She took a tentative step forward. “I wished only to sank you for allowing me zee use of your books. I am enjoying zem very much.”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling ever so slightly. It was the first real smile he’d given in…he twisted his head to the side. Well, he did not remember how long it had been. “I’m glad someone is reading them again. I have not looked at them in years.”
Her brow creased. “You speak French, my lord?”
“Oui.” He grinned when her brow raised in surprise. “Comment allez-vous ce soir?” When her eyes widened, he threw his head back and laughed, drawing the attention of all in the room.
Miss Babineaux lowered her voice. “When did you learn French? When you were in the army?”
Aaron shook his head. “No. My brother Henry and I had a French tutor until we left for Eton.”
Her brow furrowed again. “Zen why—” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. “Zank you again for letting me borrow them.”
“You are most welcome.” Aaron looked down at her. Emotions swam across her face faster than he could identify them.
He knew the question she had been going to ask.
He should tell her. She had the right to know. But it was Christmas day, and it didn’t feel like the right time. Tonight was a time to feast and sing carols. Not remember pains from the past.
A hand warmed his arm, and he smiled down at Miss Babineaux. But his smile faded when he looked into the face of his sister-in-law. How had Miss Babineaux abandoned him so quietly? More importantly, why was Rebekah doing this? There were so many things about Henry they could share if she would not be so intent on developing a relationship with Aaron. Friendship was all Aaron could ever offer her.
“Dinner is served, my lord.”
“Thank you, Collins.”
The butler bowed and turned from the room.
His mother took the arm of Lord Kirtley. Aaron smiled. “Mother, it’s Christmas. May we dispense with the formalities tonight?” He looked to Kirtley. “I am sure Kirtley would not object to it.”
Kirtley shook his head. “Not at all, Brinton.”
Aaron held his arm out to the dowager viscountess. “Mother, may I escort you in to dinner?”
She scoffed but put her hand on his arm. “Henry would never have dispensed with formalities just because it is Christmas.”
Aaron pulled his mother to the side. He had abided the mentions of Henry long enough. “Lady Brinton, could you please show our guests to the dining room? Mother and I need a word.”
“Aaron.” His mother pulled on his arm. “Surely this can wait. You are showing very poor manners.”
“I am certain I am, Mother. But this cannot wait.” He paused as everyone vacated the room then turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest.
“What is the meaning of this, Aaron? You are acting abominably. Henry would never be so rude.”
Aaron sucked in a breath. “That is what we need to discuss.”
She looked at him as if he were daft. “What? I have no notion what you are speaking of.”
“I am not Henry, Mother. No matter how often you remind me of that fact, I will never be Henry. I am sorry he died. I am sorry he is not here to do everything just as you like. But he is not here. I, however, am. And I am not going anywhere.” His head twitched to the side. “Please, stop comparing me to him. I know I will never be the man he was. But I am doing my best.”
His mother’s mouth hung open, looking very much like the fish that would undoubtedly be served for dinner. She swallowed once…then twice before snapping her mouth shut. “I know you are not Henry. Why would you ever think I thought you less than your brother?”
Now it was Aaron whose mouth hung open. How could she not know? Did she not hear herself speak? “You have not spoken to me once since my return without using the phrase if Henry were here.”
His mother’s brow puckered.
“If Henry were here, we would not dispense with formalities.” Aaron spoke in a high-pitched tone, mimicking his mother’s voice. “If Henry were here, he would not leave London until after Lord Trenton’s ball. If Henry—”
“Yes, I get the idea.” His mother looked down at her hands. “I had not thought of how you would interpret my words. I was only…” She stopped. “No. You are right. I was comparing you.” She paused, as if trying to formulate her words. Her head shook back and forth. “There are few similarities between you and your brother. I should not have tried to make you like him. I had just never envisioned you as Lord Brinton, and I suppose it’s been difficult accepting it.”
