Shakespeare and the Three Kings

by Victoria Alexander

  Chambermaids festooned the grand stairway with garlands. Stable boys and coachmen found the perfect tree and erected it in the main parlor. The cook and her helpers gathered huge bows out of ribbons and laces and odd bits of silk and then retired to the kitchen.

  The smell of cinnamon and clove, nutmeg and spice and all things delightful soon mingled with the clean scent of fresh pine and fir. Diana helped with a decoration here, a bit of direction there, but it was all somewhat overwhelming. She’d never seen the like before. Even as a child, in a house nearly as grand as the manor with almost as many servants, Christmas had been a quiet affair. A holiday observed with due reverence but little more.

  But this—this was a celebration. A celebration shared by friends who were as much family as any blood relations. And she was welcomed among them and made to feel a part of the gathering, of the family. She’d never been a part of anything even remotely like this before.

  And she’d never had so much fun.

  ***

  The door to Miss Lawrence’s room swung open. Miles frowned with annoyance. The American was downstairs assisting with the effort to bring Christmas to the manor. Her rooms were made up earlier today. No one should be here now. He started toward her door with every intention of chastising whatever servant had intruded in her private chambers, then stopped.

  Gaspar trotted into the hall followed by Balthazar and Melchoir, the chubby creature carrying something in his mouth. From where he was standing it appeared to be a document, perhaps a booklet of some sort or a small sheaf of papers. The door closed behind them and the dogs continued down the hall.

  Miles smiled and shook his head. He knew without looking that there was no one in Miss Lawrence’s room. At least no one he would be able to see.

  What was Lady Eleanor up to now?

  ***

  By late evening, the miracle had been wrought. Every inch of the manor from overmantles to door frames, sideboards to chandeliers, was adorned with greenery and gilded nuts and bright red holly berries. Even the portraits of Lady Eleanor and her husband in the hall were decked with pinecones and silk ribbons. The tree was trimmed to mythical perfection with bows and sweets and glass ornaments imported from Germany, and glistened in the lamplight like magic or a wish come true.

  Everywhere Diana looked it was Christmas.

  And there was love.

  Oliver still hadn’t returned and she preferred not to destroy the enjoyment of the day with the inevitable emotional upheaval she suspected lay ahead. Their discussion could wait until the morning. Tomorrow, after all, was Christmas Eve, and what better time to lay aside the past and look toward the future than a day so laden with hope.

  Diana climbed the stairs, now appointed with the joy of the season. How very ironic. She’d come to Thornton Manor to recover the lost love of a single man and had discovered instead the affection of a family and a home.

  No matter what happened with Oliver, her stay here would linger in her memory forever.

  And so would the love.

  ***

  “Bloody hell.” Oliver stamped his feet and brushed the snow off his shoulders. The steady snowfall had started during his trip home and who knew how long it would last. His foul mood did not allow for appreciation of the scenic beauty of the night.

  “Sir Oliver.” Miles appeared to take his coat and hat. “Was your trip to town successful?”

  “Successful?” Oliver snorted. “Hardly. There was nothing to it. I have been on some sort of devious wild goose hunt.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who did you say brought that message this morning anyway?”

  “I didn’t say, sir. I believe it was received by one of the parlor maids.” Miles’ expression remained noncommittal. “I can ask her in the morning if you wish, sir.”

  “Never mind,” Oliver snapped. “I suppose it’s of no significance at this point. Where is Mrs. Lawrence?”

  “She’s retired for the evening, sir.”

  “I see.” Disappointment surged through him. Still, perhaps it was for the best. He was in no mood to confront her tonight. No, tonight he might well allow his irritation with his completely wasted day to influence what he wished to say to her. “I suppose I shall retire then as well.”

  He turned and started toward the stair, then stopped. His eyes widened. His gaze skimmed over the evergreens in the hall, the ribbons on the banister. He turned on his heel and strode into the parlor. The room was transformed, touched by the hand of Christmas magic. Just as it had always appeared when Aunt Ellie was alive. Just as he’d always loved it.

  “Miles.” There was an odd catch in his voice he couldn’t quite hide. “What is all this?”

  “Christmas, sir.”

  “Yes, I recognize Christmas when I see it.” Oliver’s voice was quiet. “How did—”

  “Miss Lawrence, sir.”

  “Diana did all this?”

  “Actually, Sir Oliver, the staff did most of it. But it was Miss Lawrence’s suggestion.”

  “Was it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Miles paused as if waiting for another question. “If there is nothing else, sir?”

  “No, nothing.” Oliver couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away from the spectacle before him. “Go to bed, Miles. I shall speak to Mrs. Lawrence in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir.” The butler turned to leave.

  “And Miles?” The butler halted. “Thank you.”

  “The thanks go to Miss Lawrence, sir.”

  “Of course,” he murmured.

  He hadn’t expected all this. But more, he hadn’t expected the overwhelming feeling of warmth that swept through him. It was as if he were a boy again spending his first Christmas in a new house with a new family. Family. He’d never truly had that with his own parents. It was only when he’d come to live with Aunt Ellie and the remarkable people who were called servants but were so much more, that he’d ever had a sense of belonging.

