by Jo Ann Brown
“Cousin Edmund might want to come.”
Jonathan’s easy smile faded. “He has other matters to concern him. I doubt he wishes to be disturbed.”
Questions tumbled through her head, but she did not ask any of them when Alfred could hear. The cold air hit her like a fist as she stepped outside. When Jonathan laughed and told her that he had warned her, she laughed, too, pushing away her dreary thoughts. Jobby rushed to join them.
“Miss Catherine,” Alfred said, frowning at the puppy, “it would not be wise to have him digging up the animals’ dens. That would disturb the creatures, and they could die from the cold.”
“But he will warn us if any creatures come nigh,” she said quietly.
The gamekeeper’s face turned as white as the ice frosting the grass. He gulped hard and nodded.
“Here.” Jonathan held out a leather strap that could be used as a leash. “Good luck getting him to stand still long enough to hook it to his collar.”
It took the gamekeeper a half-dozen tries before he managed to get the leash on the excited puppy. Jobby yanked as far as the leash would go in one direction before running the opposite and doing the same.
Alfred did not complain. Each time the pup ran past him, he spoke to Jobby calmly. That serenity must have cut through the puppy’s exhilaration, because Jobby slowed and walked alongside him into the wood.
“Astounding,” Jonathan said as he followed with Catherine. “No wonder Meriweather asked him to stay on as gamekeeper. He has a definite way with animals.”
“Just as his father did.” She hesitated, then asked, “How did your calls go?”
“About as we expected.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Mostly it is no change. Too many worries and not enough guts.”
Catherine nodded. Here in the open, where anyone might hear, she could not get more specific. It did not sound as if the help Cousin Edmund had hoped for would be forthcoming.
“I am sorry to make you look sad, Cat...” He quickly apologized again, adding, “I know you haven’t given me permission to address you so. Forgive me.”
“There is no need to forgive you,” she replied automatically, then realized it was the truth. The name that had annoyed her when she had left childhood behind seemed somehow special when he spoke it. “Sophia uses it regularly, and Cousin Edmund even did before you returned to Meriweather Hall.”
“But I presumed...”
“Nothing, Jonathan.” She hooked her arm through his as they stepped within the even cooler shade of the wood. “Let’s enjoy what this day has to offer.”
He agreed and was the most charming and amusing companion she could have wished for. Even Alfred, who was stilted in her company, chuckled at Jonathan’s silly stories of people he had encountered in Norwich.
They walked about a quarter mile before the trees thinned ahead. Alfred grinned and nodded when Catherine looked in his direction.
“I cannot wait to see it!” She ran to the center of the clearing where a huge trunk had been stripped of most of its branches. Only smaller ones and a few golden leaves remained.
She walked around the oak log, staying out of Alfred’s way as he cut off more of the smaller branches with an ax that had been leaning against the trunk. The tree, when it had been standing, must have been more than forty feet tall. What was left was at least ten feet long. It would burn throughout the Christmas Eve ball and long into Christmas itself.
“It is huge,” Jonathan said as he paced around it as she had.
“Only one of the hearths in the old great hall can accommodate it.”
“How will you get that in the old hall? If you take it through the house, every piece of furniture in the hallways will have to be moved and the floors will be scraped.”
“Jonathan, Meriweather Hall has stood for centuries. Don’t you think someone devised a way to bring a Yule log into the great hall? Some of the windows can be easily removed.” She continued to examine around the tree trunk. “Alfred, this will make the perfect Yule log.”
The gamekeeper grinned as he chopped more branches off the trunk. “I am glad you like it, Miss Catherine.”
“You will oversee it being brought in, won’t you?”
“Aye, if you wish me to.”
“You found it,” she said with a smile, knowing the men considered it an honor to be in charge of setting the Yule log on the hearth. “You should oversee the job. Do make sure your mother comes to Meriweather Hall before you return here to get the log. She won’t want to miss a moment of it.”
“Aye.” He lowered the ax, then tipped his cap to her. She guessed he understood what she could not say in the wood. With his mother in the great hall, he did not have to worry about the smugglers paying her a call on Christmas Eve.
Alfred was about to add more when Jobby gave a great tug and pulled out of his collar. The puppy took off with the gamekeeper in pursuit.
“You won’t catch him!” Jonathan called, but Alfred was already gone from sight. With a shrug, he picked up the ax the gamekeeper had dropped and swung it at the branch Alfred had been cutting.
Catherine watched as he sliced off one branch after another. His face was set, and his eyes narrowed. Each motion was sharp and precise...and powered by frustration.
The meetings must have gone even more poorly than she had guessed. No wonder Cousin Edmund had shut himself away as soon as they returned. Without everyone standing up to the smugglers, nothing would change.
Without a word, she gathered up branches he and Alfred had cut off. She dropped them on top of others at one side of the clearing. They worked in silence for more than a half hour while they waited for the gamekeeper or Jobby to come back.
She was scooping up more debris when something sharp pierced her thumb. “Ouch!” She yanked off her left glove.
“What is it?” Jonathan asked, putting down the ax.
Instantly, as she heard his alarm, she felt silly. “It is only a small cut. Probably a splinter.”
