The Christmas Spirit

by Patricia Wynn

  "Have no fears," she called back to her aunt from the front door. "I am in complete control." This last was uttered almost defiantly as she slammed the door behind them.

  Matthew's lips began to tickle. Now that they were out in the street, his vertigo seemed to have cleared, although a dense fog had moved in from the park. As he accompanied Faye down the short walk, he glanced back and saw that mist had completely enveloped the house.

  He would have remarked upon the curious phenomenon, but Faye's parting comment could not be ignored. "In complete control?" he asked as they reached the carriage. "Dare I beg an explanation?"

  "You may beg one if you like." She flashed him a teasing smile.

  "But you will choose not to answer, is that it?"

  When she nodded, half mischievously, half regretfully, he only chuckled, then waited until they both were seated inside before he said, "Which would deal my masculine vanity a severe blow. Very well, then, I shall not ask. Only tell me that you have nothing cruel in mind, fair lady, for my heart is of no mind to be wounded this evening." He had tried to say this lightly, but it came out more seriously than he'd intended.

  Faye's response, too, was more sober than he had expected. Dismay clouded her eyes, when she said, "No, not cruel. I promise. Whatever the evening holds, I shall not be cruel. You have my word."

  Disturbed, and even a bit frightened by the distress in her voice, Matthew tried to change the subject. "I was afraid for one terrible moment--no matter how charming your aunt is, mind--that you had planned for her to accompany us."

  "No, I told you I lived alone."

  "Is she merely visiting then?"

  "Yes, she'll be gone by morning."

  Such a blithe dismissal surprised him. But it was all part and parcel of Faye, and what made her unique. "What does she think, I wonder, of your going out tonight without a chaperone?"

  "I believe she envies me."

  This was said in such a soft, husky voice as to set his blood afire. Wishing he could see her, Matthew reached for her hand in the dark and, when he found it, heard her gasp.

  The sound was as virginal as it was eager. It cautioned him to wait. Whatever rules of society Faye had breached, her unguarded reaction to his touch had proven her innocence in this particular regard. And the knowledge that he might be her first and only love gave Matthew an unexpected rush of triumph, so strong, in fact, that his hands began to shake.

  Astonished--for he had not thought such things important to him, he had trouble finding his tongue. When he did, he used it to divert himself from the temptation churning his blood.

  "Would you care to know something about our hosts?" he asked lightly.

  "Why, yes. I suppose I should have asked who they are."

  He chuckled and drew her hand onto his knee, noticing with pleasure that it trembled just like his. "Our esteemed hosts are Gerald Fortescue, Esq., and his wife, Lady Patricia, the daughter of the Earl of Albion, both patrons of the African Association. Fortescue is one of the wealthiest men in Britain, but he prefers town to country, which is why you find him still in London. He's both a scholar and an amateur scientist, and his wife shares his passion for the unknown. He's rather a decent sort, and his wife is no less, although some of her friends necessarily lack her level of discernment.”

  He grinned at Faye through the dark. “I'm afraid you will find both sorts at this function, but it should be a bit more amusing than your typical society affair, else I would not have bored you with it."

  He sensed a hesitation before she spoke, "You could not have bored me with an invitation. I--"

  When it appeared she would not continue, he prompted, "You. . . ?"

  Faye laughed, a musical laugh that made his spirit soar, and Matthew knew he had overcome whatever fear had held him back from loving her.

  "I," she said, placing an emphasis on the word, "cannot wait to see a ballroom decked out in Christmas greens."

  It was not what she had been about to say, he was sure, but the words reminded him of mistletoe again. And he could only hope she'd been thinking of her promise when she'd spoken.

  The carriage came to a jerking stop.

  "It appears that we are already here." Matthew opened the door to step down first. Then, he turned and helped her to alight, putting his hands upon her tiny waist, which gave him the chance to bring her close and to sniff her hair. She felt weightless, as light as a butterfly.

  "I shall endeavor," he whispered into her hair, "to see that the journey home passes much more slowly."