  Diana had had a hand in this. His heart swelled. Surely that was a good sign. He'd talk to her tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and there was no better time to lay to rest the specter of the past and plan the rest of their lives together.

  He was convinced of her feelings. What she’d done here was confirmation. But even if he was wrong, in this house, with these people, even with those blasted dogs, he could face it.

  He was home and here was love.

  Chapter Eight

  What in the name of all that was holy made him believe he’d get any sleep tonight? Oliver paced the length of his chamber, tightening the belt of his dressing gown. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since she’d arrived and this evening was no different.

  He couldn’t get her out of his mind. What he wanted to say and, more specifically, how, kept going around and around in his head like a dog chasing its tail. It was nerves, of course, plain and simple. He drew his brows together in annoyance. What was wrong with him? He was confident and successful and nothing had ever effected him like this.

  Except Diana.

  Brandy, that’s what he needed. He strode across the room toward the silver decanter. A slight scraping sounded at the door.

  “What on earth?”

  Oliver stopped and listened. The noise sounded again. It was more of a scratch than a scrape. He stepped to the door and yanked it open. The three Yorkies sat lined up before him.

  “Well?” He glared at the dogs. “What do you want?”

  Almost as one, the three kings stood and padded into his room, heading toward the bed.

  “Wait just a moment.” Oliver skirted the animals and blocked their approach. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Gaspar cast him a rather smug look as if to say he was going anywhere he damn well pleased, and dove under the bed.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Oliver dropped to his hands and knees and peered under the bed. Where was the creature? “Come out from there, you little bugger. I have no intention of allowing you, any of you, in my chambers.
Not under my bed. Not on it. Do you understand?”

  A soft yap sounded above him.

  “What?” Oliver scrambled to his feet. The Yorkies sat amidst his bedclothes, looking very much as if they were settling in for the night. “Very well. You’ve outsmarted me for the moment but I will not permit you to stay. Not on my bed.” He released an exasperated sigh. “I suppose you can sleep on the floor if you insist, but only for tonight.”

  The kings did not appear to take him seriously. What was that in Melchoir’s mouth? He reached for it. Someone growled and he snatched his hand back.

  “Very well,” he snapped. “Don’t give it to me.” The dogs cocked their heads and stared intensely in the general direction of the window, almost as if they were listening to something or someone. Then Melchoir tripped lightly over the rumpled blankets to lay his burden at the edge of the bed. It appeared to be a pamphlet of some sort.

  Oliver picked it up and studied it. For a long moment his mind refused to accept the evidence before his eyes. His blood roared in his ears. His breath caught in his chest. A grin broke across his face.

  “Do you have any idea what this means?” Oliver wanted to laugh for the sheer joy of it. “I was right, gentlemen. She’s not here for you. Not at all. You’re an excuse. Nothing more. She’s here for me. She’s come back to me. And this time,” he said, waving the pamphlet at them, “I’ll never let her go.”

  The dogs stared warily.

  He laughed. “I am sorry. I should have said we’ll never let her go. Whether I like it or not, we’re in this together. Thanks to Aunt Elbe.”

  He couldn't wait until morning. He had to see her now. This very minute. He started toward the door, turned and cast the dogs an admonishing look. “This doesn’t mean I have completely reversed my opinion of you three. I still think you’re pampered and spoiled and barely deserved to be included in the honorable world of canines.

  “However”—he shook his head—“you are exceedingly clever and you have earned a modicum of respect from me. And, I suspect, my thanks as well.” He nodded and strode out the door and down the hall to face his past.

  And his future.

  ***

  She simply couldn’t sleep. Diana rolled over and punched the pillow. Although why she’d thought she could in the first place was ridiculous. Far too many emotions cluttered her mind to allow her to rest. She threw the covers off, slid out of bed and lit the gas lamp.

  Diana had put it off far too long. Lady’s Eleanor’s advice notwithstanding, enough was enough. She pulled on her robe and started for the door. She’d wait for him downstairs and the moment he returned she'd confront him. She squared her shoulders. It was past time for the truth between them.

  She brushed her hair away from her face with one hand and yanked the door open with the other.

  Oliver stood in the hall, his hand upraised as if to knock.

  “You’re home.” At once everything she’d planned to say, all the phrases she’d rehearsed flew out of her mind.

  He nodded. “Within the hour.” He hesitated as if uncertain how to proceed. “I wish to speak with you.”

  “Very well.”

  He stepped into the room. She closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

  He swiveled toward her, his eyes dark and searching, his words blunt. “Why did you leave me?

  This was it then. “I didn’t. My father, Ketterson, sent me home. He said—” She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped away, her gaze focused on the floral carpet beneath her feet. Why was it so hard to admit what a fool she'd once been? She drew a deep breath. “He said I was nothing more than an amusing flirtation for you. He said you were to be married.”

  “Why didn’t you answer my letters?” His tone was even.

  “I never got them. Ketterson died a few years ago and I only found your letters recently. That’s when learned he had told the same lies to you.”

