Two footmen carefully loaded the sleigh for his second run. But he hesitated before taking his place again, and glanced with indecision at the house. It would not really do. he thought. He was enjoying his afternoon, enjoying the smiles on the faces of his cottagers and their somewhat flustered conversation. He was enjoying the widening eyes of all the children as he handed each a coin.
He should not spoil the atmosphere of Christmas. He should not bring darkness to his mood.
He frowned, something fluttering at the edge of his memory. And then he remembered the fortune-teller out on the ice of the River Thames. He remembered her telling him that there was darkness in him as well as a great deal of light and that Christmas might save him from being swamped by the darkness. He shrugged. He had never given heed to such nonsense. But he remembered that afternoon with some pleasure.
And he found himself running up the steps to the house, peering into the salon, and then taking the stairs two at a time to the nursery floor. He knocked at the door and let himself in.
She was sitting in a rocking chair by the window, wearing the simple blue wool dress that she had been wearing that morning. Her daughter was asleep in her arms, one small hand spread on her bosom. Her son was on his stomach on the floor at her feet, his legs bent at the knees, his feet waving back and forth. He was tickling (he collie's stomach.
The marquess felt a stab of some indefinable longing. It was such a very quiet, contented domestic scene.
Rupert jumped to his feet and ran toward the marquess. The collie tore after him, barking at this promise of a new game. "Are they here?" the boy asked.
Lord Denbigh rumpled his hair. "I heard your mama tell you earlier that they would be coming for the caroling this evening and then walking to church with us," he said. "Does the day seem quite interminable? How would you like a sleigh ride?"
"Ye-es!" Rupert jumped up and down. "Super! May I, Mama?"
"The invitation is for your mama too," the marquess said. "Would you like some fresh air, ma'am? I am delivering baskets to my cottagers."
Her face brightened. "Are you?" she said. "Oh, I always used to enjoy doing that at home with Mama and Papa. It was always the beginning of Christmas, the start of that wonderful feeling that only Christmas can bring."
"The little one has just fallen asleep?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, getting carefully to her feet. "I shall put her to bed."
And there. He had done it. He had ruined his afternoon, brought darkness into it. Except mat he would not think of the ultimate revenge, he decided as he offered his arm to lead her down the stairs and out to the waiting sleigh. He would not think about how such encounters as this would all be used to contribute gradually to the final denouement.
He would pretend that he had no other purpose than to
enjoy her company. He had very little time left in which to do so. He had been without her for almost eight years. He would be without her for the rest of his life. Surely he could allow himself a few days in which to feast his eyes on her beauty. Besides, all time spent with her would contribute to his ultimate purpose.
She was wearing a fur hat rather than a bonnet, one that completely covered her hair and her ears. She tucked her hands inside a matching muff. Her face, he noticed, did not owe its beauty to her hair. It was a classically beautiful face in its own right.
They sat side by side in the sleigh, Rupert squashed between them, surrounded by cloth-covered baskets. The collie had been left curled at the foot of Kate's bed.
"Mm," Rupert said. "They smell good."
"At least we will not starve if we get stuck in a snow bank," the marquess said, and the boy giggled.
They did not talk a great deal. But the air felt fresher with her sitting beside him, and me crunching of the horse's hooves on the snow and the jingling of the harness bells and the squeaking of the sleigh runners were more intimate and more festive sounds.
"This is the most beautiful weather there could possibly be," she said, lifting her face to the high broken clouds above and drawing in a deep breath. “It makes of the world a fairytale place."
And Lord Denbigh knew mat she shared his mood.
They paid eight visits in all and were invited inside each of the eight cottages. Lord Denbigh found himself living out an unplanned fantasy. What if she had not broken off their engagement? They would have been married now for eight years. They would be paying these calls together as man and wife, the ease of years of acquaintance and intimacy between them. And they would be going home together afterward to their guests and their children and a shared Christmas. And when it was all over they would stand together on the steps of Denbigh and wave good-bye to their departing guests. And they would be alone together again, with their family. Perhaps she would be with child again.
Mrs. Richards had delivered her fourth child less than two weeks before. The child was awake and fussing, though Mrs. Richards insisted that they come inside for refreshments. The baby had been fed already, she assured them.
"Oh, may I?" Judith asked, smiling at Mrs. Richards and leaning over the baby's crude cradle.
Mrs. Richards was flustered, but she assured Mrs. Easton that the baby had had a clean nappy only a few minutes before.
And Judith lifted the child from the cradle and held it gently to her shoulder. The fussing stopped and the baby wriggled its head into a comfortable position and sucked loudly on a fist. Judith closed her eyes, smiling, and rubbed a cheek against the soft down on the baby's head.
"Oh," she said, "one forgets so quickly how tiny newborn babies are. How I envy you."
Lord Denbigh turned his head away sharply and addressed a remark to Mr. Richards. He felt as if he had a leaden weight in his stomach. For some reason he felt almost as if he were about to cry. Steady, he told himself. Steady. He should not have let down his guard for even a moment. Had he not learned his lesson long ago?
"Was that the last one, sir?" Rupert asked when they emerged from the Richardses' cottage and took their places in the sleigh again. "Are we going home now? Will the carolers be coming soon?"
The marquess laughed. "Not for several hours yet," he said. "But I tell you what we will do, with your mother's permission, of course. We are close to the village, and your aunt is with Mrs. Harrison and Mr. Cornwell and the children. Doubtless they have all sung carols until they are blue in the face. We will take you there and leave you in your aunt's charge. How does that sound?"
Rupert shouted out a hurrah.
"Is that all right with you, ma'am?" the marquess asked. "This lad could well drive you to insanity within the next few hours if we do not rid ourselves of him."
Judith laughed. "They will probably make you sing, Rupert," she warned.
"I can sing," Rupert said indignantly.
Five minutes later he was admitted to the house where all the children and adults were gathered and swallowed up into the noise and cheerful chaos.
"Amazingly," Mr. Cornwell told them, "we have had not a single casualty all day even though Mary tried to box the ears of all the kings for setting down their gifts closer to Joseph than to her. The heavenly host are beginning to sound almost like a choir with Miss Easton to provide the accompaniment and to sing along to keep them in tune. And sometime within the next few hours we will have to decide how twelve volunteers are to carry five lanterns-a minor problem. I can confidently predict, Mrs. Easton, that we will be able to deliver your son to you this evening all in one piece."
And so, Lord Denbigh discovered, quite without planning to be, he was alone with Judith Easton, a mile-long drive between them and home. He drove his team in silence, and decided on the spur of the moment to take a long route home. He turned along a little-used lane that led uphill until it was above a grove of trees and looking down on the house from behind. He had always loved the view from up there. He eased his horses to a halt.