  This declaration caused Trudy's pulse to leap as she took Matthew's arm to be escorted in. Fear and exaltation seemed to mix equally inside her as she gazed at his profile. Matthew's back was perfectly erect. The cut of his black jacket closely hugged his square shoulders. The strong features of his face and his imposing brow gave him the look of an eagle.

  Beside him, Trudy's step was effortlessly light as always; however, when they entered the door, she almost tripped, alarmed by the crush of humans.

  One glance at the scene inside told her she was by far the frailest creature present. The men's voices were raised in raucous shouts; the ladies' laughter nearly pierced her ears. Children, as tall as she, chased each other back and forth across the corridor through the crowd. A Christmas ball was not at all the decorous event she had expected, and for one instant, she was tempted to draw her cloak about her and simply disappear.

  Then Matthew stepped around in front of her, his body shielding her from the noise. He put one finger under her chin to raise her eyes to his.

  He did not bother to shout over the din, but instead arched one brow as if to ask if they should go in. A sympathetic grin turned up the corners of his mouth.

  At that moment, Trudy heard music from the orchestra, and the prospect of a dance chased her fears away. She had nothing to fear as long as Matthew was beside her.

  She took a bracing breath and nodded, giving his elbow a squeeze.

  "I'll present you to our hosts," she heard Matthew say as he turned to lead her towards the ballroom.

  Nearly lost in a sea of humans, for Matthew's tall back blocked her view, Trudy was surprised when he moved aside to let her precede him through the doorway. A vista opened, and she gasped in delight at the sight of the kissing bough.

  It was enormous. Two great rings of holly and ivy were suspended from the ceiling, with sprigs of other evergreens thrown in. Shiny, red apples dangled cheek by jowl with pale paper roses. Colored ribbons, from the ends of which dangled dolls, and sparkling ornaments made a shimmering fairy forest. The bough hovered over the dancers who seemed to be wrestling and laughing at the same time.

  Astonished at first by this behavior, Trudy quickly realized that the gentlemen were attempting to steer their partners under the mistletoe, which hung from a ribbon in the center of the bough, while the ladies were using all their wiles to dodge it.

  "Oh, Matthew," she breathed, forgetting to dim her bewitching beauty in her excitement. "It is all so thrilling."

  Her smile fell upon the room, and all movement ceased. Even Matthew came to a halt at her side, seeming to freeze under her inadvertent spell. The dancers' music stopped in the middle of the dance, and they all turned to stare.

  On the faces of the motionless men, she saw an astonishment, no less admiring than it was dazed. On the ladies', a mixture of reluctant acknowledgement and dismay. With a sudden blow, Trudy realized that she did not belong here, that her presence could ruin all the other guests' enjoyment unless she did something immediately to correct her lapse.

  With a sweep of her magic cloak, she broke the spell she'd so unwittingly cast upon the guests. She lowered her eyes and, with a powerful intake of breath, reined her beauty in. In the next instant, the first persons to awake from the spell began to stir, then the rest followed as if they'd just remembered where they were. They were still staring at her, but their unnatural amazement had fled.

  "Well--" At her side, Matthew spoke while shaking his he
ad with a look of mild annoyance. "I should say our entry was well timed."

  "Oh?" she asked breathlessly.

  "Yes. The music has stopped, and the voices are, therefore, not quite so loud. That should give us a chance to pay our respects."

  He swept a hand towards the receiving line to his right. While some conversations had resumed, Trudy knew that many people's eyes were still upon her. She could only hope they would forget the momentary numbness that had struck them all.

  Their hosts were waiting to greet her as Matthew presented her, first to Fortescue and then to his wife. Although they seemed reserved at first--a mood left over from their bedazzlement, no doubt--both did their best to make Trudy feel welcome. Gerald Fortescue, a congenial man of slight build, peered deeply into her eyes and appeared reluctant to let her pass out of his sight. It was not until Matthew placed his hand on the small of her back and moved close that the other man released her.

