CHRISTMAS SURPRISES
Four Holiday Novellas
Patricia Rice
The Kissing Bough
Diana Carrington balanced the fragrant bundle of evergreen roping in one hand and held on precariously to the ladder with the other. Holding her breath, she moved one kid slipper from the second rung to the third, then with more bravery, her other foot followed.
She had seen her father do this for years, and it had always seemed so simple. It really shouldn’t be that difficult. She just needed a little practice. Only it seemed such a long way down.
By the time Elizabeth entered the main drawing room, Diana had triumphantly managed the hanging of the first loop of the garland with only one minor mishap that left several curls decidedly disheveled. The second bold swoop of greenery posed a more difficult problem. Halting in the doorway, Elizabeth held her breath as her older sister leaned daringly toward the chandelier and swung the end of the greenery in what would have been a graceful arch had their father done it.
The tangle that ensued brought an exasperated sigh from the slender, black-bedecked figure on the ladder, and Elizabeth chose that moment to announce her presence.
“Mama isn’t going to approve.”
Diana glanced down at Elizabeth’s neat golden curls as her sister approached the ladder, and grimaced.
Both sisters wore the colors of deep mourning, but Elizabeth’s sunny coloring somehow seemed to brighten the fine wool of her modest, high-waisted gown. Diana felt more like a crow perched on a branch even though her black velvet was more modishly cut and trimmed with violet satin ribbons. Black simply did not enhance her own drab brown coloring.
Not that it made much difference, Diana rationalized. With another abrupt tug at the recalcitrant greenery, she almost succeeded in making the second loop match the first. “Papa would have wanted it,” she said firmly, as much to herself as to Elizabeth.
“Papa would have wanted what?” The harried voice drifted in from the dining hall before the speaker appeared in the doorway. Upon entering the drafty drawing room, Mrs. Carrington gave a gasp of horror as her eldest daughter swung precariously near the crystal chandelier to fasten the greenery. “Diana, upon my word, there are times when you are worse than the twins. Get down from there at once, young lady. I vow, I should think the twins nuisance enough without you adding to their deviltry. Elizabeth, go get Goudge and have him bring down this nonsense at once!”
“No, Mama.” Diana pulled her long, firmly molded lips into the thin line that so resembled her father’s that her mother shivered at the sight. “Papa would have wanted to have the kissing bough just like every other Christmas. It’s a tradition, and he wouldn’t want us to break tradition.”
Georgina Carrington heard the quiver in her daughter’s voice and held back the urge to reach for her handkerchief to hide the tears that had welled behind her eyelids much too often these last few months since her husband’s death. She had to be strong for the sake of the children, but the sight of the kissing bough going up brought back more memories than she was prepared to cope with right now.
“Diana, we’re in mourning. Such decorations are inappropriate,” she remonstrated without conviction.
Diana deliberately finished securing the garland without looking down at her mother’s matronly figure. She wanted to cry herself, not just for the loss of her father but for all the heart-breaking losses of her twenty-two years. She had drowned her pillow with tears too many nights to count, and they had never made the pain go away. What she needed now was happiness and light, and she was determined to have it even if she must go against her mother’s wishes.
“And what if Charles is allowed to come home? Do you want his first Christmas home in four years to be without candles and greenery? After all this time at war, should he be greeted with gloom?”
At this mention of her eldest child, Mrs. Carrington surrendered the argument. She had relied too much on Diana these last months, and the girl had learned too much independence. It wasn’t seemly, but it was comforting, and Diana was almost beyond the age where it would matter. Besides, Diana was right in this. She could not wish Charles such a gloomy homecoming.
‘Don’t get your hopes up, either of you,” she warned. “And don’t mention it to the boys. We don’t know for certain that he can make it. It’s been two months since he sent the letter, and he hasn’t come yet. Maybe there is some difficulty in selling out his commission, and he hasn’t wanted to worry us.”