“Let me look.”
“Jonathan, it is nothing.”
Cupping her hand in his, he tipped her palm toward him. “Where is it?”
“My thumb.”
He bent toward her hand. His breath was gentle and warm against her skin. That warmth seeped into her veins and spread through her like liquid sunshine. Her knees threatened to melt. He would catch her if she stumbled. His strong arms would keep her safe. Even when her greatest danger was her craving to kiss him. She had watched his lips in every mood. Happy, sad, angry, reverent. Would they have a different flavor for each? Oh, how she yearned to find out!
“It is gone,” he said quietly and raised his head.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she looked into his eyes which were so close to hers. A single motion by either of them would bring their lips together.
His hand rose to curve along her cheek as tenderly as he had held her palm. She leaned into his gloved fingers. Closing her eyes, she savored his touch.
“Cat?” he called softly.
“Yes?”
“Look at me.”
She did and smiled as he tilted her mouth toward his. She held her breath, waiting for the delight of her first kiss.
But it was not to be. Jobby, barking wildly when he caught sight of them, burst into the clearing with Alfred surprisingly close behind. The gamekeeper wrapped his arms around the puppy and pulled the collar over Jobby’s head.
Catherine was unsure if she or Jonathan or both of them had jumped away at Jobby’s first bark. All she knew for certain was that the moment when he would have kissed her was past.
She was curious how much Alfred had witnessed, because both he and Jonathan made every effort to act normally. They talked about Jobby and bringing the Yule log to the house and everything excep
t how Jonathan had been standing so close to her. If they noticed her silence, neither of them made any mention.
A carriage pulled through the gate as Catherine and the men reached the rear of the house. It was a heavy closed carriage. Shades were pulled over the windows, and, in the box, the coachee was hunched with the cold.
“I wonder who is calling on such a cold day,” she said.
“Sir Nigel.” Jonathan’s answer was curt, and she wondered what their neighbor had said when Cousin Edmund and Jonathan went to him for his assistance against the smugglers.
It looked as if she were about to find out.
Chapter Eight
Sir Nigel Tresting stood by the hearth in the larger drawing room, looking as comfortable as if Meriweather Hall were his domain. He was almost as round as he was tall, and the buttons on his navy waistcoat looked ready to pop. His white hair was perfectly coifed, and he wore thick gold rings on almost every finger. With boots that shined almost as brightly as the rings, he was the picture of a country squire who enjoyed good food and good company.
As Catherine walked in with Jonathan, she was startled to see a young woman sitting close to where Sir Nigel stood. Cousin Edmund was perched on a nearby chair, looking as if he was eager to escape.
“Come in, come in!” Sir Nigel pushed away from the hearth and crossed the room to bow over Catherine’s fingers. “A pleasure, as always, Miss Catherine.”
“Thank you.” She gave no sign of her curiosity. Why had Sir Nigel come to Meriweather Hall? Had he changed his mind and was offering his help against the smugglers? From the strained expression on her cousin’s face, she doubted that.
“Bradby.” Sir Nigel’s eyes slitted as he appraised Jonathan.
“Sir Nigel,” Jonathan responded in an identically cool tone.
The baronet faltered, then his broad smile returned as he looked back at Catherine. “Please allow me to introduce my great-niece, Lillian Kightly. She has come to live with me until the Season begins. I wanted her to meet at least one other young woman who would be part of this Season. Lillian, my dear, this is Catherine Meriweather and Mr. Bradby.” He added the last almost as an afterthought.
The young woman stood. She was classically beautiful with pale golden hair and large blue eyes. The fingers of her hand as she raised it to take Catherine’s were slender and graceful.
“I am glad to get to meet you, Miss Catherine,” she said in a lilting voice. “My great-uncle has sung your praises often during my visit.”
“I hope you will make yourself at home at Meriweather Hall.”
Sir Nigel interjected, “How kind of you to say that, Miss Catherine. I had hoped you would feel that way.”
“Which way?” Catherine asked, clearly nonplused.
“Having Lillian feel at home here.” His smile got even wider. “She finds my house boring, so I thought I would bring her here where she could enjoy the company of people her own age.” He smiled at all of them, but his gaze focused on Cousin Edmund.
Catherine fought her instinct to step between the men and break that steady look. She suspected her cousin would appreciate her interference, but adding tension to the already taut moment might embarrass Sir Nigel’s niece.
“Of course, it is not for me to say.” She was glad her laugh sounded sincere and hoped nobody noticed her fingers curling tightly into her palms. How dare Sir Nigel try to back her into a corner like this! “This is Lord Meriweather’s house.”
“Most certainly. Most certainly.” Sir Nigel put his arm around his great-niece’s shoulders and herded her toward where she had been sitting.
Sympathy rushed through Catherine when she saw Miss Kightly try to edge away from her great-uncle. No doubt the beautiful young woman had been put to the blush by Sir Nigel’s outrageous request. When Miss Kightly sat and faced them again, her hands folded on her lap, her face was a brilliant crimson.
Cousin Edmund must have seen Miss Kightly’s embarrassment, because he invited her to stay as long as she wished. Her cousin’s face eased into a smile when Catherine offered to escort Miss Kightly to one of the guest rooms near where she and her sister slept.
