Holly and Hopeful Hearts

by Caroline Warfield

  Before he could reply, or Esther could decide whether or not to let Adam approach, the Duchess of Haverford rose at the end of the room and rang an ornate silver bell for attention. “Indulge me before we go up to dress for dinner,” Her Grace began. “By happy coincidence, today is not only Christmas, but very shortly, it will also be the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath.” She gestured toward a window through which the sun could clearly be seen dipping below the horizon. “As you know, this time is sacred to some of our guests. Since they have been gracious enough to share our celebration, it behooves us to share theirs, no?” She raised a hand in a graceful gesture, and a liveried servant wheeled a teacart with silver candlesticks, a decanter of wine, and a loaf of bread laid out upon it.

  The duchess spoke directly to Adam, who stood several feet away. “Mr. Halevy, would you be so kind as to lead us in your blessing?”

  Adam looked back with an inscrutable expression. Esther feared he would refuse. Can he bear to be singled out this way? She glanced frantically around the room, fearing she might see disdain. She found none, except perhaps on Lady Stanton's perpetually sour expression. She appeared to grumble to someone beside her. For the rest, Esther saw nothing but interest. Can Adam feel their good will?

  He bowed before the duchess moments later. “I would be happy to oblige you, Your Grace, but it is customarily the lady of the house who says the Sabbath blessing. Might I suggest instead that Miss Baumann lead us?” He turned and looked directly at Esther.

  Every eye in the room followed his, and her heart dropped to her belly. Felicity clapped her hands; Cedrica Grenford smiled approvingly; the Weasel seemed merely curious. Hythe’s habitual expression of good cheer restored her composure.

  “Well, my dear?” the duchess asked.

  Esther forced her feet forward and curtseyed. “Of course, Your Grace. It would be my honor.” She stepped to the teacart, made sure all was in place, and pulled her shawl, all silvery lace, up over her head before she smiled around the room at large. “For the sake of the company, I’ll use English, I think.”

  Her hands didn’t shake when she lit the candles or when she waved them over the flames with infinite care once, twice, three times. She covered her face with steady fingers and prayed silently for a moment. Then she raised her voice:

  Blessed are you, Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe

  Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us

  To light the lights of Shabbat.

  “Amen.” She heard Adam murmur it quietly but firmly and lowered her hands, opening them to look down on the Sabbath lights, memories of home, her grandmother, and other Sabbaths filling her.

  “Is that all?” Weasel whispered, avid eyes darting between Esther and Adam.

  “Not exactly. At home, we might walk to services now and do Kiddush later, but, since we're staying here, that blessing comes next,” Adam said, stepping up next to Esther. He poured wine from the decanter into an exquisite crystal goblet etched with a vine and grape pattern. He held it up in front of him. “And there was evening, and there was morning, a sixth day,” he began. Esther focused on his long fingers wrapped around the goblet and the sound of his voice “… and He rested on the seventh… and He sanctified it… because it is the first day… Blessed are You, who sanctifies Shabbat,” he finished.

  Esther said, “Amen,” into the hush that followed. He looked at her then, and for one brief moment, there was just the two of them and Sabbath peace.

  It was Sophia who broke the spell. “Lovely,” she murmured. “Lovely. Am I right that this is a home ritual, a family service?”

  “It is indeed,” Adam replied. “Family is at the heart of everything.”

  * * *

  Adam watched Sophia Belvoir introduce Esther to Lord Jonathon Grenford, the three of them laughing together before the Earl of Hythe offered Esther his escort in to dinner. Adam knew the Grenford brothers’ reputations made them inappropriate companions for his Esther. Surely Esther wouldn't be seduced by false charm and the Haverford estate? Of course not. At least it isn’t the older Grenford brother. He didn’t know Hythe, but he saw the way she smiled at the earl, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  Seated far from her, he had no opportunity to talk to her, not that dinner would have allowed him to press his case. When the ladies left them to their port—miserable custom that it was—he had no polite way to pursue her.