Or maybe he’d had the ill fortune to be wounded or killed after writing he was coming home, thought all three of the room’s occupants, but none would say the words. They had suffered one loss already these last months. To bear another would be too cruel a fate. Charles’s name hadn’t appeared in the casualty lists. There was still hope.
‘He’ll be here for Christmas if he can. Charles always loved Christmas. And who would carry in the yule log if he didn’t come?” Elizabeth inserted this defiant question into the silence that had fallen after her mother’s warning. She had been denied much because of her father’s untimely death, she would not be denied Christmas too.
The ten-year-old twins burst into the room trailing the cold, fresh scent of the outdoors and carrying a basket of apples from the cold cellar. Oblivious to the solemn atmosphere in the dim drawing room, they bounced excitedly beneath the ladder, both talking at once.
“It’s snowing, Di! Can we go sleigh riding?”
“Here’s the apples, Di. Can I hang one, can I, Di, please?’’
Mrs. Carrington groaned and closed her eyes as Diana retreated down the shaky ladder with what she assumed was every intention of allowing the twins both their requests despite the lateness of the hour. The care of the two rambunctious boys had been hectic enough when there had been a man in the house to control their antics. They would shortly reach the uncontrollable stage.
“We can’t hang the apples until we tie on ribbons. Freddie, go ask Goudge what Father used to hang them. Frank, you need to fetch a box of candles. We can’t go sleigh riding until there’s enough snow for runners.”
With a whoop, both boys ran off, content to be keeping busy. Mrs. Carrington followed soon after, deciding mince meat pies and a pudding might be suitable after all. Charles might come home, and it would be dreadful to disappoint him.
Elizabeth helped her sister sort through the box of Christmas ribbon. With a pensive glance at the sad droop of Diana’s usually laughing mouth, she asked, “Have the Drummonds heard from Jonathan? Do you think he and Charles are together?”
Diana stiffened, and without looking at her sister started back to the ladder with a green and red plaid streamer. “The Drummonds will be here tomorrow. You can ask, but I should think they would have written if they had had word.”
“Fustian!” Sixteen-year-old Elizabeth expertly tied a bow in a red satin sash. “Mr. and Mrs. Drummond are so stiff-laced they read Marie’s letters before she can post them. They won’t allow Jonathan’s name to be mentioned, but I know he writes. I just thought maybe Mrs. Drummond had said something to Mama.”
Perched on the top of the ladder, Diana reached down for the bow Elizabeth handed to her. If she concentrated on her task, she could almost forget Jonathan existed. It had been four years, after all. She should be very good at pretending now. “Jonathan always was one to write. Remember when they went off to Oxford together, the only way we ever heard about Charles was when Marie brought Jonathan’s letters to read to us? Maybe they have had a letter and Mr. Drummond won’t let them speak of it. Mama will persuade it out of him tomorrow, if so.”
The thought of Jonathan’s writing his family cheered Elizabeth but only increased Diana’s dismals. She had every reason to remember Jonathan
’s letters. Since they hadn’t been formally engaged when he went away to Oxford, he could not in all propriety write to her, but somehow he had managed to smuggle a missive or two to her whenever he could. Of course, it was only the continuation of a childish game, she told herself, but at the time those letters from her brother’s handsome friend had been like diamonds and gold to her. Even during the holidays Jonathan had still hidden letters in their secret cache, and she had left him flowers and favorite poems and whatever trinkets had pleased her that day. He had delighted in teasing her for her choices, but he had worn the flowers in his lapel and memorized the poems to surprise her.
She had loved him wildly then. Too wildly, she knew now. Looking into those passionate gray eyes and hearing his deep voice speak the words she had said only to herself, she had fallen head over heels for Jonathan’s charm despite the fact that he had never declared himself.
For the second time that evening tears threatened to inundate Diana’s eyes, and she jerked hastily on the streamer she was wrapping around the pine boughs. A loop started to come loose, and she grabbed for it just as the drawing room door bounced open again, admitting the twins.
“A coach and four! A smack-dab-up-to-the-rigs coach and four! Come see it, Diana! It’s coming down the lane now!” Both small voices exclaimed this litany of excitement more or less in unison.
