Then Ivy, somewhat in his cups, asked about Standings, trying to promote Adam’s courtship by recalling the mellow brick country home, the charming village and scenic vistas, the nearness to Newmarket. If Adam could have kicked his old friend under the table he would have, but Ivy had pushed his chair back. The last thing Adam wanted to speak of was his dilapidated estate, the fields left fallow for lack of funds to seed them, the boarded-up windows, the races that had taken all of his father’s money, or the needy townsfolk who went hungry because Standings could not provide employment. He could do more now, with his friends’ contributions to his coffers, but not enough. He wished Ivy would change the subject.
Ivy did. “I say, Adam, do you still have those magnificent Thoroughbreds of your father’s?”
That was worse. The horses were the first thing to be sold at the previous baronet’s demise. Beasdale already knew it, of course, since he held Adam’s father’s notes. Still, Adam hated having to admit that the horses were gone these past years.
“What about that vast stable block?”
That was the only thing about the estate that his father had maintained. “It is in good condition, empty except for a few hens and the plow horses.”
“And the training oval?”
Adam kicked at Lieutenant Cresswell’s leg, to get him to get Ivy to put a sock in it. Instead, Johnny yelped.
“Sorry,” Adam said. “And yes, the track is still there, so overgrown I have been letting the cows pasture there. I hope to plow it under, perhaps next spring. Why?”
Ivy nodded toward his father-in-law. “I promised Mr. Applegate that I would find work. I am of a mind to raise horses.”
Mr. Beasdale made a rude noise. “Can’t make any money off the hay-burners. Standish here ought to know. Ruined his father, didn’t they?”
“He was betting on the horses,” Ivy replied before Adam could respond. “I intend to sell them. And making a fortune is not the point. I married one, along with my beloved wife. But my esteemed father-in-law is correct: a man needs some direction in life, a goal, a purpose. I bear a useless honorary title, with no seat in the Lords, if I were inclined toward politics, which I am not. I have no profession and few skills beyond the dance floor and the card room—but I do know good horseflesh.”
“Always did,” the lieutenant agreed, lifting his glass in tribute to Lord Iverson’s equine expertise.
“And my wife shares my interest in horses.”
“Always did,” Mr. Applegate echoed.
“So what are you getting at?” Adam asked.
Mr. Beasdale seconded that: “Standings is entailed, so you cannot buy it.”
“Lud, I don’t want to purchase the place, I already have a country seat. I merely want to rent the stables and the training fields.”
“You have been drinking too much,” Adam told him, not daring to hope his friend was sober enough to make sense.
“What, a paltry few glasses of wine? I can hold my liquor better than that.”
“Always could,” Lieutenant Cresswell chimed in, which earned him frowns from Ivy and Mr. Applegate both.
“Seriously, Adam, I would like to take a long-term lease on those portions of Standings that were always given to the horses. And perhaps the dower house for when my wife and I come to supervise the efforts. You have not rented out the cottage, have you?”
At Adam’s stupefied head shake, Ivy went on: “You would not be bothered, for I truly do not mind hard work, and can hire your extra laborers to help get the place in shape this winter. You won’t need them until spring, correct? After that, I’ll bring in my own grooms and trainers, unless you can recommend local men.”
Adam thought of the head stableman who had stayed on, simply because Adam could not pay him a pension. He thought of the villagers, and he thought of beautiful horses again running on his land. He thought of a steady income, and he thought of Miss Relaford. He thought he might stand on Mr. Beasdale’s dining-room table and crow like a rooster, if only his friend were not too castaway to remember in the morning.
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Mr. Applegate said. “My gal won’t be happy unless she has horses.”
Mr. Beasdale was doing mental calculations, coming up with numbers that made Adam’s head spin, but Applegate just nodded.
Ivy tried to convince Adam by saying, “You won’t have to do a thing except collect the rent.”
