A Common Christmas

by Sue London

  “Miss Ashman let me have a biscuit.”

  Both Dibbs and Whit turned sad eyes on her. Perhaps they were more alike than she had previously noticed.

  “You were handing out biscuits?” Whit asked.

  “Without us?” Dibbs added.

  “Perhaps,” she said, “if we don’t all freeze to death and make it home again, we will have a few biscuits to tide us over until morning.”

  That idea served to cheer the men immeasurably. Even the old coachman William had a grin and sprightly step as they moved towards the street. Joe took Joey from the valet and swung the boy up onto his shoulders. But Grace’s eyes were riveted on Mr. Dibbs. Joshua. He seemed to have given up on being stalwart as soon as he stepped out of the house. It made him seem younger, more approachable. She had to admit to herself that she felt something of a tendre for him. She was grateful, certainly, that he had saved her when she was at her lowest. But it was beyond that. She admired him. His loyalty. His determination to do the right thing. And now his ability to make little boys squeal and giggle. He would be a good father, she thought. The idea made her feel off kilter and oddly warm.

  No, she corrected herself; he most likely would be a terrible father. His first loyalty would always be to the earl and the household. And it shouldn’t matter to her anyway. If she sought a husband she should do it among her own class. A merchant or a tradesman. Not a butler who worked day and night and was most likely delighted at his position in a household. Even after two days she knew that being a servant, even in a household so grand as this, was against her nature. She wanted the opportunity to make or break her fortune based on her own cleverness and initiative. She wanted risk and challenge. Even tired as she was with grief and work, she knew that she wanted to make her way on her own terms.

  As they passed under a street lamp he noticed her regard of him and looked at her with gentle concern. “Are you all right, Miss Ashman?”

  Thoughts of the future and even notice of the cold evaporated away, replaced by summer blue eyes. Hadn’t she told herself to enjoy what she had right now because she already knew how easily things could be lost? She wrapped her arm through his and said, “Just chilled, Mr. Dibbs.”

  *

  Dibbs found the evening much more pleasing than he had expected. Miss Ashman had walked on his arm both to and from the church. She had sat next to him in the pew, so close that they shared the same hymnal and he had heard her sweet voice rise up in song. It had all been sweet and silly, and at times oddly moving. Joe had cried a bit during the service and Dibbs knew that the stable master had been thinking of his wife. On the walk home William spoke of his father, a vicar, and then told a folksier version of the night of the Christ child that, while not as grand as the service at the church, had touched Dibbs’ heart more dearly.

  When they had heard carolers out in the streets, Miss Ashman had hugged on his arm with the delight of a child. Once home she had them all try one of each of the biscuits except for one variety she was saving as the most special. Whit had poked around the kitchen looking for the special ones but she had insisted that he wouldn’t be able to find them.

  No, this wasn’t a Kellington Christmas, but something different. He had a new London Christmas. And it was good. Warm, convivial. Cheerful, he would say. And all due to her. Without her it would have been quiet and dull, even with the unusual event of the earl having come to Town.

  Now morning had come again and Dibbs was standing at Miss Ashman’s door, a smile on his lips as he knocked. He heard a thump, followed by her voice, scratchy from sleep.

  “Oh, Mr. Dibbs, please don’t tell me it’s morning.”

  “I’m afraid it is, Miss Ashman.”

  He heard her footsteps and was surprised when she opened the door. Her hair was done in a long plait but strands were loose and mussed from sleep. She had thrown her cloak over her chemise, he supposed because she didn’t have a robe, but he could see the white fabric peeking through where the cloak gaped in front. If the rest of the staff were about he would have been afraid of someone finding them in this somewhat inappropriate situation.

  Her smile was bleary but genuine. “I see that you are laughing at me, as I had suspected.”

  “I’m not laughing at you, Miss Ashman,” he protested. But her rueful accusation had almost made him do just that.

  “Yes, this exhaustion is of my own making but I won’t be sorry for it. Happy Christmas, Mr. Dibbs.”

