Holly and Hopeful Hearts

by Caroline Warfield

  * * *

  In the end, it took two days, particularly after Esther pointed out a nasty loophole regarding control of their daughters’ dowries, at which Aldridge sent to London for their family solicitor. By December thirtieth, the settlement draft was complete.

  Adam worked at a desk in his room, translating the ketubah into English—to the traditional passages in which he agreed to protect and provide for his wife, assure her of her rights to the marriage bed, and ensure her sustenance, he added, “and educate her sons and daughters in the faith of our fathers.”

  He included the sum he agreed to as his portion of the more complex settlements and stared down at it for several moments. Baumann’s contribution dwarfed his. He picked up the pen and added, “and to protect her dowry with all due care.” Let Mrs. Lipson make of that what she will.

  He looked over at the clock on the chest of drawers. They had agreed to meet in the gold drawing room at ten. The duchess seemed determined to make an event of what would normally be a private event. There had been a brief uproar over the date of the wedding when the duchess suggested they wed on the day of her ball by special license, but, of course, Jews didn’t use special licenses. They were exempt from the Hardwicke Act, and their own law and custom required at least a thirty-day period between the agreement and the marriage.

  Baumann and Esther already argued about the wait, with his love asking for a date as soon as they could arrange a wedding, and Baumann insisting it would take months to arrange “a proper wedding,” by which he meant one that would turn London on its ear. Adam could only hope she won out, but he suspected Baumann would be ruthless in getting his own way.

  As it was, he had hardly seen Esther in two days and certainly had not had any opportunity to get her alone. Her father chaperoned her tightly, and even her aunt woke up enough to keep her protected.

  With the translation in his pocket, he detoured toward the rooms of the lady guests and lurked on the landing, hope in his heart. Her footsteps alerted him when she left her room, and a quick look down the hall assured him of privacy. She jumped when he snaked an arm out to pull her close but quickly wrapped her own arms around him and returned his kiss.

  “I’ve needed that.” He sighed.

  “Aunt Dinah’s on her way,” Esther warned. “We only have a minute.”

  “I wanted to tell you I’m leaving as soon as the settlements are signed.”

  “You aren’t staying for the ball?” She frowned.

  “They’ll only allow me a dance or two if I stay, and, Esther, I’m not sure I can be nearby and not be able to touch you,” he explained. She looked smug at that, his not-so-innocent darling. “Besides, I need to find a house. I promised to shelter you, remember?”

  The sound of a door made them take a step apart, and he offered his arm properly as Aunt Dinah approached.

  Their fellow guests packed the drawing room. As he surmised, the duchess had outdone herself. Champagne on ice and trays of wine flutes were at the ready along with iced cakes. He had no doubt Baumann planned a formal—and lengthy—blessing for the occasion. An inlaid mahogany library table had been drawn up in the center of the room with a legal-looking document and an excessively fluffy quill on it. Baumann sat there, tapping his knee impatiently.

  “Shall we?” he asked when Adam entered.

  Both men signed the settlement papers, to the polite congratulations of the company.

  “Wait,” Adam said, still seated after his turn to sign. “While not usual, I wish to add something.” On the bottom of the settlement, he wrote, “I, Esther Baumann, have seen and agree to this,” and prayed the solicitor wouldn't have fits or demand to do it over. He stood held out a hand to Esther, who grinned when he helped her to the chair and handed her the quill.

  She signed in a dainty hand and looked up at him. “And the ketubah?”

  He unrolled the document he had written out in English under the curious eyes of their non-Jewish friends and began to read it. Esther listened as intently as the others. At “and daughters,” he heard a whispered, “Bravo!” from Sophia Belvoir.

  “It is our custom to sign this contract at the wedding, and it is necessary that the formal copy be in Aramaic,” Adam explained. “I’ll ask a calligrapher to create a beautiful document for Esther, one she can display in our home. However, for the sake of this company, with all of you as witnesses, I would like to suggest Esther and I sign this English copy as a pledge of our love.”

  Esther looked up at him, stunned, tears pooling in her eyes. Had he misstepped? She looked down at the translation he had given her, quill poised in one hand, and didn’t move. He waited, holding his breath. The entire crowd around them waited. Her father looked like an explosion was building.

  I did everything I could think of! What more does she want? He couldn’t stand it any longer. He took the quill from her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the room at large. “Esther and I need to talk.” Before anyone could stop him, he had her out the door, down the hall, and into a small alcove.

  “What do—” he began.

  Esther stopped him with her lips, standing on tiptoe and weeping tears into his mouth. “It is beautiful, Adam, perfect,” she said between kisses.

  He didn’t pretend to understand women, but he took full advantage, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless and panting. He pulled away and leaned his forehead on hers. “Are you going to marry me, Esther?”

  “Of course! What do you think, you nodcock?”

  “Then sign the blasted paper, so everyone knows it.”

  Her mouth tilted in wide smile. “Anything you say, Adam. I plan to be a very submissive wife.”

  He chuckled. “I doubt it, love, but luckily, I have a very open heart.”

