by Linda Banche
The coach rumbled away, and she and Lady Ellison joined the queue entering the church.
Lady Ellison marched to the front and deposited herself in the first pew. “I do so like the Tyndall pew. I can see everything from here.”
All eyes bored into Julia as she sank down beside her companion. She usually attended church in Leeds. On the few occasions she came here, she sat in the common area. Most of the people here were neighbors, and they were sure to remark on why she sat in the Tyndall pew tonight.
“Not there, my dear. Over here.” Lady Ellison patted the place on her other side. A smile curved her lips. “I must save that spot for dear Mr. Borland.”
As the pew was only wide enough for four people, and she and Lady Ellison sat in the center, the arrangement ensured that Robert would sit beside Julia. That is, if Will didn’t evade Lady Ellison.
Low murmuring filled the church, the parishioners’ exhalations frosted, and various scuffs and scrapes sounded as everyone settled down. Pine and holly decorated the pulpit, and also hung over the doorway. A sprig of entwined holly and ivy tied with red ribbon adorned the end of each pew. Over the entry to the vestry, someone had nailed a sprig of mistletoe. So some young man could kiss his sweetheart? She doubted anyone wanted to kiss the vicar.
Lady Ellison unfastened the greenery at the end of their pew and twirled the cluster between her fingers. “I fear our unworldly vicar has no idea what holly and ivy mean, but I applaud whoever made the decorations.”
Holly and ivy, representing man and woman, clasped in a most intimate embrace. Julia’s cheeks flamed.
Lady Ellison patted her shoulder. “No need to blush, my dear. I saw you and Robert together. I hope you two can find your happiness together.” She smoothed her skirts. “As I intend to, with Mr. Borland.”
The vestry door opened, and the stout, jovial vicar, garbed in the white vestments of the season, entered and strode to the pulpit. The room quieted.
Julia looked over her shoulder. The ushers had closed the church door. Still no Robert and Will.
The church bells pealed, loud and joyous, ringing in Christmas. As the reverberations quieted, the vicar raised his arms high. “Christmas has arrived. Let us give thanks.”
***
Here at last.
Will pushed open the church door and he and Tyndall entered.
At the door’s creaking, a number of parishioners, most of them at the back, turned around.
The vicar frowned. “Welcome to all on this most blessed of nights.” He shivered. “But please close the door. The icy draft sweeps all the way up here.”
A few snorts and guffaws greeted the comment, and Will quickly shut the panel, the scrape of wood on the stone floor loud in the silent church. Then, hats in hand, he and Tyndall, every gaze following their steps, made their way to the front pew.
And Lady Ellison.
Smile wide, she latched onto Will’s arm, and with an unceremonial tug, hauled him down beside her.
A few quickly muffled sniggers and giggles erupted from behind them.
Will stiffened. Lady’s Ellison’s continual pursuit of him was a running joke in the district. Some wags had even wagered on whether or not he would succumb. The last he heard, the odds were in favor of his capitulation.
Whoever bet so would lose.
He hoped.
Lady Ellison pressed her hip close to his.
Pinned between her and the high end of the pew, Will couldn’t escape. But, surely she wouldn’t try anything in church.
This was even worse than in the gallery or at dinner. At least there, he had been able to get away. He had even taken a roundabout route back from the gallery expressly to avoid her. Unfortunately, he had been so long, Julia had left before he could talk to her.
Tyndall took the remaining seat beside Julia. He beamed at her, and she smiled back as if the sun, the moon, the stars and the entire heavenly firmament rose and set over him.
A cold finger touched Will’s spine. Had Tyndall already stolen her?
The vicar cleared his throat. “Now that we are all here, we can begin the service. Let us start with hymn number fifty-four.”
The organ’s notes soared on high, and the parishioners stood.
Everyone must have come home for Christmas, because there was a dearth of hymnals. Will had to share one with Lady Ellison, who draped herself against him for the entire song.
Tyndall and Julia also shared a hymnal, their smiles at each other brighter than the flames of the numerous altar candles.
