Rose studied him for a moment, his sharp profile against the snow, the sweep of his glossy hair back from his brow. ‘I think you would have to grow a much longer beard to be a true hermit. You don’t look nearly enough as if you lived in the woods.’ They laughed together, and suddenly Rose felt entirely at ease for the first time that evening. ‘I do know what you mean. It’s so quiet at my aunt’s house, I barely know how to make sense of all this noise. It’s been a long time since I had a real family Christmas.’
He glanced at her, one brow arched in question. In the night, his scars were invisible. ‘Were your childhood Christmases so very merry?’
‘Not as grand as this. We usually visited my mother’s relatives for New Year, but Christmas was just for us. My parents, my sister, Lily, and me. We would play games, do charades, eat too much pudding. We did have fun.’
‘Your father has passed on?’
‘Yes, years ago. My mother is still with us. She lives in a cottage near my sister and her family.’ She hesitated for a moment, not accustomed to talking about her family. Yet somehow with him, there in the muffling quiet of the snowy night, she felt as if she could say anything. ‘My father was something of a gentleman, you see, the grandson of a baron, a good match for my mother with her connection to the Bancrofts, and we had a lovely house with a very pretty garden. Lily and I used to play hide and seek for hours, or go into the attics to read and daydream. But when our father died, we found out he—well, he had debts.’
Harry frowned. ‘And that is why you work as companion to your aunt?’
‘Yes. Lily was already so fond of her curate and my mother’s annuity is not large. Aunt Sylvia is always—interesting. I’m happy to be here for the festive season, though. Being with the children reminds me of those times.’ She glanced back through the glass doors at the party, the glittering group gathered around the punch bowl, laughing together. Lady Fallon’s jewels sparkled in the candlelight and Rose remembered the talk about her old understanding with Harry. ‘You said before that yours were not so merry?’
‘Not as fun as yours,’ he answered with a laugh. ‘Charlie and I made do, though. We would play our own games in the nursery and cajole the cook for extra gingersnaps. My father really was something of an old hermit, but my mother had a ball each year after New Year’s Eve, when she returned from London. Charlie and I would sneak out to watch everyone arrive from the top of the stairs. My mother and her friends were so lovely, all laughing and shimmering in their holiday finery. I think it was the only time of year we really saw her laugh.’
Rose nodded, wondering if Lady Fallon reminded him of those days. ‘Perhaps you can have Christmas balls at Hilltop again, now that you’re home.’
He gave her a crooked smile. ‘I wouldn’t be as good at entertaining as Jane and Hayden.’
‘But it wouldn’t have to be just like this. It could be—family. And books and flowers, treats at breakfast, games after supper. Maybe gathering holly for a wreath or two. The important thing is sharing the holiday.’
His smile faded, but she thought he looked intrigued. ‘The way your holidays were as a child?’
Rose nodded. ‘Yes, indeed. Christmas can be whatever you want it to be. Whatever you need it to be.’
‘I am sure you are quite right.’
She glanced through the doors again and glimpsed Eleanor and William dashing around the room, nearly running into a large vase of ivy and hothouse roses. ‘Oh, no, they are meant to be in bed! I should go and gather them up, maybe make them sing another song if they have too much energy.’
To her surprise, he caught her hand in his as she turned away and raised her gloved fingers for a quick kiss. It felt warm and soft through the thin silk. ‘Thank you for spending a few moments with me, Miss Parker. You’ve certainly brought back some memories for me.’
Flustered, Rose dropped a quick curtsy to him. ‘Thank you, Captain, for keeping me company.’
She hurried back into the drawing room, trying not to look at him, to run back to him. As she slipped back into the party, it was like being dropped into another world entirely, full of noise and heat from the fire and the spicy scent of the wine punch.
Yet even in the warmth, she couldn’t help wishing she was back on the chilly terrace, with him.
