refer to Merry’s relationship with Luke. “Having you here was a terrible idea on my part, for now obvious reasons. I’m not, however, dismissing you.”

  It was Merry’s turn to try to mask her shock.

  The countess arranged her skirts about her. “I’m not going to hold your family’s employment or security over your decision.”

  She stiffened.

  Stretching out perfectly manicured fingers, the countess slid the ivory packet across the table, moving it closer to Merry. “I am, however, suggesting it might be best for everyone if you chose to leave…”

  Merry glanced down at the table.

  “Go on,” Luke’s mother urged, picking up her teacup. Delicately sipping from that fine piece of porcelain, she stared at Merry over the rim.

  Merry picked up the heavy packet and turned it over in her hands. All the while, her skin prickled with the burn of the other woman’s eyes on her. Unfolding the article, she skimmed the contents.

  And froze. “What is this?” she asked quietly, even as she knew, because of the words in front of her, just what Luke’s mother offered… and intended.

  “You went abroad working in households throughout Europe, Miss Read. I am merely presenting you with the opportunity to visit, not as a servant, but as a woman traveling as she would, with no requirements placed upon you. But you are leaving. Today.”

  Restless, Merry came out of her seat, and with the packet in hand, she wandered away from Luke’s mother, needing space with which to think. With which to respond.

  Merry stopped at the window a
nd continued to study the gift at her fingertips.

  I am merely presenting you with the opportunity to visit, not as a servant, but as a woman traveling as she would, with no requirements placed upon you.

  The countess offered Merry everything she wished for—the opportunity to see the world, not as a servant, but as one without constraints.

  And yet…

  Her gaze fell to the ground below, the snow untouched but for a handful of footprints and a pair of snow angels, the tips of their wings touching.

  As a servant, Merry well knew that households had ears everywhere. Yet, something in Merry’s intimate exchange with Luke had been overheard and now was being used by this woman to manipulate her. It sent her flesh crawling.

  Sucking in a breath, she faced the other woman. “As a girl, I did not much like Luke.”

  The countess went whipcord straight. Was it Merry’s use of her son’s given name? Or that insulting admission on Merry’s part? She’d wager the greater offense to the other woman was, in fact, the former. “He was aloof and cold and pompous. Or, I thought he was. But do you know, my lady? These past days, I’ve come to find that it wasn’t Luke I disliked. It was you.”

  Lady Maldavers’ mouth fell open.

  “It was how you and Lord Maldavers insisted your son, as the precious heir, be. You were the reason he was unable to smile or laugh.”

  The countess burst onto her feet. “How dare you, Miss Read?”

  “How dare I speak the truth? Quite easily,” Merry shot back. “I’ve come to appreciate I didn’t know Luke in any way… until now. And the man I do know? He is a man who is honorable and giving.” She scraped a gaze over the countess. “And he’s certainly not one to find a person wanting for their birthright.” So much love swelled in her heart, and she struggled to speak around the emotion clogging her throat. “Your son is a man who has made me think about my own life and what I want. Nay, what I deserve.” Sadness pierced her chest. “And you may feel I do not deserve your son, my lady. You may find me inferior and less because of the status to which I was born.” She crossed over to the pale, silent woman. “But for your ill opinion of me and your thoughts on my worth, I can leave this room with my head high, trusting that I’ve far greater convictions and honor than to accept a bribe.” Fury lanced through her once more. “And I’ll certainly never treat anyone thusly.” With a disgusted shake of her head, Merry tossed that damnable packet down.

  It hit the edge of the teacup, sending the brew sloshing over the edge, staining the table and the papers.

  Merry made to step by the countess.

  “What do you i-intend to do, Miss Read?” The countess’ palms shook as she ran them over her immaculate satin skirts.

  In other words, did Merry intend to tell Luke everything? It was likely the reason the countess hadn’t ultimately resorted to sacking Merry and her family. “I intend to do that which you wish for most. Leave.” Merry edged her chin up. “Not because of you.” Because she’d not be a source of contention between Luke and his family. She’d not be a wedge in any way. And if she were being honest with herself, she was too much a coward to see Luke celebrate his holiday with a houseful of strangers who’d never dare appreciate him as he deserved, but who would command his attention forever anyway.

  And not even an hour later, with her one bag packed and her heart breaking, Merry departed in the Earl of Maldavers’ carriage for home.

  Chapter 11

  The guests had begun to arrive, and yet anticipation thrummed within Luke as he sought a glimpse of just one.

  For the better part of the day, he’d skirted all company and searched for her. Where in blazes was she?

  Merry had proven as elusive as she’d been as a child playing hide-and-seek with his brother.

  Making his way to the greenhouse, he entered and did a search of the glass room.

  It took but a single once-over and hearing the swath of silence to determine she was not there.

  She was avoiding him.

  It was all that made sense.

  “Where in blazes are you?” he muttered. Quitting the gardens, Luke made his way back through the townhouse. Servants scurried about, seeing to the last-minute touches.

  Which only increased his ire, because that was undoubtedly what kept Merry.

