At least she had not made him get down. Yet.
“Actually,” she said breathlessly, “I suppose I could have mistaken your gawp of incomprehension for a frozen, ghostly glare.”
Relief flooded him. “Princes of the Ottoman Empire do not gawp,” he managed.
At last, she glanced at him, and her eyes were dancing. “Admit that you gawped.”
“Alas, I gawped,” he mourned, fighting the urge to take her into his arms. “No wonder my cousin, the Sultan, will not allow me to come home. I am clearly a disgrace to the family.”
“You are,” she agreed with just a little too much relish.
“And what, then, are you?”
“Gullible,” she said ruefully.
“You must stop reading those novels so full of ghostly whispers and clanking chains.”
“I suppose it was your sword that clanked,” she allowed. “But what were you about to be whispering out of the mist like that?”
“I was trying not to wake the whole household.”
“I wish I had screamed,” she reflected.
“I am heartily glad you did not! Where are we going?”
“To deliver Christmas gifts to our tenants. It’s the lady of the manor’s responsibility, but Hazel and I are dividing it this year.” She scowled at him. “But I am still angry with you!”
“I am angry at myself,” he assured her. But he couldn’t help smiling, just because he was near her at last. And although she did not say as much, he knew there was hope.
After what seemed a long time, she directed him off the main track to a well-kept cottage. As soon as he drew the tired pony to a halt, she jumped down without waiting for him to help and walked up to the front door.
Selim, who had every intention of accompanying her, got down, took an apple from his pocket, and cut it with the knife from his other pocket. At the cottage door, Emma clutched her reticule very tightly, and it struck him that she was nervous. He had never seen her so before.
Intrigued, he fed the pony half the apple and strolled toward Emma. The door opened abruptly, and a girl about Emma’s age stood there in the dark gown, white cap, and apron of the English domestic servant.
The girl froze in clear surprise.
“Good morning, Alice,” Emma said cheerfully.
The girl swallowed. “I’ll be up directly, miss. By midday, I hope.” In her voice was a peculiar mixture of resentment and stiff pleading.
Ah, this will be the maid with whom she quarreled, the childhood playmate…
“Of course,” Emma said brightly. “You must stay with your father as long as you are needed. I am only here to bring your mother this parcel from Lady Sayle. Is she here?”
As if on some stage cue, an older woman with lines of weariness and anxiety etched into her face appeared, scolding, “Alice, what are you about leaving Miss Emma standing in the cold? Come in, miss, if you’d be so good…” Her eyes fell on Selim and widened. “Sir,” she added uncertainly.
“Oh, this is a friend of Sir Joseph,” Emma said carelessly, dropping the parcel into her hostess’s arms.
“Mr. Isyanci,” Alice supplied, clearly recalling him from his last visit, though he could not remember her.
“Indeed,” Emma murmured, not looking at him, for it was the name he had given himself two and a half years ago to save Joe the embarrassment of entertaining a disgraced member of the Sultan’s family. Isyanci was, in fact, the Turkish word for foreigner.
Selim bowed slightly in acknowledgment.
“Please, sit,” the woman begged, indicating the chair by the kitchen fire. “I’m afraid Fairnie isn’t well—”
“So I heard. Has Dr. Stone called?”
“Oh, no, miss. I’m sure Fairnie’ll be right as rain by tomorrow. He’s asleep now, but I know he’ll want to thank her ladyship for her gift—and yourselves for bringing it.”
Emma sat. Selim chose to stand, leaning against the wall by the door, watching.
“Let me bring you a piece of my fruit cake—”
“Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Fairnie, I can’t stop today,” Emma replied with her charming smile. “I really just wanted a quick word. I don’t know if my brother has spoken to Mr. Fairnie? I often find men make wrong assumptions because they do not put their intentions into words, so I thought I would just tell you that although Sir Joseph has been away for much of the year, he fully appreciates your difficulties over the last year. There have been Fairnies at Brightoaks for so long that he would not dream of evicting you because the rent is difficult. It can be arranged as a loan while Mr. Fairnie gets back on his feet.”
