"Right!" Noelle's head bobbed up and down, pausing as another thought struck. "Brigitte, what about your grandfather? Is he coming? He's family—and he's really special. It's 'cause of him that so many people like Uncle again. I heard Anne's parents talking—they said the vicar's been come-mending Uncle and saying everyone should welcome him, not fear him." A tiny pucker formed between Noelle's brows. "What's 'come-mending'? Does that mean Uncle was broken and the vicar fixed him?"
"No, love." Brigitte grinned at Noelle's customarily inventive reasoning. "Your Uncle wasn't broken. Commending someone is praising them; the opposite of chest-izing them."
"Oh! No wonder so many people are coming to my party. The vicar must have explained how Uncle saved our lives. Now they all know he's a hero, too."
"Indeed they do. And, to answer your question, yes, Grandfather will be here."
Noelle chewed her lip. "Do you think he'll be too tired to run the puppet show? His Christmas sermon was awfully long. I know 'cause, even though I stayed awake through the whole thing, Fuzzy nodded off twice."
Brigitte's shoulders shook. "Grandfather wouldn't miss your party for the world. Rest assured, he and his puppets are en route to Farrington even as we speak."
"Oh, Brigitte, Christmas is just as wonderful as you promised!" Noelle tossed Fuzzy in the air, where he bounced against a wreath and landed in Noelle's arms with an evergreen sprig about his neck.
"More wonderful," Brigitte replied, glancing up as Eric entered the room. "Who was that at the door?"
"Bladewell—the Farrington butler." A look of awed pleasure split Eric's clean-shaven face. "According to him, all the servants will be returning to Farrington by the first of the year. Not one of them refused my offer—my request," Eric amended softly, "to assume their previous positions."
"Oh, Eric, that's splendid!" Brigitte's heart sang at the wonder in her husband's eyes. "What else did he say?"
"H-m-m? Oh, nothing more." Swiftly, Eric averted his gaze, busying himself with readjusting the garland about the doorframe. "He had to hurry off to his sister's house. She's making Christmas dinner for their family."
Brigitte's brows rose. "I see. If that's all you discussed, then why were you gone so long?"
An evasive shrug followed by a chuckle. "I had a private matter to attend to, my inquisitive wife."
"How many people will be living here, Uncle?" Noelle piped up, before Brigitte could pursue the subject.
"Lots." Eric rumpled her hair. "Hundreds, perhaps. Is that too many?"
"Oh, no," she assured him. "Fuzzy has decided he likes company after all."
"Does he like surprises?"
Instantly, Noelle's eyes lit up. "Yes. Is that what the 'private matter' was—a surprise?"
"Um-hum. Upstairs."
Eric gestured toward the doorway. "Would you care to see it?"
"It's in your chambers, isn't it? You're finally going to show me the preparations you made for the puppet show!"
"Excellent guess. Unfortunately, however, it's only half right. Come." Amusement curved Eric's lips as he turned to his wife, who was eyeing him in utter bewilderment. "Will you be joining us, Lady Farrington?"
"Is there something more than I already know?" she demanded.
"Accompany us and find out."
"I fully intend to." Brigitte sprinted after Noelle, wondering what on earth Eric had done in his chambers, other than that which she'd helped him effect: arranging Noelle's tea party and hiding her gift. When had he found time to do more? He hadn't left their sides for more than a few minutes at a time; not since that pivotal moment in Liza's room. Nor had he spent a single night in his old room. Brigitte herself could attest to that fact, she thought with a warm, sated glow.
Of course, there was that hour every afternoon when she and Noelle would take their naps—an hour she seemed to require more and more as the days progressed. Perhaps Eric had used those intervals to work on his surprise.
Which reminded her that she had a surprise of her own to share.
Lighthearted, Brigitte dashed up the stairs, hearing Eric's rumbling laughter as he followed in her wake.
By the time they reached the east wing, Noelle was soaring at a dead run.
"Uncle, it's locked!" she called out, jiggling the door handle.
