And now Chad was leaving.
Since that winter day when she had taken him home, Chad had become an unofficial member of the Foster household. Not only had he become her friend, but he had developed a strong relationship with her father in the last five years. When he was home from school, he spent as much time with them as he did at home.
Gillian treated him with the casualness of an older brother and they were privy to each other’s thoughts and dreams. They fished and hunted together, rode and walked in each other’s company. On the occasions when he remained for supper, her father guided the conversation so that both Gillian and Chad were able to discourse on a broad range of subjects.
All of this had changed several months earlier when the Earl of Elmore was killed in a hunting accident. At eighteen, Chad was catapulted into a situation he had not thought to face for many years. No longer a carefree youth, heir to a title, he was now the eighth earl with all the responsibilities of his rank and fortune. He had estates to visit, tenants to contend with and social obligations to fulfill.
Despite all of Gillian’s carping at him, she was proud of the way Chad, after his initial shock and grief, had taken control. He had assured her that his change in status would not affect their relationship but even at thirteen, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. When Christmas was over, he would leave for London. Once he took his proper place in society there would be an unbridgeable gap between them.
Chad threw an arm around Gillian’s shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Have done with your sulking. It’s much too cold to stand out here and argue. Miss Pennington promised that she would have sticky buns and cherry tarts for our party. I’m positively starving.”
Gillian snorted. “You’re always starving. I would be as fat as Squire Bassington’s pig if I ate as much as you do. That’s if Penny would let me eat as much as I wanted.”
“Miss Pennington is an admirable woman.” He picked up the rope she had thrown down on the snow, pressing it into her mittened hand.
“You only say that because she fair dotes on you. She’s most impressed that I am friends with an earl.”
“Hah!” Chad nudged her and they began to pull the Yule log, once more in charity with each other.
“I suspect it was your mother who suggested to Papa that I ought to have a governess to curb my hoydenish behavior.” She peeked sideways to see if her guess was correct but he stared ahead, his expression giving nothing away. “I vowed I would not like Miss Pennington but of course I assumed she would be some starchy spinster who would make me learn stitchery and other useless occupations and would cry rope if I misbehaved.”
“Oho, the truth is out,” Chad crowed. “Miss Pennington has quite won your loyalty after only six months. What a paragon!”
Gillian grimaced in dismay. “I must confess that I quite like the woman. Although I blush to admit it, Penny even makes embroidery lessons interesting. And she was not horrified when she learned I was quite mad about fishing.”
“I’m glad it has worked out. At your age it’s fitting that you have another female to answer your questions.”
“I believe the pictures in the book you stole from your father’s library answered most of my questions.”
Although Chad resolutely directed his eyes straight ahead, the tips of his ears reddened much to Gillian’s delight. She could feel the laughter rising to her lips and quickly dropped the rope to muffle her giggles in the wool of her mittens.
“What a horrid child you are,” he declared archly.
The reminder of such a monumental transgression proved too much for him. Whooping in good humor, he scooped up a handful of snow and threw it at her. Gillian dropped her hands and her laughter rang out through the woods as she retaliated in kind. They pelted each other with snowballs until they were gasping for breath. Flopping down on the Yule log, they brushed the snow from their clothing, grinning companionably.
“I still remember my chagrin when I discovered that far from answering your questions, the pictures merely added to your curiosity.” Chad noted the flush of color that rose to Gillian’s cheeks and chuckled as he reached out to straighten the saucy red hat on her curls. “Your interest in my anatomy was nothing short of brazen.”
“But as I recall you showed very little interest in mine,” she complained. “It was quite the most lowering experience. Papa was very sweet when I came to him in tears. I told him that my body was nothing like the pictures in your book.”
“So that’s how my father found out. There was the very devil to pay. He caned me and sent me off to my loathsome cousin Waldo’s for the remainder of the summer”
“Even though he did hire Miss Pennington, Papa was a dash more understanding.” Gillian’s voice was soft in remembrance. “He took me into the library and showed me some of the art books he kept in the glassed bookcases. There were beautiful women in various stages of dishabille. He told me everyone’s body was different but that each one was beautiful. There was one woman in particularly who was especially lovely and she had no feminine curves at all. I remember I used to stare at myself in the mirror and think of her. It gave me hope that one day I might be pretty too.”