Not do a thing? Adam could do everything he had wanted to for years! He could fix his tenants’ houses, invest in modern equipment, refurbish his own home. He could make Standings a profitable, self-supporting establishment fit for a lady, even a wealthy one. He . . . could not take advantage of his friend’s state of mind. Newly married, recently made wealthy, buoyed by love and afloat in alcohol, Ivy might regret the whole scheme in the morning, if he remembered it at all. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t you and your lady wife come to Standings for Christmas to look over the situation for yourselves, to see just how much work will need to be done before you can bring a horse there? You are invited also, Mr. Applegate, and your family, to help your daughter decide if she could live, even part of the year, in the dower house. Standings is no elegant country mansion, and I can only offer plain country fare, but I will have a fortnight to decorate and make it festive for you for Christmas.”
Then he turned toward Lieutenant Cresswell. “And you, Johnny. You know you do not wish to spend the holiday here in town without your own family, so please come. There is good shooting, parties at the neighbors, and Squire has three pretty daughters.”
The lieutenant was delighted. “I can bring my father’s London staff, too, to help get the place ready for company. They’ll like the time in the country—and the raises I will see they get. And the chef likes nothing better than to show off for guests. Thank you. I accept.”
Adam looked at Mr. Beasdale. He cleared his throat. “I would be honored if you and your niece would come to my home, humble though it might be, for Christmas. We will have carols and skating and a Yule log, all the traditions of a country Christmas I think Miss Relaford will enjoy. And . . . and I would greatly enjoy having her there.”
What could Mr. Beasdale say, when his old friend Applegate was waiting on his answer, when Iverson was so eager to go, when they all knew Sir Adam for an honorable man—and when the baronet’s future was so suddenly turned rosy? If he said no, his niece would never forgive him and he’d lose her anyway.
“I do wish you would come,” Adam quietly urged.
“Well, then, ask the girl. It’s up to her. If she wants to go, I suppose the bank can get along without me for a few days. Frye can take my place. Looks like he won’t be taking anything else, deuce take it.”
9
Beasdale might have agreed to visit the rundown rural holding. He might have given his unspoken, begrudging approval of Sir Adam’s suit, but he had not given up. He insisted on leading off the first dance with his niece. Then he claimed she ought to dance with Lord Iverson, while he had a set with the redheaded bride.
Having done his duty by his goose-cap dinner partner and by an arrogant Iverson cousin who complained about the low company after eating at the banker’s table, Adam was free to seek out the partner he wanted.
Frye was there ahead of him. He wished . . . he wished . . . Before Adam could think of anything dire enough that would not set the house on fire or cause panic among the ladies, Jenna put her hand on his arm.
“I am sorry, Mr. Frye, but I did promise this set to Sir Adam.”
Lud, Adam wondered, why had he not thought of that, merely wishing that she would choose him?
She had, and the small orchestra started to play a waltz.
“Do you think we might sit this dance out? That is, not sit, but stroll a bit, perhaps to the library?” Adam asked.
What, after she had been waiting all week for this dance? Jenna refused, saying it would not be proper for the hostess to disappear on her own.
It would be proper enough if
she returned as an engaged woman. Adam could not ask for a private conversation of that nature here, though, not with so many eyes on them. “But I am not a very good dancer.”
“Gammon, I saw you with Lord Iverson’s cousin.” Jenna was careful to keep her jealousy of the elegant, well-bred female out of her voice. “You did very well.”
Adam made a last try. “But that was not a waltz. The dance is slow to catch on in the country, you know, so I am woefully inept.” He was clumsy at wooing, too, it seemed, if he could not get her to go off with him.
“The waltz is quite simple, and I really would like to dance.”
“Well, then, I can only hope I do not disappoint you.”
He did not. With Jenna in his arms, even as loosely held as society dictated, his feet found the rhythm on their own, while his mind’s attention was on how glorious she felt, how her perfume teased his senses, how the velvet gown made soft swishing sounds as she moved in the turns of the dance. He twirled more, just to bring their bodies closer together.
