Noel's Wish

by Donna Lea Simpson

  She had come to apologize to the beautiful lady, but it wouldn’t make a very good start if he assaulted her again. Sarah, her nurse, who was also looking after the lady, had told her all about it in her stern, you-are-in-such-trouble tone of voice. And so, with Sarah sound asleep in the adjoining room, Mossy had crept out to apologize and Noël—naughty kitten—had followed.

  She could hardly see in the dimness of the room, but it seemed to her that the kitten had much better night vision and took advantage of it sometimes to tackle wriggling toes or fingers at the most surprising times. Noël gathered himself to leap and Mossy yelped, throwing herself up on the bed and grasping at her pet, though he squirmed and slipped out of her fingers.

  “Augh!” the lady yelled as Mossy tumbled over her and finally got hold of the kitten. The lady sat bolt upright, her dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders like a silk scarf.

  “I’m sorry!” Mossy cried, scrambling to the other side of her.

  “Wha? What? Who . . . ?”

  “I-I-I am Mossy and this is my kitten, Noël, and we came to apologize, but then he was going to bite you again and I couldn’t let him, so I jumped on the bed, and . . . and . . .”

  Ann scrubbed the sleep from her eyes and gazed at the elfin child, gowned in a white night rail, who crouched on her bed with the gray-and-white kitten securely held in both hands. Her first response was anger and she frowned, ready to severely reprimand this hoydenish child who disrupted her sleep.

  But then, in the dim light that filtered into the room, she saw a tear glimmer in large hazel eyes. No matter how angry she was, she would not make a child cry.

  “Noël and I have met already,” she said dryly, sitting up properly in her bed. It seemed she was not destined for much peaceful sleep that night.

  “I’m sorry,” sobbed the little creature, clutching her cat to her. He protested and leaped from her arms, found a spot on the counterpane, and promptly curled up and went to sleep.

  A sudden gust of wind rattled the window and the child jumped.

  “You must be frozen,” Ann said, lifting the covers. “Come under, for a moment.”

  A tremulous smile hovered on the child’s lips. “You mean I can?”

  “Whyever not?”

  “Sarah says I’m too old to sleep with someone.”

  “Sarah . . . the girl who acted as my lady’s maid?”

  “Yes.” Mossy nodded, scrambling under the covers and pulling them up to her pointed little chin. “She’s my nurse.”

  “Ah. Is that how you know what your kitten did to my toe?”

  She nodded, twisting her head to look up at Ann. “Are you married?”

  “I am a widow. Like your father, I lost my spouse.”

  “Do you have any children?”

  “You are rather impertinent, did you know that? It is not polite to pry. But no, I have no children.”

  “Do you want children?”

  “Young lady! You do not ask questions like that! Ever!”

  “Oh.” Her voice was small and chastened.

  Ann felt she had been overly harsh. It was just so strange to be questioned like this, in her bed, by a strange child. It was all of a piece, she supposed, with this bizarre night.

  No, she had never had children. At first that had been a sadness to her, but over the years she had learned to be grateful. There was no room in her serene city life for a child. She had her town house, her embroidery, the theater, her pianoforte. It was enough. All she sought was tranquillity, which was why the gossip and speculation whirling around her after the imbroglio with that young pup Madison was anathema to her and why she had finally succumbed to Verity’s annual invitation to come to Bath for Christmas.

  But how could one say to a child that children only complicated your life? Children were emotional ties that would never go away and that made constant demands on one, demands that could not be ignored. If friends became too clinging or importunate, one could put a little distance between yourself and them, and they soon found others to plague, but children! That was a lifelong obligation of love and care and involvement that neither time nor distance could weaken.

  It was much, much too taxing.

  No, she was glad she had never had children.

  But still . . . she gazed down at the tiny creature beside her, who squinted into the darkness, trying, unsuccessfully as it turned out, to stifle a yawn. Another gust of wind rattled the windowpane, and a tap-tap-tap of rain started. Mossy’s eyes were heavy with sleep.

