A Christmas Promise

by Mary Balogh

  “Oh,” Eleanor said. “There are two sleighs. I have never seen them. I shall have to ask the servants.”

  “No need, dear,” Aunt Catherine said, looking out of the window, near which she was sitting. “Here are the men returned from shooting already. We can ask your husband.”

  Already? Eleanor folded her embroidery and waited expectantly, wondering if they would come into the morning room. She caught Aunt Catherine’s eye, and her aunt smiled and winked at her.

  They did come in briefly, looking red-cheeked and tousled. Uncle Harry and Mr. Badcombe had had some success, apparently, but none of the others. They did not seem unduly disappointed.

  “It is beautiful Christmas weather,” Viscount Sotherby said, smiling about at all the ladies. “It is almost a sin to remain indoors.”

  “We will have our quota of fresh air this afternoon,” Aunt Beryl told him. “We are going by sleigh into the village with Ellie.”

  “Then I will not taunt and tease any longer,” the viscount said with a smile and a bow.

  Eleanor had sought for and met her husband’s eyes as soon as he walked into the room. Quite unexpectedly she felt a great churning inside, as if her heart or her stomach or both had done a complete somersault. She felt heat rise into her cheeks, though she was sitting quite far from the fire. It was hard to believe, looking at him now, dressed for the outdoors, amongst other people, that they had been so intimate just the night before—just that morning. His eyes burned back into hers.

  She felt instant embarrassment. She lifted her chin and clamped her teeth together and stared back at him defiantly as if he had just said something insulting. He looked steadily at her for a moment longer and then turned away to smile and address some remark to her cousins.

  “Who are ‘we’?” Tom asked. “Are all the ladies going into the village? If so, count me in.”

  “And me too,” Sir Albert said. “I need to do some shopping.”

  “Bessie said that you and she are building snowmen with the children this afternoon, Tom, dear,” Aunt Ruth said.

  “Ah,” he said, and turned away to the door.

  “Rachel and I are going with Ellie and Aunt Catherine and Aunt Beryl,” Muriel said.

  “I’ll ride with you, Bertie,” the viscount said, “it being quite unfair for you to have all the ladies to yourself.”

  Eleanor’s eyes touched on her husband’s again. “I shall visit the school with you, if I may, Eleanor,” he said. “I should get to know the children of my tenants and laborers as well as their parents.”

  She nodded and felt … warmed. Warmed? By the knowledge that her husband was to spend the afternoon in company with her? And voluntarily?

  “Ellie?” Rachel said several minutes later, after the men had left the room and when the ladies had dispersed to get ready for luncheon. They were climbing the stairs together.

  “Yes?” Eleanor smiled at her cousin. “We have not had a chance to talk much together, have we, Rache? I thought perhaps you would be betrothed by Christmas. To Mr. Redding.”

  Rachel flushed. “I believe he has been several times on the verge of offering,” she said. “But I always will him not to, Ellie. I like him, but I am not sure I want to be married to him.”

  “Oh,” Eleanor said. “What a shame. I like him too. Is there anyone else?”

  “N-no.” Rachel took Eleanor’s arm and drew her into her bedchamber. “Ellie, gentlemen do not often marry girls of our class, do they? In your case, it was just that Uncle Joe was wealthy and influential. And you are so lovely. But such a marriage is unusual, is it not?”

  Eleanor looked more closely at her. “Who is he, Rache?” she asked, her heart sinking. “Don’t tell me it is Sir Albert Hagley, who has been showing you particular attention. But it has been only two days. You are too sensible for that.”

  Rachel stared at her. “It is foolish, is it not?” she said. “And he ignored me yesterday afternoon and evening. And he said he would come this afternoon before he knew for certain that I would be going too. Yes, it is foolish. I merely wanted to ask you about him, Ellie, since he is his lordship’s particular friend. Does he have a—a sweetheart?”

  Eleanor closed her eyes. “He is a rake, Rache,” she said. “Stay away from him.” She was aware that she should have explained more gently, but Rachel was her favorite cousin.

  “Oh,” Rachel said, “oh, I see. I knew I was being foolish. But it is said that rakes are very attractive men. I’ll follow your advice, Ellie. I suppose too it is knowing that he is a gentleman that has turned my head. A baronet.” She sighed. “That should make no difference, should it? And it does not. But he is such fun to be with, Ellie.”

  Eleanor nodded. “Stay away from him,” she said. “Please, Rache? I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “I’ll stay away,” Rachel said, smiling rather sadly.

  And she would too, Eleanor thought in some relief. Rachel was a sensible girl.

  ORIGINALLY ELEANOR HAD EXPECTED to make the afternoon journey into the village alone. It was a duty call in her position as Countess of Falloden, though it was also a pleasure call. If there was one thing she was going to enjoy about her new status, she had decided as soon as they had arrived in the country and received that unexpected and wonderful welcome, it was her ability to do things with and for her husband’s people.

  But she was not sorry to have company. She was squeezed into one of the sleighs with Muriel and Rachel, Sir Albert and Lord Sotherby riding alongside talking and laughing with them. Her two aunts were in the other sleigh ahead of them, her husband riding beside them and conversing with them. He looked thoroughly at ease and had them both laughing over something he had said. He was the perfect gentleman. She had to admit that. Whatever he might think about her family, he would treat them with courtesy for as long as they were his guests.