As for Jenna, she felt as if her feet barely touched the ground, as if she were dancing on clouds. She forgot the party and the guests, and forgot to step out of Adam’s embrace when the music ended. Luckily, the orchestra struck up another waltz.
Frye came toward them, noted their matching starry-eyed expressions, shrugged his shoulders, turned, and asked another heiress for a dance.
Without asking, Adam swept Jenna into their second waltz, but this time he turned and twirled, dancing right out the drawing-room door, down the hall, and into the softly lighted library.
They could still hear the music, and danced on until it ended, but close enough to shock any would-be witnesses. The only one to see, though, was the dog Lucky, which was curled up by the fireplace, waiting for the scraps after supper. Adam and Jenna ended the dance with a kiss that would have sent Beasdale into apoplexy for certain. Lucky wagged his tail once and went back to sleep.
“I should not have done that,” Adam said in apology, although he did not regret the kiss one whit.
“I am sure there must be a bit of mistletoe around, so it is perfectly acceptable. A Christmas kiss, you know.”
Was that all she thought it was? Lud, Adam was going about this all wrong. He took a step away from her, so he could think better. “I, ah, brought you here to ask a question.”
Jenna’s smile could have lit a hundred libraries. “Yes?”
“Would you come to Standings for Christmas? Your uncle says he will, if you will. A few others are coming, a small gathering only, nothing formal, you see, for I cannot provide . . . That is, Ivy is thinking of renting my stables to set up a racing stud, and so I can . . .” He took a breath and started again. “Well, he is coming to see if he likes it, with his wife, of course, and her family, so then I invited Johnny Cresswell, who would be alone in town otherwise, and he will bring his chef so we don’t have to eat mutton every day which is about all . . . Um, I was hoping—”
“Yes, I would be pleased to come visit at your home.”
“—That you might come to see if you like it, and might want to stay. Did you say yes?”
“Yes.”
So he kissed her again, mistletoe or not, and soon had her seated in a big leather armchair that was not really designed for two people, but was more than comfortable, with Jenna sitting in his lap.
“You do know,” he said, “that if you come, I do not think I can ever bear to let you go again?”
“Where would I go, when I only wish to be by your side?”
That called for more kisses, until Adam recalled the rest of his mission. “You do know how much I love you, don’t you?”
“Tell me.”
He showed her instead, whispering soft, tender words between kisses. “And we can be married there? You will make me the happiest of men, if I am not already?”
“Uncle can procure us a special license. We can be married anywhere you wish.”
“Lud, I never thought so many wishes could come true. Do you know that almost the first time I saw you I wished I could take you home with me as a present, a perfect Christmas angel to keep for myself.”
“What, to unwrap and put on a shelf?” she said with a laugh.
“No, to keep by my side, to cherish forever. Although the unwrapping part does sound lovely.” His fingers gently touched the edge of her gown’s neckline, skimming the creamy flesh that rose above.
Jenna’s hands were on his neck, his shoulders, his well-muscled chest. “And I wished to get to know you better the first time you smiled at me.”
“Do you believe in love at first sight, then?”
“I do now.”
“What about wishes? Do you believe that if you wish for something, perhaps on a lucky coin, it can come true?”
“Why not? There must be magic in the world, or I never would have found you.”
“I am beginning to believe that, too. So much that I wished for has happened. You love me, and your uncle will give us his blessings, Standings is saved, and we will have friends surrounding us, as well as my grateful tenants. And you love me,” he repeated. “Surely I am the luckiest man who ever lived.”
Hearing his name, the dog wagged his tail again, thumping it on the hearth.
“I even have a good dog, although your uncle hinted he might like to take Lucky back to town with him, so he does not miss you too much. The dog certainly seems content and well fed here, and Beasdale would be lonely.”