Chad caught the forlorn quality in her voice. Taking in the drooping shoulders and bent head of his friend, he said, “But, Gillian, you are going to be a beauty someday.”
She peeked at him shyly from behind the cover of her lashes. “Do you really think so?”
“Of course I do,” he declared stoutly.
Chad noticed with surprise how much her body had changed over the summer. The awkward coltish body was far more rounded now. Gillian’s face had lost the plumpness of childhood, thinning out to hint at a more womanly shape. Set above the high cheekbones, her eyes seemed larger and more heavily lashed. All at once he recognized the truth of his words: Gillian was becoming a beautiful young lady.
With that realization, the tenor of his thoughts changed. He had never considered her as anything but his friend and it troubled him that he had suddenly become aware of her as a young, shapely female. Staring down into her eyes, he noted the trust and innocence in the green depths and berated himself for his improper thoughts.
He stood up, making much of the snow melting on his Hessians. He pulled Gillian to her feet and, with a bluff camaraderie, he handed her the rope and encouraged her progress by chattering about the harmless details of his Christmas duties as the new earl. By the time they reached Gillian’s house, Chad was able to speak to her in his usual bantering tone.
“Hello, the house,” Chad called.
Miss Pennington opened the door and Gillian shouted her traditional greeting. “We bring the Yule log. Let the celebrations begin!”
Gillian apologized to her governess for the dirt and snow they dragged across the threshold but the older woman waved her hand in dismissal. She helped them off with their coats and mittens, then set the kettle on for tea. Chad reached for one of the pastries and she smacked his hand.
“Not yet, young sir. There’s more work before the feasting.” She shooed him to sweeping the floor as she and Gillian set out the china and silver for their tea.
Christmas was Gillian’s favorite time of year. She loved the secrets and the preparations and the traditions. She couldn’t wait to see how Penny liked the evening’s entertainment. Although she had been angry when her father hired her, over the last few months Gillian had become very fond of her governess.
Miss Pennington was tall and thin with an elegance of manner that indicated she came from a refined background. She never spoke very much about herself which lent an air of mystery to her that Gillian found intriguing. She never received any letters or packages. There were no visits home and although Penny was invariably polite and cheerful she did not encourage any relationships outside of the Foster household.
Gillian had originally fantasized that Miss Pennington had become a governess after a disastrous love affair. However the brisk competence of the plain-faced woman suggested the real reason might be far less romantic. She was quite old, Gillian thought, perhaps even in her thirties. With her gray-streaked hair, unremarkable features and her quiet demeanor, she was not unattractive only self-effacing. Unless one noted her eyes. She had lovely gray eyes that looked at the world with an unruffled serenity that Gillian found soothing.
“Come along, slowpoke,” Chad said. “Everything’s ready.”
His voice brought Gillian’s thoughts back to the present. He had rolled the Yule log onto a long runner which he was dragging down the hall to the drawing room. Ethan had pushed back the pocket doors and folded back the carpet to clear a path to the fireplace. Chad did most of the heavy lifting, struggling to wedge the log into the fireplace. Gillian handed him the pieces of last year’s Yule log that she had saved for kindling. While her father rolled out the carpet, Miss Pennington helped arrange three chairs in a circle before the hearth.
When the preparations were completed to Ethan’s satisfaction, he indicated that the governess should take a chair while Gillian and Chad lit the candles around the room. When all the candles were burning except for the large red one on the mantelpiece, Ethan bid them to take their seats. Gravely, he shook Chad’s hand. He kissed Gillian on the cheek, smiling at the shine of excitement in her eyes. Standing in front of the Yule log, he struck a Lucifer and lit the candle on the mantel, then turned and smiled warmly at the governess.