"Of course it is. How else would I keep prying young ladies"—he tossed Brigitte a meaningful look along with his emphasis of the plural—"from inspecting my handiwork."
Brigitte was all innocence. "I?"
"You." He strode up, extracting the key from his pocket.
"I didn't even know of the surprise," she protested.
"What if you had? Would you have been disciplined enough to stay away?"
Silence.
"I rest my case." Eric inserted the key in its slot.
"I believe I've just been chest-ized," Brigitte muttered to Noelle.
"That's all right." Noelle patted her arm soothingly. "Remember what I said: Uncle always smiles when he chest-izes you." Her attention was recaptured by the sound of the bolt lifting. "Hurry, Uncle. Fuzzy and I are going to burst."
"In that case…" Eric swung open the door. "Go in and behold your surprise."
Noelle dashed in, Brigitte at her heels, and whooped with pleasure at what she saw.
Brigitte and Eric had set up the entire outer room of his chambers for Noelle's party, with a curtained stage for the puppet show and lots of chairs surrounding it, together with an elegantly clothed table laid out for the most exquisite of teas.
"Brigitte, did you help Uncle?"
"I did, indeed," Brigitte confirmed. "Given the meager number of hours you sleep, it took two of us to accomplish this by Christmas Day."
"It's perfect!"
Thrilled by Noelle's jubilation, Brigitte darted about behind her, watching as Noelle lingered over every loving detail of their preparations.
A towering silhouette of color in the inner room caught Brigitte's eye.
Puzzled, she pivoted—and her jaw dropped. "Oh, my… Noelle, look!"
Noelle's head jerked around, and she followed Brigitte's stare, gasping as she beheld the full effect of her uncle's surprise. Her eyes grew big as saucers, her mouth widening into an astonished O.
Eric's sleeping quarters were no more. The furnishings had vanished, but for a small side table upon which sat a diminutive version of Brigitte's fir tree, trimmed in full Christmas array.
Or maybe it just seemed diminutive because it was eclipsed by the dozens and dozens of presents that filled the room, some carefully wrapped, others open and on display, beckoning their admirers forward.
Toys, sweets, girls' clothing of every hue and variety, games, books—a floor-to-ceiling paradise of gifts awaited Noelle, each and every one of them with her name on it.
"Merry Christmas," Eric said, his voice rough with emotion.
"Are all these for me?" Noelle managed.
"Other than the ones on the far wall, which are for Brigitte. They're from me to you: for all the Christmases we missed and should have shared." He cleared his throat. "Well, tempest, what are you waiting for?"
It was all the permission Noelle needed.
She dashed forward, snatching up two dolls at once, together with an armful of outfits in which to dress them. Seconds later, she spied something and squealed, flinging the clothes aside, dropping to her knees to shove both dolls—and Fuzzy—into a three-level dollhouse large enough to fit another half-dozen miniature occupants.
"Eric…" Brigitte wasn't certain what to say.
"Aren't you going to inspect your gifts?" he asked, pointing to the thirty or more beautiful, fashionable daydresses and ball gowns that lined the far side of the room. "I hope they please you. I had the seamstress make a variety of styles, in case you prefer one over another. The boxes alongside the gowns contain accessories and undergarments, plus some fragrances and jewelry I thought you might enjoy."
"How…?" Brigitte whispered. "When…?"
"It wasn't d
ifficult." Eric closed the gap between them, smiling at the look of stunned disbelief on Brigitte's face. "You and Noelle sleep quite soundly during your afternoon naps. I used that time to receive deliveries and ready my room—permanently." His ardent gaze delved deep inside his wife. "I no longer have use for separate quarters, do I?"
"No," Brigitte breathed. "You don't."
"As for the gowns, I sent your blue day dress to the seamstress, who used it for measurements." He framed Brigitte's face between his palms. "No one will ever mock your clothing again."
"I wouldn't care if they did."
"I would. Not because I give a damn what anyone thinks, but because what hurts you hurts me. And because I intend to shower you with every luxury life has to offer."
"I…" She swallowed. "Eric, I don't need all this."
