“I like Chrithmath,” Marie said. “Cook thaith we can help make thome thweeth.”
Ruthie nodded agreement.
“Dried fruits are one of my favourite parts about this season,” Elizabeth agreed, “but food and gifts are not what Christmas is about.”
“Baby Jesus,” little Ruthie said around the thumb in her mouth.
“I don’t see what the fuss is all about!” Josiah said and then covered his mouth. “I am sorry, Lizzie. I did not mean to say that aloud.”
Josiah was the one who remembered his mother best since he was the eldest at eleven, which was why he still called Elizabeth by her given name, much though it was frowned upon by the dowagers of the neighbourhood.
“I think it is normal to question what Christmas is all about,” she said carefully. “Sometimes it is hard to understand why we celebrate the birth of a baby born hundreds of years ago.”
The children had lost their mother the previous year, at the festive season, and Elizabeth did not know if they had been included in the Christmas celebrations. She doubted it very much, for in most gently bred households it was deemed an adult festivity. Having always disagreed with this fashionable custom, she wanted to make her own Christmas traditions and ensure this Feast of Stephen was special for all of them. Hopefully, Lord Bergen would not ruin it.
“Maybe you will understand better after the pageant,” she said to Josiah. He shrugged his shoulders and looked away. “Why do you not leave Clarence in the stable at the vicarage until we are ready for him? I doubt very much that he is trained to be indoors,” Elizabeth said with a smile. Clarence smiled back at her and shook his head as though in answer. The children laughed, Josiah included.
They entered the church and Elizabeth’s heart began to race when she saw Lord Bergen standing at the altar with the vicar, holding a baby. Even her womb turned over at the sight of him with a child and she cursed her body’s reaction to him. Then she felt guilty for cursing, even under her breath, inside a church.
“Ah, there is the star of the pageant!” the vicar said in greeting.
Elizabeth and the girls walked down the aisle. “I think the baby Jesus is the star,” she corrected.
“No, the thar is up there,” Marie pointed to the star which had been hung on the ceiling.
“I see you have already decided to move the pageant indoors,” Elizabeth noted, looking around the nave.
“Yes, yes. It is much too cold,” Vicar Brown agreed.
Lord Bergen left the altar and handed the baby back to its mother, a local seamstress, who was sitting in the front pew. He knelt down to look Marie in the eye.
“You are correct, but I think your mama meant that the baby is the most special part.”
“Oh.” She thought about this for a moment and then nodded. “Yeth he ith.”
“Shall we take our places?” the vicar asked. “Wise men stand over here…” He pointed to the left side. “…and stay back until after the baby is born. Mrs. Groom will play a song and I will read the Christmas story from Luke.”
“Joseph will walk Mary down the aisle with the donkey and kneel before the manger.”
Lord Bergen had taken her arm to lead her to the rear of the church and Elizabeth shivered. This was getting out of hand!
“The needth a baby in her middle!” Marie insisted loudly, and Elizabeth could have died where she was, at that very moment.
Elizabeth turned back to the front of the church and noted that the vicar’s cheeks were quite red. She could not look at Lord Bergen for fear of what he might say. Then he leaned near to her and whispered in her ear:
“Marie is a very wise girl.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, ignoring the connotations of his words. It was a very sore point in her chest for Elizabeth, not having been blessed with a child, and she wanted one of her own so very badly.
Marie was being consoled by Aunt Jane, who was explaining that they would use a pillow to make it look as though Mary was about to have a baby and then they would remove it after they arrived at the manger.
Marie was frowning and did not seem satisfied. Elizabeth was praying silently that the child would not continue. She did not wish to have this discussion in front of anyone, let alone Lord Bergen, who was still standing too close. She should move away, but his size and warmth were somehow comforting while also unsettling.
“Why are you frowning?” he asked.
She gazed up into his blue eyes; all at once it was hard to find words. She turned away so she could think.
“I-I was just wondering how to deal with Marie.”