Mrs. Fairnie dropped on to a stool, dashing her apron over her eyes. “You are kind,” she gasped. “Sir Joseph is kind.”
“No, but he will come and speak to your husband. I just want you to know it will be well, if not easy.”
Mrs. Fairnie rose once more, glaring at her daughter. “Now, Alice has something she wishes to say to you.” The woman stamped over to a cupboard, casting a surreptitious glance at Selim as she went. He smiled amiably but did not move.
Alice stood in front of Emma, her back rigid, and said stiffly, “I hope you’ll forgive my presumption last night, miss. It won’t happen again, if only you give me another chance.”
Emma blinked. “Another chance? For what? Alice, I could not dismiss you if I wanted to, and of course, I don’t. We both know I was in the wrong. I was ill-tempered and rude—unforgivably so now that we are no longer children, and you will not let yourself answer back.” She smiled ruefully. “I forget sometimes that I am grown-up, and things are not as they were. That is my fault, not yours.”
The rigidity left Alice’s body, and she sat abruptly on the stool her mother had just vacated. “That’s very kind of you to say, miss. We both know you didn’t need to. Thing is, we need my wages, and if I were to be turned off—”
“I can’t imagine that ever happening, Alice,” Emma said. She opened her reticule and took something out. “I want to give you this by way of an apology.”
Alice reached out and took it from her fingers. A brooch, Selim thought.
“Oh, miss, this is too fine for me,” Alice breathed. “I could not wear it for fear of losing it, and truly there is no need. All I want is to keep my place at the big house.”
“But it isn’t all you deserve. You may sell the brooch.” She held Alice’s gaze. “I thought you might like to buy seeds and other necessities with the proceeds. Just to have a fresh start here.”
Alice’s eyes widened farther. A spark of excitement lit her face and died. “I could not, miss. It is too much, and in any case, who would buy it from me? They’d think I stole it.”
“I thought of that,” Emma said cheerfully, returning to her reticule and producing a thin roll of banknotes, which she laid on the table. “So I thought I would buy it from you. If you were willing to sell.”
Again, their eyes met, and Selim’s heart swelled with pride in her. The money would never have been accepted outright. A gift as an apology for bad behavior was different. Pride was preserved, and the charity given all the same.
Alice said, “It would give him fresh hope.”
“You will know best how to manage it,” Emma said, perhaps a subtle warning not to entrust it all to her father at once. She stood up. “Merry Christmas, Alice. I’ll see you up at the house.”
Alice smiled. “Merry Christmas to you, miss. And you, sir.”
Only as they left the cottage did Emma breathe a sigh of relief. Selim handed her up on to the trap and gave the horse the other half of the apple, before climbing up beside her and taking the reins. Mrs. Fairnie, Alice, and a gaggle of children waved wildly as they drove away, back toward the main track.
“That was well done,” Selim said warmly.
“I am trying to learn subtlety. Along with unselfishness, though, I think that will be harder.” She glanced at him. “Joe says some of your reasons for rebelling against the Sultan were…unselfish.”
Selim shrugged. “Some of them were. Some of them were sheer ambition. I’m still not sure I would not make a better Sultan.”
“Will you try?”
He shook his head, just a little sadly. “There is no point. I will not tear my country apart and make it poorer, whichever of us might win. I shall be loyal to my cousin and work in his interests wherever he sends me. In my country’s interests.” He glanced at her with a deprecating smile. “Less dashing, more noble.”
After the first shock, and after making things right with Alice and the Fairnies, Emma began to realize she was happy. Because Selim was alive, because he was here, so close to her, they could touch at any moment. Because he still made her laugh and challenged her thoughts on everything. Because he was Selim, and she had never been so physically aware of anyone.