Diana steadied herself and threw an anxious look at the tall, mullioned windows covered now in heavy maroon drapery. Charles! It had to be Charles. He was the only one they knew mad enough to hire a coach and four to carry him to the back of nowhere. Her heart set up an erratic beat, but she dared not let her hopes rise too high. If she let the boys know her thoughts, they would be dreadfully disappointed if their adored older brother were not the coach’s occupant.
“Well, it must be some poor person out in the snow looking for shelter for the night. Or perhaps the Drummonds are here early. Go tell Goudge we’re to have visitors while I try to finish this up. Hand me the apples, Freddie.”
Diana’s disinterest didn’t douse the twins’ excitement in the least, and even Elizabeth deserted her to run to the windows and look out. Drawing back the draperies, they could see the winding country lane filling with snow, the flakes white and dainty against the velvet backdrop of the night. Within minutes the carriage lamps grew brighter and the crack of a whip and a faint “Halloo!” echoed down the road. The twins dashed for the foyer, screaming with delight.
Determinedly, Diana continued hanging the ribbons amid the greenery. Her hopes had been smashed too thoroughly at Christmas before to allow them to rise to any heights now. She dearly wished to see her brother again, safe and sound and at home at last, but she could not bear the thought of some stranger descending from that carriage.
“Two gentlemen, Diana! I can see them climbing out!” Elizabeth reported from the window where she continued to peek discreetly from behind the draperies. “They’ve tall beaver hats and greatcoats and mufflers and Hessians, Di! Oh, they look very grand, just like they must in London. Oh, Diana, do you think I will ever be allowed to go to London with Marie?”
Since this complaint had been heard ever since Elizabeth had turned sixteen, Diana ignored it in favor of the description of the gentlemen. They knew few gentlemen in London, so these must be strangers come to ask the way. They would probably drive on shortly. Or perhaps Mama would ask them in for tea before turning them out again to the cold. She really ought to climb down and make herself respectable, but her heart wasn’t in it. She so much wanted it to be two other gentlemen out there that she wouldn’t be able to hide her disappointment.
“Oh my, Diana! I think they’re a trifle foxed! One just slipped on the road, and the other is laughing and holding him up. Oh, Diana, it has to be Charles. I know it does!”
Elizabeth flew from the room, leaving Diana perched on the ladder biting back tears and praying as rapidly as she knew how.
The draft from the opening of the double front doors sent the ribbons spinning and candle flames flickering. The excited chatter of half a dozen voices glittered in the air outside the drawing room door, but still Diana kept her perch. Two gentlemen, Elizabeth had said. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t believe it. Superstitiously, she remained where she was, doggedly reaching for the next apple and the next bough. If she got down, it wouldn’t be them. She couldn’t get down. It had to be them.
“Diana! I’ve brought you a Christmas present! Where in blazes are you?’’
The laughing, familiar voice filled her heart with joy, and Diana turned eagerly, nearly toppling the ladder in her haste to greet her older brother.
The shadowy figure entering the room behind Charles’s towering frame gave an involuntary curse as the ladder swayed.
In seconds, Diana’s small waist was clasped in an elegantly clad arm with the strength of a vise before she was lifted bodily from her precarious throne. She scarcely had time to register astonishment before she was on her feet again, staring into once familiar eyes that had turned cold and forbidding since she had seen them last. She raised a hand to cover the cry of surprise coming to her lips unbidden when he suddenly dropped his arm from her waist and turned away in disgust.
The hand she raised should have worn a ring he knew by heart, but it hadn’t. The knowledge hurt more than surprised, but her reaction to his appearance stabbed more bitterly than any wound he had suffered at the hands of Napoleon’s army. Stiffly, Jonathan lowered his bandaged hand and, turning with the help of his walking stick, glared at the traitorous friend who had forced him here.
“I told you I shouldn’t have come, Carrington. The coach can take me on to the manor. I’ll be on my way, then.”
