Noel's Wish

by Donna Lea Simpson

  His words were choked off as Mossy launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him as hard as her thin arms could, sobbing with what he hoped was happiness. He was vividly reminded of the first day he had returned, a week ago now. Mossy had stood in the shadows in the great hall gazing at him timidly, until he had pulled Noël out of his greatcoat pocket.

  “This is for you, sweetness,” he had said, gazing hungrily at his little girl. Until that moment he had not known how much he had missed her and how glad he was to be home again. To his shock, as she moved forward and took the small, sleepy kitten, she had given an inarticulate sob and burst into tears, clasping the small animal to her bosom.

  “You remembered,” she had cried, her hazel eyes shining.

  “Remembered?”

  She eagerly explained, “When you went away last time, you said you would think about whether I could have a kitten or not. I waited and waited, but none of your letters ever said I could. But you did remember! You wanted to surprise me.”

  A chill ran through him. What kind of a father was he to not even remember something that was evidently so important to his only child? Not only had he not remembered, he still didn’t! Staring into her eyes, filled with the bright light of adoration, he knew that forever after she would remember his casual, thoughtless gesture of bringing home a kitten that he didn’t know what else to do with, as the gift of a loving father. He didn’t deserve that.

  But he would; he swore that he would. Someday he would be worthy of the love she bestowed on him so freely. He would become his father’s son. He thanked a forgiving God that he had not lost his child’s affection. This opportunity for a fresh start would not be thrown away or ignored.

  Gently he disengaged her arms from around his neck. “Let’s get the greenery now, honey. We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to get the manor dressed up for Christmas. Maybe we can talk Lady Ann into helping us.”

  • • •

  The night had been so long! Ann hugged her arms around herself and stood at the window looking over the frost-spangled lawn. It had stopped raining the previous night, and she knew for certain that her carriage was repaired. Ellen was better, too, and back to work, though Ann had told her not to. The girl had insisted and was now packing Ann’s toiletries.

  She was leaving. She didn’t care whether she went on to Bath or back to London, she just had to go. She had spent hours fighting the tears she had thought she was past, only to be overwhelmed by them near dawn. It was as if through all the years the tears she had not cried had built up, waiting for release; once started, she could not stop the flood. Remembering was too painful, and looking ahead to her dreary future was unthinkable.

  Who did she think she was that she could presume to judge Ruston and find him wanting? And to think that she could heal Ruston and Mossy’s relationship? He had had a wife he loved, and a daughter who adored him, despite his frequent defections. He must be doing something right in life.

  Ann had nothing.

  She took a deep breath and steadied herself against the windowsill. It was a little late in the day to start feeling sorry for herself. She had nothing? Untrue. She was very fortunate. She had money, her home, her music, and serenity. She would return to that and be grateful.

  Looking down at the scene below her, she saw a groom pulling a heavily laden sledge burdened with greenery, and behind him was Ruston with a laughing Mossy on his shoulders. Ann smiled, ignoring one last tear that trickled down her cheek.

  • • •

  Ruston paced restlessly in his library, confused by the swarm of feelings that buzzed in his head and his heart. Lady Ann was leaving. She had calmly announced it at luncheon, her icy mask in place, her demeanor cool and collected.

  She had been kind to Mossy but adamant that her friend, Verity, would be worrying about her if she did not arrive in Bath soon.

  Why did he care? Mossy would get over her sorrow now that she knew her father was home to stay. It was his own emotions that puzzled him. He felt there was unfinished business between him and Lady Ann, and yet what that unfinished business was he could not say. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve day. She could stay one more day and still get to Bath in time for Christmas Eve.

  A scratch at the door.

  “Yes!”

  “Jacob Lesley, my lord.” Stoddart ushered in Lady Ann’s driver.

  Lesley, looking supremely uncomfortable, stood on the carpet turning an ugly brown cap around and around in his hands. The butler closed the door.

  “Ah, Lesley, thank you for responding to my request.”

  “I would ’ardly refuse, milord.”

  Ruston grinned. He liked the hint of humor in the man’s words and the fact that the man, though obviously ill at ease in the luxurious surroundings, looked him straight in the eye.

  “I am going to ask a favor, something extremely odd, of you, Lesley. But first I need to know how your working relationship with her ladyship stands.”

  “Beg parding, sir?”

  “Does she take your advice?”

  The man snorted. “’Ardly, sir. Lady Ann is a rare feisty one, begging your parding, milord, and seldom takes my word. T’were why we was traveling so late. I was all fer stopping over at the inn in the last town but one, but milady does not like inns. Sez there’s impertinink people there.”

  Ruston frowned. “You know that she wants to leave this afternoon?”

  “Aye, sir. She sent word to the stables that we would be a’leaving arter tea.”

  “I want a delay.”

  The grizzled man frowned.

  It went against the grain, but Ruston found he would have to explain himself to the driver if he wanted his cooperation. He paced around his desk and sat on the edge, gazing into eyes so pale blue they were almost white. “My daughter has an affection for Lady Ann, and I . . . we would like her to stay for at least another day. But she is set on going.” He looked down at his boots. “I’ll be honest with you. I said something that hurt her, and I need time to find a way to make it up to her.”

