Authors: Father Christmas
Sorry I cannot shake your hand, Vicar,” Leland said as he left the church, “but as you can see, my arms are full.” He could have handed one of the sleeping boys back to their mother, but Graceanne was busy gathering hats, mufflers, and sheepskin costumes. She was also accepting laughing congratulations from all the villagers on the success of her pageant.
“Never seen it done better,” beamed Mr. Anstruther, his own arms around an angel and an innkeeper.
Everyone was smiling, wishing each other the joys of the season, patting backs, sharing hugs, shaking hands. The vicar’s “Rejoice in the Lord” struck a somber note, but only until his flock reached the outside and Squire’s wife started “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,” and everyone joined in on their way to the carriages or as they began the walk toward the village in the silent, starry night.
Aunt Eudora was already in the duke’s crested carriage, rapping her cane impatiently on the floor. She had even less Christmas cheer than the vicar, Leland thought, looking around for Graceanne.
She hurried to his side. “Goodness, I didn’t mean to leave you there like that. Here, give me the boys so you can see Lady Eudora home before she catches a chill.”
“That woman is so cold-hearted, she could give an iceberg lessons,” he joked, handing over one of the twins. “Aunt Eudora will find the flask I left in the coach soon enough, then she’ll be content for a minute while I help you home. The boys are too much for you to carry together. You take Willy and I’ll follow you to the vicarage.”
“This is Leslie,” she said with a smile at his muttered frustration. “It takes time. Thank you, and for your help during the service. The boys can be a trifle, ah, rambunctious at times.”
“Just a trifle?” he teased. “But they were the highlight of the pageant. Why, they even stole the show from that precious angel on her ladder. You did a superb job of directing, Mrs. Warrington.”
Graceanne opened the vicarage’s side door and proceeded down the hall. She tiptoed past her father’s study, where light shone under the closed door. Beckwith must have already retreated there to pray over the wickedness of mankind, and the servants would be celebrating with their own families or in the kitchen. “Gammon,” Graceanne whispered. “Drury Lane has nothing to fear. Did you see the three kings almost come to blows at the end? And Prudence’s shocking display—why, I thought Papa would suffer a brain storm right there.”
If he hadn’t before, he would now, seeing Pru and Liam alone in the vicarage parlor, where the carolers would assemble later. The way they jumped apart didn’t look like choir practice to Leland.
Graceanne pursed her lips. “Prudence, I think you should go help Cook fix the hot cider. The others will be here soon, and you’ll want to serve them and be on your way. Liam, perhaps you could start checking for the lanterns. They might be in the barn.”
And they might be right in the front hall closet, where Graceanne had made sure days before that they’d be handy for those going wassailing.
“Masterful, my dear,” Leland congratulated her, after Prudence stomped off and Liam nervously bowed and hurried in the opposite direction. “But surely your mother…”
“Would have found her bed by now. Her delicate nerves, you know.”
He knew that Graceanne had too much in her dish if the Beckwiths expected her to play duenna for that harum-scarum miss. He frowned as he followed her up the narrow stairs, and up again to the children’s rooms under the eaves. His brows lowered even more when he saw the humble accommodations.
“Oh, I haven’t finished decorating,” she hurried to explain, misunderstanding his scowls. “I wanted to leave something for a surprise in the morning. I’ll work on it later. This should be a Christmas they’ll remember forever.”
It would be if he had anything to say about it.
She led him through the nursery room and into the boys’ tiny bedchamber. “Watch your head,” she cautioned too late, for he was already rubbing it.
Tarnation, the newest tweenie at Ware Hold had better quarters. “Lud, you’d better stop feeding them.”
Graceanne didn’t even smile at that. She’d been worried herself that the boys would bash their skulls on the low eaves. Even when—and if—her father deemed them civilized enough to take up residence on the family floor below, there was hardly enough room. Perhaps when Prudence married. She had put Leslie down on the bed and was reaching to take Willy from the duke.
He, meanwhile, was looking around for another bed. “Is there another room, then?”
“What, for two tiny children? This isn’t the castle, Your Grace.” She didn’t mean to be so belligerent, she was just embarrassed for the conditions. “Most of your own tenants make do with less.”
