My Favorite Things

by Lynsay Sands

  “Me?” She seemed surprised.

  “Aye. You,” he said. Then he stilled as he realized that it was Christmas Eve. He could not buy her a gift until the shops reopened. Vexed that he hadn’t thought of a gift before this, he warned, “I shan’t be able to procure it until after the shops reopen, but—”

  “What I want cannot be purchased.”

  Stephen drew back at that soft assurance. “What?”

  “I would like more of this,” she said huskily. Laughing, she drew his head toward her own.

  Stephen allowed her to pull him forward until his mouth was a bare inch away, then paused and murmured, “I am not sure.”

  “What?”

  He couldn’t tell if she was more affronted or shocked by his refusal to take what she offered, and he nearly smiled at her reaction, but managed to keep a solemn demeanor. “Well,” he amended. “Perhaps I could be persuaded . . . if you were to agree to give me what I want for Christmas in return.”

  Prudence suddenly looked wary. “What do you want for Christmas?”

  “All I want in the world for Christmas is for you to make an honest man of me. Marry me, Prudence.”

  PRU CAUGHT HER breath at Stephen’s proposal, nearly squeezing him silly. She wanted to shriek, “Yes,” but she hesitated and pushed at his chest until he eased the embrace. Solemnly she said, “You do not have to marry me. We can stop this right now. No one would ever know. I have escaped notice for far worse. You do not have to feel honor-bound to marry me.”

  “On the other hand,” he said slowly, “I could enjoy you now, tonight, on this Christmas Eve, and every other night so long as we both shall live. I could share your life, have children with you who will look as sweet and be just as cussedly stubborn as you. And I can have you and your harebrained schemes to make the rest of my life an adventure.” He smiled crookedly. “It is not a hard choice.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly,” he assured her. “Besides, that clever reason I gave for why I was paying your father’s debts . . .”

  Confusion covered her expression at the seeming change of subject. “Yes?”

  “I said it was because we were marrying and he had to save up for a huge wedding.”

  “Stephen!” she cried, slapping at his chest.

  He grinned unrepentantly and pulled her closer in his arms. “I do love you, Pru, and I want to share my life with you. What of you?”

  “Me?” She smiled crookedly at the uncertainty on his face as he asked the question, then made a serious face and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm, let me see. Marry my own personal hero? The man who saved my family?”

  “No,” Stephen said at once, “I do not wish you to marry me for what I did. I do not wish you to marry me out of simple gratitude.”

  “Ah.” Prudence nodded her head with understanding. “Then how about because you make me burn? Raise my passions? Test my mind? Make me smile? Or because my heart sings when you are near? Because when you are away I think of you and wonder what you are doing, and when you are near I wonder what you are thinking and wish you would touch me? Would that be reason enough? Or perhaps because I love you?”

  She gasped when he hugged her tightly, then rolled on the floor with her until she lay atop him. Pulling her head down, he kissed her until they were both aching with want; then he leaned his forehead against hers and held her close. Doing so, he whispered, “I do love you. You make me very happy, Pru.”

  “Ahhhh,” Prudence sighed in a quavery voice. “I have changed my mind.”

  “About what?” he asked, brushing the hair back behind her ears, a loving smile on his face for her and only her.

  “All I want for Christmas is for you to say that again,” she murmured, a smile trembling on her lips.

  Stephen’s lips widened. “I believe that can be arranged. In fact, lucky girl that you are, I think I can give you both things.”

  And he did.

  Three French Hens

  Chapter One

  December 24

  Ye’d best set that aside and wipe yer hands, girl. Cook’ll be wantin’ ye in a minute.”

  “Hmm?” Brinna glanced up from the pot she had been scrubbing and frowned slightly at the old woman now setting to work beside her. “Why?”

  “I was talkin’ to Mabel ere I came back to the kitchen and she says one o’ them guests His Lordship brought with him don’t have no maid. Fell ill or something and they left her at court.”

  “So?”

  “So, Lady Menton sent Christina in here to fetch a woman to replace her,” she said dryly, and nodded toward the opposite end of the kitchen.