  There was silence, but when he looked up he found the driver studying him with a piercing stare.

  “Beg parding, milord, but she is my mistress, an’ I do what she tells me, e’en when it goes agin the grain.”

  “I am only asking for prudence, Lesley. The roads really are not good yet, and I would not see her harmed. I know you share my concern. This is my responsibility. I shall send one of my men out, he will discover that the road both ways is still impassable, and shall tell you that. You may tell her ladyship the truth, that you have been informed the road is not safe for carriage travel.” Ruston straightened. “That will be all.”

  Jacob grinned, showing a row of dark teeth. He touched his forehead and turned to go, but paused and glanced back at Ruston. “She were a bonny lass when Sir Reggie got ’is hands on her, milord, with the sweetest smile I ever did see. ’E broke her spirit, but she got it back arter he died, only wi’out the sweetness. But I do believe it still be there somewhere, a’waiting fer the right man. I do believe that, sir.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ruston watched Ann’s long white fingers deftly working with the red velvet ribbon, twisting it into bows for the decoration of the manor. There was something sensuous about the capable feminine hands, bare of gloves, manipulating the soft ribbon, pinching and twisting until the bow was perfect. She had hesitated before agreeing to help with the decorations for the manor but seemed to be enjoying herself, sending Mossy off on a scavenger hunt with Sarah for pinecones and dried clusters of berries.

  She had resigned herself to a delay of one day, she said, when she announced that Jacob refused to take the horses out when a groom had checked and found the road still in abysmal condition.

  One day. He had one day to figure out what was between them, if anything. It had seemed to be acrimony and anger mostly, but there were occasional flashes of something else. The night before, in front of the fireplace, they had both
spoken of things they had told no one else. Surely that meant something? Or was that just two lonely people unburdening themselves of their guilt to strangers who they did not think they would have to face again after a short while?

  She glanced up and smiled. “Someone is not a very good worker,” she said archly. “I have done twelve bows to your three, my lord.”

  “See here,” he said, smiling and leaning across the table and covering her hand with his own. “I am not overly fond of ‘lord’ and ‘ladying’ every time I speak. Can you not call me Charley, as my friends do?”

  The smile died from her lips and she pulled her hand away with a quick movement. She was going to freeze up again, he knew it. But just then Mossy raced into the room with a basket of pinecones and clusters of berries, wizened and puckered from being the last on the vine. She eagerly danced over to Lady Ann. “Will these do, Lady Ann? Are these good enough?”

  As his daughter and the baroness culled through Mossy’s pickings, he watched. Ann’s eyes, when they rested on his daughter, had a softness of expression, much as a mother’s. Mossy clambered up on Ann’s lap, seeming to have forgotten her shift into iciness the previous night. Children were forgiving, Ruston thought, a good thing for him, since he had some ground to make up in being a dependable, worthy father.

  For the rest of the afternoon they moved through the house, using fresh-scented evergreen boughs to decorate mantels and doorways, and holly to adorn tables. The mistletoe Ruston held back until they were almost done. He knew what he wanted. He desperately wanted to kiss Ann’s lips gently, not in anger. The feelings that had coursed through him the first time he touched them needed to be explored, understood. But she would never stand for a kiss between them. She had made her feelings plain.

  And so he would employ a little chicanery, a ruse that would involve the entire household.

  “I think the whole manor looks splendid,” Ann said, admiring the great hall, the last area to be decked. “What a lovely house you have!” The staircase had garlands winding up the banister and the great arching doorways were adorned with wreaths of holly, ivy and clusters of red berries.

  “Ah, but we are not done yet!” Ruston knelt by Mossy and whispered in her ear. She giggled and dashed off.

  Ann glanced at him apprehensively. She felt that she had done admirably in finding and maintaining just the right tone of cheerful, impersonal behavior. On the morrow she would ride out herself and check the road if Jacob said it was still bad. There were just two days to Christmas and she longed to be away. But Ruston had not stepped over her invisible line once all afternoon since suggesting she first-name him.

  And that in itself was suspicious.

  Albert, the tallest of the footmen, brought in a ladder and set it under the grand chandelier. “The household has been alerted, my lord,” he said, bowing before Ruston.

  Mossy danced around first on one foot and then on the other while the household, even down to Ann’s maid, Ellen, filed into the great hall.

  Ann frowned. What was going on?

  When they had all gathered, Ruston ascended a few steps up the ladder with some of the greenery in his hands. “Attention, everyone!” he called. The buzz of voices hushed, and all eyes turned toward him, some with a puzzled gaze, others with the imperturbable look of a well-trained servant.

  “It is Christmas, that time of year when every person, man and woman, servant and master, sets aside their differences and rejoices in the bounty of the season, remembering that the baby born on Christmas Day grew up to be the man who exhorted us to love one another.”

  Where was he going with this? Ann felt a small hand steal into her own and glanced down to find Mossy at her side. But her gaze returned to Ruston, who stood a few steps up on the ladder with a lazy grin on his handsome countenance. He looked straight into her eyes and the warmth of his expression sent a shiver down her back.

