A Christmas Promise

by Mary Balogh

  Except that there was a look about them both that suggested somehow more than just a flirtation.

  Another hour passed before the music stopped and the punch bowls had been attacked again and everyone was leaving as if on a prearranged signal, all flushed and smiling and pouring out their gratitude to the earl and his countess, who were standing to one side of the doorway. It was the very best party anyone could remember, if several heartfelt assurances to that effect could be believed.

  “A happy Christmas, my lord, my lady.”

  “A happy Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Mallory. And—Michael, is it? You were a very convincing king in the play earlier.”

  The greetings went on and on until finally all the guests had left and Uncle Sam and a few of the cousins were gathering up sacks and scarves and other paraphernalia of the party games and Aunt Ruth was blessing her soul and saying that it was quite like old times and how wonderful it was of his lordship and dear Ellie to give them such a splendid party. Just as if it had been arranged solely for their benefit.

  “I did not like to say this while all the guests were filing past you,” Uncle Harry said, smiling wickedly at the earl and his wife, “but do you realize where you are standing?”

  That particular question at Christmastime could mean only one thing. The earl looked up and sure enough, there was the sprig of mistletoe he had fully expected to see there.

  “Thank you, Uncle Harry,” he said. “It would be a dreadful shame to waste it, would it not?”

  And he took his wife into his arms and kissed her firmly and lingeringly while Transomes and their disciples cheered and whistled about them.

  He did not believe, the earl thought as he raised his head and smiled down into his wife’s eyes, that he had ever felt happier than he felt at that precise moment. And he had no wish at all to look beyond the moment.

  “Happy Christmas, Eleanor,” he said.

  “Happy Christmas, m—, R—, Randolph,” she said.

  15

  DINNER WAS LATE, THE PARTY HAVING GONE ON longer than expected. But then as Uncle Ben said—and everyone agreed—they had stuffed themselves so full of good food at tea that things needed to settle for a while before they could do justice to dinner. And it would be a shame not to do justice to it when Grenfell’s cook was such an excellent soul.

  And so the interlude between dinner and having to leave for church was no longer than an hour. And almost before they could drink their tea and dream up some activity to fill in the hour, the carolers arrived from the village and congregated in the great hall with their rosy cheeks and their sheets of music and the snow melting on their boots.

  The carolers, who always left the great house until last because it was the farthest distance to walk but always wished afterward that they had made it first because it was such a dismal ending to a happy evening, were in for a surprise. The former earl had always appeared on the staircase only when they had finished singing, and he had appeared only to nod stiffly and wish them the compliments of the season. The earl and countess before him had always come onto the staircase at the beginning and bowed and nodded graciously before instructing the servants to bring out refreshments, and then disappearing to their own apartments.

  Not so with the new earl, whom some of the older singers remembered as a quiet and serious and rather wistful boy. The new earl appeared at the top of the stairs, almost before they were all inside with the doors closed behind them, his countess on his arm. And they both came right down the stairs into the hall, followed by all their guests, who it was said were a jolly lot, most of them being the countess’s relatives.

  No sooner had the singers begun their first carol, “The Holly and the Ivy,” than some of those relatives unexpectedly joined in. And before the first verse was at an end, almost everyone was singing, including, the carolers noticed to their astonishment, the earl himself.

  Four carols were sung at each house on the carolers’ route. Sometimes at the big house they had stopped at three. But on this occasion they would not have been allowed to stop at four even if they had wanted to or had thought of doing so. The hall rang to the sounds of one Christmas carol after another, so that even the two footmen on duty looked as if they might at any moment break into song.

  Eventually the earl gave the nod to have the wassail bowl carried out and the bowl of hot cider and the trays of warm mince pies. And yet after eating and drinking, the carolers and the guests of the house and the master and mistress too felt compelled to sing once more before loud and seemingly endless greetings and handshakes were exchanged and the carolers were waved on their way from the open door just as if they were not to be seen again at church within the hour.

  There had been much animated discussion among the women—no one thought to consult the earl or the countess—about how everyone was to be conveyed to church in two sleighs. They would just have to make several trips, Aunt Beryl said. The men could ride, of course, Aunt Eunice decided. And if they were prepared for a little discomfort, Aunt Ruth declared, they could seat three in each sleigh.

  Of course, the wait at church for those who went first would be tedious. And those left behind would be anxious that they would be late to church. But the youngsters were quite capable of walking, the distance being little more than a mile and the weather now clear and still again, as it had been the night before.

  If it came to that, Aunt Beryl said, she was quite capable of walking the distance too. Indeed, Aunt Catherine added, the exercise would be good for them after all they had eaten in the last few hours. They had walked out to the hills the night before, Aunt Irene reminded them, without thinking about the distance, though they must be almost as far from the house as the church was. Well, if everyone else was prepared to walk, Aunt Ruth said bravely, no one must go to the trouble of calling out a sleigh just for her. She would walk too. Doubtless either Sam or Ben—or Aubrey for that matter—would be willing to take her on his arm if she tired. But she did not believe she would.

