by Eva Devon
“With great pleasure, my lord. With great pleasure. But first, I suppose I should put on a gown.”
He sighed dramatically. “Could we not be druids and dance naked around the fire?”
She laughed. “Though I admit Christmas does celebrate many of the old ways, I do not think even we could manage such a shocking display without censure.”
“Ah. Well, if we must get dressed, let me be your lady’s maid.”
“If you like, though I have a great many buttons,” she warned.
“I know I shouldn’t admit it, but I am familiar with a lady’s clothing.”
She tsked. “You are a terrible rogue to say so, but you do not surprise me.”
He hesitated. “I am glad of it.”
She arched a brow. “Are you? Why?”
“Because. . . If I were but a callow youth, we could not be together as perfectly as we are now.”
“Are you certain?” she asked, her gaze widening.
“Without any doubt,” he said. He thought back to his young self and winced. “I remember myself as a green boy. Green boys shouldn’t be allowed near inexperienced maids.” He was silent for a moment. “I wish for you to be happy.”
“I am. I will be.”
“Come then.” He held out his hand. “To your boudoir.”
“Where you can kiss my toes?” she teased.
“If I kiss your toes, I shall have to kiss higher and higher and we shall not leave your room all day.” He took her hand and pulled her against him. “And as you seem to have other plans. . . Perhaps, I will simply have to find other ways to worship you.”
She glanced up at him. “And if I have no wish to be worshiped at all?”
“What do you wish?”
She gave him a cheeky smile like she was about to say something quite silly. But then that look faded from her eyes and she said, “To be loved.”
There it was. “I- I do not know how to love. I want to.”
“Come, that can’t be true.”
“No, it is. I have no idea how it is to be done.”
“But surely–”
“Marabelle, I was never taught how to love.”
Sadness softened her features. “How terrible for you.”
“Do not feel sorry for me,” he protested. That was the last thing he wished.
“Come,” she said suddenly, as if she sensed his distress. “We must not allow this to ruin our morning. I have not felt such happiness in a long while. And it is you that have made me thus.”
He nodded. “Let us speak nothing of it.”
She hesitated then parted her lips as if she would speak in any case.
“No,” he said softly, bringing his fingers to lightly rest upon her mouth. “There is nothing to say. Today is about you teaching me how Christmas should be celebrated. And naught else.”
A heavy sort of sadness seemed to dampen her spirits for a long moment. And in that instant, he hated himself.
He should have lied. Or made some lighthearted jest to her desire to be loved. Yet, he found he couldn’t. Not with Marabelle. Still, it shook him that he had disappointed her. And it occurred to him then, he might spend the rest of his life disappointing her with how little he knew about love. Even if he wanted it so much. Somehow, he managed to keep his smile upon his face. Even as he felt his world turning upside down about him. Everything he’d thought he’d known was spinning away.
There were many things that Marabelle typically would have allowed the staff to do at Christmas. But it struck her that if Sebastian had never celebrated Christmas, he had almost certainly never known the joy of a city like York at such a time.
So, they took the hour coach ride into the walled city, sitting side by side, hand in hand.
He had attempted to sit on the opposite side of the coach, but she was having none of that. For she was in jolly spirits. Now that they had begun the journey to the closeness a husband and wife should have, she was not about to be deterred.
Sebastian was the kind of man who did not know how to share his feelings. She understood that. But she wasn’t about to let him go backwards in their journey.
That kiss this morning? My goodness, it had been a gateway to another world! Unlike the wild, raw passion of the night before. It had been tender and full of the sweetest feeling. She could not help but believe he was naught more than a wounded soul who needed someone to guide him to kindness, acceptance, and safety.
It was a role she was delighted to attempt to fill, for he awoke a part of her that she’d only prayed existed. A part that had been dormant all her life and never given a chance.
The coach rolled to a stop in the central part of the walled city and she could not stop the smile that pulled at her cheeks. As she turned and looked at her husband, she couldn’t stop her laugh.
He looked quite startled.
“Whatever is amiss?” she queried.
Sebastian cleared his throat and peered out the window. “I am, of course, used to raucous merrymaking.”
“But for an all too different cause, no doubt.”
He gave a tight nod. “Yes.”
“Never you fear, Sebastian,” she cheered. “Come along with me and you shall be in good hands.”
“I do not doubt it.”
“I think, perhaps, hot chestnuts to start.”
He was silent as he bounded down from the coach. Then he helped her to descend.
The cobbled street was packed veritably shoulder to shoulder with hawkers of wares and buyers. All were collecting items for their feasts and coming days of celebrations.
A fiddler played happy tunes on the street corner. A few boys were singing nearby, their hats outstretched, hoping for coin.
Without preamble, she went to them immediately and dug out her reticule.
She dropped coins into the caps and the small bowl before the fiddler.
The nods of acknowledgement from the street performers set her heart even more towards Christmas cheer. She hooked her arm in the crook of Sebastian’s elbow.
He followed her. Whether stunned into silence, she had no idea, but as the sounds and scents of the city surrounded them, she felt his spirits buoy.