  She felt a surge of pride in him. And pride that she belonged with him. They were not feelings to be explored, she thought. She would not explore them. She wanted to enjoy the afternoon. It was, as the viscount had said earlier, wonderful Christmas weather. And it was a wondrous Christmas season, she thought, burrowing her hands inside her muff and watching her breath curl up in a cloud above her head. The sounds of horses’ hooves thudding on the snow mingled with the jingling of the harness bells and the squeaking of the sleighs’ runners.

  She continued to stare ahead, not participating in the conversation of her cousins and the two gentlemen. He was her husband, she thought, watching his straight back, his strong thighs spread on either side of his mount, his gloved hands light on the reins. Her husband. The man with whom she was to spend the rest of her life. The thought no longer brought the horror and revulsion it had at first—it was even hard now to remember those first days. It was something she had accepted, because she had had to accept it or face a life of dreadful unhappiness. It was a—challenge. Yes, that was what it was.

  She turned her head and met Sir Albert’s curious eyes. They both looked away immediately.

  IT WAS THE LAST day of school for the children. They were all scrubbed and combed and excited because the countess was to come to listen to their reading. Their excitement and the corresponding anxiety of the schoolmistress increased tenfold when her ladyship appeared with two other older ladies and none other than the earl himself.

  The older ladies were introduced and one bowed grandly while the other smiled in motherly fashion, and both seated themselves in the chairs hastily brought forward for them by Miss Brooks, the teacher. His lordship stood rather stiffly inside the door, his hands at his back, while her ladyship smiled about at all the children and began to walk between their benches, talking with each of them.

  Miss Brooks felt instant consternation. This had not been planned at all. She had not prepared the children for talking with a countess. She had planned that her ladyship, who was to have come alone, would sit on the chair that had been arranged carefully on the dais while the children rose one by one and read a few carefu
lly rehearsed sentences from their readers.

  Miss Brooks cleared her throat and was aware at the edges of her vision of the motionless figure of his lordship and the seated figures of the two ladies who were guests at Grenfell Park.

  The earl watched his wife. She seemed quite unaware of the correct protocol for such an occasion. She was supposed to be playing the part of the grand lady, haughty and remote, striking terror and admiration into the hearts of the children and of Miss Brooks. Just as he was playing the part of the grand lord, standing motionless in the schoolroom, frowning about him.

  Except that it was not a voluntary part that he played. It was a part that was so ingrained in him by his upbringing that he seemed to have no control over it. The children were visibly relaxing at his wife’s unexpected promenade about the room, at her warm smiles. But instead of feeling chagrin at her improper behavior—his grandmother would surely turn over in her grave—he felt an unexpected envy. And an equally unexpected pride. And something else. She was beautiful and warm—had he ever thought of her as cold—and kind.

  But Miss Brooks was looking as if she were about to have an apoplexy. He strolled the few steps toward her.

  “You have been here since the summer, ma’am?” he said. “The Reverend Blodell informed me at the time that he considered you a worthy candidate for the post, and I have heard nothing but good reports of your work since then.”

  Miss Brooks’s plain face glowed with the praise as she sank into a stiff curtsy. “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “I try my best, my lord.”

  He smiled at her. “You have prepared them to read?” he asked. “Her ladyship will be ready to listen to them soon. We are not upsetting your day’s schedule?”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” Miss Brooks hastened to assure him. “We are honored, my lord. More than honored.”

  “Then perhaps you will not mind if we talk to the children for a while first,” he said. “We will not be interrogating them on their lessons, ma’am. It is Christmas.” He smiled reassuringly at her again.

  Miss Brooks had feared just that. She almost visibly sagged with relief, and looked back at the earl with something akin to worship in her eyes.

  And now he had no choice, the earl discovered, but to turn to the children and begin speaking with them, as his wife was still doing. He was almost terrified. What did one say to village children? How did she manage to look so relaxed and so much as if she were really enjoying herself?

  “You are having a concert tomorrow?” he asked the first group of little boys his gaze landed on. A foolish question, considering the obviousness of the answer.

  They nodded, saucer-eyed.

  He smiled and searched in his mind for something else to say.

  “But we don’t ’ave a place,” one little piping voice said.

  The earl found the source of the voice and raised his eyebrows. “No place?” he said encouragingly.

  “The schoolroom is too small for all their parents, my lord.” It was his wife’s voice, warm and concerned and a little amused. “They have all been telling me about it. And the church hall had to be closed during the summer because the roof leaks so badly.”

  “Yes,” the earl said. “I gave directions to have it reroofed just a few days ago.”

  There was a cheer from some of the children. With your father’s money, he told his wife with eyes that hardened slightly on hers. An automatic defense since he expected her to have the selfsame thought. But she was smiling.

  “In the meantime,” she said, “they must either have their concert here in hopelessly overcrowded conditions or else use the church, which is not at all suitable.”

  “Unless there is an alternative,” he said.