  And so by the time the earl thought to mention that he had ordered the sleighs and both the carriages brought around in time to convey his guests to church, everything had been arranged and he meekly canceled the order, with a private smile of amusement. They were all to walk. No one, it seemed, considered it ungenteel to turn up at church with reddened cheeks and noses and snowy boots.

  The church, Eleanor found, was filled with familiar faces, to most of which she could even put a name. There were the merchants and wealthier tenants whom she had met in the assembly rooms the day of her arrival at Grenfell, the poorer tenants and cottagers whom she had visited either by invitation or as the bearer of baskets of food and medicine, the poorer people of the village and countryside who had been at the concert and party that afternoon, and the carolers.

  She smiled about her as she walked down the aisle with her husband to their front pew and found that almost everyone was smiling back. Perhaps, she thought, oh, just perhaps, it was not so bad after all being a countess. She gave a specially bright smile to elderly Mrs. Richards, who had been almost too ill to sit up during her visit the week before.

  A Nativity scene had been set up at the front of the church. The organ was playing and the church bells were ringing. Eleanor seated herself and breathed in the atmosphere of Christmas. It was the most wonderful Christmas she could remember, she thought, though she had always loved the season as the very best time of the year.

  If only … She watched her husband’s hand as it reached for a prayer book. But she must not try reaching for the Bethlehem star. She must be content with what she had. And what she had was very good if she considered the very inauspicious beginning her marriage had had less than two months before. If only this amity—this warmth—could continue when Christmas was over and their guests had returned home, she would be very content indeed.

  Well, almost, anyway.

  And yet she felt guilty suddenly. She had just thought that this was the best Christmas ever, and yet Papa was not the
re. He was dead. Gone forever. She remembered his last hours, when he had been seeing and talking to her mother. He was gone and yet she was enjoying Christmas less than two months later—as he had requested.

  There was an ache and a tickling in the back of her throat suddenly and she swallowed against both. The Reverend Blodell was ready to begin the service.

  MANY MEMBERS OF THE congregation stood outside the church for well over half an hour after the service had ended and fifteen minutes after the bells had finished pealing. Everyone, it seemed, had to greet everyone else and shake hands. The earl would not have been surprised to find that all the inhabitants of the village and its surrounding farms had been invited back to Grenfell Park. But it was not so. And finally they were walking home.

  There was a great deal of exuberance of spirits. Some throwing of snowballs. Susan got herself tossed, shrieking, into some soft snow beside the driveway by a gang of cousins and Lord Charles. There were, of course, the laggards. George and Mabel and perhaps Lord Sotherby and Muriel, who had been walking with them when they left the village. Sir Albert and Rachel.

  The earl wished he could lag behind with his wife, but it did not seem quite right to wait until everyone else had walked on out of sight merely so that he could draw her against him to kiss her with all the stars of Christmas overhead. He would have to wait, he decided, until the night. At least he had that advantage over the unmarried couples.

  “Did you know that Sir Albert talked privately with me this afternoon?” Eleanor asked him suddenly.

  “He asked in my hearing,” he said, looking down at her.

  “He apologized to me,” she said, “for his shabby behavior two years ago.”

  “Ah, did he?” her husband said. “I am glad. You have not liked him, have you, Eleanor? Will this help?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I am no longer embarrassed to catch his eye. Why did you hit him?”

  “Did he tell you that?” he asked, frowning.

  “No,” she said. “But people who run into doors do not usually have bruises beneath their jaws. Unless it is a very low door. Why did you do it?”

  He shrugged. “I will leave you to make your own interpretation,” he said.

  “He told me something else,” she said. “Something that I think you were trying to tell me last night when I stopped you. They really were not your debts, were they?”

  “They were appallingly large,” he said, “and some of them to moneylenders before your father bought them all. I had no experience in dealing with debt.”

  “So,” she said quietly, “neither of us had a particularly base reason for marrying the other, did we?”

  “Except,” he said, “that I suppose it is never right to marry solely for money or solely to please a father.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. He knew that even as he was speaking the words. It was a downright foolish thing to say.

  “And so,” she said, and he could hear the strain in her voice, “all the blame is to be laid at my father’s door. He is the one who bought your debts and gave you very little choice of action. And he is the one who persuaded me to follow his wishes. All you and I have been guilty of is weakness of character.”

  “I suppose so,” he said after a pause.

  “He is to blame, then,” she said. “But we are the ones left alive. There was really no basis for a workable marriage, was there?”

  Her voice was bleak. But a little pleading? He was on the point of agreeing with her. Certainly she was right. There had been no good basis. Quite the contrary, in fact. Their marriage should have turned out quite as badly as he had expected from the start. But for all that it was not turning out that way. Somehow, though all the odds had been against them, they were making something workable of their marriage after all. It now seemed to have all the ingredients necessary for contentment and perhaps even happiness.

  No, he could not agree with her. But of course, she did not want him to. She had asked the question in the hope that he would contradict her. Yes, she had. He knew her well enough now to recognize that. She wanted a good marriage, just as he did.

  “No, there was not,” he said, “but …”

  But Aunt Beryl and Aunt Ruth had slowed their pace and drawn level with them.

