"Oh, so it is," she said. "How silly of me to forget. What shall we do now? Go back to sleep for a while? Or shall we wash and dress and go in search of breakfast?"
She chuckled again at the chorus of protests that greeted her. Even Kate at the age of three knew very well that that was not the routine for Christmas morning.
"Presents first, Mama," Kate said, kissing her on the cheek again and looking at her with wide, pleading eyes.
"Please," Rupert added.
"Presents?" Judith frowned. "Ah, yes, presents. Now let me see, I believe there are a few here somewhere."
Rupert bounced on the bed.
"I tell you what," Judith said. "You two run along and wake Aunt Amy-gently, please-and bring her here while I see if I can find any presents."
"Silly Mama," Kate said, scrambling down from the bed. "You know where the presents are."
Judith reached out to ruffle her hair.
In truth, she thought-and felt guilty at the thought-she would have liked nothing better than to rush through washing and dressing and brushing and all the other tasks that would have to be completed before she could go downstairs to breakfast. She wanted to see him again.
She pushed her feet into a pair of slippers and drew on a dressing gown over her nightgown, then went in pursuit of the pile of parcels that were hidden at the botom of a wardrobe in her dressing room.
She still felt as if she were in something of a daze. She was a woman of twenty-six years, a widow, the mother of two children. And yet she was wildly, exuberantly, head over ears in love. Far more so, she thought with another stab of guilt, than she had ever been with Andrew.
And yet the object of her feelings was none other than the man she had jilted in order to marry Andrew. The man she had feared and disliked at the time and during all the years since until just a few days ago. Not even as long. Even as recently as two days before she had been wary of him, suspicious of his motives. There had been something about him that had made her uneasy.
She smiled to herself as she carried the parcels through to the bedroom and piled them beside the bed. It was herself she had been wary of. It had seemed just too strange to be true that she was attracted to him, that she was growing to like him and admire him, and that she was falling in love with him.
Amy had been right all along, she thought. He had been trying to fix his interest with her from the start. That was why he had arranged all those meetings and outings with her in London, and that was why he had invited her to Denbigh Park for Christmas.
He was in love with her too. If she had had any doubt, then it had been swept away the night before when he had kissed her. And afterward he had led her home, her hand in his, until they had come up to the others, and then liberally pounded her with snowballs as they joined in the battle that the others had started. He had laughed the whole time.
She loved to hear him laugh, to see his harsh features softened and made handsome.
When would he declare himself? she wondered. Today? It seemed likely. It was Christmas Day. And would she accept? She had two children whose security and happiness she must put first in her life. But he knew all about her children and was fond of them, she was sure. And they liked him and his home.
Was it possible that after all she was to be his wife? Eight years after she should have married him?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of the children, bringing Amy along with them.
"Ooh!" Kate said as she caught sight of the brightly wrapped gifts.
Rupert ran across the room and dived headlong onto the bed.
"How kind of you to invite me in," Amy said. "I have not been a part of a family gift opening for years."
Judith stared at her sister-in-law. Oh, yes, that must be true, she thought. It had always been the custom at Ammanlea for each family group to open gifts privately. But Amy had belonged to no family group. How cruel they had all been never to think of that.
"But you are an essential part of our family," Judith said. "We could not possibly begin without you."
There was a special glow about Amy, Judith thought as she handed the first parcel to Kate. And she was not convinced that Christmas morning and the gift opening could account for all of it. Amy and Mr. Cornwell had given up the snowball fight before everyone else the night before and had stood together on the steps of the house, watching the battle and laughing. His arm had been loosely about her shoulders.
Judith wondered if her sister-in-law was feeling as she was feeling that morning.
Was he at breakfast already? she wondered. Would he have left before they arrived there?
The morning was taken up almost entirely with gift giving. First the children were presented with their gifts in the morning room-books from Mrs. Harrison, balls from Mr. Cornwell, and watches from the marquess. The marquess's aunts too had something each for them: hand-knitted caps for the boys and mittens for the girls. The other guests all gave them some coins each so that Daniel declared loudly that they were all rich enough to join the ranks of the nobs.
Kate pulled at Rupert's hand until he went from the room and upstairs with her to drag down the box of Christmas bows they had made in London but not used after all. She gave one to each of the children. The two that remained she gave to the Misses Hannibal, each of whom insisted on hugging and kissing her.
"Come an' sit 'ere, nipper," Daniel said to her, "an' I'll let yer listen to my watch ticking."
The marquess smiled. If Kate were growing up in the same neighborhood as Daniel, she would have a powerful protector against all harm. The boy would probably grow into her devoted servant.
Lord Denbigh had small gifts to distribute to each of his guests after the children's excitement had begun to subside a little. He had given his aunts more precious gifts in private earlier that morning.
And after that there were the servants to call in and present with their gifts and Christmas bonuses and to serve with tea and dainties left in the kitchen by the cook and brought up by him and Nora and Judith and Miss Easton. That part of the day's ceremony had always used to be an unbearably embarrassing one for the servants as they had attempted to make conversation with their employers. Since the coming of the children, however, that had all changed.
Lily and Violet, awed to silence by their own gifts, sat on either side of Annie, one of the scullery maids, as she unwrapped hers and she smiled at them and appeared to feel quite at home even though she was in his lordship's morning room with his lordship present, standing in the middle of the room with a large silver tray in his hands.
The gift-opening was always, the marquess thought, one of the loveliest parts of Christmas. But then, every part of Christmas seemed the loveliest as it happened.
She was looking exceptionally lovely that morning, he thought, his eyes straying to Judith. She was wearing a simple wool dress of deep rose pink. Wool was flattering to a slender figure, he decided, his eyes passing over her. Slender, but very shapely too. He remembered again the feel of her in his arms the night before, when he had pushed back her cloak and drawn her inside his greatcoat and she had opened his evening coat and his waistcoat and put herself against the silk of his shirt.
Slender and shapely, warm, yielding, arched against him, making no resistance even when he had brought the lower half of her body intimately against him.
"Listen." It was Lily, looking shyly up at him, her watch held up toward him. Her eyes, gin-drugged but a few months before, were wide with Christmas.