"To enhance your value or your beauty, no—you don't. But for the new life I have in mind, yes—you do. We're going to be doing a great deal of entertaining, you, Noelle, and I. Today's party is just the beginning. Farrington has been asleep far too long. It's time we awakened it."
Brigitte twined her arms about his neck, her lashes damp with tears. "I love you."
"You're my own priceless miracle," Eric replied huskily. "And I love you more than you'll ever know."
With a slow, shaky breath, Brigitte offered her husband the gift she'd been savoring. "Would you mind dreadfully if the new gowns and the entertaining were to wait a bit longer?"
He blinked. "Why? Don't you like the dresses? I can have others made."
"I think that would be wise." Brigitte's eyes glowed through her mist of tears. "Much larger ones, I should think. Large and loose-fitting, to accommodate my Christmas present to you." Capturing Eric's hand, she placed it against her abdomen.
She watched his expression change from puzzlement to speculation to comprehension.
And then to joy.
"Brigitte." His throat worked convulsively. "Are you saying…?"
"Merry Christmas, my love." She reached up to kiss him. "It seems our first joining yielded even more than our hearts. Our child will arrive this summer."
Wordlessly, he enfolded her against him, his awed fulfillment a tangible entity that spoke for itself.
"Uncle? Why is Brigitte crying?" Noelle asked.
"Because I'm happy," Brigitte answered, disengaging herself from Eric's embrace and kneeling down to face Noelle. "Noelle, how would you feel about having a brother or sister?"
Noelle inclined her head. "How could I have a brother or sister? I'd need parents for that."
"You have parents." Brigitte cupped her chin. "Us."
Realization struck. "You mean you and Uncle are getting a baby?"
"Is that all right?"
Worry furrowed Noelle's delicate brow as she considered the possibility.
"Noelle, I've never had a baby before, nor have I been one for many years," Brigitte confided. "You, on the other hand, were one yourself just a few years ago. You'll remember a lot more than I. I'm counting on you to help me, and the babe."
"Will it be a boy or a girl?"
"I honestly don't know."
"When will it arrive?"
"Sometime at the beginning of August. I'm not exactly sure."
"You really don't know much about babies, do you?" Noelle determined, frowning.
"I'm afraid not."
"Will I truly be the baby's sister?"
"Indeed you will."
"Can I call you 'Mama'?"
A lump formed in Brigitte's throat. "Nothing would make me happier."
"And Uncle 'Papa'?" She looked at Eric.
"I'd be honored," he responded.
Noelle grinned. "Then it's okay." Abruptly, she glanced down at Fuzzy, a pensive look on her face. "Brigitte—I mean, Mama—" she said at last, "we're a real family now. And families share, 'specially stuff that's special. So I think I'll share Fuzzy with my new sister or brother. After all, Fuzzy knows how hard it is being new to a family. He helped me get used to it. I'll bet he could help the new baby get used to it, too. Would that be all right?"
Brigitte thought her heart would burst. "I love you, Noelle," she said, hugging her new daughter tightly. "And, yes, it's more than all right. It's wonderful."
"What's more, your decision couldn't have come at a better time," Eric put in. "Because Fuzzy's not the only one who's going to be busy with a new charge."
"What do you mean?" Noelle asked.
With a secret smile, Brigitte rose. "That's right. I almost forgot about your birthday gift." So saying, she scooted off to a shadowed corner of the outer chamber. An instant later, she reappeared, a small wire crate in her hands. "Happy birthday, Noelle."
From within the crate, a golden kitten with huge dark eyes stared out.
"A cat! A real cat!" Noelle snatched the crate, yanking open the door and lifting out her new prize. "What's his name?"
"Her name," Eric corrected. "She's your kitten. You choose."
"She looks just like Fuzzy!"
On the heels of her words, the kitten—realizing she was free—sprang to life, bounding to the floor and tearing off. Toys flew everywhere, boxes tipped over, and the side table wobbled precariously as she slammed into its legs.
"She might look like Fuzzy, but she behaves like you," Eric observed dryly.
"I know! I'll call her Tempest!"