  “Ruth is a little breathless,” Aunt Beryl announced in her usual forthright manner. “You will not mind if she takes your arm, my lord?”

  “Of course not.” He drew Aunt Ruth’s arm through his free one and looked down at her in some concern. “I should have had the sleigh come to pick you up at church.”

  “Oh, no, no,” she said, flustered. “I am quite sure the fresh air is good for me, my lord. And such beautiful weather. And such a wonderful service. Was it not, Ellie?”

  “It was,” Eleanor agreed. “Very wonderful, Aunt Ruth.”

  “I was just saying to Beryl,” Aunt Ruth went on, “that I wish we could have the Reverend Blodell in our parish. Such an imposing figure of a man.”

  The earl smiled and took up the conversation. But he was going to have to complete that other conversation before bedtime, he thought. Otherwise he was going to find himself in bed with either a marble statue or a hedgehog. The thought fueled his smile.

  “BRISTOL,” VISCOUNT SOTHERBY SAID to Muriel, finding himself unexpectedly alone with her after their footsteps had lagged with George’s and Mabel’s until finally that couple had made it quite clear that they would be very happy to lose themselves among the trees for a few minutes. “It is a place I do not know. Is it attractive?”

  “I like it,” she said. “We moved there from the country after Papa died.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, “I shall pay it a visit when spring comes. Especially now that I know some people who live there.”

  “That would be pleasant, my lord,” she said.

  “Did you know I had been married?” he asked her.

  “No.” She looked up at him with widened eyes.

  “She died,” he said. “In childbed a little more than two years ago. I would have had a daughter. I was fond of my wife.”

  “Oh,” she said, “I am so sorry.”

  He smiled. “Fortunately or unfortunately,” he said, “grief fades and life goes on. But I liked being married. I liked the comfort and security of it. The bachelor life does not much suit me, I am afraid. I came here to shoot, expecting a somewhat bleak Christmas. What a treat it has been to be part of a family Christmas after all.”

  Muriel smiled. “I cannot imagine Christmas without family,” she said. “Or life, for that matter.”

  The driveway was deserted, George and Mabel having disappeared among the elm trees. And no self-respecting male could be expected to be alone with a pretty girl under the stars and not kiss her.

  Lord Sotherby kissed Muriel.

  “Bristol in March,” he said when he raised his head. “Will there be primroses?”

  “And daffodils,” she said.

  A promise that was rewarded with another kiss.

  GEORGE AND MABEL AND the viscount and Muriel had perhaps lagged behind most of the family, but not as far behind as Sir Albert Hagley and Rachel.

  “The stars,” he said, looking up. “They seem so close that one could almost imagine reaching out to pluck one.”

  “My star is still there tonight,” she said, looking up with him. “It is even brighter than it was last night.”

  “That one?” He pointed to a star close to the moon. “That is not your star. It is ours.”

  “Oh, is it?” She turned her head to smile at him and he released her arm in order to set his own about her waist and draw her closer to his side.

  “You have sometimes avoided me recently,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “And you have sometimes avoided me.”

  “For the same reason?” he asked.

  “I think not.” She smiled gently. “I was told you were a rake, though I do not believe it is true. But it is Christmas and a wonderful time for flirtation. Except that I do
not believe I am much good at flirtation.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “I cannot be fond of someone one day and forget about him the next,” she said.

  They had stopped walking. “Are you fond of me?” he asked.

  “That is an unfair question,” she said, her gaze dropping to his chin. “I think perhaps we should not be alone.”

  “Because I might kiss you?” he asked.

  “Yes, because of that,” she said. “And because I am no good at flirtation.”

  “I am not sure I am good at anything else,” he said. “I have had you off alone one too many times, have I not? And I am about to kiss you one too many times. Too many if I mean only flirtation, that is. I don’t believe I would fancy coming to fisticuffs with your father. I value my teeth a little too highly.”

  She laughed softly.

  “And so I have been at war with myself,” he said. “Telling myself with my head to keep away from you, urging myself with my heart to find you out and to take you apart and to—what? Kiss you? Romance you? I am not sure. I am unfamiliar with the language of the heart.”

  She smiled at him a little uncertainly.

  “I think I had better ask for a private word with your father when we return to the house,” he said. He grinned briefly. “Before he has a chance to ask for a private meeting with me.”

  “You have not really compromised me,” she said, her voice breathless. “And we would not suit.”

  “Wouldn’t we?” He gazed down into her eyes. “Because I am a gentleman and you are not a lady? I would have agreed without hesitation before meeting you and before seeing Randolph’s marriage develop into a love match before my very eyes. Now those facts merely seem rather silly. You cannot be summed up with a label. You are Rachel Transome and I have fallen in love with you. Did I actually say those words? They are the most difficult in the English language to say aloud.”

  “It is a love match, is it not?” she said. “I worried when I first heard of it. I was afraid that Ellie had been blinded by the splendor of marrying an earl. And she is my favorite cousin. But splendor has nothing to do with it. When one loves a man, it does not really matter if he is an earl or a countinghouse clerk.”