  "I have heard much about you, Miss Meriwether." Lady Patricia gave Trudy a generous smile. "And I see that rumor has not exaggerated for once. Sir Matthew--" she turned to him--"I do not believe I have ever heard a room go quite so silent as this one did when she entered. Have you?"

  "No, my lady. But I am grateful to have you mention it, for I was beginning to think I had imagined the whole."

  Trudy held her breath, assured she'd been discovered, but Lady Patricia merely sighed. "All the other young ladies will be in the blackest despair. If I were you," she advised Matthew, "I should not let such a charmer out of my sight."

  With those kind words and a smile, she waved them off and turned to greet her next guest, and Trudy could release her strangled breath.

  "Excellent advice," Matthew murmured behind her. He had bent to whisper into her ear. "My first order of business must be to secure your hand for the first two waltzes."

  "Oh! But I meant to save them all for you!" Trudy protested, turning to face him.

  Matthew stopped and smiled. "All of the waltzes?"

  The startled look upon his face made her stomach flutter, though she wasn't sure why. "I had meant," she confessed with a shy sweep of her lashes, "to say all the dances."

  A smile started on his lips. She could see he was trying to hide it, but unbridled amusement had lit his eyes. "I would be honored, of course. But do you not think that such a high degree of particularity would, perhaps, seem . . . rather particular?"

  Trudy felt her dimples burrowing deeply into her cheeks as a blush rose to heat them. "Would it? Why?"

  "Because--" Matthew paused to clear his throat as he ushered her over to an alcove--"though you mustn't think I normally give much regard to such mundane considerations--because, my dearest dear, the custom of these affairs dictates that a maiden lady shall limit each of her partners to no more than two dances--three if they are engaged."

  "Oh--"

  Matthew's next question cut her off before she could express her disappointment. "Would you truly reserve all your dances for me?"

  "Of course. Are we not agreed that such conventions are unworthy of our notice?"

  "We are, indeed. However, I am finding in myself an absurd desire to protect you from vicious tongues."

  His serious tone took her aback. Trudy gazed into his searching eyes and felt something inside her diminish. "You needn't, you know," she said quietly. She rewarded him with her tenderest smile and thought she heard his sudden intake of breath. Matthew reached out a finger to caress her lower lip.

  "Dunstone?" All around them, the din had started to grow again. Now, one insistent voice broke through it.

  Starting, they both turned to find a gentleman at Trudy's side. "You do not mean to keep this young lady all to yourself tonight, I hope," he said, stepping forward to clap Matthew on the back.

  "I had considered it," Matthew said ruefully. "Faye, I am forced to present Lord Cranleigh, who, I presume, has come to beg a dance. Lord Cranleigh, Miss Meriwether."

  Trudy gave the young gentleman a glancing smile, but she clung to Matthew's arm. "Shall I have to--" she began, but, before she could finish her plea, she was cut off by Matthew again.

  "I am afraid so. Not for the reason we discussed, but rather because, if you do not, we shall likely have a riot on our hands." He gestured behind her.

  When she turned her head to look, she saw that a crowd of gentlemen had formed in their wake.

  "But--" She nearly wilted at the sight of them. "What dances shall you and I have together?"

  "All of the waltzes," Matthew said firmly and loudly to the gathering behind her. "I may lack your audacity, my dear, but I am no fool. Stay clear of the mistletoe mind." He gave this warning to the men.

  Just then, a footman came up, and Matthew said to Faye, "Let me take your cloak." Before she could prevent him, he helped her off with it, and, as the servant carried it away, Lord Cranleigh claimed her hand.

  Trudy felt herself being swept away from Matthew to join in the dance that was forming. She thought of disappearing from the frightening scene, but her magic cloak was gone. Matthew's face was all alight with pride, and she could not bear to have that look erased

  Besides, she realized, as her nervous partner got up a harmless banter, she had often danced with other elves. Although the steps would be a bit different, the music was the same. It would not hurt her to take a few turns of the room on other men's arms.

  She gave herself to the dance and tripped lightly about the room, pausing with a curtsy when the steps called for one. Every now and then, she glanced back to see Matthew who was watching her with enjoyment.