  It is the way of the servant. Always be working.

  By her own words, it was what Merry had always done and also, according to her, the entire reason for her being here in London. Never more had Luke looked at what life was for those born outside a life of privilege. And never more had he hated himself, which was saying a great deal, given the self-loathing he’d cloaked himself in after he’d failed to be there when his youngest brother needed him and after he had broken off his betrothal to a woman he’d deeply respected and admired.

  Because all of it, every aspect of how he’d lived his life, pointed to one who’d never cared about the people around him: not his family, not those of the working class. And not Merry.

  As he walked, his strides grew increasingly quick and lengthy.

  Luke caught sight of the butler carrying a silver tray in hand and walking with an equally determined stride. “Blake,” he called, his voice echoing down the candlelit corridor.

  The servant hesitated, and for a moment, Luke believed the man intended to rush off, but then, ever the obedient butler, Blake faced him. “My lord,” he greeted with a rusty, but deep bow.

  The candles’ glow cast shadows over the heavily wrinkled face, momentarily distracting Luke from his purpose, and he frowned. Blake had been on staff nearly twenty-two years. Nor had he been a young man when he’d begun working for the Holmans. He should be enjoying a retirement for his years of hard service. And Luke would see that he did.

  Luke reached his side. “Hello, Blake.”

  The other man’s pupils dilated in the light, his rheumy eyes revealing shock. “Good evening, my lord.”

  That’s the manner of pompous prig I’ve been, that one of my loyal staff should be stunned by so much as a greeting. And Luke owed it to Merry for opening his eyes to that truth about himself… and also the desire to be and do better. “I was wondering, Blake, have you seen Miss Read?”

  The older man’s face grew shuttered. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”

  Didn’t know what he meant? What else could be construed or misinterpreted by Luke’s question? “Miss Read,” he said once again. “I’ve not seen her since this morning, and I was wondering if…” A slow, horrifying understanding dawned and was confirmed when Blake’s gaze dropped to the floor. “You don’t know what I mean,” Luke said, his voice blank, “because she’s not here.”

  The servant gave a shaky nod. “That is correct, my lord.”

  Luke rocked back on his heels.

  She’s gone.

  He went cold and then hot as his eyes slid closed.

  “Where?” he gritted out, fury pulling that single syllable from him. A curse exploded from his lips. “Where?”

  “Lady Maldavers is visiting his lordship’s offices—”

  Luke was already striding past the butler. And then he took off running. His chest rose and fell from a desolate panic threatening to swamp his senses.

  For there could be no doubting just why Merry had gone.

  He streaked past strands of garland they’d made, the gold beads twinkling merrily and bright.

  As if to torment and taunt him with the visceral reminder of her, the one woman to ever bring him utter and unashamed joy. Her touch was all over what had been an otherwise, for him, sterile household.

  The moment he reached the corridor that led to his father’s office, he lengthened his footfalls, and not breaking stride, he grabbed the handle and threw the door open.

  Matching gasps went up.

  “Lucas Holman,” his father said. “What is the meaning of—?”

  Ignoring that question, Luke sharpened his gaze on his mother. There could be no doubting her guilt—sh
e was pale and trembling slightly. “What have you done?” he bit out each of those four words.

  “What is happening?” his father cried. “Are you drunk again?”

  “Oh, no,” Luke said frostily, leveling his mother with a hard look that drained the rest of the color from her face. “I’m completely sober.”

  “Lucas,” his mother began. “It was for the best. This family certainly cannot survive another scandal.”

  “What is for the best?” the earl interrupted, looking hopelessly from his wife over to his son.

  They ignored him.

  “Why, with your brother’s situation, we have to be mindful of our reputation and—”

  “My brother, whom you’ve cut off from the damned family for mistakes made? For injustices carried out against him? Your own son?” Vitriol dripped from his voice.

  His father’s thick, white eyebrows formed a line. “What is going on?”

  “Mother sent Merry away.”

  “Merry Read?” The earl’s confusion deepened. “The steward’s daughter?”

  “Your son is carrying on an improper relationship with Miss Read.”

  His father’s cheeks grew florid, and he sputtered, “What is this? I won’t tolerate that from you, Lucas.”

  “You needn’t worry. I’m not in and will not enter into a dalliance with her,” he said quietly.

  Both his parents’ shoulders sagged with visible relief.

  “I intend to marry her,” Luke added.

  Pandemonium ensued.

  His mother erupted into a cacophony of tears and pleas. “You’re doing this to get back at me for Miss Pratt, and I’ll not allow it,” she cried. Her husband rested a hand on her shoulder and spoke quietly to her, but she shrugged off his touch. “Do you hear me…”

  “I said that will be all, Sara,” his father said with an insistence that managed to silence her. His father caught his cane and thumped it on the floor. “Now, what is this about?”

  “I’m in love with Merry Read,” Luke said quietly, ushering silence into the room.

  His mother fluttered a hand about her chest before clutching at her throat. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered. “Why, just ten days ago you thought you loved Josephine Pratt and were spending your days drunk because of her.”