Chapter Nine
The cold wind snapped at Rose’s cheeks and caught at her pelisse, and she laughed as she wondered if this was such a good idea after all. Sledding sounded like such a holiday fun sort of thing to do while cosy next to the fire in Barton, but the reality of it was quite cold indeed!
But Harry was there. She tucked her gloved hands deeper into her old velvet muff, watching him as he built a fire with his brother, Hayden and David Marton, the four of them competing to see who could pile the firewood higher.
He was a fine sight to see indeed, with his dark wool coat stretched taut over his wide shoulders as he stacked the wood. He had taken off his hat and his dark hair gleamed like ebony in the pale sunlight. He laughed at something Charles said, his bright smile breaking through his solemn demeanour. It made the cold day feel suddenly very—warm.
She was glad she had ventured out after all. The real world of daily worries seemed very far away.
She went and sat next to Jane and Emma, where they perched on a fallen log covered by an old blanket. At their feet was a hamper, overflowing with delicacies from the Barton kitchen. As the laughter of the children rang out from the nearby woods where they ran, Emma pulled out gingerbread and almond cakes and candied fruit tarts.
‘Oh, sugared plums! And minced pies, salmon sandwiches, even some of the French wine,’ Emma exclaimed. ‘I have had such a craving for marzipan lately.’
‘I feared I was stealing too much from the pantry, but I just had to grab whatever I saw. I dared not stay too long in the kitchen while they’re working so hard to prepare for the ball,’ Jane said. She poured out spiced wine into heavy pottery goblets. ‘Here, Rose, have something fortifying to drink. The wine will warm us.’
‘Thank you,’ Rose said as she took the goblet. She felt the warmth of the wine through her glove and even better was the warmth of Jane and Emma’s friendship. She hadn’t realised quite how lonely and quiet her life had become after she left her mother and sister.
As she sipped at the rich, ruby-red drink, she went back to studying Harry. The men had finished building the fire and it snapped merrily as they stood back to watch it, congratulating each other on the fine job.
‘Ha!’ Jane said with a laugh. ‘They act as if they were the first men to discover fire.’
‘Better than letting us continue to shiver here,’ Emma said.
‘Quite right, my dear,’ David Marton called to her. ‘What would you do without our fire-making skills? Now, can you share some of that wine before we tote these sleds uphill for you?’
The ladies laughed and passed around the spiced wine before Hayden counted the sleds. ‘We have enough for almost everyone to pair up, I think. Jane, my dear, shall I steer one for us?’
Jane laughed. ‘I am not sure I entirely trust you not to send us into a tree!’
He put his arm around his wife, grinning. ‘I have done all right so far, haven’t I?’
In the confusion of dividing up the sleds, Rose somehow found herself with Harry. She glanced over her shoulder, half-fearing what she might feel if she was too near him, but everyone else was already making their way up the hill.
She turned back to Harry to find him smiling at her, offering his hand. ‘Shall we, Miss Parker?’ he said. ‘I can’t promise to steer us straight, my eyesight is not quite what it was, but I am sure we’ll end up some place interesting.’
Rose laughed. Of that, she was quite sure. ‘Thank you, Captain St George.’ She took his hand and let him help her up the slope of the hill, where he situated their sled to mak
e the downward slide. She perched behind him, her arms around his waist, and closed her eyes as they launched into motion.
They coasted to a stop in a clearing at the bottom of the hill, Rose out of breath at the excitement of it all. She could hear the laughter of the others nearby, magnified by the cold wind, but it felt as if she was alone with Harry in the bower of winter trees. Frost hung from bare branches, sparkling like glass. It was quite magical, like a moment hovering out of time. She stared up at the diamond sparkle of it, dazzled.
‘It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?’ she whispered.
‘Yes,’ he answered, in a strangely hoarse voice.
Surprised, Rose glanced up to find he was staring not at the beauty around them, but at her. For an instant, all she could do was stare at him, captured by his gaze.
He gave her a rueful smile. ‘When Charles and I were small, we had a nursemaid for a time who liked to read us fairy stories. One was about a winter queen, pale and shimmering in the snow. I haven’t thought of it in years, until now.’