Immediately, he pulled her aside as they passed a small puppet show. He seemed entranced by the small puppets jumping about the makeshift stage with its red curtains.
A laugh burst from his lips at the antics of the dancing toys and the children watching.
It was touching to see her husband moved. And she realized then, that likely, he had never been allowed to enjoy anything like it as a child.
As soon as the performance was done, he joined the applause with as much enthusiasm as the youngest member of the audience. He tossed a coin to the man who had come out from behind the little stage.
Snow began to fall in light flakes as they stopped before the hot chestnut vendor and bought a small bag.
“Do you often do this?” he asked as he peeled a nut for her.
“No, I confess not,” she said, taking the hot morsel. “But I thought we should come and enjoy it. Are you pleased?”
“Very,” he replied, taking a chestnut for himself. “But I see something I’d like to buy more than anything else on this street.”
She smiled, pleased he was enjoying himself. “What?”
He waggled his brows at her. “You shall see.”
So, she allowed him to guide her through the crowd until, at last, they stood before a man bearing bushels of greenery.
She laughed again, her cheeks burning with delight and anticipation. “Mistletoe!”
“Indeed,” said Sebastian. He dug into his pockets and paid the man.
Sebastian selected several sprigs tied with red ribbon.
The seller tipped his cap at them, smiling a slightly gap-toothed thanks.
They wandered along, surrounded by those who were full of the good humor of the day. With a gesture to his purchase, he said, “I shall hang these in several rooms.”
“Why?
” She squeezed his arm, loving the hard strength beneath her hand. “I will kiss you anywhere you like, even without the mistletoe.”
To her shock, he slowly turned her, lowered his head, and kissed her. Right there. On the street! ’Twas as if he longed to claim her and for the world to see. She wondered if joy was so new to him that he now attempted to seize it whenever he could.
It was impossible to fault him for it. In fact, she was overjoyed and nearly overwhelmed that he was choosing to show his feelings to the world.
Cheers and whistles went up around them.
“That’s right, governor!” one lad called.
He swung her around, skirts belling out, lifting her toes from the ground. Slowly, he put her back down, still linking his arms about her waist.
She patted her crimson hood, gasping for breath. “You do take things literally, don’t you?”
“Should I not have?”
“You should, Sebastian. For I love your kisses. Now, let us go and buy wine. For what would the evening be without it?”
“Dearest wife, the only thing I need to celebrate, is you.”
Those words rang through her and she swallowed, praying with all her heart that he truly meant what he said. For, with each passing hour in his company, she felt more and more certain that her heart had chosen its mate.
Come what may, she was falling in love with her husband. And just as he tucked her arm around his again, the bells of York Cathedral began to toll on the hour. The bells sang out, ringing a song that had been played for hundreds of years. Her heart and soul were filled with hope and the feeling that, no matter how he claimed to not know how to love, Sebastian Rutherford, the Earl of Gray, was the man destined to love her.
Chapter 11
It was a miracle that Sebastian had managed to let his wife arrive home from York with her hair or clothes in any sort of proper state. For it had been all they could do not to make love in the coach on the way home. But they had made it. And now, said coach was traveling from cottage to cottage on his estate.
Sebastian held her hand, amazed that they’d completely filled the available space with items of goodwill. Bottles of wine, oranges, grapes, cakes, sugared almonds, flowers, toys. Every possible joyous thing that one could think of was overflowing from the coach.
The majority of it was not for them. For their Christmas feast had already been arranged or so Marabelle had assured him.
Oh, no. These were for his tenants. Tonight, instead of merely drinking by the fire and eating as he’d assumed, they were bringing joy to others.
It was a marvel to him.
His parents had not believed in such things. They’d firmly believed God chose those who would excel and one shouldn’t interfere with God’s plans. The poor were to be left in the gutter, where God had ordained they should be. It was something he’d never understood, had always suffered over, and, in his childhood, he’d had to learn to hide that sympathy.
Marabelle, on the other hand, seemed to believe that it was the duty of someone borne to privilege to bring hope and help to those less fortunate. Merely inspiring a smile on someone’s face seemed enough to her.
So, when the coach stopped before the Grants’ small but excellently kept stone cottage, he felt a hint of trepidation. This was not his field of expertise.
Following his wife with a basket on either arm, he prepared to remain silent.
But as soon as the door opened, they were exposed to a rectangle of candle glow and the scent of a well-tended fire. They were enveloped in the boisterous noise of children and adults already celebrating.
“Welcome! You’ll have a glass, my lord!” Andrew Grant called from beside the fire.
The man hadn’t risen, but his face was welcoming.
Mrs. Grant bounced a curtsy, waving them in.
It only took a moment for Sebastian to understand that the reason the man hadn’t risen was almost certainly due to a war wound.
So, Sebastian bowed ever so slightly to Mrs. Grant. She was a plump but friendly woman with soft blond hair and brown eyes.
“That would please me very much,” he said, crossing to the fire.
As Marabelle struck up a conversation with Mrs. Grant, he took a seat on the hard backed but beautifully made chair opposite the wounded man.