  At first, his sanguine acceptance of these other men's claims made her wonder just how firmly his feelings were engaged. But, then, when she noticed that someone had offered him a chair, she recalled his recent illness, and she realized he could not dance the whole evening without doing himself harm. An abrupt awareness of his mortality seized her. It clamped on her heart with fear. Although he would live a great deal longer, Matthew would surely precede her to the grave by many years. Many decades, in fact. Perhaps as long as a century.

  And Trudy knew with an unquenchable pain, she would not want to live that long without Matthew.

  Matthew watched her glide about the room as if she floated on butterflies' wings, charming each of her partners in succession. As every head turned to stare at her, he did not have to wonder how she managed it, for every time she merely glanced his way and smiled, he felt a pull so strong, he could scarcely keep his seat. His impatience to hold her was becoming intolerable when he first saw her flag, as if a thought had swept all the joy from her.

  He started to his feet, just as the music, most fortunately, stopped. He did not wait for her partner to return her to his side, for that was never likely to occur. Instead, he strode across the ballroom floor and claimed her right out from under the nose of her next supplicant.

  "I believe this is a waltz," Matthew said, barely giving a glance at the other man, "and the waltzes are all mine."

  Faye stepped into his arms, not waiting for the music to start, and Matthew caught his breath. Her hair, which was as light and as feathery as down, tickled his chin. Her phantom perfume teased his nostrils, making his head spin. While they waited for the other couples to form, Matthew closed his eyes and let a cornucopia of sensations take him.

  Then, the music started, and he was twirling her around the floor in a perfect circular motion. Long out of practice, Matthew found that the steps came easily to him. He flowed like a river with Faye. Although he led, his dancing skill seemed to emanate from her and her desires, as if she were a sorceress spinning him in a spell.

  He might have waltzed on and on, enjoying this miraculous, almost spiritual sensation, but something about it made him grow uneasy. With his eyelids half--open, looking down into Faye's face, he could almost see Trudy gazing wistfully back up at him. He blinked hard once, then twice, and the illusion was gone.

  "What is it, Matthew?"

  Her gentle concern made him ache to ho
ld her closer. Matthew wanted to fill his emptiness with her, but holding Faye in his arms was almost as disappointing as he had feared. She felt lighter than air, not real enough to fill his arms.

  He tried to reassure her. "It is nothing. A passing thought, unworthy of comment."

  But his smile must have seemed weak, for her dainty steps faltered. He caught her more securely, grasping her waist and hand in a tighter grip. Her body brushed against his, but still her substance failed to satisfy his need.

  Then, just as he thought he might burn with the frustration building inside him, his hand that held hers grew warm, and from that little bit of warmth, his whole arm began to hum. The humming spread from his shoulder to his chest, then to the rest of him, and he almost sighed aloud.

  "Look up, Matthew." Faye's gaze tilted towards the ceiling, pulling his with it. They were spinning alone under the mistletoe.

  Matthew almost believed that it had been she, and not he, who had brought them there; but with that warmth still humming near his heart, he didn't care who'd been responsible. Still, with an affirmation of his masculine right, he determined to prolong this delicious moment as long as he could.

  "Are you enjoying the ball?" He teased her by posing the trite question, for they had hardly spoken at all, so enthralled had he been.

  "Oh, yes," she breathed happily. "It's all so warm, Matthew, so warm."

  She glanced around them at the dancers, laughing gaily, at the fireplace where a roaring Yule log burned, and at the children, who were roasting chestnuts over its flames. The rich, welcome smell of the nuts mixed with the wood smoke to fill the air with Christmas.

  Her pleasure in these simple things nearly overwhelmed Matthew, who in his youth had taken them for granted, if not despised them. Now, as he glanced around, holding her by the waist under the mistletoe, he saw that, indeed, there was something glorious in the warmth of human spirit in this room, and he felt more in charity with his own kind than he had in years.

  Bt the heat inside him was building, too, as the dancers twirled about Faye and him, where they'd paused. The sweet smells of apple and orange and evergreen wafted down from the bough above.