  She had felt at times in the past few days as though he was toying with her. She had started her journey to Bath angry at London society but not unhappy with her lot in life. But in two days she had learned to question her life and whether she had attained true happiness. Ultimately she decided she had resigned herself to serenity rather than happiness, but that serenity was not such a bad thing to have.

  But was there more for someone like her? She did not have that capacity to inspire love that some women seemed to have. She did not think that anyone had ever really loved her, had they?

  Mossy leaned against her, and she found herself putting her arm around the child’s thin shoulders. Ruston had been rattling on about the season for a minute, but now he was gazing into her eyes again, and his warm regard caused a blush to rise through her body. She really should look away. But she found that was not so easy to do when all she wanted was to keep gazing into brown eyes that held in their depths secrets of life she could not even guess at.

  Ruston had had it all. A wife who must have loved him, a child who very obviously adored him, and the regard of everyone, even down to the lowest servant. He had the touch to make even Lady Ice melt. He had kissed her twice, first on the sole of her foot and then on her lips, and both times she had felt his warmth and vitality spread from that point of contact until it felt like her very blood was heated.

  Ruston was farther up on the ladder now and fastening one of the great swags of evergreen they had prepared to the majestic chandelier. He then tied on some greenery of his own, leaves and pale berries.

  He descended, jumping the last few steps down to the floor.

  “There are very special berries up there, gentlemen,” he said, glancing around at his gathered household. “It is the age-old tradition of Russetshire Manor that every woman or girl in the house must be kissed under the mistletoe to ensure that the next year is a happy and healthy one for everybody who resides here. This, of course, is where that must happen, and now is the moment.”

  Ann frowned and started to move away, but Mossy had her arms wrapped around her waist and would not move. She certainly could not drag the child away, but surely Ruston was not serious. A buzz had gone up among the servants and much laughter ensued. Teasing glances were exchanged and Ruston was beaming.

  “The trick is that it is the female who will choose who shall have the honor of kissing her under the mistletoe!”

  Laughter again.

  “I have made sure there are enough berries up there, for the chosen gentleman must climb the ladder, pluck a berry and present it to the fair maid before the kiss can be completed. What brave lass will choose first?”

  Pandemonium broke out among the distaff members of the household, but finally Mrs. Bowles, the housekeeper, stepped forward. Ruston looked like he was ready to choke with suppressed laughter. Ann, caught up finally in the merriment, watched with wide eyes as the black bombazine-clad woman, lips primmed, step forward.

  “I can’t say as I approve of this pagan nonsense, my lord, but if it will allow me to return to my duties that much more quickly, I shall go first. I must register my disapproval though, sir. Never has such licentious behavior been tolerated in this household. I think that the girls will be impossible to manage for a time.”

  Ruston glanced over at Ann, who looked back at him with raised eyebrows. Age-old Russetshire Manor tradition?

  “Mrs. Bowles, you have caught me out. I am merely reviving an ancient fertility rite to ensure good crops in the coming year.”

  Ann knew by the quirk of his grin that his intention was to shock, and he had succeeded. Mrs. Bowles turned scarlet as the younger members of the household giggled and guffawed.

  “Come, Mrs. Bowles. Who do you choose as your champion?”

  To everyone’s shock and with much accompanying laughter, the august woman chose the head groom, a sturdy older man much shorter than her, but with large strong hands and a twinkle in his gray eyes. He turned beet red himself, but scaled the ladder like a boy a quarter his age and plucked a berry.

  Mrs. Bowles, still red in the face and with the ex
pression of a martyr, moved to stand under the chandelier. Jem Standish, surveying the tall, formidable woman he was expected to kiss, took her hand in his and pulled her over toward the ladder, where he went up a step and bussed her enthusiastically on the lips.

  Applause and laughter broke out, and Mrs. Bowles, face still aflame, curtseyed to Ruston and retreated, presumably to the safety of her office. Her swain, meanwhile, strutted away from the ladder like the cock of the walk to much hooting from the other men.

  After that a succession of chambermaids chose handsome footmen, though one, a pretty, buxom woman in her thirties, was daring enough to choose Stoddart. He good-naturedly went along with it, but their kiss was rather lengthy by any standards, and he moved away from the woman with a thoughtful expression. She appeared dazed and touched her lips with gentle fingers. Ruston winked at his butler.

  “Well done, Stoddart, old man. I think . . . Iris, is it? I think you left Iris with something to remember! Who is next?”

  Ann was surprised to see Ellen move timidly forward. Ruston glanced over at Ann and then smiled at Ellen.

  “Has one of my young men caught your fancy, then?”

  She curtseyed and murmured a name.

  “I couldn’t hear you, my dear,” Ruston said. “You will have to speak up.”

  “Cobb, sir!” Her voice rang out loud and clear.

  “Well! My gentleman’s gentleman has caught the maiden’s fancy! Step up, Cobb, you have made a conquest!”

  Ruston’s valet shot him a dark look but stepped forward, scaled the ladder and plucked a berry, presenting it to Ellen. She took it and lifted her face trustingly to his, but she was doomed to disappointment. He merely brushed her lips quickly and stepped away.