  Grenford’s older brother, the Marquis of Aldridge, as ranking male family member, presided over the distribution of cigars, which Adam declined, and port, which he gladly accepted. Aldridge urged the gentlemen to move toward the head of the table for ease of conversation. Talk drifted over horses, hunts, and mills that held no interest for Adam. When the talk turned to politics and the conduct of the war, however, the marquis leaned forward.

  “But you were there recently, Halevy, were you not?” Aldridge asked, taking him off guard.

  The mission had not been widely known, but neither was its secrecy vital. Still, he couldn’t imagine how Aldridge knew. His surprise must have shown.

  “A mission for the War Department, was it not? I had drinks with Glenaire earlier this month, and he mentioned that he had dispatched you with Rochlin. Of course, he kept the details obscure enough.”

  “Tight as a clam is, Glenaire. You’ll get naught from the man,” someone complained jovially. “What was it? Ferrying Wellington’s private bootblack to the old man?”

  Aldridge exchanged a knowing look with Adam.

  “Something like that,” Adam said. “Lord Glenaire was kind enough to send his private yacht to bring us home.”

  “You were in Spain!” Lord Jonathon Grenford exclaimed. “Tell us everything: the roads, the dangers—the women.”

  “The drink?” Adam retorted. “You can’t fault the French for their wine.”

  “You went through France?”

  “An advantage of being a native speaker,” Adam told him. A few stories about bad inns and good food seemed to satisfy, and the conversation moved on.

  When they rose to leave, Wesley Winderfield gave Hythe’s shoulder a punch. “Henry the Eighth! No fair. Now I’ll have to come up with a better king. Perhaps Richard the Third. Shall I limp?”

  “Kings?” Adam asked.

  “For the costume ball night after next. The Haverford attics lend themselves to kings and queens,” Hythe replied. “Who do you favor?”

  “You mean I’m expected to dress up and prance around as an English king?” Down the table, he caught Elfingham’s eyes.

  The viscount’s expression gave little away, but Adam doubted the man would make himself one of the Henrys or Edwards, not with his dark eyes and exotic looks.

  Adam shook his head as they moved toward the door. “Not my cup of tea, gentlemen.”

  “But you must! The ladies expect it. Wait until they go to work on you. Wear a man down,” Weasel Winderfield grumbled. He didn’t wait for a reply.

  Aldridge clapped Adam on the back. “Take heart, Halevy. A mask will do.” The marquis winked and went on his way.

  Did Esther expect him to dress as an English king? If so she would be sorely disappointed. It was asking too much.

  Chapter 11

  A book makes poor company in a house full of people, but Adam could think of no other way to pass the afternoon.

  The morning after Christmas, he joined the ladies on their trek to deliver Boxing Day charity, using the Sabbath as his excuse to avoid hunting with the gentlemen. It was true enough, but his chief reason had been the opportunity to corner his quarry. Esther managed to avoid him, even on the return walk, by attaching herself to the Belvoir ladies like a limpet and refusing to meet his eyes. After they returned, she had disappeared into the upper floors.

  I can hardly pursue her to her bedroom, tempting though that thought is. With every day that passed, her father’s arrival came closer, and he had to speak to her first. If Baumann arrived, matchmaker in tow, without warning, she would feel
trapped. She would refuse him in some humiliating fashion or accept him because she saw no way out. He determined to avoid both at all cost, but he couldn't pursue her.

  Books it is. When he entered Hollystone’s massive library, however, he wasn’t alone.

  “Hiding, Elfingham?”

  The lord looked up over his book, rolled his eyes, and said, “Not hiding. Licking my wounds more like.”

  “Shooting birds doesn’t appeal?” Adam teased.

  “I’ve taken down much more challenging game but not as challenging as my current quarry.”

  “Lady Sophia?”

  Elfingham closed his book. “She avoids me at every turn. You?”