"An excellent choice, Noelle." Brigitte was laughing so hard she could scarcely speak.
"Tempest—come here," Noelle commanded.
In response, Tempest tossed them an insolent look, then sprang onto the side table and shimmied up the tree, knocking down one ornament after another as she climbed. Halfway to the top—and evidently satisfied with her level of destruction—she stopped, curling up on a branch and peering at them through arrogant, half-closed eyes.
"Aren't you going to chest-ize her?" Noelle demanded, turning to her new parents.
"No, Noelle." Eric gave a resigned sigh, resting his chin atop Brigitte's head. "Experience tells me Tempest is beyond re-damn-sin."
ANDREA KANE is one of the rising stars of women's fiction, garnering an enviable reputation for crafting incomparable romances. Her most recent novel, Wishes in the Wind, is sure to appear on numerous bestseller lists, and follows in Andrea's tradition of award-winning bestselling titles: Emerald Garden, The Last Duke, Samantha, Echoes in the Mist, Masque of Betrayal, Dream Castle, and My Heart's Desire. Andrea's growing list of devout readers applaud her passion for romance and share in her realization that, "As a child, I was an incurable romantic, a believer in fairy tales where happily-ever-after reigned supreme and true love conquered all. Everyone said I would outgrow it. I never did." Fortunately, Andrea continues to delight us with beautiful and exhilarating stories—her own special brand of fairy tales. She lives in New Jersey-with her husband Brad, daughter Wendi, parakeet Ariel, and Maltese puppy Rascal (the canine hero of Samantha)—where she is busy creating her next triumph for Pocket Books, Legacy of the Diamond.
Five Golden Rings
by Judith O'Brien
One
"MISS GRAHAM! MISS GRAHAM!" The child raised her hand so high, with such ferocity, that Emma Graham had a mental image of her boring a hole into the ceiling.
"Yes, Jennifer K." Emma smiled. The half-dozen children who had not been called upon emitted the usual groan of disappointment.
Jennifer K., so labeled to distinguish her from the four other Jennifers in the first-grade class, preened the moment her name was called.
"I would like to be a Christmas angel," she announced, flipping her hand through her long blonde hair.
"Very nice, Jennifer K. I'll be sure to make a note of that should the need arise.
Emma had become an expert at judging the children in her classroom. Every class had a Jennifer K., the pretty girl all too aware of her own beauty.
This class was no exception. There was also the class clown, the smart kid, the tomboy with more skinned knees than all of the other kids combined,
and so on.
Only one child didn't fit this year, the new boy, an enigma to her as well as to the other children. In her five years of teaching, she had never had a student like this one.
Today, as usual, he sat very still, with his hands folded on top of the desk. He was too quiet for a six-year-old, his eyes were too solemn.
According to the principal his mother had died when he was still an infant. Emma had made a half-dozen attempts to contact his father, but either the messages never reached him or he had not bothered to respond. The boy's nanny always brought him to school and picked him up. He never went home with another child, never had play dates or party invitations at the end of the day.
Although there were plenty of children of divorce in her class, the new boy was the only child who'd had a parent die. The children sensed this difference and had avoided him since his first day. This was an unspoken fear a feeling among the children that such misfortune just might be contagious.
Emma resumed speaking to the students. "I have divided the class into three groups. Some of you will be Hanukkah, some of you Kwanza, and the rest of you will be the Twelve Days of Christmas."
As if on cue, a universal moan and cheer swept the classroom like a stadium wave. The excitement was almost palpable. Christmas was a mere three weeks away. Toy catalogs had been making their way into the classroom, green and red construction paper was posted everywhere. Even the grumpy school custodian, with his ever-present push broom now decorated with wisps of tinsel was seen sporting a red Santa hat. By mid-January he would be complaining about the holiday glitter embedded in every carpet and corner, but for now he joined all the rest of the school in a frenzy of anticipation.
All except the new boy. It was hard enough to be new to a school, but to be new at this time of the year was very nearly unbearable. He was new, his mother was dead, and most unfortunate thing of all—his name was Asa.
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