“But these are not tenant children, these are my cousins.” He held up a hand when he saw how she started to get that pinched look, then he patted Willy’s back and put him on the bed next to Leslie. “No, I don’t mean to pull caps with you on such a night. Even I would find that sacrilegious, brangling over babies on the night of the Christ child’s birth. But pulling caps reminds me that I haven’t had a chance to compliment you on your new bonnet. It’s lovely, Cousin.”
“Thank you, Your—Cousin.” Graceanne busied herself with unbuttoning Leslie’s shoes so he couldn’t see her blush. Leaning over the bed, she told him, “Even if there were another room, they’d never sleep apart. As infants they were fretful without each other’s company in the same cradle. Later, when they were ready for cots instead of their crib, I had two made. Every night I’d put them each to sleep in his own little bed. Every morning I’d find them tangled together in one bed or the other. Now I just give them a wider mattress.” She looked up quickly. “I do expect them to outgrow it, like other children stop sucking their thumbs or carrying favorite blankets around.”
“Hopefully that will happen before they go to university.” He bent over the bed, too, working on the other twin’s boots, and his hand brushed her arm.
Even through the layer of fabric she felt uncomfortable with his touch. The tiny room, the sleeping children, the feeling of being a family—but they were not a family, and she must not forget. “I can do that, Cousin. Thank you.”
“Surely you have help?”
“What, to undress two little boys? It’s only dukes who forget how to put on their own clothes! Remember, your aunt is waiting in the cold carriage.”
“She’ll keep. She’s eager to get home only to the hand of piquet I promised her, to give her poor abigail an evening off. Aunt Eudora is likely in the coach now, marking a new deck.”
“She cheats?”
“That’s why she’s always so desperate to get up a game. None of her cronies will play with her anymore.” He removed Willy’s shoe and stocking and stared at the little foot he held. “It’s so small.”
His very reluctance to leave bothered Graceanne. She wanted him to like the boys. Why shouldn’t he? Everyone else did, except Papa, but she didn’t want him to like them too much. She wasn’t jealous, she told herself, that the boys already adored their cousin Collie. This was different. This was fear of a man who was used to getting what he wanted. She quickly tossed a blanket over both children and made sure Willy’s foot was tucked out of sight. “They’ll do better like this until I see you out. And I can warm their nightshirts by the fire downstairs while I make sure the carolers get off on their way.” She stepped back toward the door so he would have to follow. “Don’t worry, they won’t wake up.”
Leland stood up, and bumped his head. “Blast! Pardon.” He stared at her as he rubbed at the same sore spot. He’d been just as aware as Graceanne of their proximity, the intimacy of the setting. He could still smell her rose perfume. (Or was that Willy? By Jupiter, the lads needed a man’s influence!) And he was just as conscious of that accidental touch. Except, of course, that it wasn’t accidental at all. The nearness of that midnight velvet had proven irresistible. Frowning at his own lack of scruples, he asked, “You still don’t trust me, do you?”
“I…” She couldn’t lie. He must have known the answer anyway. “No.”
Guiltily, he told her, “You shouldn’t.”
He meant she shouldn’t trust him not to try his damnedest to seduce her. She thought he meant she shouldn’t trust him not to kidnap her children. She almost pushed him out the door.
“But I’ll try to restrain myself, I promise.”
He’d try to restrain himself from stealing her babies? What kind of promise was that? Graceanne vowed to return to her cheese-paring ways, saving every shilling—wasn’t she her father’s daughter?—in case she had to flee.
The duke laughed now. “Don’t look so horrified. I am still a gentleman. I’d never do anything without your permission. Like asking for a good-night kiss.”
Now she was truly appalled, and he laughed the harder. “The boys, I meant.”
He leaned over and kissed each boy’s cheek, without waiting for her permission, Graceanne noted. So much for that vow. Still, she was a little relieved. Enough that she didn’t smile too brightly when Leland stood up—and gave his head another resounding thump on the pitched ceiling.
* * *
She had to stop being such a clinging mother, Graceanne told herself after she had the boys in their warm nightshirts and tucked under the covers again. They were safe, they’d have a happy Christmas, Leland would be a conscientious guardian to their inheritance. So why couldn’t she leave them and go about her other chores? Instead, she wanted to hug them and squeeze them until they were almost part of her again.
