"And cake too, guv?" Daniel asked, a cheeky grin on his face.
"Left turn," the gentleman who had arrived with the children said sternly. "And the 'guv' is 'my lord' to you, Daniel, as I have explained five thousand times at a conservatively low estimate."
As quickly as the hall had filled, it emptied again, leaving behind only the adults and Rupert and Kate.
"May I go too, Mama?" Rupert asked hopefully.
"Me too, Mama?" Kate tugged at her cloak.
"I shall take them in with me if you have no objection, ma'am," the lady who had come with the children said. She was plump and matronly and looked perfectly capable of dealing with the toughest urchin.
"Mrs. Easton," the marquess said, "Miss Easton, may I present Mrs. Harrison and Mr. Cornwell, the very capable and long-suffering guardians of the hurricanes who just passed through here?"
Mr. Cornwell was short and inclined to stoutness, though Judith guessed that there was a great deal more muscle than fat on his frame. Frost was melting from his sandy mustache and eyebrows. His fair hair was thinning.
"Ladies?" he said, bowing to them.
Mrs. Harrison curtsied. "Despite all the noise," she said to Judith, "the children are quite a harmless lot, ma'am. They will not gobble up your own children, I promise you." She smiled.
"I am afraid," Mr. Cornwell said, "that their elocution slips alarmingly whenever they get excited about something, Max. And this morning they are very excited." He turned and addressed himself to Amy. "One would hardly know that in the schoolroom they often speak something approximating to the English language, would you?"
"Go along, then," Judith said, relinquishing Kate's hand to the outstretched one of Mrs. Harrison.
The two children disappeared inside the salon. A moment later two maids followed them, each with a tray laden with steaming cups. A third maid was carrying a tray of cakes and muffins.
"Come into the library, Spence," the marquess said, "and breathe in some sanity for a few minutes. Ladies, will you join us? You are dressed for the outdoors, I see. I was about to send up to invite you and the children to accompany us once the party arrived from the village. This is the morning when we are to haul in the Yule log and gather the greenery for decorating the house. The task is now to be made more difficult and infinitely more exciting by the presence of the snow. Rockford should be down soon too."
Amy clasped her hands tightly and beamed. "Oh," she said, "this is so much more pleasurable than being in town, shopping at a market. We would be delighted to come, would we not, Judith?"
Lord Denbigh ushered them all into a large and cozy library. Looking about, Judith guessed that he spent a great deal of his time there. There was an open book on a table beside a leather chair, she noticed. The desk was strewn with papers. It was obviously a room that was used, not just a showpiece.
Both gentlemen had a drink. The ladies refused.
Amy had been a little divided in her feelings about the invitation to spend Christmas at Denbigh Park. The lure of a country home was strong and she liked the marquess and looked with hope on what appeared to be a budding romance between him and Judith. But there was also the fact that they must leave London so soon after she had finally gone there.
She no longer had any misgivings. From the moment of her arrival the afternoon before, she had felt like a person. Judith had always made her feel that way, of course, and the marquess in the past few weeks had been very civil. But now she was in a country home with several other guests and she was being treated with respect. That silly Mr. Rockford had even tried flirting with her the evening before.
Amy realized in full just how much less than a person she had always been considered at home.
She was enjoying herself immensely. And she was enchanted by the story of all the children and by her first sight of them. She was almost envious of Mrs. Harrison and was admiring of Mr. Cornwell.
"I do think it a splendid job you are doing, sir," she said to him now. "But what gave you the idea? Or was it his lordship's?"
He looked at her and smiled. He was quite as willing as the marquess and the other guests to take her seriously, she
thought in some surprise. He had a pleasant face. It was not at all handsome, but it was good-natured. It was the kind of face that would inspire trust in troubled children, she thought. Just as his rather solid frame would inspire respect and a sense of security.
"It was a joint brainchild, actually, ma'am," he said. "We dreamed up the idea one night, thought at the time that we must both have taken leave of our senses, and are even more convinced of the fact two and a half years later." He chuckled. "I have never been happier in my life."
"How wonderful it must be," she said somewhat wistfully, "to be able to devote one's life to children."
"Are you sure you wish to come gathering greenery, ma'am?" he asked. "It is a longish walk to the trees and there is bound to be a great deal of noise and foolery. I cannot assure you in all confidence either that the language will all be suitable for a lady's ears."
"I would not miss it for worlds," Amy said. "This is what Christmas is all about, sir-children and decorations and trudges in the snow. And company."
He actually winked at her as he set his empty glass down. "Never say I did not warn you, ma'am," he said.
Amy felt herself turn pink, reminded herself that she was thirty-six years old, and told herself not to be silly.
"I would imagine," the marquess said to Judith, "that by the time these children have finished gathering and decorating there will be more greenery inside the house than out. And a great deal more noise and chaos. I hope you will not mind. I was a little afraid last year that my aunts might have an apoplectic fit apiece. But they smiled and nodded and were enchanted-and horrified the boys by kissing all the girls. The boys thought that they would surely be next. Fortunately, my aunts had more sense of decorum."
Judith laughed, finding the situation and his humor amusing despite herself.
"I should have told you about the children," he said. His eyes were looking very directly into hers, a hint of a smile in them again. "But I was afraid that you would cry off if you knew. It was shameful of me, was it not?"
Judith felt a twinge of alarm. If she had not known him eight years before and again in the past few weeks, she might well be gaining a totally different impression of him than the true one, she thought. He seemed quite human suddenly. More than human. And there was a warmth in his look.
Yet there was something else too, something quite intangible and unexplainable.
"I have a feeling," she said, "that Rupert and Kate are going to be talking with nostalgia about this Christmas for a long time to come.''
"I hope so," he said. "And their mother too."
She was saved from having to reply, though she felt shivers all along the length of her spine, by the appearance of the butler at the door to announce that Mrs. Harrison, Mr. Rockford, and the children were ready to leave.
"We had better not keep them waiting a single moment then, Max," Mr. Cornwell said. "If the children are ready to leave, that means right now at this very moment if not five minutes ago."
Christmas had been a lonely time when he was a child and a boy. His father had sometimes had house guests and had frequently invited neighbors to various entertainments, but he had never felt the necessity of seeing to it that there were other children to play with his son.