“It looks as if Aunt Jane has taken care of the problem for you. Shall we?”
Elizabeth looked up, and sure enough, the three youngsters were happily holding their gifts of ‘gold’, ‘frankincense’ and ‘myrrh’, and looking at them expectantly.
“And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so, it was, that while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.”
Bergen led Elizabeth down the aisle. “Is Clarence not to rehearse with us?” he asked.
“Oh! We left him in the stables.”
“We can rehearse the play once more with him.”
“I think that would be a good idea.”
As they reached the front and knelt behind the manger, Aunt Jane came hustling in with a pillow.
“What are you doing, woman?” the vicar asked, his voice raised.
“Are you so stupid you have to ask? Did you not hear Marie insisting on Mary being with child?”
The vicar looked to the statue of Christ in exasperation. Elizabeth stared at him with widened eyes, fearing what was coming next. Forestalling any further argument from Aunt Jane or prosing from the vicar, she filled the sudden silence.
“We will practice again with Clarence and I will pretend to be with child,” she said sharply.
“No, we mutht do it properly, like the Bible thayth.”
Josiah ran out to fetch Clarence, while Elizabeth clenched her teeth. She wanted nothing more than to run outside herself and go home.
Lord Bergen was too close; he whispered in her ear again. “All will be well. There is no harm in doing it properly.”
Elizabeth needed a glass of wine. Instead, Lord Bergen practically lifted her up and ushered her off into an ante-room so she might stuff a pillow under her dress. Why, oh why, had she thought she could take this part?
“Shall I help you with that?” Lord Bergen asked. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes.
Elizabeth slammed the door in his face and wondered how she was supposed to hold a pillow under her dress and it not fall out but be accessible to remove behind the manger.
“Who would have thought the Christmas story would be so complicated?” she asked herself before walking awkwardly back into the nave.
“You look splendid with child,” Bergen said in response to her reappearance. He was waiting just outside the door.
“Let us have this over with,” she muttered.
Bergen helped her to hold the pillow in place with the arm he was guiding her with, and she refrained from reprimanding him, because she could not have done it otherwise. Clarence pranced with glee when he saw him, and Elizabeth was afraid the whole pageant would become a farce.
“Take your places, everyone!” the vicar shouted. The music began softly, and the vicar read the passage again.
After they knelt behind the manger, Bergen lifted her skirt and discreetly pulled the pillow out. Elizabeth tried to keep her thoughts pure, but unfortunately, when his hand brushed her leg, other thoughts pervaded. The vicar was reading, and the baby was brought from somewhere and was placed in her arms. Liz Elizabeth wanted to cry as she laid him in the manger.
Then Bergen’s arm wrapped around her again. To her astonishment, he seemed completely unaffected by the whole s
cene.
The children came before the manger and presented their gifts. Elizabeth tried to smile at them and nodded her head in encouragement, but she wanted the rehearsal to be over—and she needed to be far away from Lord Bergen. She had to find a way to resist his charms.
Chapter 5
“What an odd adornment for an animal!” The vicar wiped sweat away from over his eyes as he rolled the blue amulet over and over in his hands. Clarence stood still, his gaze intent on the old vicar’s face.
Bergen could see what appeared to be some attachment to the piece of jewellery from the donkey. For now, he and Elizabeth had agreed it might be better if Clarence not wear it, in the event that it be seen by the gypsy Bergen had heard discussing the animal’s whereabouts.
“And you say young Josiah is keeping this for safekeeping for the donkey?” The vicar talked as he continued to examine the stone.
The donkey nodded and Bergen laughed. He would swear the donkey understood what was being discussed. Vicar Brown had wanted to meet before the final play rehearsal and the room was extremely warm. The odd foursome—the vicar, Bergen, Elizabeth and Clarence—stood inside the church office while the children were at the altar with the church curate and a lady volunteering from the village, reviewing the previous night’s practice.