The hymn ended. The congregation sat, and the vicar began his sermon.
Will set his hat in his lap and turned his attention to the clergyman. His eyelids drooped. He had been up before dawn and spent a long day at the aviary.
Something warm slid onto his lap under the hat.
Lady Ellison’s hand!
With a muffled curse, he grabbed her hand and held it immobile at his side. So much for her not trying anything in church. He set his hat on the floor.
Without taking her gaze from the vicar, Lady Ellison smiled.
The service dragged along, with them alternately standing to sing, when thankfully, Lady Ellison held the hymnal with both hands, and sitting, when she tried to caress him, even without the concealing hat.
When the last chord of the ending hymn died away—at what felt like Christmas of next year—Will jumped up and strode around to the front of the pew to stand before Julia. “Miss Shaw, I wish—”
“Mr. Borland, if I might have a word?” The vicar dashed down the steps from the pulpit to grasp Will’s hand. “My good man, I must thank you for all the eggs you send over.” He pumped Will’s arm so hard Will staggered. “My wife makes good use of many, and we distribute the excess to needy families in the village.”
Tyndall and Julia, still wrapped up in each other, exited the pew and merged with the other departing worshippers.
Lady Ellison stayed behind and grinned.
Just my luck.
Will pulled on his hand, but the vicar clasped him more firmly. The man’s grip was almost as strong as Lady Ellison’s. “You are welcome, sir, but I only did as Lord Tyndall directed. You should thank him.”
“Oh, I will, but you are the one who brings us the excess from the aviary. I am sure you could sell the items if you wished, but no, you help out those in need. You are a most godly man—”
The vicar went on and on, praising him to the heavens.
Meanwhile, Tyndall and Julia reached the doorway. His head bent to hers, and she raised her face to his. From this angle, they looked as if they kissed. Would they wait for him, or would they leave without him?
As the vicar’s effusions went on to eternity, Lady Ellison’s smile faded. Her lips pursed, she tapped her foot, and then she crossed her arms over her chest. Finally, she huffed, glared at the vicar, who couldn’t see her because his back was to her, and then marched out.
Thank God for small favors.
Will pried the vicar’s fingers loose from his hand. “You are most welcome, sir. I wish you a Happy Christmas, but I must away.”
Stopped in mid-sentence, the vicar’s jaw sagged. He gave a befuddled nod, and Will fled the church.
The Tyndall carriage, some distance away, had arrived. Lady Ellison stepped inside. Would Julia go, too, or would she walk back with them?
Tyndall helped Julia into the coach.
Will broke into a run “Miss Shaw—”
Tyndall waved at the coachman. The vehicle swung into motion.
Damnation.
***
“And how was your evening, miss?” Mrs. Henry yawned as she bolted the front door behind Julia.
“Splendid. Just splendid.” She removed her cloak and hung the garment on a peg beside the door. “Rob—er—Lord Tyndall, is a most generous host.”
“I hear more than gratitude in your voice.” Mrs. Henry clucked as she took Julia’s gloves and set them aside. “Now, you have not one, but two young men to c
hoose from. You are a lucky lady, indeed.”
Julia shook her head. “No. I must tell Will I do not share the feelings he has for me.”
“If you don’t care for him, then by all means, tell him. But wait until Lord Tyndall comes up to snuff. He may not. And then you can accept Mr. Borland.”
Julia’s jaw dropped. “I cannot do that.”
“Fustian.” The housekeeper shooed Julia before her up the stairs. “Remember our almost-empty larder. You like Mr. Borland, and many marriages start out under worse conditions.”
Julia stopped, and Mrs. Henry bumped into her back. At a gentle push from the housekeeper, she started up again.
Oh, dear, Robert enraptured her so, she had completely forgotten their financial problems.
Could she deceive dear, sweet Will so she wouldn’t starve? Although the ton took the matter to extremes, marriage was an economic arrangement for most people. On the woman’s part, marriage was almost the only way she could avoid the poor house.