  About Caroline Warfield

  Traveler, would-be adventurer, librarian, technology manager—Caroline Warfield has been many things, but above all, she has always been a romantic. Now she writes historical romance. Enamored of owls, books, history, and beautiful gardens, she sits in an office surrounded by windows while her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far flung corners of the British Empire, and she nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all—the human heart.

  Website: http://www.carolinewarfield.com/

  Facebook https://www.facebook.com/carolinewarfield7

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/CaroWarfield

  Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/warfieldcaro/

  Other Books by Caroline Warfield

  Dangerous Works

  A little Greek is one thing; the art of love is another. Only Andrew ever tried to teach Lady Georgiana both.

  * * *

  Dangerous Secrets

  Jamie will do anything, even enter a sham marriage with his employer, to protect a little child. Will love—and the truth—bind them both together?

  * * *

  Dangerous Weakness

  The marquess will chase her as far as he needs to—even into pirate-infested waters—to protect her. Can he win her love as well?

  * * *

  A Dangerous Nativity

  With Christmas coming, can the Earl of Chadbourn repair a damaged estate and a far more damaged family? Will he find love in the bargain?

  * * *

  The Renegade Wife

  Rand may be a reluctant hero, but he quickly realized Meggy and her children needed protection. Now she’s gone again, and time is running out for him to save them all.

  A Suitable Husband

  Chapter 6

  New Year’s Eve

  That was it?

  One magical dance? One enchanted hour in the moonlight? One kiss that thrilled her to the soles of her feet and left her tingling even days later?

  And then nothing?

  Perhaps not quite nothing, for his eyes followed her whenever she entered his realm, intent and sad. But whatever else she had expected, it had not happened. No declaration. No stolen moments. N
o whispered avowals of regard.

  He behaved as if their time together had not happened and not changed the complexion of the entire world, destroying even her haven in his kitchen. No longer did she relax when she sat at the table watching the kitchen servants scurrying to his command. Far from it.

  Being in the same room with him was painful. Her heart ached, and not just her heart. She had but to look at him to remember the touch of his lips, his hands, his body pressed against hers. Memories were pale ghostly substitutes for the real thing but enough to have her stirring restlessly and cutting her visits short.

  Not that she had much time to brood. With most of the ladies’ committee succumbing to Cupid’s assault and absorbed in their suitors, Cedrica was busier than ever. Even her co-hosts had fallen victim. Sophia had left yesterday to join Lord Elfingham in London and, Cedrica hoped, would marry him there, and Grace had made up her quarrel with her Lord Nicholas and spent every moment she could with him.

  Cedrica co-opted Esther Baumann to help. Esther’s courtship had prospered, but her suitor had returned to London so giving her work to do was a kindness.

  Esther was in the small sitting room that Sophia had dubbed the Command Tent, writing letters to every house with pretensions to gentility within a two-hour ride of Hollystone Hall. She looked up as Cedrica joined her. “Almost done,” she said. “If all these people agree, we shall be able to billet half of Society on the neighbors.”

  “Which is to the good, Esther, for I swear Her Grace has invited the better part of Society, and if they all come, we shall be inviting dukes and earls to share their horses’ beds!”

  “It will not be as bad as that,” the duchess soothed, startling Cedrica who had not heard her enter the room. “Most of them are too far away to travel for a single night’s entertainment, but if they send a bank note for our Fund, I shall be pleased enough.”

  The size to which the fund had grown was astounding, far outstripping the colossal amount the duchess had spent on the house party, but the New Year’s Eve Ball would bring in as much again, with each guest paying for their ticket and further opportunities to donate in the course of the evening.

  “There.” Esther blotted the letter she had been writing. “That is the last. I shall see to these being delivered.” She gathered up the bundle of sealed letters and went to find the senior footman whose job it was to send grooms to the neighbors with Her Grace’s missives.

  The duchess took a seat by the window and gestured for Cedrica to join her. Her Grace had not been in this room since before the house party, contenting herself with daily reports and quick consultations wherever she happened to be during the day. Whoever did the bulk of the work, Cedrica was in no doubt that Her Grace was firmly in charge of the entire event, knew exactly what went on under her roof, and would step in if the ladies made a decision that was not to her liking.

  Had that happened? Had she done something the duchess disapproved of?

  “Did you need me for something, Aunt Eleanor?”

  The duchess’ reply was cryptic. “I think perhaps you need me for something, my dear.”

  Cedrica sat, her mind racing as she reviewed all the ways she might have fallen short of Her Grace’s high standards.

  “When I saw you slip away with your Sun King, I thought you had found the path to your future, Cedrica, but since then, nothing. Or am I mistaken? Are you and your suitor keeping your agreement secret for some reason? You do not seem happy, dear child, and that simply will not do.”

  Cedrica opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. Her Grace could not possibly know…

  The duchess was silent, too, her face alive with interest, her head on one side as if she would listen forever, if that was how long it took for Cedrica to think of something to say.

  “You do not understand, Your Gr—Aunt Eleanor.”

  “I would like to. I am an interfering old woman, my dear, but I wish you well, you know. And Monsieur Fournier, too. Yes, Cedrica, I did recognize him in my husband’s Louis XIV costume and that ancient wig.”