  Ann slipped from the bed. If Mossy was missing from her bed it would raise a panic, otherwise Ann would have let her stay the night. But the child must return to the nursery.

  “Mossy, you must go back to your own bed, dear, or your nurse will be worried.”

  “All right.” The child yawned and stretched and slipped from the bed, scooping up her sleeping kitten and padding to the door after Ann.

  “I will go up with you and tuck you in,” Ann found herself saying. Surely that was not necessary, but she found that even so it was something she wanted to do.

  The nursery on the third floor was a blue and white haven with slanted walls and lovely patterned draperies. Had Lady Montrose done this for her child? Most mothers that Ann knew could barely find their way up to the nursery, much less worry about what it looked like. She remembered the nursery from her own youth as a grim place with ugly draperies and lumpy furniture discarded years before from the main living areas. Somebody had loved and wanted this child very much to make her room so pretty.

  Mossy climbed into her low bed, child-scaled and with a blue and white counterpane. Ann pulled the covers up over the little girl, who still clutched her kitten, and then sat on the edge of the bed. Her toes were freezing on the cold floor, but she tried to disregard that as she gazed down at the pale, piquant face.

  “I really am sorry Noël bit you. Does it hurt?” Mossy asked.

  “Only a little.” Ann gazed down at the sleepy child. Time to leave, but still she lingered. “Are you looking forward to Christmas?”

  “I guess.” Mossy sounded doubtful.

  “What an answer! Are you not looking forward to roast goose and playing snapdragon, and presents from Father Christmas?” Ann reached out and smoothed the blonde curls away from the tiny child’s forehead. How frail she seemed under the heavy covers, and how sad! Why was she so sad? Ann twined a satiny blonde curl around her finger.

  “I guess.”

  Closing her eyes, the child moved her face until it was resting against Ann’s lingering hand. Ann felt an unaccustomed warmth spiral through her heart.

  “What do you want for Christmas?” she found herself asking, though she knew she should leave the child to sleep. She stroked the soft cheek with her thumb.

  Mossy opened her eyes and gazed up into Ann’s in the dimness. “I already made a Christmas wish,” she answered obliquely. “I hope it comes true.”

  “What did you wish?”

  “I can’t tell, or it won’t happen.” Mossy stared up at her.

  Ann stood. It was time to go back to bed and leave this child to sleep. The little girl was gazing at her intently and the sadness was gone from her eyes.

  “Are you a friend of Daddy’s? Is that why you’re visiting?”

  “No,” Ann said. “No, I am on my way to Bath to visit an old school friend over Christmas. My carriage was just a little ways past your house when something scared the horses and we were tossed into the ditch. We’ll be leaving in the morning.”

  Mossy’s face pinched. “Can’t you stay?”

  “No, my dear,” Ann said. She leaned over and patted Mossy’s head awkwardly.

  “Can you kiss me good night?”

  Ann stopped in the act of straightening. “Well, I . . .” What could she say? She leaned over and laid a cool kiss on the child’s high forehead, inhaling deeply the sweet scent of childhood. For one brief moment she wondered how mothers—or fathers, for that matter—could send their children off
to be put to bed by their nurse every night without a little ritual like this. It was so precious, so utterly heartwarming.

  “Good night, Mossy,” she whispered. “Sleep well, little one.”

  She slipped from the room.

  Mossy opened her eyes and gazed at the door that was shutting quietly behind the beautiful lady. “Noël,” she whispered to the sleeping kitten. “She’s a nice lady. I hope she stays for Christmas.”

  With a smile on her face, she closed her eyes and was soon sleeping as deeply as her pet.

  • • •

  The morning was dull and rainy, but Ruston whistled cheerfully as he strode down the hallway from his room, dressed in sturdy riding boots and a heavy coat he used only for his infrequent inspections of his land. He turned the corner of the hallway and stopped dead, his tuneless whistle dying on his lips.