  “Giving the poor birds a rest, and yes, I’m not having success either. Ladies can be damned elusive in a pile as massive as this one.”

  The viscount smiled. “It’s bigger than some villages in Turkestan. I thought a house party would give me the opportunity I needed, but no.”

  Adam nodded sympathetically. He explained Baumann’s plans and his concern. “I have two days to press my case and at least give her a choice. It’s damned hard to court a woman who won’t even speak with you.”

  Humor shone from the viscount’s eyes, “You may have to overcome some of your gentlemanly instincts, Halevy.”

  “She deserves better. I’d rather keep it above board—and dignified.”

  Elfingham raised a questioning brow.

  “The costume ball. I don’t see me prancing along next to your cousin in tights.”

  “They want to force us into some sort of English mold,” the viscount agreed. “It won’t fit. They see me as a wild prince. I plan to give them one.”

  The man’s quiet confidence filled Adam with envy. “Well done, you! I wish I had your choices. Somehow, I don’t think a village rabbi will have the same impact.”

  “Perhaps your Esther would prefer a Persian king.”

  Adam didn’t take his meaning at first. When it dawned, he gasped, and his mind exploded with ideas. “Ahasuerus!”

  “As the Bible calls him, or Xerxes. Your objection isn’t to all costumes, I take it then, merely to foolish ones?”

  “The king and Esther… it would be perfect, but I doubt that the Haverford attics will lend themselves to such a costume.”

  “Perhaps not entirely but I have some things that may help. We could manage it quite nicely.”

  “You would do that for me, Elfingham? I’m grateful.”

  “James, please, if we’re to be co-conspirators.” He put out a hand to shake. “May I call you Adam?”

  Adam took the man’s hand. “Happily, James. The women won’t be able to ignore us tomorrow night at least.”

  “That they will not,” said James with a lupine gleam in his eyes. “That they will not.”

  * * *

  When she started wandering the halls midmorning, Esther told herself—and anyone who stopped to chat—that she wanted to take another tour of the fine art. In her heart, she knew better. For once, Adam ignored her, and she felt perversely curious about his whereabouts. He had gone off with Viscount Elfingham right after breakfast, and she found herself looking for him around every corner. At least he isn’t pursuing a lady. As if I would care!

  She couldn’t imagine what captured the two gentlemen’s attention. Neither seemed the sort to avoid the rest of the guests, even to escape Lady Stanton’s overt bigotry, Weasel’s idiocy, and some of the others’ fawning delight in “our exotic fellow guests.” Hythe obviously bore Elfingham some offense, but he had been perfectly amiable to Adam, as had the Grenfords and many of the others.

  Both appeared at luncheon, looking smug and pleased with themselves. Both followed some of the other gentlemen to the billiard room with every show of enthusiasm. She almost followed, but Felicity dragooned her into making final adjustments to their costumes.

  The day dragged on, and when Adam appeared at tea only to spend a half hour chatting about politics with the Marquis of Aldridge, she had a hard time keeping her eyes away from the two of them.

  “The marquis is lovely to look at,” Felicity moaned, “but entirely ineligible. A lady’s reputation is at risk merely being caught in conversation.”

  Esther murmured polite agreement. It wasn’t the marquis who interested her.

  Lord Jonathon Grenford joined their conversation. He insisted she call him Gren because, “everyone does.”

  “I understand you are an art expert,” he said with a teasing glint in his eyes.

  “Hardly! But I've had cause to learn,” she replied, enjoying his flirting.

  “Would you care for a stroll through the garden? The sun has blessed us this afternoon. A warm shawl might just do.”

  Felicity had left them to speak to Cedrica. Did she dare? She took his offered arm and allowed him to lead her out of the French doors under his mother’s pointed gaze. She hoped Adam saw them but didn’t dare look back.

  “I believe he watched,” Gren said. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  Heat reached Esther’s brows. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said primly.

  “Don’t you just?” Gren grinned. “Halevy misses nothing that you do.”