But she wanted love, and she did own the farm. If she turned Will down, and then Robert didn’t propose, could she afford to wait again for love?
Then make sure Robert proposes.
Only if he is the right man. But I think he is.
Mrs. Henry continued down the corridor and Julia twirled in a circle before her own door. Events had conspired to prevent her from talking to Will tonight, but she would make sure to see him tomorrow and refuse his offer as gently as possible.
In her chamber, she undressed and then slipped into bed, but sleep declined to come. All the joys of the evening marched through her mind anew. In church, she and Robert had sat pressed together in the too-small pew, his leg against hers, sending warmth spiraling through her. At the coach after the service, he had pulled her out of sight of prying eyes and kissed her again. Also, he had declared his intentions in his drawing room. All that remained was the proposal itself. Surely, he was serious.
She hugged herself. Was there a happier woman anywhere else on earth?
She tossed and turned, her rioting thoughts not allowing her rest. Finally, she slipped out of bed and wrapped herself in a quilt. Barefooted, she hopped over the cold floor to the window seat. Ice crystal flowers bloomed on the windowpane, and snow-mimicking starlight glistened on the fields.
On the North Downs rose Tyndall House, a dark bulk silhouetted against the star-strewn sky. A few lights glimmered at the windows. Perhaps one belonged to Robert’s room. Did he look down at her, even as she looked up at him?
She pulled the quilt more tightly around herself. At long last, she had found a man who made her heart sing. She must celebrate, and she must celebrate with Robert.
But how? She had to find something spectacular.
She knew just the thing. She would take him to her special place.
Chapter 18
Julia jumped out of bed and then ran to the window. The sun, after pressing a farewell kiss to the horizon, leaped upward on its sky-crossing journey. Robins and blue tits chirped, the chickens cackled and Machiavelli strutted around his pen.
Christmas! A truly glorious day for all involved. Even better, she would spend the time with Robert. Her heart danced along with the sun.
She dressed in her best day gown, a fine, white muslin embroidered with pink roses at the hem, sleeves and around the neckline. Then she wrapped her rose Kashmir shawl around her shoulders for extra warmth.
As she tripped down the stairs, the long case clock chimed eight times. Much too early to see Robert, but each tick of the timepiece brought their meeting closer. Her pulse sped up.
The aroma of freshly baked bread drifted down the corridor, beckoning her to the kitchen. As she entered, Mrs. Henry set a pot on the hob. “Don’t you look fine today?”
“Thank you. I will spend the day with Baron Tyndall.”
“Good. I hope he provides a meal, too. Since you decided not to sacrifice Machiavelli, we have only oatmeal left. I fear our Christmas will be dreary.”
“We can eat the oatmeal tomorrow. Today, plunder the stores and cook whatever you wish. After New Year’s Day, I will travel to town and make the art dealer pay me for my painting. That should take care of us for a while.” I hope.
“I look forward to that.” Mrs. Henry set creamy butter and a loaf of bread still warm from the oven before her. “Or maybe you’ll soon have news about your marriage, and all our worries will vanish.” She gestured to the food. “But, for now, eat up.” She filled a cup with tea.
Julia didn’t really care about food, not with a visit from Robert in the offing, but she finished a slice of buttered bread and then gulped down her tea. “I will walk around outside for a bit.”
The sides of Mrs. Henry’s mouth kicked up in a knowing grin. “And mayhap meet his lordship?”
“Mayhap.” In the entry, she pulled on her pale blue pelisse, arranging the shawl over her shoulders, and then her bonnet and gloves.
She stepped outside, brisk air nipping at her cheeks. Cold and crisp, just as Christmas should be. As expected, no vehicles travelled the road from Tyndall House, although Robert should arrive soon.
Boisterous cackling split the air. The chickens’ welcome to Christmas. Or, more likely, they were hungry. She hurried to the barn for the corn bucket, and then scattered the seed for them. “Here is your Christmas dinner, my friends.” Leaving the furiously pecking birds to their meal, she approached the goose pen.