  The door to the green bedroom was ajar and he could see in to the bed. Lady Ann Beecham-Brooke, the little spitfire who had brought a definite spice to his dull country holiday, was sitting on the bed, her slim figure clad in her white night rail but with a dressing gown over it now. She held out one shapely foot and frowned down at it, twisting it this way and that.

  She put the foot up on her knee and inspected it closer, causing her nightgown and dressing gown to fall away, revealing a lovely length of white, shapely limb. Ruston licked his dry lips, and then grinned. He was never one to miss an opportunity like this.

  He pushed open the door and strolled in.

  “Do you have the witch hazel, Sarah?” Lady Ann said, not looking up.

  Ruston moved toward the bed, knelt in front of her and had her foot in his hand before she was even aware who he was.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I-I-I thought you were Sarah, she is b-bringing me . . .”

  “I heard you, my lady. Is that ferocious kitten’s bite hurting?” He looked down at her delectable foot and saw the evidence with his own eyes. Two red puncture wounds were visible on her big toe.

  She pulled at her foot. “Please unhand me, sir.” Her clear voice was almost panicked.

  He retained his hold. He looked up and was once again entranced by her violet eyes. She really was the most enchanting creature, if only she wasn’t so provokingly icy! Watching her face he began, with deliberate motions, to rub her foot. Instead of relaxing, he could feel her stiffen.

  Sarah came into the room but stood gawking when she saw the master knelt in front of Lady Ann with her foot in his hands.

  “Bring it here,” Ruston said to Sarah, indicating the bowl of witch hazel alcohol and soft strips of cloth in her hands.

  She did as he commanded, setting it down by him on the floor.

  “You can go to Mossy now, Sarah,” he said casually.

  She curtseyed and exited quickly, leaving the door open.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Lady Ann fumed, trying again to pull her foot away.

  “I am taking the very best care of an accidental visitor. I would not have it bandied about that I did not do my best as a host to take care of you, my lady. In fact, I believe I will take great pleasure in taking care of you.”

  He spoke casually, but when he glanced up at her lovely face, flushed in embarrassment, he did not doubt that she had caught his double meanings. And it was true. He would take the greatest pleasure in taking care of her, if she would let him. Just touching her satin skin was proving to be enough to send his pulse hammering in his temples. This lovely widow would make a delectable mistress, if she were so inclined.

  Her reputation spoke against that, of course.

  Lady Ice. Her skin certainly felt warm under his hands. He soaked a cloth in the witch hazel and patted at the bite marks. They were fiery red and must be sore, he thought. He glanced up to find Lady Ann staring at him with wide eyes. Her foot trembled.

  Perhaps she had been so cold in the past because she was being approached by boys, not men. She was not a child just out of the schoolroom; maybe she would prove susceptible to his own brand of charm, which had been tested successfully on a decent number of women. He bent to his work again, soaking a strip of soft cloth in the witch hazel and binding the toe, then wrapping it in a strip of dry cloth.

  Some devil prompted him, and when he was done he raised her limb, letting one hand slide up the inviting curve of her calf, and laid a warm kiss on the palm of her foot, then on the toe.

  She jerked her foot away.

  “Have you gone mad?” she said, pulling her gown down over her bare leg.

  He gathered up the bowl and extra cloths and put them on the vanity table near the door. “Not at all. That is how I treat my little girl when she has a hurt. I kiss it better.”

  “When you are here,” she said with a sniff.

  His expression darkened. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I have heard that you spend most of your time away from home on trips abroad. I cannot imagine you take Mossy with you, ergo, you must not see her all that much.” This was said with a haughty lift to her chin as she slipped off the bed. “We will be leaving this morning, my lord. Thank you for your gracious . . . hospitality.”

  The sarcasm in her voice was evident. He quirked a smile. “I rather doubt that you will be going anywhere, my lady,” he returned, his voice heavy with exaggerated courtesy.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you not heard the rain all night? And how it rains still?”

  “A little rain will not stop me!” she declared.