  Following the gesture, Brinna saw that Aggie was right. Lady Christina was indeed in the kitchen speaking with Cook. A rare sight, that. You were more likely to find the daughter of the house with her nose buried in one of those musty old books she was forever dragging about than sniffing near anything domestic. It had been a bone of contention between her and her mother since the girl’s return from the convent school.

  “I still don’t see what that’s to do with me,” Brinna muttered, turning to frown at the older woman again, and Aggie tut-tutted impatiently.

  “I didn’t raise ye to be a fool, girl. Just look about. Do you see any likely lady’s maids ’sides yerself?”

  Letting the pot she had been scrubbing slide down to rest on the table before her, Brinna glanced around the kitchen. Two boys ground herbs with a mortar and pestle in a corner, while another boy worked at the monotonous task of turning a pig on its spit over the fire. But other than Lady Christina and Cook, she and Aggie were the only women present at the moment. The others were all rushing about trying to finish preparations for the sudden influx of guests that Lord Menton had brought home with him. Aggie herself was just returning from one such task.

  “From what I heard as I entered, they’ve settled on ye as the most likely lady’s maid,” Aggie murmured.

  “Mayhap they’ll send you now that yer back,” Brinna murmured. “That would make a nice change fer ye.”

  “Oh, aye,” Aggie said dryly. “Me runnin’ up an’ down those stairs, chasin’ after some spoilt little girl. A nice change, that. Here it comes,” Aggie added with satisfaction as Lady Christina left and Cook turned toward them.

  “Brinna!”

  “See. Now, off with ye and make me proud.”

  Releasing her breath in a sigh, Brinna wiped her hands dry on her skirts and hurried to Cook’s side as she returned to the table that she had been working at before Lady Christina’s arrival. “Ma’am?”

  “Lady Christina was just here,” the older woman announced as she bent to open a bag squirming beneath the table.

  “Aye, ma’am. I saw her.”

  “Hmm.” She straightened from the bag, holding a frantically squawking and flapping chicken by its legs. “Well, it seems one of the lady’s maids fell ill and remained behind at court. A replacement is needed while the girl is here. You’re that replacement.”

  “Oh. But, well, yer awful short-staffed at the moment and—”

  “Aye. I said as much to Lady Christina,” Cook interrupted dryly as she picked up a small hatchet with her free hand. “And she suggested I go down to the village in search of extra help . . . just as soon as I dispatch you to assist the lady in question.”

  “But—oh, nay, ma’am, I never could. Why, I can’t. I . . .”

  “You could, you can, and you will,” Cook declared, slamming the bird she held on the table with enough force to stun it, stilling it for the moment necessary for her to sever its head from its body with one smooth stroke of her ax. Pushing the twitching body aside, she wiped her hands on her apron, then removed it and set it aside before catching Brinna’s elbow in her strong hand and directing her toward the door.

  “Ye’ve been a scullery maid under me now for ten of yer twenty years, Brinna, and I’ve watched ye turn away one chance after another to advance up the ranks. And yet God has seen fit to send ye another, and if you t
hink to turn this away for yer dear Aggie’s sake—”

  She paused and rolled her eyes skyward at Brinna’s gasp of surprise. “Did ye think I was so dense that I’d believe ye actually enjoy washing pans all day every day? Or did ye think I was too blind to notice that ye start afore the others have risen and stay at it until well after they’ve quit for the night—all in an effort to cover the fact that Aggie has slowed down in her old age?” Sighing, the cook shook her head and continued forward, propelling Brinna along with her. “I know you are reluctant to leave Aggie. She raised ye from a babe, mothered ye through chills, colds, and childhood injuries. And I know too that ye’ve been the best daughter a woman could hope for, mothering and caring for her in return these last many years. Covering for her as age crept over her, making the job too hard for her old body. But ye needn’t have bothered. I am not so cruel that I would throw an old woman out on her duff after years of faithful service because she cannot work as she used to. She does her best, as do you, and that leaves me well satisfied.