In between each short visit to hand over the Christmas gifts, they talked of everything, much as they had done in the past. Only this time, there seemed greater equality between them. She was just a little older, more mature, with the benefit of two London seasons worth of company, admiration, and culture to boost her confidence. She was not a child in awe of a prince, hanging on his every word. She argued with him, teased him in retaliation, and knew, by his gleaming eyes, that he liked it.
The sun had begun to go down when they finally pointed the tired horse toward home, and the cold had begun to seep through her boots and fur-lined cloak. She knew an urge to settle against him, feel his arm around her—for warmth, obviously. But he did not touch her until they were almost home, and then it was only because the trap bounced over a rut in the road, and he flung out his hand to steady her.
For an instant, she felt the strength behind his firm grip of her arm. Her gaze flew to his, and for once, his eyes were serious. They glanced downward, in the direction of her lips, and butterflies leapt in her stomach.
Then he released her and turned his attention back to the road. But the moment stayed with her, curiously sweet and intimate. His nearness, his movements, the way he handed her down from the trap, all seemed to have new significance. Even if only in her imagination.
Inside, Hazel and the servants were decorating the hall from huge piles of greenery.
“Ah, there you are!” Hazel exclaimed, dropping a handful of pinecones on the mantelpiece. “Let’s have tea and leave everyone else to finish here!”
They trooped upstairs together, Hazel and Emma exchanging news of the people they had met that day. Alice stood aside for them on the landing, and Emma gave her a quick smile, which was as quickly returned.
In the drawing room, Emma’s mother, sister, and brother-in-law awaited tea impatiently. While everyone greeted Selim, Emma hurried up to the fire for warmth and knelt by the hearth. Her nephews and niece rolled over to join her, displaying holly chains and little knots of mistletoe they had made. Joe and John wandered in, arguing about the relative merits of two wines, and John limped over to shake hands with Selim.
By the time the footmen brought in the tea trays, she felt a glow of warmth from the inside as well as out. The family which had irritated her last night with their expectations were her fun-loving familiars once more. Love and contentment surrounded her. And only feet away sat Selim, politely swallowing tea in the English manner, though he had persuaded Hazel not to add cream.
He had come back. He wanted to know if she loved him. Her heart beat fast with anticipation, with a new excitement that was both frightening and wonderful.
He and Joe exchanged the kind of banter she remembered from the prince’s last visit. And they talked of some more serious issues, but not for long. Emma listened, observing, and yet part of it all.
I am happy.
When they had finished tea, she and Selim helped the children tie their decorations around the mantelpiece and over the doorway in a perfect finishing touch.
“Excellent,” Hazel approved. “There is just the dining room to decorate now. Could you do that, Emma, or are you too tired?”
“Oh, no, I’d love to,” Emma said eagerly. Hazel was lady here now, but she never forgot that it was Emma’s home, too.
“May I help?” Selim offered.
“Of course,” Emma said at once, “I’ll need you to climb ladders for me.”
This, of course, was not strictly true, for Emma was quite happy hopping up and down ladders, as she proved hanging swathes of greenery around the dining room walls. With a ladder each, they made short work of it.
Selim seemed quite happy to follow her instructions until she leaned precariously from the ladder to join her garland to the one dangling down to the mantel shelf.
“Emma,” he warned, jumping off his own ladder and striding toward her. “Let me…”
The ladder began to tip, and Emma leapt off in an attempt to save herself from crashing down on the hearth. Free of her weight, the ladder righted itself, and she landed not on the floor but in Selim’s arms.
“Miss Sayle,” he said as though surprised to find her there.
His broad chest was hard, his arms firm yet curiously tender. She clutched his lapel in one hand and became fascinated by the shadow of stubble on his jaw, the texture of his firm, half-smiling lips.
“Prince Selim,” she managed. “I believe you might put me down now.”
“I might,” he agreed. Yet it was with aching slowness he lowered her feet to the ground, and his arm remained around her shoulders. His hand, slender and long, brushed her cheek in a soft caress. She leaned into it, her heart hammering.