  “A little rain would not, but it has been raining for almost ten hours, steady. Even if your carriage is repaired, which I am not convinced—it was well after midnight before my men could get it into the stable due to a cracked axle—the roads could be washed out, or even the bridge. I am on my way out now to check conditions, and I shall give you a report at luncheon, if you would be good enough to join me for that meal?”

  Ann had raced to the window, and what she saw there did not please her eye. The countryside looked drowned. At the bottom of the rolling lawn a pond had formed that had not been there the day before, she would wager.

  Ungraciously she said, “All right. I guess I have no choice.” Even as she said it she was shocked at her discourtesy to her host, who, even if he had been unforgivably cheeky, was still her host.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and she was reminded of how . . . big he was. He dominated the feminine room.

  “I shall hold you to that, my lady.” He bowed. “Until luncheon.” He looked down at her feet and smiled. “You may wish to come to the table unshod, my lady, to give your toe a chance to heal. I assure you, I will not stand on ceremony. I might even be convinced to re-dress your wound.” He grinned and exited.

  Ann picked up a cushion from the chair by the window and threw it at the door as he closed it behind him. “Insufferable, conceited popinjay!” she cried, not caring if he heard her or not. He needed a lesson. Badly. He needed to learn that not every woman was susceptible to a good-looking, well-bred, magnetic man. And she was just the woman to deliver that salutary instruction.

  Chapter Four

  It was still raining. Ann paced away from the window in the rose morning parlor and sighed deeply. A flustered maid hurried into the room, examined every corner, looked under the furniture and exited, curtseying deeply before she did so.

  What was going on?

  Ah, well. Remembering her mother’s lecture on idle hands and being rather desperate for something to do, Ann went up to her room and found her embroidery bag. It felt unaccustomedly heavy, but she thought little of that until she felt it jerk and pull in her hand.

  She dropped it with a startled exclamation and heard a squawk. The bag started moving, the soft cloth sides bulging and rippling while an “errrr” sound vibrated from it.

  Ann was just ready to call a footman, when her experience of the previous night came back to her. Noël! She glanced around the room, then went down on her knees on the carpet and gingerly opened one end of the bag. A scree
ch and a gray-and-white streak erupted from the bag and whizzed around the room, under the bed, over the vanity table bench, past the door and into the open wardrobe.

  A tremor shook Ann, and before she knew it she was laughing, holding her stomach with both hands and submitting to gales of laughter that shook her whole body. The kitten shot from the wardrobe and stood before her, gazing up at her with head cocked to one side and quizzical green eyes that sent Ann into fresh gusts of hilarity.

  “What on earth . . .”

  She whirled around on her knees to find herself being observed by Ruston, dirty and tired-looking, bootless and coatless, and with his auburn curls plastered down on his forehead. He was staring at her with much the same quizzical expression as the kitten, and a fresh bout of giggles claimed her.

  “Y-y-you look like a drowned rat!” she laughed, scooping up the kitten and standing. She had not felt so light and carefree since she was a girl, and it thawed all of the frost from her demeanor.

  He grinned and passed one big, ungloved hand over his wet hair. “I feel like one! I was up to my knees in mud, helping a daft traveler get his curricle out of the ditch. Seems to be a favored pastime in the last twenty-four hours.”

  Noël settled into her arms and started purring. “Is it that bad out there?” she asked with concern, glancing over at the rain-slicked window.

  “Awful! There is an irrigation cut just west of here that has flooded and washed out the road. I’m sorry. It looks like you’re going to be here at least another night.”

  It was the worst possible news, and yet it was not so crushing as it would have been just a short while ago. Her heart felt lighter, as if she had laughed away some weighty worries. She gazed into the viscount’s warm brown eyes. “It’s all right. It will give Ellen another night to recover. Her arm injury is merely a strain, but she is still in bed and I was concerned about moving her.”

  “Well, that’s settled then. Mossy will be delighted. I had breakfast with her this morning and all she could do was talk about you and her midnight visit to your room.”