‘Why now?’
‘Because you look like her. A winter fairy queen in her ice palace. I had forgotten how beautiful it all could be.’
‘Me? A fairy queen?’ she whispered, amazed by such words. She knew she wasn’t beautiful, that she was quite ordinary with her brown hair and her spectacles. Especially next to ladies such as her golden sister and her elegant cousin Jane. Yet she knew Harry was not a man to give compliments lightly, to say what he did not mean. He made her feel warm and glowing, all the way to her toes.
‘Yes, with your pink cheeks and eyes glowing,’ he said. ‘And yet—’ He broke off with a laugh, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.
‘Yet?’ she whispered.
‘Yet you, Rose, are real.’ He suddenly took her gloved hand, holding it tightly in his. She curled her fingers around his, wondering at the feelings that came unbidden at his touch. ‘Warm and real, not like an icy winter fairy at all. You have a—a kindness in you as warm as any fire.’ He held her hand against his chest and through his thick wool coat she could feel the beat of his heart, flowing through her whole body.
‘And so have you!’ she cried, unable to hold back her words. ‘A warmth, a kindness.’
He shook his head. ‘Perhaps once. Long ago.’
Rose stared up at him, a bittersweet longing in her heart such as she had never known. She gave in to her feelings and leaned closer to him, letting her forehead rest on his shoulder. Suddenly she did not feel alone at all.
‘What happened to it?’ she said. ‘What can bring it back?’
He was silent for a long moment, not looking at her but out into the distance, as if he was very far away from her at that moment. ‘When I was in the army, I became friends with a young man from a small farm not far from here. He had a young wife and a child, and he would talk to me about them in the evenings when we were all near the fire. The way he spoke about them—I quite envied him!’
‘Envied him?’ she said.
‘Yes. Such love, so much to look forward to when he returned to England—a real home. A place where he belonged.’
Had Harry not felt as if he had a place to belong? Rose reached out to touch his hand, wanting so much to reassure him, to tell him he could have that, could have all he dreamed of. But she couldn’t find the right words. ‘And has he gone home now?’
Harry shook his head. ‘He was killed in battle. I saw him, through the smoke and the terrible noise, the screams. I tried to save him, but—it was much too late. I went to see his wife after I returned, before she went back to her own parents. She was so brave, so kind, trying to reassure me when I was the one who owed her everything.’ He gave Rose that crooked half-smile that always made her heart ache. ‘She rather reminded me of you.’
‘Of me?’ Rose said hoarsely.
‘Yes. So kind, so brave. I have never forgotten her or her husband. Nor have I forgotten the terrors of battle. Not until now. Is this not a peaceful place?’
Rose swallowed hard past her threatening tears and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘With the snow and silence—it is most peaceful indeed.’
They were quiet for a long moment and somehow in that still, perfect hush Rose felt closer to him that she ever had to anyone.
‘Shall we take another turn down the hill before we have to leave?’ he said finally. Rose nodded and in silence they made their way back up the hill. But it was not a heavy, uncomfortable silence. Indeed, Rose had not felt so utterly free of the chill of loneliness in a long time. And he still held her hand safely in his, leading her up the slippery slope.
At the top of the hill, she could see all the countryside around them, the fields laid out like an undulating blanket of grey and blue in the winter, the thicket of the woods, the sky stretching above them endlessly. ‘How lovely it all is!’ she exclaimed. ‘At Aunt Sylvia’s, I am indoors all the time. This is—is a wonderland!’
He smiled and it seemed brighter even than the light that broke through the clouds over their heads. ‘We can even see Hilltop from here.’
‘We can? Where?’
He pointed into the distance and Rose glimpsed a cluster of red brick and grey-stone chimneys in the distance. It looked like a castle in a fairy tale, just as he had said, with the last of the morning mist catching around its towers.
‘It looks like something in your nursemaid’s stories,’ she said. ‘A magical castle.’