  “So . . .” Pausing, she eyed Brinna grimly. “If you don’t accept this opportunity to prove yourself and maybe move up the ranks through it, I’ll swat ye up the side o’ the head with me favorite ladle. And don’t think I won’t. Now.” Cook turned her abruptly, showing Brinna that while she had been distracted by the woman’s words, Cook had marched her out to the great hall and to the foot of the stairs leading to the bedchambers. “Get upstairs and be the best lady’s maid ye can be. It’s Lady Joan Laythem, third room on the right. Get to it.”

  She gave her a little push, and Brinna stumbled up several steps before turning to glance down at the woman uncertainly. “Ye’ll really keep Aggie on, despite her being a bit slower than she used to be?”

  “I told you so, didn’t I?”

  Brinna nodded, then cocked her head. “Why’re ye only telling me now and not sooner?”

  Surprise crossed the other woman’s face. “What? And lose the best scullion I’ve ever had? Why, it will take two women to replace you. Speaking of which, I’d best get down to the village and find half a dozen or so girls to help out while the guests are here. You get on up there now and do your best.”

  Nodding, Brinna turned away and hurried upstairs, not slowing until she reached the door Cook had directed her to. Pausing then, she glanced down at her stained and threadbare skirt, brushed it a couple of times in the vain hope that some of the stains might be crumbs she could easily brush away, then gave up the task with a sigh and knocked at the door. Hearing a muffled murmur to enter, she pasted a bright smile on her lips, opened the door, and stepped inside the room.

  “Oh, fustian!” The snarled words preceded the crash of a water basin hitting the floor as Lady Joan bumped it while peeling off her glove. Stomping her foot, the girl gave a moan of frustration. “Now look what I have done. My hands are so frozen they will not do what I want and—”

  “I’ll tend it, m’lady.” Pushing the door closed, Brinna rushed around the bed toward the mess. “Why don’t you cozy yerself by the fire for a bit and warm up.”

  Heaving a sigh, Lady Laythem moved away to stand by the fire as Brinna knelt to tend to the mess. She had set the basin back on the chest and gathered the worst of the soaked rushes up to take them below to discard, when the bedroom door burst open and a pretty brunette bustled into the room.

  “What a relief to be spending the night within the walls of a castle again. I swear! One more night camping by the roadside and—” Spying Brinna’s head poking up curiously over the side of the bed, the woman came to a halt, eyes round with amazement. “Joan! What on earth are you doing on the floor?”

  “Whatever are you talking about, Sabrina? I am over here.”

  Whirling toward the fireplace, the newcomer gasped. “Joan! I thought—” She turned abruptly back toward Brinna as if suddenly doubting that she had seen what she thought she had. She shook her head in amazement as Brinna straightened slowly, the damp rushes in her hands. “Good Lord,” Sabrina breathed. “Who are you?”

  “I-I was sent to replace Lady Laythem’s maid,” Brinna murmured uncertainly.

  This news was accepted with silence; then the brunette glanced toward Lady Laythem, who was now staring at Brinna with a rather stunned expression as well. “It is not just me,” the cousin said with relief. “You see it too.”

  “Aye,” Lady Joan murmured, moving slowly forward. “I did not really look at her when she entered, but there is a resemblance.”

  “A resemblance?” the brunette cried in amazement, her gaze sliding back to Brinna again. “She is almost a mirror image of you, Joan. Except for that hair, of course. Yours has never been so limp and dirty.”

  Brinna raised a hand self-consciously to her head, glancing around in dismay as she realized that the ratty old strip of cloth that usually covered her head was gone. Seeing it lying on the floor, she bent quickly to pick it up, dropping the rushes so that she could quickly replace it. The cloth kept the hair out of her face while she scrubbed pots in the steaming kitchen, and half-hid the length of time between baths during the winter when the cold made daily dips in the river impossible. She, like the rest of the servants, had to make do with pots of water and a quick scrub for most of the winter. The opportunity to actually wash her hair was rare during this season.