“We welcome you, Miss Pennington, to your first Christmas in our home.” Ethan bowed to her and handed her a small box topped with a red satin ribbon. “It is a Christmas Eve tradition in our family that a new guest at our table receive a gold coin so that he or she will not go penniless into the new year.”
Penny’s fine-boned face lit with pleasure as she rose to her feet to accept the present. She nodded graciously to Gillian and Chad but dipped into a very proper curtsy for Ethan.
When she was seated again, Ethan’s deep voice rumbled in the quiet room. “In the village where my ancestors were born, at the time when Oliver Cromwell ruled, the town crier went door to door ringing a harsh hand bell.”
Chad picked up the battered iron cowbell that had been placed beside his chair. He remembered how thrilled he had been the second year he had joined the Foster celebrations when Gillian permitted him to ring the raucous bell. He had been a child of fourteen then. Now at the advanced age of eighteen, he thought he was too old for such juvenile displays but he discovered the clanging of the bell seemed to break the bonds of tension that had wrapped him tight since his father’s death. He wondered if he would grow to resemble the earl but it came to him that the title did not have to confer arrogance and stiffness. It was up to him to take himself and his consequence less seriously. Vowing to remember that, he raised the bell again and rang it with abandon while Gillian shouted encouragement and the two adults covered their ears.
With a new awareness, Chad silenced the metal clapper with his hand but the sound echoed in the corners of the room. He blinked to bring himself back to the present and his eyes touched Professor Foster’s and in their depths he saw understanding and approval.
“Thank you,” Chad said quietly, his heart filled with happiness.
Ethan waited for silence and as the tension began to build again, he spoke. “The Puritan bell warned those within the sound of its clatter that no celebration of the Christmas season would be tolerated. In this household we welcome the holiday as a time of rebirth. We want all to know that our celebration has begun and so we have found the sweetest sound to announce our joy and invite all to join us in our festivities.”
With one hand Gillian raised a string of three bells and with a slim metal rod in the other, she hit each bell in succession. The first chime was high with a sweet clarity that held the attention. The second note was lower, complementing and intensifying the first. The third chime was lower still, adding the final ingredient to the rich blend of sounds. The tones rose to the ceiling, dissipating slowly and lingering in the memory long after the room was silent.
From the pocket of his jacket, Ethan took out a sprig of ivy and handed it to Gillian. “I give you this token, daughter, to indicate that a female will have the rule of the house in the coming year. Use your power with wisdom and grace.”
“I will,” she said. She accepted the cutting and carried it to the front door where last Christmas’s ivy hung. She exchanged the two sprigs, returning to the drawing room to lay the old ivy on top of the unlighted Yule log. Grinning at Chad, she returned to her chair.
“With the fragments of last year’s Yule log I will light the new one,” Ethan said. He took a slender piece of kindling and set it in the flame of the candle on the mantel.
Gillian sighed in satisfaction as her father set the glowing end among the rest of the kindling. He blew on the wood and the fire caught and held. She peeked at Miss Pennington, delighted with the pleasure on the older woman’s face.
Turning her head to the other side, she watched the flickering light of the fire playing across Chad’s face. He had changed. It might have been the death of his father and his new responsibilities that made him look different. Whatever it was there was a new maturity to his expression and his bearing. She had not noticed how handsome he had become with his black curls and smoldering dark eyes. She could feel a lump rise in her throat as she wondered if this would be the last year he would join their festivities. He was an earl now and was going up to London to take his place in society. Would he come back?
As if he had heard her thoughts, Chad turned toward her and smiled. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. Gillian laughed, inordinately pleased that he had remembered to bring his letter to Father Christmas. She dug in her pocket for her own.
“Well, children,” Ethan said. “Throw them into the fireplace and we shall see if you will get your wishes.”
Gillian let Chad go first, watching as he threw his letter into the back of the fireplace. Wriggling with excitement, she followed suit, waiting anxiously to see if the flames would consume the parchment. With a flutter of white, the two letters danced upward until the draft caught hold of them and pulled them up the chimney.