  “Happy Christmas, Miss Ashman.”

  “I’ll be down momentarily.”

  He nodded and said, “Very good.” But that wasn’t what he wanted to do. As she closed her bedroom door again it was his turn to feel rueful. He wished he had kissed her. He wished he had kissed her a happy Christmas morning and encouraged her to call him Joshua when they were alone instead of Mr. Dibbs. It was terribly forward and not at all appropriate. But he wished it. And wished he knew her Christian name. Even if just to call her that in his own mind.

  Chapter Ten

  Grace rushed about the kitchen. There was so much to do to make the rest of the foods they would enjoy throughout the day. She began to think that perhaps she had gone mad with this desire to have a good Christmas before her circumstances changed again. But then she remembered the smile that Joshua, Mr. Dibbs she corrected herself, had given her this morning. It belied ever thinking he was austere or distant. He was warm and sweet and… And she should stop thinking about him, other than to be satisfied that she had made him smile.

  Christmas was about giving, and she wanted to give this household something good to remember. Even if they didn’t remember her, perhaps they would remember the goose or the gingerbread or how the house smelled of greenery. She would remember them. From Joey to the earl himself. And, of course, Dibbs. She would never forget Dibbs. When her life had been at its bleakest ebb he had opened the door and given her not only food, but simple kindness. Joshua Dibbs was, not to put too fine a point upon it, her hero. And if she kept thinking about it she was going to cry, and that wasn’t going to help her get all this food ready. As she turned to put potatoes in the pot over the fire she stopped short. Bitsie sat on the hearth looking up at her with impassive and luminous cat eyes.

  “Goodness, Bitsie, you startled me.”

  The little black cat stretched and purred, leaning forward to rub against Grace’s leg. Once she dumped the potatoes in the pot Grace wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the kitten. “Don’t act like you miss me. You’re the one who chose to start consorting with the earl.” The purr was a gusty rattle under Grace’s chin as Bitsie turned her head to encourage a more vigorous scratching on her ear. “I’ve heard he likes you, by the way. Bravo for that. He doesn’t strike me as a man who suffers fools gladly. And I can’t imagine him care taking for a little cat so I don’t know how you’re getting on.”

  She heard Whit’s voice behind her. “Of course he doesn’t. Dibbs and I do that.”

  Her mind must truly be elsewhere if not only cats but valets were sneaking up on her. Mr. Whitman had resumed his favorite seat on top of the table, legs swinging while he ate. She didn’t know how he managed to stay so slender as often as she found him in the kitchen snacking.

  “Happy Christmas, Mr. Whitman.”

  “Happy Christmas, Miss Ashman.”

  “Breakfast won’t be for another half hour.”

  “I was hoping perhaps those mystery biscuits had already been brought out.”

  She laughed. He was incorrigible, and entirely predictable. “Indeed they have not, Mr. Whitman.”

  “Well then, at least I can deliver this to you.”

  He nodded his head to the side and she noticed a large, squat box on the table next to him. She ventured forward slowly, not entirely sure what to make of it. “What is it?”

  “Something for you to wear tonight.”

  “It’s… it’s a present?”

  “Would you like to see?”

  She backed away a step. “I’m not sure I
should accept a gift from you, Mr. Whitman. I don’t mean to be rude, but-”

  Whit looked over her shoulder. “Dibbs, tell her she can accept this.”

  The butler stepped up beside her and she felt immeasurably safer having him there. “Accept what?” Dibbs asked.

  “What I brought for her to wear tonight.”

  “Why did you bring her anything to wear tonight?” Dibbs sounded suspicious, bordering on angry.

  Whit remained unflustered. “At the rate she’s going I assumed there would be some sort of Christmas supper for the staff. Certainly we will all dress for it. So I thought she would want something nicer to wear than her uniform. We can agree that gray is not her color, and I did promise her that I would advise her on colors.”