The corner of his lips quirked in a half-smile. ‘Perhaps you would come to visit Hilltop one day?’
Rose felt her cheeks turn warm in the cold breeze and she looked away. What could he mean by such an invitation? She certainly knew better than to hope anything at all, but she couldn’t help the little nervous flutter deep inside. ‘I—of course. I would enjoy that very much.’
‘We can make a party of it soon,’ he said, his smile widening. ‘Once I can make certain the house is presentable. Parts of it are very old, but I admit it does not look like a fairy tale close up.’
Rose nodded. If he intended for the others to come, surely he meant nothing by such an invitation. Jane was his neighbour, of course he would invite her house party there. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Come along, you two!’ she heard Jane call. She turned to see Jane and her husband at the foot of the hill, waving at them. Rose hoped they couldn’t see her silly blush from there. ‘We shall be late for the assembly tonight if we don’t get back to Barton soon.’
‘Shall we, then?’ Harry said, holding out his hand to help her back on to the sled.
She laughed and took his hand in hers again. She had to enjoy every bit of that freedom while she had it. He sat down behind her, his strong, warm body blocking the cold wind, and they launched down the hill. It felt as if her heart would soar free with it and she laughed in sheer delight.
* * *
Rose peeked curiously out the carriage window as they made their way along the Barton village street towards the assembly rooms. In the daylight, the building was a perfectly ordinary long, low, brick structure meant for meetings and gatherings. For a holiday evening, though, it was quite transformed. Golden light spilled from every window and doorway, covering all with a warm sparkle in the dark winter night. Laughter rose and fell from the revellers making their way inside, blending with the strains of music as the small orchestra tuned their instruments to prepare for the dancing.
As soon as they rolled to a stop, Jane had taken Hayden’s arm and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Emma and her husband and Rose to follow them. The rest of the party emerged from the next carriage, without Lady Fallon, who had been rather late and promised to come after. Harry and his brother were also coming after. Rose tried not to look for him, tried not to wonder if he would ask her to dance when he arrived. Their moment alone in the woods seemed so far away here in the noisy crowd.
After their wraps were left with the attendants, the Barton party joined the stream of merrymakers making their way up the stairs to the ballroom itself. It was a long, narrow chamber, the walls painted a pale blue to match the heavy curtains at the windows where the light drifts of snow could be seen, but everything was made warm for the season with garlands and wreaths of greenery. Tables draped in snowy linens held punch bowls and plates of sandwiches and cakes, interspersed with silver vases of holly.
As Emma and the others melted into the crowds, Rose accepted a glass of wonderfully warm negus and found a quiet corner where she could watch it all. Everyone wore their holiday best, silks and muslins and velvets, the young people smiling shyly at each other as they found dance partners, Jane and a few others making up card tables near the fireplaces at either end of the room. It was a lovely scene, like a painting or something in a song of holiday cheer. Rose only wished she had something to wear besides her grey silk, especially as she saw Lady Fallon at last make her entrance, very glamorous in midnight-blue velvet and black tulle.
Oh, well, Rose thought ruefully as she sipped at her drink. Her grey silk was perfectly respectable and no one had asked her to play for the dancing yet, as she usually did on the few occasions she was at a dance. It was a rather nice evening. She had certainly become good at holding up walls and that was where she got the best view.
She pressed as close as she could to the wall behind her, feeling the smoothness of the blue paper through the old silk of her gown and sipping at the rest of her drink as she took the measure of the crowd. Every party was different, unpredictable, even when it was the same people going about the same activities of dancing and cards and gossip.
It was a surprisingly large crowd, considering the damp, chilly night it was outside, with a few drifts of snow lazily floating down from the sky. She thought she wouldn’t completely mind being home by a large fire with a good book herself, but she realised with a sudden wistful pang that she wished it was her own house, her own fire, a book of her choosing and maybe, if she was truly to dream big, someone to read it with. To laugh with.
The Wallflower's Mistletoe Wedding Page 9