It stung to hear her confirm his belief. “I never envisioned it either, Mother. But here we are and there is nothing either of us can do about it.”
She placed a hand on his arm. “I did not intend to agree that you are less than your brother, Aaron. You have many qualities that will make you a better viscount than Henry ever could have been. You are firm and decisive. And I believe you have a far better head for management. But you are also oft time unyielding and almost tyrannical.”
Aaron smiled at the title he had come to call his own.
She continued, oblivious to his smile. “You have been away for so long, sometimes I feel I do not even know you anymore.” She sighed. “And I am still mourning your brother.”
Aaron felt as though she had plunged a knife into his gut. He hadn’t taken into account her grief over losing Henry. What kind of son did not note his mother’s suffering? Perhaps his mother did not grieve as others might, with bouts of tears, but as he looked back, he could see her pain when she mentioned Henry’s name.
He placed his hand over hers. “Perhaps we both need to change our thinking and accept each other for who we are, not for what we think the other should be.”
Her eyes glossed over with unshed tears.
Aaron did not remember ever seeing his mother cry. The thought that she cried now, because of him, nearly brought him to tears as well.
His mother placed a hand on his face. “You are very much like your father, though.”
Aaron’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He had always thought Henry most like his father. “Oh? How so?”
She smiled. “He was also hard and unyielding. But like him, there are times, as rare as they are, when your softer side shows.” She patted his cheek, her head dropped to one side. “Just make certain you do not scare a certain young lady off before she has a chance to see that softer side. I know of your kindness, but not everyone does.”
“I do not feel that way for Reb—”
She held up her hand. “I was not speaking of Rebekah.” Her face clouded over. “I’m not certain what she is thinking, presenting herself as a light-skirt. If Henry were here—”
“If Henry were here, she would not need to flirt with me, now would she?” While Aaron was frustrated with Rebekah, he still found if difficult to hear his mother speak ill of her. The dowager likely did not know of the uncertainly the current Lady Brinton felt.
His mother shrugged, a smile playing around her lips. “I suppose that’s true.”
He sucked in a deep breath. For the first time since his return, his shoulders felt lighter, even as his heart pounded over his mother’s reference to “a certain young lady.” She could only be speaking of Miss Babineaux. “Come, Mother. Let us join our guests for dinner.”
Everyone was chatting amiably when Aaron and his mother walked into the dining room. He was grateful to see that somehow Rebekah was seated at the other end of the table, putting distance between them.
He looked at everyone’s smiling faces. Even Rebekah seemed to be happy. This was the moment he wanted to remember in years to come. This was what Christmas should be.
Aaron and his mother settled in and a line of footmen, each carrying a platter, lined up at his mother’s side.
“In honor of our French guest, I thought it entertaining to dine à la française,” his mother said in a remarkably poor accent.
Aaro
n looked to Miss Babineaux seated next to him.
Her eyes danced with amusement. “You are too kind, my lady. Thank you.”
Aaron cleared his throat. “It appears I am not the only one wishing to dispense with formalities this evening.” Dining in the French style, with everyone dishing their own food, was not the custom at his mother’s parties. She usually preferred the more formal à la russe, where the servants would serve the guests each dish.
Aaron winked at his mother; proud she had embraced this less formal style. Especially considering she had done so even before their talk. This kind of service would have to have been planned.
She shrugged, describing each dish as a footman set it on the table.
Aaron looked at the platters filled with food. How were they to eat even a quarter of all this food? His thought flitted for a moment to his men still serving in France. Were they eating this well? He knew the truth and his spirits sagged. Closing his eyes, he pushed the melancholy to the side. Today he could do nothing about his men and their hunger. That was something for him to deal with in Lords. For now, he would enjoy the company and the food. His men would want that for him.
He reached for the tureen of onion soup, ladling out an ample portion. He winced when he looked at how much he had taken. It was not as if he were starving on the battlefield. He sighed. It was not as if he could put it back.