  “Why didn’t you write to me then?” Was it anger n his voice? Or pain?

  She lifted her chin and stared into his eyes. “I did better than write. I came.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me all this when you arrived?”

  “You were scarcely in the mood to listen,” she said sharply.

  By God, the last time I’d seen you you’d broken—” he waved the rest of the unspoken sentence away.

  “If I recall, you ordered me to leave.”

  “Of course I ordered you to leave. Seeing you was something of a shock. I was expecting someone who was here to deal with the blasted dogs.” He glared. “I never expected it to be you.”

  “Yes, well—”

  He grabbed her shoulders, his gaze trapped hers. “Why are you here, Diana? Tell me. Why are you back in my life? What do you want?”

  “What do I want?” Electricity arced between hem. She searched the depths of his smoldering eyes for a sign, a clue of what he wanted her to say. She swallowed hard. Her voice was shaky but her one was fervent. “I want what we should have had ten years ago. I want the happiness and joy that was stolen from us. I want... you.”

  “Are you certain?” The question echoed in his gaze. “I am not the same man I was a decade ago.”

  “And I am not the same girl.”

  “No.” He brushed an errant strand of hair away from her face. “But you are a rather remarkable woman and I’m exceedingly grateful to have found you again.” He smiled. “Even though it’s rather obvious that you are no trainer of dogs.”

  “It is?”

  “I found your pamphlet.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “I was beginning to wonder, you know. Was there a purpose to that farce?”

  “Lady Eleanor thought it was best if you were to... well, adjust to my company before I told you the truth.”

  “Adjust to your company?” His eyes narrowed. “Get to know you, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps,” she said weakly.

  “Just as I am to get to know her beasts?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You’ve been training me?” Disbelief colored his face.

  “Only in the vaguest—”

  “You’ve been training me just as you have those damn dogs?”

  “You needn’t sound so outraged,” she snapped. “In point of fact the dogs have been far easier to work with than you. After all, they have a rather keen degree of intelligence.”

  “Was that my aunt’s idea as well?”

  “Oliver, she simply wanted—”

  “Trained! Like a bloody dog! Betrayed by my own flesh and blood—”

  “I scarcely think betrayed—”

  “Trained!” In two long strides he reached the door, jerked it open and slammed it behind him.

  His roar echoed through the hall. “Trained!”

  Diana stared at the door shuddering from the force of his exit. At once it flew open and smacked against the wall, the noise reverberating deep inside her.

  “I never forgot you.” His eyes flashed. He snapped the door closed behind him and stepped toward her.

  “I never forgot you either.” Defiance rang in her voice and she resisted the impulse to step back.

  “You were always there, at the edge of my mind.” He took another step. “In my dreams.”

  Her heart thudded. “You filled my dreams as well.”

  He stepped closer, so near she could see the rise md fall of his chest with every breath. Feel the warmth of his body pulse against her own. Breathe he masculine scents of brandy and heat and all things Oliver. “I never stopped loving you.”

  “And I,” she stared up at him, “I never stopped oving you.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “Do you realize I’ve never really kissed you?”

  “You did once.”

  “Ah, but that was the kiss of a young man barely but in the world and an innocent girl.”

  “I remember,” she said softly. “It was my first kiss.” My only kiss.

  “It scarcely counts.” He brushed his l
ips across hers and her knees weakened.

  She could barely breathe at the nearness of his body. “Doesn't it?”

  “No indeed. That and this”—his lips whispered across her mouth in a touch so gentle it was scarcely a touch at all—”is the kiss of a youth for a girl.”

  “And,” her voice quavered, “will it be so different now?”

  “Indeed it will, my love.” His words murmured against her lips. “Indeed it will.”

  His mouth met hers, his lips firm and warm, and a trembling started from somewhere deep inside her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close to him. His kiss grew harder, his lips demanding and insistent. Without warning everything she’d held inside her through the long years of missing him and wanting him and loving him and meeting him only in her dreams burst free, and she clutched at him as if he were a life raft and she a drowning soul.

  She ran her hands boldly down his chest and under his dressing gown, pushing at the silk of his garments with an undeniable urge to know him and feel his naked flesh beneath her fingers. Impatience spiraled through her. Surely he felt the same? His mouth, his hands, were everywhere at once, exploring and claiming her for his own. He rained kisses down the length of her throat and she moaned and lost herself in the sheer thrill of his touch. Oliver pushed her robe off her shoulders and fumbled at the ribbons on her nightdress, until he swore under his breath and tore them away, the fabric itself ripping free. Dazed with a need she’d never imagined, Diana scarcely noted how, but at once their nightclothes were a heap of rags at their feet and their bodies naked and wanting.

  He was solid and strong and his flesh scorched hers with a heat that mirrored the blaze consuming her body and her soul. The hard length of him pressed against her. Anticipation shivered through her and mingled with fear, abrupt and unforeseen. Dear Lord, he expected a widow! A woman familiar with the ways of love. A woman who’d known the passion of a man before. Not a virgin. She should tell him. Now, while there was still time. He was her first love. Her only love.