“Yes. There is rather more to the story than you may have supposed. I am afraid he came with it. And I agree, Vicar; we felt it was an odd piece, as well. In fact, it seems to have created a bit of a problem for Clarence, as his previous owners felt he was cursed. His previous owner belonged to a troupe of gypsies who happened to be camped not far from the Cock Inn. My room overlooked the encampment and it was not difficult to overhear their discussion. It is my fear that, after abandoning the poor animal, they may be interested in his collar.” Bergen watched the vicar’s reaction, carefully, curious as to the cleric’s thoughts of the odd jewel.
“You have certainly had an interesting stay at the inn, my lord.” He chortled and then cleared his throat. “I believe it is owned by two of our long-standing parishioners. I will mention you to them, if that would be acceptable. They are most supportive of our little church.”
“Certainly. The story behind our acquiring Clarence is most unusual, and I would like your insight on it. First, do you mind if I open the window just a bit?” Bergen did not wait to have an answer before he pulled up on the casement and opened the window. Clarence was behaving himself, but he already knew the animal well enough to know fresh air could become necessary at any moment.
“Yes, yes. Pray, go on.” The vicar steadied himself against the corner of his desk and tilted his head to show he was listening.
Bergen continued, “I was retiring for the night and had a window open slightly to allow some fresh air into the room.” Observing the vicar’s frown, he said apologetically, “I find I cannot sleep without. The dormitory at school was exceeding cold; I expect that is why. Anyway, to proceed with the tale. The gypsies were rather loud, and their voices carried into my room on the late-evening breeze.” Not for a king’s ransom would he admit to sitting beneath the window and listening like a common eavesdropper. Still, he was interested in what the vicar might know.
“He appears to be such a young donkey, but curiously, calm.” The older man laid the donkey’s amulet down and searched out a book from a small wooden bookshelf which sat on the opposite corner of the worn oak desk from where he perched. “Ah! Here it is.” He waved the small brown book, opened at a page. “I thought I recalled seeing this. It has to do with the colour of the stone and the shape in the middle of the blue stone. Let me read you what it says. Ah…here it is.” His fat forefinger followed the text as he read it.
Those of whom a blue star-beam hears
Shalt know but the truth spok’n to their ears
And should the stone ornament a yoke,
So, the wearer shall follow all that be spoke…
What then be said hold true and sincere,
Forever, Amen, throughout the years.
“Clarence, you appear to be an object of truth!” Bergen burst into laughter, joined by Elizabeth. “No wonder the troupe thought the animal cursed. I recall they spoke of horse-dealing that had not exactly been successful.” He reached over and stroked Clarence behind the ears. “It is perfect that you will be the donkey for this Christmas play, little man.” The little donkey bared his clenched teeth and nodded, appearing to smile. “I believe you are understanding what we say, after all. I am not sure that is always wise, you know, sir.” Bergen laughed.
“How odd you should say that, my lord. Sometimes the truth can be a curse in itself.” The old vicar appeared to consider this information. “And I should add that the curse extends to anyone possessing the collar, and at the moment, that would be young Josiah.” As though forgetting their presence, the vicar rambled on, “Children rarely lie, anyway.”
“I would infinitely prefer my children to speak only the truth to me, so Clarence is a welcome addition to my family.” Elizabeth smiled and clasped her hands.
“Clarence is a lucky animal to have found a home with such care for his comfort and safety,” the vicar answered.
“Thank you for the information on the amulet. It throws a new light on the matter.” Bergen turned to Elizabeth. “I am afraid I have complicated things for you, Lady Newton. If these gypsies come for Clarence, please consider turning over the amulet. It is what they want.”
“I would never turn over poor Clarence.” Elizabeth stroked the donkey’s head. “The travelling troupe has already abandoned this poor animal once. I cannot abide abuse of any animal. As far as I am concerned, they can have the amulet if they want it.” She picked up the stone and dropped it into the pocket of her gown. “Perhaps we should leave the rehearsal this evening. The children should go to bed soon.”