Aaron looked to Kirtley. “Would you prefer the onion or the hare soup?”
“The onion smells delicious. But who says I have to settle for just one?” Kirtley’s bowl held nearly as much soup as Aaron’s. He devoured it and looked for the hare.
Aaron grinned, thankful his friend was here.
“Aaron, would you pass the onion soup?” Rebekah’s voice was softer than he’d heard it in days. She smiled at him, and he relaxed when he saw there was no flirting involved. A footman approached, and Aaron handed him the tureen to deliver to the other end of the table.
Aaron nodded to her. This was the Rebekah Henry had described to him. Quiet and reserved, but sweet. Where had this girl been for the last four days?
He retrieved the fish platter and dished it for himself and Miss Babineaux.
The meal was more than filling and Aaron did not remember ever having roast goose taste so good. And it had been an age since he’d had Yorkshire pudding. He leaned back in his seat and ran a hand over his full belly.
Aaron watched, listening and observing his family and friends. Miss Babineaux smiled often—something Aaron was becoming rather fond of—speaking and laughing with Lady Kirtley multiple times throughout the meal. Rebekah was quiet but still contributed to the conversation.
This was the best Christmas he’d had in recent memory.
A moan sounded from his throat as the footmen placed macaroons, gingerbread cake and Shrewsbury cake on the table. “Ah, I am done for; I do not believe I can eat another bite.”
“Come, Aaron. It is Christmas. You must at least take a bite of each.” His mother watched him until he had dished himself some of each.
“Mother, how are you to eat dessert if you are watching me?”
She put some gingerbread on her plate and sighed deeply.
He chuckled, knowing she was just as full as he was.
“Perhaps we can have dessert removed to the drawing room. I know I will better enjoy it if I am not so full as now.” Aaron pushed back from the table. “I don’t know about you Kirtley, but I have no desire to speak of politics nor do I have room for even one glass of port. What do you say to skipping all that and joining the ladies for some carols?” Aaron stood, straightening to his full height and discreetly stretching.
Kirtley stood and offered his arm to the dowager and Lady Brinton. “I do love carols. What of you, Lady Brinton?”
Aaron did not hear her response as Kirtley led her from the room.
He offered his arm to Lady Kirtley and Miss Babineaux. “Tell me, my lady. Does Miss Babineaux sing half as prettily as she hums?”
Miss Babineaux’s cheeks turned a shade rosier.
“I don’t recall ever hearing Gabrielle hum. But I have heard her sing. And it is lovely. Sophia sleeps best when Gabrielle sings her a lullaby. She will be quite the performer at the musicales this Season.”
Gabrielle? That was her Christian name? Had he heard it at their introduction and forgotten? It was likely. He grimaced as he remembered his behavior toward her—both times they had met. The tips of his ears burned. If Gabrielle had not reminded him of Mireille, would things have been different?
It was doubtful. As much as he hated to admit it, it was not just her voice that had put him at odds with Gabrielle. It was her nationality. Over the last five years, he’d allowed himself to hate an entire nation. How had that happened?
They stepped inside the drawing room. His mother, Kirtley, and Rebekah were already seated in chairs next to the fire, the yule log hanging over the grate on both sides. This log may not last all the way to Epiphany, but there were several others cut from the same tree to replace this one once it burned down.
The pianoforte sat against the opposite wall.
The hands on his arm dropped away. Lady Kirtley moved to sit beside her husband, and Gabrielle—now that he knew her name, he had a hard time thinking of her as Miss Babineaux— stepped away from him.
“Are we ready to sing?” He looked to Gabrielle. Hers was the voice he was most eager to hear. He remembered her in the nursery, the youngest of Kirtley’s children on her lap, but if she had been singing, it was quiet, and he had not heard it.
His mother nodded. “Yes, but I should like to play a game of snapdragons before the evening is over.”
Rebekah pushed off the couch. “I can play the pianoforte, but I would prefer not to sing.”