Slowly, he bent his head, and her stomach dived wildly in anticipation.
“Selim,” she whispered in wonder.
But there were voices outside the room, growing louder, and with a breath of laughter that kissed her lips, he released her, strolling back to the ladder, which he adjusted and began to climb.
Hazel and Joe came into the room with an unexpected visitor.
“Miss Sayle,” the visitor beamed. “It seems I am joining you for Christmas, after all.”
It was habit rather than pleasure that drove her forward, her hand held out. She had to keep the dismay from her voice as she greeted him.
“Lord Davitt. What a pleasant surprise.”
Chapter Four
She had not thought of Davitt once since telling “Selim’s ghost” about him last night. Her whole world had been filled with Selim’s supposed death, and then the man himself. And now Davitt had appeared here without warning, as though already a member of the family.
She could not help the bit of irritation that he was so sure of her, that he paid such scant regard to her right to answer him. Joe might have given him permission to ask, but she had put off answering until after Christmas.
Perhaps he had come to persuade her.
But as soon as he took her hand, bowing over it with his confident smile, she knew with blinding clarity that she could never marry him.
She liked him well enough. But he did not make her pulse race, and did not make her heart sing. Even if marriage with Selim was impossible, she could accept nothing less now.
However, this was hardly the place to give Lord Davitt his answer, so she merely drew her hand free and said, “I did not know you were coming to Sussex.”
“It was a sudden impulse. I could not wait longer to see you. And Lady Sayle has been kind enough to let me stay.”
“Allow me to introduce you to our other guest,” Hazel said. The perfect diplomat’s wife, she gave no clue that the situation might prove awkward. “Selim, this is Lord Davitt, a good friend from London. My lord, Prince Selim, an old friend from Joe’s days in the Ottoman Empire.”
Selim left his ladder and strolled forward, hand outstretched.
Davitt accepted it, though only with two fingers. His expression was faintly amused. “A prince of the Ottoman Empire? How exotic. How does one become such? By being related to the Sultan, or for service rendered?”
“Both,” said Selim, casually dropping the two fingers. “How do you do, Lord Davitt?” Having th
us out-mannered the English nobleman, he turned to Emma. “Did you want the last trailing garland on the other side of the fireplace?”
“Oh, yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” Emma said quickly, turning to her sister-in-law. “Do you like what we’ve done, Hazel?”
“Charming and tasteful,” Hazel pronounced. “Well done, Emma and Selim.”
Selim tied the garland without mishap, and Joe summoned a footman to take the ladders away and bring wine to the salon, where they all repaired.
“Does this fuss over Christmas not offend you, Prince?” Davitt asked, taking a chair near Emma—who had sat beside Joe on the sofa deliberately to avoid closeness with either Davitt or Selim.
Selim’s eyebrows flew up. “Of course not.”
“But you are not a Christian, are you?”
“No, sir, I am a Muslim. And happy in the customs of my hosts.”
A sensible man would have left it there. But Davitt was obviously determined to pursue the differences. “And yet surely you cannot join in our celebrations of the birth of Jesus Christ? Not with sincerity.”
Selim smiled. “With complete sincerity, sir. My people rejoice in his birth and revere him as a great prophet. Are you interested in theology?”
Clearly, he was more than capable of defending himself from Davitt, all with perfect civility.
“Theology? Not deeply,” Davitt said hastily. In fact, he was not a religious or an academic man and looked very grateful when Joe presented him with a glass and turned the conversation to wine.
Selim, who did not drink wine, glanced at Emma, his eyes gleaming with mischief. She would have laughed, had she not been so conscious of the answer she owed Davitt.
She was grateful, in a cowardly kind of way, when Hazel swept her up to change for dinner, making sure she did not fall into private company with either Davitt or Selim. In fact, Emma took her arm and dragged her into her bedchamber before closing the door.
“What am I going to do?” Emma demanded. “Why did Davitt have to come now?”
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 20