  “Whit,” Dibbs said, “your constant flirting with Miss Ashman must stop.”

  “I’m not flirting with her, Josh. Does she look flirted with? Actually she looks somewhat terrified. Have you ever known me to flirt with a woman until she was terrified?”

  Dibbs opened his mouth to retort but seemed to think better of it.

  “No,” Whit said, hopping off the table, “of course you haven’t. Because I’m a better judge of people than that. I know the effect I have on them. Rather than, say, you. When I think about it I really acquired this for you anyway.” He shoved the box in Dibbs’ hands. “So why don’t you take it.” The valet nodded at Grace. “Happy Christmas, Miss Ashman. Happy Christmas, Josh.” With that he left the kitchen.

  The fire crackled and Bitsie continued to purr under Grace’s chin while Dibbs stared at the box as though it was a complicated puzzle.

  “What was that all about?” Grace asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Dibbs said slowly. He looked at her then, somewhat keenly, as though she were part of the puzzle he was trying to solve. “Has he been flirting with you?”

  “Some,” she admitted. “But I think no more so than he would with any woman in the house. Some men just like to charm women.”

  “And do you find him charming?”

  “I find him entertaining so long as he does not try to get fresh with me.”

  “And has he done so?”

  She smiled. “No. He is perhaps, as he said, a fair judge of people. I would not have welcomed his advances.”

  “Did he tell you how it came about that I broke his nose?”

  “No. You seem to think Mr. Whitman and I talk a great deal more than we do.”

  “It was over a woman. I thought myself in love with her, planned to marry her, and Whit stole her away from me.”

  She gave him a sympathetic frown. “If she could be so easily swayed by his charm then she didn’t deserve your affections.”

  He looked at her curiously. “That’s essentially what Whit said at the time.”

  She took a step back and teased. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’ll break my nose.”

  He chuckled. “Of course not. But I will say I had not entirely regretted having done so to Whit before now.”

  “Perhaps that’s your Christmas miracle for this year,” she said. “Forgiving your cousin.”

  He set the box back on the table. “Why don’t you open this and then I’ll decide what I’m going to do with Whit.”

  She settled the kitten on a chair and opened the box. No wrapping or tissue, just dark folded fabric nestled down inside. She pulled it out into the light and almost gasped at the simple beauty of the garment. A dark green velvet bodice gave way to yards of fluttering pale green silk. The trim was dark gold ribbon at the neckline and sleeves. She spotted tiny brass balls on the neckline ribbon and flicked them. They jingled as she knew they would. It was wonderful. Adorable. Whimsical.

  She couldn’t accept it.

  She looked up at Dibbs and he seemed to have rapt attention on her, his eyes dark. She shook her head, “I can’t.”

  He stepped closer. So close she could feel the heat radiating from him. He turned his attention to the dress for a moment, running a hand over the velvet. “He said it was really my present and I would like to see you in it.” He looked torn for a moment, as though considering something. Then his tense posture relaxed a bit as he leaned towards her, touching her jaw lightly. “Would love to see you in it.”

  Grace felt herself flush from his attentions. She nodded and folded the dress back into the box, her hands shaking a bit. He took one hand and kissed it before holding it against his chest. She could feel his warmth, the solidity of him. She was both terrified and felt safer than she ever had in her life.

  “Are you all right?” When she nodded he kissed her forehead and murmured into her hair. “I’ll be back after I serve the earl his breakfast.”

  When he left the kitchen she missed him, finally admitting to herself that she had been attuned to him almost from the moment she had walked into this house. Why oh why did she have to fall in love with a proper English butler?

  Chapter Eleven

  Dibbs was itching with impatience for the earl to finish his breakfast. He needed to find Whit, needed to see Miss Ashman again. Needed to touch her again, really, even if it was just her hand on his arm or an innocent kiss on her forehead. She had said that she wouldn’t welcome advances she didn’t want, and once he thought about it knew it to be true that she shied away from any contact with Whit. But she didn’t shy away from him. The opposite, in fact. She trusted him. Liked him. He hoped that he could nurture that to be more in time. Although what time they had, he wasn’t sure. They hadn’t spoken of the future. He assumed she would stay on in some capacity after the staff returned because she had nowhere to go. That reminded him of her horrid brother.