Aaron’s mother patted her arm. “Yes. Let us not have a repeat of the Millers’ musicale.”
Rebekah pinked and Aaron scowled at his mother.
“Do not look at me so, Aaron. Some are born to play and others to sing. Our dear Rebekah is quite accomplished on the pianoforte. But it does not follow that she can sing.”
While he knew his mother did not mean to offend poor Rebekah, with every word she spoke, Rebekah’s cheeks grew ruddier.
Aaron held up his hand. “Thank you, Rebekah, for playing.” He and his mother had resolved many issues this evening. Perhaps he could wait for another day to broach the subject of Rebekah’s singing—or rather his mother’s opinion of it.
Everyone gathered around the piano and Rebekah looked around at the group. “What shall you sing first?”
Lady Kirtley spoke up. “Do you know God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen? It was a favorite when I was a child.”
Rebekah played the first notes and then nodded her head when it was time for them to join in.
His mother was correct; Rebekah was a proficient on the instrument. It was like a completely different woman sat at the pianoforte than the one he’d seen the last few days. She exuded a quiet confidence with her hands on the keys.
Everyone sang with feeling, the spirit of the holiday evident. Kirtley—as Aaron had discovered at Eton—still could not sing a note, but that did not quell his enthusiasm.
When the song finished, Aaron turned to Miss Babineaux. “I am surprised you knew that song so well. I thought it was an English carol.”
“It is. Peter lived with us for two Christmastide seasons. He taught my father and me all the songs he could remember. Before he left, I made him tell me the words of each song and I wrote them down. Every year my father and I would sing those songs, along with our traditional French songs.”
Aaron smiled, attributing his over abundant joy to the Christmas season. “Is there a French song you would like to sing, Miss Babineaux?”
"Do you know Un Flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle?" She looked at Rebekah, who shook her head. Gabrielle motioned to the seat at the pianoforte.
Rebekah moved to the side and allowed Gabrielle to take the seat. Gabrielle placed her hands on the keybo
ard and her fingers flowed across each key, the music floating out of the instrument. It was quite lovely. But then she started to sing…. Aaron was captivated. He had never heard anything like it.
Un flambeau, Jeanette, Isabelle—
Un flambeau! Courons au berceau!
Her voice was even more beautiful than Lady Kirtley had implied. If angels were singing, Aaron felt confident Gabrielle would be among them.
As she started the second verse, a memory niggled in his brain. He had heard this song before. He hummed along at first, not remembering all the words, but by the end, he sang along with her. Their voices blended, although her voice made his sound better, rather than the opposite.
She glanced up quickly from the keys, a smile on her face. Then she continued with the third and fourth verse, the two of them singing a duet.
When the song was over, she pulled her fingers off the keys—the piano still vibrating— and relinquished the stool to Rebekah.
Rebekah waved Gabrielle back. “But you play so well. Why do you not play another?” Was there a hint of a challenge in her voice, or was it resentment?
Gabrielle shook her head. “I am only able to play a few songs. Please, you play much better than I do. I’ve had my moment to remember. Now it is your turn.”
Rebekah narrowed her eyes slightly but returned to the seat. “Do you know this one?” She played the first few strains of While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks and they all joined in. They followed that with the First Nowell.
Aaron watched Gabrielle as she sang each song. Several were new to her, but still, she hummed along to the later verses. How had he ever thought she was anything like Mireille? Now that he really listened to her voice, it sounded nothing like that French menace.
But with one realization came another. It did not matter what he knew now. He could not take back those first few days and the terrible way he had treated her.
Chapter 10
Aaron paced in front of the fireplace in his study. He raked his hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. They had sung carols until everyone decided it was too late to play Snapdragon. Everyone agreed they would play the game this evening instead. From his view, the time had been better spent singing.
Thawing the Viscount's Heart: A Christmas Regency Romance (Belles of Christmas: Frost Fair Book 3) Page 8