  Suddenly, Cedrica found herself pouring the whole story into the duchess’s sympathetic ears. Everything: the first unfortunate clashes, the growing attraction, the quiet times in the kitchen, the chef’s surprising appearance at the costume party, and what came of it.

  At length, the duchess gave her a hug and handed her a handkerchief. “So, he thinks you are far above him and is being noble about it.”

  Cedrica, who had somehow arrived on the rug at Her Grace’s feet and was weeping into the noble lady’s gown, looked up in surprise. “Is that what he is doing?”

  “Yes, of course. Silly romantic boy.”

  Cedrica blotted her eyes and blew her nose. The duchess did not sound disapproving. Quite the contrary. “You do not mind? You do not think I would be marrying beneath me?”

  “Does it matter what I think, my dear? Unless you are thinking of the dowry Aldridge promised?”

  “I do not care about the dowry. Monsieur Fournier has plans… But, Aunt Eleanor, I care about your good opinion.”

  The duchess said nothing, smiling gently, one brow slightly arched.

  Cedrica felt as she had in the village schoolroom when suddenly she knew the answer to a question that had eluded her for days. “But not as much as I care about Monsieur Fournier. I am sorry if you disapprove, Aunt Eleanor, but I will marry him if he will have me.”

  The duchess beamed with all the delight of a dedicated teacher. “Excellent. You do realize that you will have to ask him, Cedrica? Men can be so foolish.” She shook her head fondly. “Off you go. This is a quiet time in the kitchen, is it not? Take your Monsieur Fournier for a walk. If any problems arise while you and Esther are occupied, I am sure I shall manage.”

  Cedrica hesitated a moment more and then startled them both with an impulsive hug. “Thank you, Aunt Eleanor.”

  In the kitchen, she went straight to his side before she lost her nerve.

  “Monsieur Fournier,” she said, “I need a word with you. Will you spare me a moment, please?”

  Monsieur Fournier said nothing but nodded and gave the ladle he was holding to his assistant. Cedrica looked back as she led him out of the kitchen and along the passage that led to the outside door. He was frowning, but he still followed.

  She stopped just inside the door and helped herself to one of the warm serviceable coats. His frown had given way to puzzlement, but he shrugged into one of the other coats and continued to follow her around the house and across the short bridge to the sleeping rose garden in which they had kissed.

  He held back when she made straight for the arbor and sat down, and he shook his head, his eyes wary and alarmed, when she patted the bench beside her. Oh, dear. Was she about to make an enormous fool of herself?

  Cedrica swallowed against the sudden constriction in her throat. “Monsieur Fournier…” What did one say? The etiquette guides for young ladies gave no instructions for such an occasion. “You cannot be unaware that I have come to hold you in the highest esteem…”

  But he was shaking his head. “Non. No. Cherie, you must not. You pay me a great compliment, but I cannot.” Through a film of tears, she saw him backing away. “I will not. Ah, cherie, do not cry.” Two steps and he was kneeling at her feet, attempting to dry her eyes with the corner of his apron. “You would grow to hate yourself and me if I dishonored you so.”

  Suddenly, she was angry. “How dare you decide what dishonors me? To marry out of my class is a dishonor? You are very wrong! Even if I belonged in this frivolous world, you would be wrong. Condemn me to a cold and lonely life if you do not love me as I have come to love you,” she caught a long shuddering breath, “but do not dare pretend you do it for my sake.”

  He was staring at her as if she had grown a second head. “Marry?” he asked.

  “Of course ‘marry.’ What did you think I was…? Marcel! I am a vicar’s daughter.”

  “Marry.” He was grinning broadly. “I never imag
ined… Are you sure, Mademoiselle?” He had both her hands now and was smothering them with kisses. “I cannot give you the life you have here. I could perhaps manage a small apartment. I have money saved, but it would not be what you are used to.”

  “Marcel, this is not the life I am used to. I am the daughter of a vicar, who was himself the son of a clerk in a counting house. My ducal connections are so far back that I cannot even tell you how distant a cousin Lord Aldridge is. I am used to a life of counting pennies, and I am good at making do, I promise.”

  “You deserve to be dressed in silks and have maids to tend you.”

  “And be cold and lonely?” she asked again.

  His response was a kiss, which was very satisfactory, and little was said in the arbor for some time.

  Eventually, though, Cedrica returned to the topic of their future. “We must not dip into your savings for the restaurant, Marcel. When we have enough saved, we can open Fournier’s of London and live above it in a little apartment.”

  “It could be three years, my own, and I do not wish to wait.”

  “I shall work, too,” she assured him. “The duchess will let me stay, I think, and she pays me a salary and my keep.”

  “The duchess may turn you off if she knows you plan to marry a chef, Rica.”

  She smiled at her new nickname, the ‘r’ rolled over Marcel’s tongue. “She knows. She sent me to you. I’ll forfeit the dowry Lord Aldridge promised if I married a ‘suitable’ gentleman, but I told her I did not care about that, and she smiled. She will be happy for us, Marcel.”

  “Is it so?” he marveled.

  “Yes. And I should return and tell her that we are betrothed. We are betrothed, are we not?”