“You great clodding sapskull, you terrify my sister and then expect to walk out without apology or explanation? Besides, there’s no one at the manor; if you remember the letter I showed you. This is our year to do the celebrations. Take off the dratted coat and I’ll find us some brandy.”
Charles’s golden hair gleamed in the firelight as he threw off his hat, thoroughly enjoying the attention he was receiving as the elderly butler happily gathered up his outer garments, his mother tearfully hugged him, and his younger brothers and sister crowded around. The only thing he enjoyed more was the sight of Diana’s face for that one brief second when she recognized his guest. He had been right to bring Jonathan home. Both the clothheads had gone cold and polite as they ignored each other now, but he vowed to put an end to all their dismals. He had seen enough war. Now he wanted only joy and happiness around him.
As the brandy materialized, Jonathan Drummond gripped the goblet and made a proud and formal bow to the lovely young woman who had grown from the pretty little girl he had once courted. Her soft brown curls hung in charming ringlets about a throat as graceful as any swan’s. The laughter he had remembered in her wide brown eyes and on the lovely curved lips had faded, but he understood and wished only that the floor would open up and swallow him. He should never have come, not like this, perhaps not at all.
“I apologize if I frightened you, but you had no business being up there. You could have tangled your feet in the hem of that flimsy little gown and broken your neck.” That had been the image Jonathan had seen when he had walked into the room to see the ladder tottering so dangerously. Visions of returning home just to see her die at his feet had flown through his besotted brain. After four years of war, he had seen death come too easily too many times, and he had acted instinctively.
Diana, on the other hand, reacted to his high-handed manner with an anger she did not fully understand. The chestnut hair she remembered falling down over a high, intelligent brow now tumbled over an ugly and still raw gash that should be covered with a bandage had Jonathan not been too stubborn to wear one. The arm that had so easily lifted her from the ladder sported a hand useless in its cover of white gauze, and his other hand gripped a walking stick with grim determination to keep from placing weight on a leg he obviously favored. Her irrational anger heightened e
ven more with the discovery of each of these flaws.
“It looks to me as if I have learned to take better care of myself than you have, Mr. Drummond. And it’s my neck, if I choose to break it, as you have so recklessly chosen to risk yours.”
“Diana! Upon my word, is that any way to greet a guest? Jonathan, give me that coat and go sit yourself by the fire. Your mother will never forgive me if I let you catch a chill. Here, Goudge,” Mrs. Carrington took the greatcoat so grudgingly surrendered and handed it to the servant. “Frankie, Freddie, give Charles a hug and get yourselves upstairs to Nanny. He’ll still be here in the morning when you come down.”
When the twins protested, Charles grabbed their elbows and steered them toward the hall and stairs, whispering something excruciatingly funny in their ears. Finding herself suddenly relieved of her nightly chore, Mrs. Carrington fluttered uncertainly about the room for a few minutes, then hurried after her sons. That left Elizabeth and Diana to entertain the wounded soldier.
Not quite understanding the tension that had erupted between her sister and the man she knew only as her best friend’s prodigal brother, Elizabeth retreated to the formal etiquette of the tea table, taking her place near the tray that the maid had brought upon the appearance of guests. Diana deliberately returned to the ladder.
“Did you stop to see your family in London before bringing Charles home?” Elizabeth inquired politely, if somewhat nervously. Just out of the schoolroom, she was unaccustomed to dealing with elegant male strangers, particularly ones who favored brandy to tea and glared at her sister with such ... venom? She didn’t think that was the word, and she cast a quick look at Diana, now fastening the last batch of apples on the boughs.
Her sister looked particularly pretty tonight with her cheeks all flushed from working so hard on the kissing bough and her curls all disheveled just like in the ladies’ books. The black velvet gown with the lovely violet ribbons contrasted nicely with the whiteness of her throat and shoulders, and Elizabeth wished she had thought of fastening a ribbon about her neck since jewelry was forbidden. It looked quite fashionably simple, and she had the first glimmer of understanding of why Mr. Drummond kept staring at Diana.
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