  “Oh my lord”—Miss Brooks’s voice was embarrassed—“the schoolroom will do very nicely. It is very wrong of you, children, to burden his lordship and her ladyship with such an insignificant problem.”

  “But it is not at all insignificant, ma’am,” he said, turning to her. “And there surely is an alternative.” He looked back at his wife. She was still smiling at him. She knew his thoughts. He was sure of it. Just as a husband and wife should know each other’s thoughts. It was a strange, unreal moment.

  “We have a houseful of guests, Miss Brooks,” she said, “who would be very delighted to watch the children’s concert. And yet they could not possibly all squeeze in here with the children’s parents and grandparents. Do you not agree, Aunt Catherine? Aunt Beryl?”

  “I am quite sure,” Aunt Catherine said, “that we will all be thoroughly disappointed if we have to miss it.”

  “Then it is settled,” the earl said. “The children must all take home with them the news that the concert tomorrow will be held at Grenfell Park. To start at four o’clock, shall we say?” He looked about him, his hands clasped at his back. “Is that an acceptable solution to the problem?”

  “To be followed by a party,” his wife said. “With games and lots of good food.” She smiled again at the children.

  Some of the children stared back at them open-mouthed. The rest cheered. Two little boys even threw themselves backward off their benches and caused considerable commotion while Miss Brooks stiffened and glared.

  “That is enormously kind of you, my lord, my lady,” she said. Through the power of her will, without the medium of words, she drew toward herself the attention of her errant pupils. “I believe an appropriate gesture of gratitude would be applause, children,” she said, leading the way with a light and elegant clapping of her hands.

  The children clapped with more enthusiasm. The earl smiled at his wife and realized that for the first time in their relationship—outside of bed—they had acted together as man and wife. Together, without any previous consultation, they had planned a concert and party at the house for the children and their parents. Something totally unheard of in the neighborhood. Something his cook might well resign over. Something he felt enormously pleased about for some unknown reason.

  “Miss Brooks,” his wife said. “I understand that you wish the children to read to me. What a delight that will be. Where do you wish me to be?”

  Soon she was sitting on the dais and he was standing close to the door again. But she had behaved with infinite wisdom, he thought, if she had planned it, that was. For now the children were no longer taut with excitement but relaxed with it. Even Miss Brooks looked less brittle. And the children proceeded to stand one at a time and read while Eleanor leaned forward and smiled her encouragement.

  “How wonderful you all are,” she said when the last child had sat down. “And what splendid readers. I have not been so well entertained in a long while. Is your concert tomorrow to be as good?”

  The children all laughed.

  “I am so looking forward to it,” she said, getting to her feet. “Is Christmas not the most wonderful time of the year?”

  The children looked as if they were ready to sweep back into conversation, but Miss Brooks signaled to them and they all rose and sang two verses of “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen,” bellowing out the words with marvelous enthusiasm and total disregard for the meaning of what they sang.

  Yes, Christmas really was wonderful, the earl thought in answer to his wife’s question as he opened the schoolroom door to allow the ladies to precede him from the room and raised a hand in farewell to the children and their teacher.

  “And now to the vicarage,” he said, “to inform Mrs. Blodell of the new location for the concert? And to tell her about the party?”

  “Yes,” his wife said, taking his arm. “I am sure it will all be a load off her mind, my lord.”

  He looked down at her as she turned to say something to her aunts, and marveled that the glow had remained in her eyes even when she had looked at him and spoken to him.

  11

  THE UNCLES WERE RESTLESS FROM HAVING SPENT the whole day indoors. If he played any more billiards within the next week, Uncle Sam declared during dinner, he would be stooped over permanently and would
not have to worry about becoming an old man.

  “The children had fun sledding, you said, Bess?” Uncle Ben asked. “A long hill, was it, eh?”

  “Altogether too long for my energy, Uncle,” she replied. “There are actually several hills, but of course Davie insisted on the longest and steepest.”

  “That’s my grandson,” Uncle Sam said, laughing heartily. “How many sleds are there, lad?” He turned to the earl at the head of the table.

  “Six,” the earl said. “Though why so many or any at all for that matter, I cannot explain, since I am the only person I know of who ever used one. Until this morning, that is.”

  “Six!” Uncle Sam boomed in delight. “Enough that there will not have to be long queues. They will bear my weight, lad?”

  “Oh, assuredly, sir,” the earl said, his expression slightly incredulous.

  “Splendid.” Uncle Sam rubbed his hands together in a gesture curiously reminiscent of his dead brother’s. “If they will bear me, they will bear anyone. Ben is a stone lighter than I am—a mere feather. I am not sure about Irene now.”

  “Oh, Samuel!” she protested, flushing.

  “Oh, Uncle Sam!” all the cousins chorused.

  And so it was settled without any more discussion being deemed necessary that dinner would be followed by the trek out to the hills in the darkness and cold and an hour or two of sledding down the hills.

  Just like a pack of children, Eleanor thought, looking a little anxiously down the table to her husband and about at his four friends. Indeed, they would doubtless be a great deal more unruly than children. Were her husband and his friends used to them all by now? And was it a permanent disgust they felt at the vulgarity of it all? Or had they learned tolerance?