  “That’s because my father sent him to spy on me.”

  Gren’s bark of laughter startled the sparrows. “Come now, Miss Baumann. I don’t believe you are so innocent that you don’t understand the look in his eyes.”

  She frowned at the young man’s words. Even if Adam wants me, he is disagreeable and, and—She couldn’t think what.

  “Let’s give him cause to worry, shall we?” he asked, tugging her toward the hedges.

  She giggled when he pulled her by the hand and dashed for the stables once they were out of sight of the windows. In the gloom of the barn, he led her directly to a stall near the back.

  “Ah, there they are. Visiting Mama, are you?” he asked. Five—no, six—kittens of various colors wrestled in the straw while their snow-white mother looked on.

  “Goodness! The one who haunts my aunt’s room is gray and white. That one is tiger striped, and the one next to him is black and white. Do they have multiple mothers?”

  “Multiple fathers more like.” Gren reached down to pick one up. “Cats have no morals.”

  Like some men. Not Adam, though. He will be a steadfast husband and always there when his wife needs him. Whoever she might be, some poor girl who lets a man run her life.

  When they returned, he was gone, and he didn’t return when supper, a light repast since the costume ball loomed, was served.

  Neither the giggling girls nor even Lady Sophia’s determined cheer distracted her when she followed them all upstairs to dress for the ball. Why couldn’t Adam be as obliging as Hythe? She wondered if he would appear at the ball in so much as a mask, or even if he would attend it at all.

  Chapter 12

  Lady Jane Grey may not have been an inspired choice. Esther’s notion to dress entirely in gray from slippers to headdress had proven to be depressing. The dress, though lovely, faded into the background next to the colorful gowns of the others. She had briefly considered snatching the gray kitten from Aunt Dinah had named Muff and tucking him in her sleeve but took pity on him in the end. The kitten might have helped.

  Sophia looked glorious if somewhat stiff in her Elizabethan costume. Esther could tell her friend was distracted, however. She seemed to be scanning the room nervously, exactly as Esther herself was doing.

  Cedrica Grenford stunned in a shepherdess costume. Esther should never have listened to her business about English history as an improving activity.

  Weasel limped around, saying, “Richard the third, don’t you know,” to anyone who would listen. His hump teetered back and forth as he walked.

  There were knights in unimpressive armor, a friar, and some milkmaids who looked less than respectable. She saw the duchess escort one from the room.

  Two gentlemen in formal dress leaned gracefully against an ornate mantelpiece at one end of
the ballroom. Each wore a simple mask, one black and one white; neither wore a costume. Could one be Adam? Esther inched her way in that direction. She had not gone very far, however, when she realized her mistake. There could be no denying Aldridge’s confident posture and arrogant tilt of head. Is the one next to him Gren? The incorrigible flirt confirmed it with a wink and a cocky salute. At least he noticed her.

  A young lady rather scantily clad as a Greek goddess, Lady Miranda, she suspected, swooped in front of the brothers and drew their complete attention. Even at a distance, she could see them both shift into the role of charming rake, no costume needed. She pressed her lips together to suppress her amusement at their transparency. Adam would never do that. The thought came unbidden. She wasn’t sure it was welcome. Where is the wretch anyway?

  She continued her circuit of the room and found a few other gentlemen who opted for the simple mask. None were Adam. It would be just like him to turn up his nose at a costume ball and not even bother to wear a mask.

  A disturbance across the room caught her attention. Ladies fluttered around someone, obviously taken with a man’s costume. Curiosity kept her watching until the group shifted, parting so Esther had a good look. The man wore a costume of some sort of eastern potentate.

  “What’s this then?” the Weasel asked loudly. “Some Egyptian pharaoh?”

  Esther couldn’t hear the man’s reply, but he turned his gaze in her direction, and she forgot to breathe.

  “Persian king? You ain’t my half-breed cousin. Who are you?” the Weasel demanded.

  She heard the reply this time.