Bergen watched the woman next to him as she stroked the head of the donkey in her care. She was exactly what he had imagined his countess would be—warm, generous of heart, a good mother, strong of temperament, resourceful—all qualities he wanted, but only when he was ready to have a countess. Yet if he was not ready to be leg-shackled, why was he still here? There were children to consider. Clearly, Elizabeth was not the type of woman with whom he could dally with and then leave. Suddenly, he realized the answer. He wanted to see how this friendship could unfold. He had never met anyone quite like her. She was not coy—she was anything but that. Elizabeth was not pretentious. He actually enjoyed talking with her—unlike the vapid widows he normally dawdled with, or the young débutantes his Aunt Faith paraded in front of him, a circumstance which forced him to limit his visits to Christmastide. He discovered, to his surprise, he wanted Elizabeth, and for once his interest was for all the right reasons. Contented with his resolve, he smiled at the woman walking next to him. He loved a good pursuit.
Colin Nelson, the fifth Earl of Shefford, read and reread an urgent missive from Lady Faith Bergen. He shook his head and chuckled. It was apparent that her well-meaning rescue would come as a shock to his very good friend, Bergen. Added to that, the woman she was referring to, the notorious Mrs. Newton, lived here in London. He was not sure with whom Bergen was dallying, but he felt sure that his best friend would be shocked when his aunt arrived to rescue him. Colin imagined the confrontation that could occur between Bergen and his mettlesome aunt and nearly doubled over with laughter. I am not going to miss that! He slapped his leg and laughed harder. Bergen and Weston had always joined him at this time of year, and the three of them celebrated the year-end with whatever London amusements fulfilled their needs. Weston had recently married, so his holiday would be decidedly different, but he and Bergen had planned to carry on their traditions. Their amusements were relatively tame—a widow here and there, sparring at Gentleman Jackson’s with old friends and, at times, a little gambling. Shefford automatically justified their peccadilloes as he recounted their fun to himself.
He had always spent Christmas with his mother, who still shared the
family town house—now his since his father’s recent death—and Bergen always visited his aunt. They both counted dodging her staid social events among their annual activities. It was apparent his friend had begun his celebrating early and if there was to be a rescue, Shefford would not want to miss the fireworks. That in itself would be very diverting. Shefford laughed harder as he imagined the supposed rescue and rang for his butler.
A middle-aged, balding man appeared. “Yes, my lord? How can I be of assistance?”
Shefford cleared his throat and brought the chair back in to an upright posture and removed his feet from their careless resting position on the corner of his desk.
“Franklin, I have received an interesting missive. I should like to discuss it with my mother. Is she at home?”
“Yes, my lord. Lady Shefford arrived home about a half-hour ago.”
“Wonderful. Would you ask her to join me for a few moments? And ask Joseph to pack a small travelling satchel for me. I find that I am heading to Stony Stratford for a day or so. Please have my horse readied.” He slapped the missive on his knee and looked up, still smiling.
“Will that be all, my lord?”
“Yes, Franklin.”
“Very good, my lord.” The butler bowed and withdrew.
A short time later, Lady Amelia Shefford glided elegantly into the room. At six-and-forty, she was still a very attractive woman, and wore her light brown hair in a softly curled style, pulled away from her still youthful face.
“My son, I thought you and your friend Bergen would have been at Gentleman Jim’s by now. Is that not the first place you go when he arrives?” Her soft smile let him know she was gently prodding him. He enjoyed his mother’s humour and respected her opinion on many matters.
He smiled at her gibe. “Gentleman Jackson’s, Mother. And it is curious that you mention that because Bergen seems to have run into a slight…diversion on his way to London. It seems that he stopped in Stony Stratford and met a Mrs. Newton…” He paused for effect. “…who has convinced him to stay long enough to participate in a Christmas pageant. His Aunt Faith found out—probably from a note written by Bergen explaining his delay—and wrote to make me aware of her plan to rescue him from what she believes is his ruination.”
Earl of Bergen: Wicked Regency Romace (Wicked Earls' Club Book 15) Page 5