  “She does look like me, does she not?” Lady Laythem murmured slowly now, and hearing her, Brinna shook her head. She herself didn’t see a resemblance. Lady Joan’s hair was as fine as flax and fell in waves around her fair face. Her eyes were green, while Brinna had always been told that her own were gray. She supposed their noses and lips were similar, but she wasn’t really sure. She had only ever seen her reflection in the surface of water, and didn’t believe she was anywhere near as lovely as Lady Laythem.

  “Aye.” The cousin circled Brinna, inspecting every inch of her. “She could almost be your twin. In fact, had she been wearing one of your dresses and not those pitiful rags, you could have fooled me into thinking she was you.”

  Lady Laythem seemed to suck in a shaky gasp at that, her body stilling briefly before a sudden smile split her face. “That is a brilliant idea, Sabrina.”

  “It is?” The brunette glanced at her with the beginnings of excitement, then frowned slightly. “What is?”

  “That we dress her up as me and let her take my place during this horrid holiday.”

  “What?” Brinna and Sabrina gasped as one; then Sabrina rushed to her cousin’s side anxiously. “Oh, Joan, what are you thinking of?”

  “Just what I said.” Smiling brightly, she moved to stand in front of Brinna. “It will be grand. You can wear my gowns, eat at the high table with the other nobles. Why, ’twill be a wonderful experience for you! Aye. I think it might actually even work. Of course, your speech needs a little work, and your hands—”

  When the lady reached for her callused and chapped hands, Brinna put them quickly behind her back and out of reach as she began to shake her head frantically. “Oh, nay. ’Tis sorry I am, m’lady, but I couldn’t be takin’ yer place. Why, it’s a punishable offense fer a free woman to pass herself off as a noble. Why, they’d—well, I’m not sure what they’d do, but ’tis sure I am ’twould be horrible.”

  “Do you think so?” Lady Laythem glanced toward her cousin questioningly, but found no help there. Her cousin was gaping at them both as if they had sprouted a third head between them. Sighing, Joan turned back to beam at Brinna reassuringly. “Well, it does not matter. ’Twill not be a worry. If you are discovered, I shall simply say ’twas all my idea. That ’twas a jest.”

  “Aye, well . . .” Eyes wide and wary, Brinna began backing away. “I don’t think—”

  “I will pay you.”

  Pausing, she blinked at that. “Pay me?”

  “Handsomely,” Joan assured her, then mentioned a sum that made Brinna press a hand to her chest and drop onto the end of the bed to sit as her head spun. With that sum, Aggie could retire. She could while away the res
t of her days in relative comfort and peace. Aggie deserved such a boon.

  “Joan!” Dismay covering her face, Sabrina hurried forward now. “Whatever do you think you are doing? You can’t have this—this maid impersonate you!”

  “Of course I can. Don’t you see? If she is me, I won’t have to suffer the clumsy wooing of that backwoods oaf to whom my father is determined to marry me off. I may even find a way out of this mess.”

  “There is no way out of this mess—I mean, marriage. It was contracted when you were but a babe. It is—”

  “There is always a way out of things,” Joan insisted grimly. “And I will find it if I just have time to think. Having her pretend to be me will give me that time. I would already have figured a way out of it if Father had deigned to mention this betrothal ere he did. Why, when he sent for me from court, I thought, I thought—well, I certainly did not think it was simply to ship me here so that some country bumpkin could look me over for a marriage I did not even know about.”

  “I understand you are upset,” Sabrina murmured gently. “But you have yet to even meet Royce of Thurleah. He may be a very nice man. He may be—”

  “He is a lesser baron of Lord Menton’s. He was the son of a wealthy land baron some fifteen years ago when my father made the betrothal, but his father ran the estate into the ground and left his son with a burdensome debt and a passel of trouble. He made a name for himself in battle while in service to the king, then retired to his estates where he is said to work as hard as his few vassals. He does not attend court, and does not travel much. In fact, he spends most of his time out there on his estate trying to wring some profit from his land.”

  Sabrina bit her lip guiltily. It was she herself who had gained all this information for Joan during the trip here from court. It had been easy enough to attain, a question here, a question there. Everyone seemed to know and respect the man. She pointed that out now, adding, “And he is succeeding at the task he has set for himself. He is slowly rebuilding the estate to its original glory.”