The empty goose pen. Machiavelli had been here before. Had he run away again? She unlatched the gate and ran inside the enclosure.
Machiavelli, his bill wide as if yawning, exited his hut.
She sagged. “There you are. I worried about you.” She patted him on the head. “Happy Christmas, Machiavelli. I should be angry at you for running away, and even angrier when you tricked Lord Tyndall into the dung heap.”
The goose backed up a step.
She patted him again. “But I like you too much to stay cross with you. Despite Mrs. Henry’s arguments, I decided we would not have you for dinner. I want you here for a good, long time.”
The goose rubbed his head against her arm. Then he released a thready honk, almost as if he said “Thank you for not eating me”.
But that was nonsense. He couldn’t understand her. She poured him a pile of corn, which he attacked with his usual gusto. Then she replaced the bucket in the barn, wishing Mr. Henry Happy Christmas as he performed his usual chores.
She wandered to the road. The way to Tyndall House remained empty. She would walk to meet Robert.
Pulling her shawl more tightly around her, she set a brisk pace along the byway. Although bright sunlight flooded the landscape, the rays held no warmth. She sniffed. The air smelled of snow, but the cloudless sky put the lie to a possible storm today.
She had reached the River Len when the pounding of hoof beats and the jingling of bells announced the imminent arrival of a vehicle. She stepped to the verge, and a gig appeared from around the bend.
Robert!
His head jerked up, and he pulled the horses to a halt. He jumped down and opened his arms.
She flung herself into his embrace.
He lifted her and spun her around, both of them laughing. Then they kissed; a long, slow kiss that lingered as she slid down his body.
Finally, he broke the kiss and propped his chin atop the crown of her head. “I have thought of that all night.”
“So have I.” Could this day become any better?
He led her to the carriage. “We will go to my house, but first, we return to yours.” He swung her up into the seat before he slid into place beside her. “I come bearing gifts.” He clicked the reins as he tilted his head toward a large basket in the back. “You will have dinner with me, but your servants should have a bountiful Christmas meal, too. And I also have the greenery I promised.”
The silver bells on the harness jingled a joyous Christmas song as they returned to her house. They left the basket and greenery with a smiling Mrs. Henry, be
fore they turned the gig around for Tyndall House.
“I am so happy.” Julia slipped her hand around his arm. “I have something I want to show you. Something special that I have never shown to anyone else.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “I await with bated breath. What is it?”
“Not what, where, and we are almost there.” They drove to the base of the North Downs and up a short way before she directed him to veer left onto a side road. “This path is very rutted. Soon, we must go afoot.”
“No matter.” He slowed the horses. A little farther along, he stopped. “Now we walk.” He jumped down and then helped her descend.
She clasped his hand. “Come.”
“I will go anywhere with you.”
Her heart floated up to the sky. Was there ever such a splendid man?
They trod a little farther down the track, before taking a downward side path.
“We are close by now.” She gave him a wicked smile. “I come here often. The site is on your property, so I have trespassed. I hope you do not mind.”
“I shall have to punish you.” His words were harsh, but his eyes twinkled. He pulled her close and kissed her. “Hmm, that was not enough punishment.” He kissed her again. “Maybe one more.”
She laughed and pulled away. “Enough for now, or we will never get there.” She didn’t let go of his hand though.
They reached the bottom of the hill and turned off the main path, following a faint track that snow would render invisible. The way led along an ice-edged stream, one of the tributaries of the River Len. The water gurgled a merry accompaniment to their progress.
In places, weeds had grown over the rarely-used path, and their progress was slow. But soon they arrived at a small pond. Trees, their bare branches stark against the blue sky, bent low to screen the water. Brown, broken reeds, rustling in the breeze, circled the frozen mere. Pale sunlight skittered across the uneven ice, fracturing into a myriad rainbow crystals, lending a magical quality to what could have been a desolate scene.
“I love this place.” She had spent many a day here, painting the background of Morning Mallard.