“Excellent,” Cousin Edmund said. “That will allow us men to talk about less pleasant topics.” His gaze shot daggers at Sir Nigel, but the round man seemed oblivious as he began to expound about one of the paintings on the wall.
Miss Kightly seemed ready to run as Catherine led her out of the parlor. Pausing only long enough to tell the footman by the door to have Miss Kightly’s bags brought to the yellow guest room, Catherine led the way up the stairs.
“Please forgive my great-uncle,” Miss Kightly said as they climbed the stairs. “He gets an idea in his head, and he cannot bear to let it go. When I decided to explore his house and the gardens, he took it in his head that I was bored, so he brought me here.”
“We are familiar with Sir Nigel’s ways.” That was the most diplomatic way Catherine could reply. “He and my late father used to have some frightful rows, but then Sir Nigel would extend an invitation for Papa to go shooting with him or to watch him paint or to walk along the shore.”
“And your father went?”
“For the walks along the shore, if I remember correctly.” Catherine laughed. “I don’t remember about the others. To own the truth, I have been so caught up in the details for my sister’s wedding that I barely remember my own name, Miss Kightly.”
“I would be happy to help you, Miss Catherine.”
“Please call me Cat.” She smiled when she said that. Cat. The name she once had hated, she found wonderful, because Jonathan used it.
Miss Kightly dimpled. “And you must address me as Lillian. I hope we can become friends.”
“That would be lovely.”
“I didn’t plan to come to Uncle Nigel’s house.” She sighed. “My mother recently remarried, and her husband wanted some time for the two of them alone. Mother suggested I come to stay in North Yorkshire until the beginning of the Season.” She glanced under her lashes at Cat. “Was Uncle Nigel correct when he said you would be going to London for the Season, too?”
“Yes.” She did not explain further.
“Excellent. Now, at least, we will each know a friendly face there. I am glad you are agreeable to my great-uncle’s plans. Sometimes, when he thinks he knows better than everyone around him, he can be imperious.”
“You are worrying needlessly. As I said, I have known your great-uncle my whole life, so having him bring you here was not a surprise.”
“Really? You aren’t just trying to ease my fretting?”
“Ask anyone in the house, and they will tell you that a Meriweather daughter has never hesitated to speak her mind.”
“Good. I am accustomed to that after staying with my great-uncle. He never curbs his tongue.”
“So I have noticed.”
Laughing, they continued up the stairs as Lillian prattled about her plans for the upcoming Season. Cat let her chatter, glad Lillian did not ask about Cat’s plans. She could not share with anyone that her only reason for going to Town was to do as she had promised Roland before he left Sanctuary Bay to fight and never return to her to make her his wife.
* * *
Cat pointed to the farthest window in the great hall. “That is where the orchestra should go, Ogden.”
The butler listened without comment.
“Do you think they should go somewhere else?” she asked, recognizing his way of disagreeing without actually saying anything.
“When a Christmas Eve ball was held here, Miss Catherine, that back corner was where the refreshments were placed. There is a door nearby that is convenient to the kitchen.” He looked at a spot beyond her as he said in his ever-so-correct voice, “Of course, you may arrange the room as you see fit.”
She laugh
ed. “Please, Ogden, be honest with me. I wasn’t born yet the last time Meriweather Hall hosted a Christmas Eve ball.”
“And I was a footman.” The butler unbent enough to smile. “I remember every detail of the first time I served at the famed Meriweather Hall Christmas Eve ball.”
“Will you tell me?”
As the butler spoke, talking about the glorious greens that had been draped from the high ceiling, the joint roasting on the largest hearth, and the traditional music for singing and dancing, Cat closed her eyes. She imagined women wearing beautiful dresses with full skirts and waistlines far lower than the empire style that was popular now. The men’s evening wear would have been decorated with gold lace and brilliant buttons with more lace at the throat. Their voices would have woven through the music and their laughter bright bubbles bursting throughout the hall.
Ideas filled her mind, and she could not wait to return to her room. She would draw them in her sketchbook. Combining her ideas and more conventional designs would make a beautiful setting for her sister’s wedding breakfast. They need only add the orchestra, more candles and greenery for the Christmas Eve ball.
“Thank you, Ogden,” she said when he finished reminiscing. “You have helped more than you guess.”
“I am glad to be of service, Miss Catherine.” He was once again the rigidly correct butler, but she caught a glimpse of a smile in his eyes as his gaze swept the room. And a glimpse of the young man he had been during his first Christmas Eve ball at the house, excited and impressed and resolved to do the best possible job.
She spent the next hour in her room, sketching her plans for the great hall. Sophia was busy with fittings for her trousseau, and Lillian never rose before midday. Neither her cousin nor Jonathan had appeared in the breakfast parlor while she ate, so she had no idea where they were.
That gave her the freedom to design the greenery in the great hall. Great swaths of ivy and holly over each window. More holly, with its bright red berries, would brighten the windowsills. She had heard tales of how the great hall was bedecked with fruit and candles, and she wanted to use both for the wedding breakfast and the Christmas Eve ball.