"Aye, I do, Caroline," he told her, and felt his chest turn hot, his eyes mist a bit with the truth of it, no matter everything else he had done. "I still do. Not for the children, not-"
"Then we shall see, Alan," she promised, arms still crossed in protection. "Once Yuletide is done, we shall see. Good night."
She paused at the double doors to the foyer and looked back for a mere trice. "Merry Christmas," she said, then headed for the stairs, a very brief smile that might have been wistful, or rueful, turning up the corners of her mouth, wrinkling the riant folds below her eyes for the slightest moment.
"Well I'll be double-damned," he breathed, muttering softly in wonder. "Might be a beginnin' after all!" He tossed off his brandy to the last drop, set the glass aside, and went abovestairs to his own bed-down the hall in the guest chamber, still-where Toulon and Chalky at least gave him some affection after he'd rolled into a cold bed. "Merry Christmas to you, lads. Merry Christmas to us all."
Though they did not snuggle the way he longed for.
BOOK II
It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times…
CHAPTER TWELVE
Christmas Day, and the opening of presents, had passed, as had Boxing Day on the twenty-sixth; most gifts had gone over well, but for the toy muskets and swords. Sir Hugo's real blades had made the biggest impression, and cause for chaotic tumult as Hugh and Sewallis practised their initial lessons on each other… swash-buckling through the entire house 'til Lewrie and his father took them in hand in the barren back garden and gave them both some sword exercises learned from hard and bloody experience. At least Charlotte was ecstatic over her new doll(s), books, and miniature fairy castle.
After Epiphany, though, the boys coached away to begin their new school term, with "grandfather" Sir Hugo as their avuncular escort, and it was back to the routine drudgery of village and farm life in a cold midwinter, and only Lewrie, his wife, and daughter in the house.
And, much like the descriptions he'd read of North American porcupines mating, Lewrie found the process of reconciliation, and the enforced "togetherness," a prickly endeavour. With few occasions for visiting about, or receiving callers in return, and with Charlotte busy at her studies with her hired tutor, there were simply too many hours in a day. Not that it was boresome… exactly.
Wake, rise, and dress in the guest bed-chamber promptly at six; a quick shave and scrub-up, and breakfast was taken in the smaller dining room, en famille, round seven. Farm accounts, worked on together in his office, occupied another hour or so, with Lewrie the student and she the master, striving manful to remember what little he'd known of managing a farm from years before; striving manful to stay awake and pay heed to Caroline's "surely, you recall how… " or "surely, you remember what I once told you of… " lectures on crop rotation, animal husbandry, and sheep. A full pot of strong, hot coffee was very necessary!
Round ten or so, Caroline was busy with Mrs. Calder, the cook, or the tutor, and Lewrie had time in which to read a book or take a stroll through the barn and stables. Half-past twelve, though, and it was time for dinner. It was only by mid-afternoon that he was free to saddle up his old gelding, Anson, and canter into Anglesgreen to the Ploughman to have a pint or two and read the daily papers coached from London.
And, damn his hide did he linger too long or come home in his cups, either. No, once the papers were read, and a natter or two with Will and Maggie Cony and the idle regulars, life with his wife went so much better did he ride back out to his farm and skirt the bounds over the fallow fields, streams, and wood lots 'til his phyz was chilled to rosy red, and the last, lingering fumes of ale were dissipated. After that, he could return, about an hour before supper, for a stiff session in the parlour with wife and daughter, now free of household chores or lessons. A doting fuss must be made over Charlotte's lap dog, Dolly, though the wee beast still bared her teeth and flattened her ears whenever he got too close. Toulon and Chalky would huddle with him on the settee for safety, for lap, and for affection, flattening their ears, bottling tails and hissing fit to bust whenever Dolly approached too near at her play. His cats got along much better with Sewallis's wee pack of setters, all three of whom would never make true hunting dogs, and were goofily lumbering playmates.
A little music, some teasing banter with Charlotte (and a stiff glass of brandy) and it was time to sup together, again. After that, it was usually back to the parlour for more music together, or teaching Charlotte the simpler card games, before Mrs. Calder herded her up the stairs, leaving Lewrie and Caroline alone together.
"Chess," Lewrie said, apropos of nothing, to fill a void. "Or backgammon. D'ye think Charlotte'd enjoy learning those?"
"She hates to lose, though, Alan," Caroline answered, looking up from her current embroidery project.
"Can't learn to win 'less ye lose a few first. And she ought to learn that Life don't always let ye win. Even if she is a girl, she musn't be so cossetted, or spoiled, she ends up a sore loser. The boys know it… have t'know it before they enter adult lives and careers."
"You say I cosset her?" Caroline asked with one brow up.
"Not at all, Caroline!" Lewrie quickly countered, wondering how deep in trouble he was stepping. "It's just that… damn."
Caroline gave a rare, mischievous smile. "It's refreshing that you show concern for her improvements, dear. 'Damned if you do, damned if you don't'?"
"Something like that," Lewrie admitted, squirming.
"She's always been head-strong," Caroline explained, returning to her embroidery of a new handkerchief. "Though usually a sweet and biddable girl, well… with two older brothers to vie with before we sent them away to school, and now the only child in the house, she's developed a competitive streak… one which I've tried to scotch, as unseemly for a young lady. You may not have noticed, being at sea so long." And for once, that did not sound like a sour accusation.
"But you think introducin' her to new games'd not go amiss?"
"Even does she pout when she loses, I think she'd adore them," Caroline told him with another grin. "She's playing with her father, whom she hasn't seen in years, and with both of us cautioning her to be a better sport, well…!"
"Tomorrow, let's all go for a ride together," Lewrie suddenly suggested. "Hang the kitchen and still-room for a day, there's your capable Mistress Calder to oversee things. That new tea shop in the village… tea and sticky buns or muffins… the dry goods store to prowl? Ride the bounds together, maybe put up a fox and have a go at 'View, Halloo'? Away from her tutor and lessons for a bit, that'd be a treat, surely."
"That is a marvellous idea, Alan!" Caroline eagerly said. "We will tell her at breakfast. And I must own that some time away from household drudgery will suit me right down to my toes, as well."
"Good, then, we'll do it!" Lewrie exclaimed.
"Well," Caroline determined, gathering up her embroidery, "it is time for me to retire. Do not sit up too late. Goodnight, dear."
And, wonder of wonders, she actually crossed the short space 'twixt settee and her chair to lean over and give him a brief peck on his forehead before stepping away.