“That is one of the reasons I love you so, because you are always thinking of others, even my uncle.”
“How can I not be generous, when all my wishes have come true, except for one?”
“Which one is that? I’ll speak to my uncle. My dowry . . .”
He touched a finger to her lips that were rosy from his kisses. “No, there is nothing money can purchase. What I really wanted, what I kept wishing, was that I were worthy of your love.” He gave a rueful chuckle. “Nothing ever happened.”
“Of course not, my foolish love. For you always were worthy. You always will be, good luck or bad, for the rest of our lives. I only wish we live long enough to see our children’s children grow up.”
And they did, and gave each one a lucky coin at Christmas.
Following Yonder Star
by Emma Jensen
Portsmouth, 10 December, 1807
Dear Alice,
Forgive my tardiness in replying to your most recent letter. I have little excuse other than to say I had not imagined the preparations that would be necessary for my ship’s departure. My mind and time have been wholly occupied with a beckoning sea.
No, Alice, that is not entirely true, and we have always been so open, so honest, you and I. Near ten years of acquaintance and affection has made lying to you an unpleasant, perhaps impossible act. I shall not begin now. I have a greater excuse for not writing. I have been for these weeks debating how to reply. Your letters have been so cheerful, so informative of the happenings in our little corner of Kildare. You succeed so well at bringing me right into Mrs. Logan’s parlor, full of lace doilies and invasive cat hair, into your grandfather’s study and its smell of gunpowder. Such news as the safe delivery of a fine colt to David Doon’s prize mare and a finer boy to his wife on the very same day made me smile, and I do agree that David’s celebrating was probably equally divided between the two new lives.
I digress here. I could happily recount all the news you’ve written to me, anything to keep from having to say what needs to be said. I sail out within the sennight for the Mediterranean and points beyond. I will serve in His Majesty’s navy until such time as I am no longer needed. After that, only God knows. With luck, I will see the world. There is no need at all for me in Kilcullen. Arthur will succeed our father someday; he will marry and have a son and I will be one more fortunate step from the title and its responsibilities.
I wish my departure could have been different. No doubt I should wish that I could be different. I cannot. Our charact
ers are formed long before we have the will or ability to forge them. Forgive me, Alice. I will not be returning to Kilcannon for the holidays. I do not know when or if I will return at all.
Yours ever,
Gareth
1
Kilcullen, County Kildare, 1815
Alice Ashe, like the tree from which some diminutive and distant ancestor had taken his surname, had grown up to be flexible. At the moment, she was crouched atop a ladder in the corner of the drawing room, one hand gripping the plaster ivy garland that ringed the molding, the other a garland of very real, very prickly holly.
She had suggested that perhaps this was a task for one of the house’s very able footmen. The suggestion, sensible as it was, had not been well received.
“Honestly, Alice,” Lady Kilcullen had scolded from her spot on the overstuffed sofa, “there are simply some matters one cannot leave to the servants.”
Decorating massive Kilcullen House for the coming holidays was apparently one of those matters. And Alice did not mind, or wouldn’t have, if she’d had the time to spare. But there were a great many matters that Lady Kilcullen did see fit to leave to the servants, including some she quite probably should not. Alice was now responsible for the book-keeping, the stores, and the staff itself. She had joined the household on the assumption that she would be seeing to the needs of its lady. Half a year later, she was running the house.
She tried not to think of the dozen or so duties yet to be done that day as she fumbled with the holly. “Higher,” Lady Kilcullen commanded from below. Alice sighed, ignored yet another holly prickle in her thumb, and raised the garland.
She was doing her very best to regard her companion with peace and goodwill. After all, the Dowager Countess of Kilcullen had been widowed a mere six months. Always pampered, accustomed to a great deal of attention and little exertion, Clarissa Kilcullen was oppressed by mourning, depressed by solitude. This would be her first Christmas not only without her husband, but without the heady round of festivities that rang out the Irish year.
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