At first, Sebastian felt odd sitting in silence as the fire roared beside them. He felt cold despite the warmth blazing against his legs. Worse, he felt unfamiliar with what he should say or do.
“Did you know the old earl?” Mr. Grant asked.
“I had the fortune of meeting him once.”
“Excellent fellow,” Mr. Grant said brightly, folding his hands over his slightly rounded stomach. “We all miss him terribly.”
“I have a great deal to live up to,” agreed Sebastian.
“If you care to live up to him,” Mr. Grant said with no ill humor. “Many wouldn’t even attempt it.”
There was no hint of concern in the man’s voice. But it struck Sebastian that he held his tenant’s well-being almost entirely in his hands.
And very possibly the whole of his estate was wondering if he would be as good as the old earl. They would all be contemplating if he would allow things to go to ruin.
“I had not planned to stay long on the estate,” he replied honestly. “My life has been spent abroad.”
“In service of the king?” Mr. Grant asked.
“For many years, yes.”
“That is a good thing,” Mr. Grant said easily. “But a man should also serve his family and the land he lives on.”
Sebastian looked to the brood of children playing with tops before the fire. A strange pang went through him. Children. He’d never truly thought what that might mean, having children to look after.
“Have you not known the joy of family, my lord?” Then Mr. Grant man winced. “I do apologize. I have imbibed in too much Christmas punch.”
Sebastian shook his head, eager to set him at ease. “No, it is nothing.”
“Mrs. Grant,” Mr. Grant called. “We must offer our guests libations.”
A cry of dismay went up from Mrs. Grant. “How remiss!”
Sebastian started to raise a hand in denial but then he caught Marabelle’s eye. She gave the merest shake of her head.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” he said then, instead.
Quickly, Mrs. Grant poured out two cups of punch and handed him one.
He took a fortifying swallow and nearly coughed. It was spiced and heady and delicious. But without a doubt, it was strong. Strong as any he’d had in his time as an officer. He took another drink.
Sebastian attempted to feel at ease and sat further back on his chair. “I’ll answer your question, Mr. Grant, since you have been forthright with me. I haven’t known family. My parents raised me from afar and I had no siblings.”
Mr. Grant’s brow furrowed. “But soon you’ll have bairns and that will change everything. . . Unless you plan to raise them as your parents raised you.”
That gave Sebastian pause. He supposed that he’d assumed he would. He’d sire an heir and be off. That’s what he’d imagined when he’d thundered across the moors on his borrowed horse.
But now? Now, when he looked at the children playing before him and he thought of Marabelle, and, worse still, when he thought of the cold Christmases he had known, he could no longer imagine doing such a horrible thing to a child. Any child.
“Family is the greatest thing. The only thing.” Mr. Grant smiled softly. “It has gotten me through hell.”
“Were you wounded abroad?” he asked carefully, knowing it wasn’t always easy to speak of the war.
“At sea, if you can believe it.” Mr. Grant let out a sigh. “I was raised on the coast but Mrs. Grant grew up here on the estate. And when I was wounded, we moved back here. The old earl helped me to find work I could do without two proper, working legs. Many wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help me.”
“He was a noble man. In ever
y sense of the word.”
“Aye.” Mr. Grant lifted his cup in salute. “That he was. You have the air of him.”
“No. No. He was far too kind.”
“Pardon me, my lord,” Mr. Grant countered politely. “But I think it’s there in you. I see the way you’re looking at my children. You’ll make a good father, I think. No running off and leaving them for you. And I think, you’d be loath to leave our Lady Marabelle. She’ll make your life worth living.” Mr. Grant leaned forward and whispered, “Now, don’t you forget that. You love her well and you’re a made man, my lord. A made man.”
“Thank you for your advice.” Sebastian smiled. He couldn’t help himself. And it struck him that Mr. Grant was a wise and very happy man despite life’s tribulations. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“We must go,” Marabelle said regretfully. “There are many homes to visit. But we wish you the happiest of Christmases.”
With that, he took one last drink and placed the cup on the fireplace mantel. They left the baskets of fruit and wine before heading out into the winter air.
As Sebastian stepped out into the darkness, he looked up.
The night sky was lit by thousands of stars. Twinkling and winking down upon them and, for once, he felt completely at peace.
And he knew without a doubt, he had Marabelle to thank for that.
Christmas morning came on a soft whisper. Once again, he found himself in his wife’s arms.
He had struggled and struggled to think of a gift for her. Nothing had seemed adequate. Oh, he could have sent for a jewel or books. Books were something she clearly loved. But how to make it truly from him?
The dilemma had been all too real.
So, slowly, he stood, tucking the thick counterpane about her. Her peaceful, sleeping form filled him with wonder. Wishing to surprise her, he pulled on his breeches, shirt, stockings, and boots as quietly as he could, ignoring the frigid morning air. With one backward glance at the woman who had somehow managed to make him wish to be a better man, he went downstairs.
There was truly only one thing that he could give her. One thing that was truly of himself.