  “My lord,” he said softly to Gideon, gaining the earl’s immediate attention. “I wondered if there is a minister who oversees the safety of apothecaries?”

  The earl frowned in thought for a moment, accessing his prodigious knowledge of English government and laws. “I’m sure there must be. Do you have a concern?”

  “Yes, there is a particular apothecary. I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice to say it might be best if the premises were inspected.”

  The earl nodded. “Write down the name and location and leave it on my desk. I’ll have it seen to next week.”

  If Gideon said he would do it, then it would be done. Somehow Dibbs managed to keep himself from grinning for the rest of breakfast, although it was difficult.

  As soon as his duties serving the earl had ended he went off in search of Whit. He found the valet attending the earl’s wardrobe.

  “What now?” Whit asked. “Is she going to have us hang silver bells on every door?”

  Dibbs caught his cousin up in a tight hug.

  Whit laughed. “What is that for? The dress?”

  “I’m sorry I broke your nose.”

  Whit waved a hand. “You already apologized for that.”

  “Because my mother made me. Now I really am sorry.”

  “Finally figured it out, did you?”

  “Figured what out?”

  “That if you’d married that shrew you wouldn’t be able to marry Miss Ashman.”

  “In my defense, I thought I loved Portia at the time.”

  “I’ve already saved you from fifteen years of being married to a shrew and now you are free to marry a woman much more suited to you. I think I deserve more than a hug.”

  “Let’s not ruin this.”

  *

  Grace was in an odd state of being both exhausted and deliriously happy. Whenever Dibbs came into the kitchens throughout the day he found occasion to touch her. The best had been when he stepped up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. She had nearly melted into his embrace. It wasn’t proper, scandalous even. But she wouldn’t have traded those stolen moments for all the tea in China.

  Now everything was ready for the earl’s Christmas dinner and Dibbs was loading trays to take up to the dining room. He stopped and looked at her. “Why don’t you take a nap before our sta
ff supper?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  He came over and cupped her face in his hands. The warmth was lovely and she closed her eyes. He massaged her temples and that was even more lovely. “You look exhausted, Miss Ashman.”

  “Grace.”

  His fingers paused for a moment. “Grace?”

  Hearing her name in his voice made her fall a little bit more in love with him. She wondered if it could always be like this, continuing to fall further in love with him as though it was a bottomless well in her heart. “Yes, Josh,” she said. “My name is Grace.”

  She could feel a tension, an attraction, arcing between them and was sure that he would kiss her. Then his voice was at her ear. “You need to get some sleep, Grace. I’ll come to wake you.”

  She had to chuckle at that. He didn’t seem to have any remorse in waking her, that was true. And now that he had made her feel so lovely and boneless she found she couldn’t fight his suggestion of a nap. “Just for a little while,” she agreed.

  He kissed her cheek. “Just a little while.”

  She picked up the dress so she could change into it before dinner and went upstairs to sleep until Dibbs woke her.

  *

  Dibbs found that he could hardly concentrate. Her name was Grace. What a perfect name for her. How could she not know that she was his Christmas miracle? It was because of her that any other good thing had come about in the last few days. Had it really only been three days? It already felt like he had always known her. Always loved her.

  That thought gave him pause, but he knew it was true. What he felt for her was beyond compare. Now it was time to wake her before supper.

  *

  Grace awoke to a hand stroking her hair. She knew it was Dibbs. Joshua.

  “Are you ready to wake up?” he asked.

  She smiled and shook her head.

  “Come now,” he chided. “Not everyone gets two Christmas mornings.”

  That made her laugh and open her eyes. “True enough,” she said. “I suppose it’s just part of trying to fit as much Christmas in this year as possible.”