They were growing too fast. Graceanne remembered when the boys were infants sharing one cradle in her bedroom, in their tiny suite. Tony would carry the cradle into the parlor when he came on his rare visits. They’d laugh about keeping their privacy, but she’d always move the cradle back as soon as he left. Now she was worried her sons would get too big to stand in this little room without bumping their heads!
Giving herself a shake, Graceanne went to fetch the rest of the ornaments to be hung. That garland of evergreens Papa wouldn’t permit in his church went in the nursery room, but the foil stars, red bows, and paper icicles got hung on strings from the curtain rod to the doorframe, so Willy and Les would spot them as soon as they awoke. Too bad she couldn’t see their faces then, but she’d be there when they found the sleds and other toys in her bedroom later. That would have to be enough.
Even after the last bow was hung, Graceanne lingered in the room. She pushed aside a hanging star and opened the curtains enough to look out. She could just see the candles and lanterns of the carolers making their rounds through the village, although she couldn’t hear the songs. Humming one of her favorites, she stood and watched the lights bob through the night. They reminded her of the native celebrations in Spain, when the people of that poor, war-ravaged country all gathered with candles and prayers and songs of joy to celebrate
Feliz Navidad,
Merry Christmas. They filed through the streets and hillsides in a seemingly endless line of smiling faces. They were dirty, tattered, sometimes hungry, but they had their faith and each other, their candles in the dark.
And she was alone.
No, she would not get melancholy about Tony, not on this night. She hadn’t seen him for months before he’d been killed, so it wasn’t as if she had any fresh memories of him. She hardly remembered more about him than his smile and his good-byes, anyway. Instead, thinking about Spain reminded her of the trinkets he’d brought her whenever he made one of his infrequent and short visits. Combs, fans, lace mantillas—they were all packed in boxes in the attic because Papa took one look at them and declared them heathen trumpery, frivolous to boot.
Graceanne picked up a candle and hurried across the hall to the attics. A moment’s search found her trunks, and the box with the mementos of Tony’s careless affection. Yes, there was a black veil she could be wearing, and the combs weren’t trumpery at all, but exquisite works of art. She’d wear a pair for Christmas, another present from her husband, along with her gowns and bonnet and the new independence his money gave her. “Thank you, Tony,” she whispered. “Especially for our sons.”
Under the laces, as she remembered, was a little hand-carved Nativity. Tony had given it to her last Christmas, sheepishly, because he’d forgotten to buy her a real gift and that was all he could find at the last minute. It would be perfect for the boys’ mantel, especially since they couldn’t reach it. Let them remember their father, too, despite the new affection for their cousin Leland.
Thinking of the duke made her look out the little window on this side of the parsonage, where she could see Ware Hold guarding its hillside. All those lighted windows for Leland and his aunt. She wondered if he ever got lonely in that enormous pile, if he ever missed his deceased wives.
Graceanne had seen his first duchess once, when she was still in the schoolroom. She wasn’t introduced, of course, but then, almost no one was. The duchess kept to herself and her houseguests. Ware’s second wife was too sickly to get out, Graceanne remembered hearing. The second duchess had her own chaplain attend her at the castle, so she never attended church in the village. But did she love her husband? Or was theirs an arranged marriage, a convenient economic merger? More important, did he love her? Graceanne guessed not, if he could treat other women so casually, like commodities.
No, she didn’t trust him a bit.
She went back to the boys’ room and arranged the Nativity set over the fireplace just as the sexton rang the bells for midnight, Christmas midnight. Peace on Earth, goodwill to all men. Well, she’d try.
Parting the curtains again, Graceanne looked for the carolers’ lights. They’d be returning soon to deliver the poor box donations, and she had to be on hand to serve the hot cider that was all the vicar would permit. She made sure there would be coffee and tea, too, for those who had tasted enough wassail on their waits. Just as she was about to close the drapes, a snowflake drifted past, then another. Her boys would have snow for their new sleds after all. Thank you, Lord. Happy birthday.
Finally she pushed aside stars and bows and icicles to kiss her sons good night. And bumped her head when she stood up.