“Carry it?” Peregrine suggested.
But Mr. Chambers, as they might have expected, had organized everything in advance. Gardeners were to bring carts drawn by teams of horses, he explained. Indeed, they came into sight, raising clouds of snow, almost before he had finished explaining.
And so they all trudged empty-handed back to the house, having to wade through snow that was considerably deeper than it had been when they set out. Elizabeth did not know who it was who began singing “The Holly and the Ivy,” but soon they were all singing lustily and not particularly musically and following it with other Christmas carols. Mr. Chambers, who was walking beside her, four-year-old Louisa perched on one of his shoulders, had a good tenor voice, she discovered.
Elizabeth felt awkward and shy with him. Why had she avoided his kiss?
She had wanted it. But had he laid claim to kissing her later beneath the kissing bough? With the lady of my choice. Surely that must be what he had meant. He was not angry with her, then?
She would not think of his being angry. She would not think of her own lost opportunity. There was much to look forward to for the rest of the day. At this particular moment she was chilly, untidy, weary, heavy with milk-and suddenly so filled to the brim with happiness that somehow it seemed more painful than pleasurable.
The children were shooed off to the nursery as soon as they returned to the house. They ate luncheon up there, and some of the younger ones, despite loud protests, were put to bed for a sleep afterward. But all were promised by Edwin, who stayed with them while Elizabeth was feeding Jeremy, that they could come down and help afterward.
“Children have never been allowed out of the nursery during our family gatherings,” his wife told him as they made their way downstairs later.
He did not know if she was rebuking him for the promise he had made the children or for suggesting that they bring Jeremy downstairs with them now since he had not gone back to sleep after his feeding. He was tucked into the crook of one of Edwin’s arms.
“I was brought up with the idea that children are to be enjoyed as an integral part of a family,” he said. “Am I spoiling your Christmas, Elizabeth?”
“No.” She spoke quickly, though he was not convinced that she meant it.
And yet he could have sworn that she had enjoyed the morning outdoors after the first few minutes, when he had expected her to return to the house at any moment. She had looked startlingly, vividly lovely while engaging in the snowball fight and laughing helplessly. He had found himself aching with longing to have all that animation and joy focused on him.
“What are your family Christmases usually like?” he asked.
She walked down half a flight of stairs before answering. “There is a great deal of eating,” she said. “And drinking.And card playing and billiards.And sleeping.”
“Do you enjoy them?”
“I have always hated Christmas,” she said with quiet vehemence.
There was no chance for further conversation. They were entering the dining room, where everyone else was already gathered. There was a minor sensation, as Edwin had expected, over the appearance of Jeremy.
Predictably, Lady Templar, completely ignoring her son-in-law, ordered Elizabeth to summon his nurse to take him back to the nursery.
“It is Mr. Chambers’s wish that Jeremy stay with us until he becomes cross or tired, Mama,” his wife explained with her usual quiet dignity.
“That child will be ruined,” her mother said tartly.
“By spending time with his papa?” Elizabeth said. “Surely not.”
“Well, do not say I did not warn you,” her mother told her.
Edwin realized suddenly in just how awkward a situation he had placed his wife, who had always obeyed her mother without question, he guessed, and yet who must also have been brought up to believe that she must give the same unquestioned obedience to her husband after she married. Now he was forcing her into making a difficult choice. So far it seemed that she was putting duty to her husband ahead of compliance with her mother’s will.
What her will was he did not know. Had she ever exercised it? Had she ever been given a chance? If he had a daughter, he thought, he would want to raise her to think and act for herself, to have opinions, to balance personal identity against duty.
If he had a daughter…
He wished suddenly that he could go back and deal differently with his marriage after his father’s death last year. He wished he had persevered more to make something workable of what had begun so inauspiciously.
He sat at the table, Jeremy nestled in the crook of one arm, and proceeded to eat his luncheon one-handed. Only for a short while, though. The baby went from hand to hand about the table during the meal, to the delight of most of the lady guests and the silent, haughty disapproval of Lady Templar.
When it came time to decorate the house later, Lady Templar and a few of the other older relatives retreated to the morning room. Elizabeth’s uncle Oswald removed to the library with his son, Peregrine, and a couple of the children to work on the carving of the Nativity scene. It would be as well, Edwin thought with an inward chuckle when he peeped in there once, if his mother-in-law did not stray in that direction. There were wood shavings, tools, and unrecognizable wooden objects strewn everywhere.
The drawing room was a hive of industry. A few ladies were tying lavish bows out of the satin ribbon from the village shop and attaching the little brass bells that had been found there too. A few of the more intrepid young people were risking making pincushions out of their fingers as they fashioned wreaths and sprays out of the holly and then attached a bow to each. A large group was earnestly engaged in designing a kissing bough, using all available materials and weaving in the all-important mistletoe. Three young girls, too old for the schoolroom set but not quite old enough to be accepted as adults, took turns holding Jeremy and the other baby, who had also been brought down. A few children darted happily about doing nothing in particular and getting under everyone’s feet. A couple of men were balanced on chairs, pinning decorations to wall sconces and pictures and door frames while their womenfolk tilted their heads from one side to another and advised raising the decoration half an inch to the right and then one and a half inches to the left. In the dining room much the same thing was going on.
On the grand staircase two footmen and a parlor maid, who had jumped eagerly into the spirit of things, were twining ivy about the banister.
Elizabeth was moving from group to group, helping, advising, encouraging. In the absence of her mother, she had come naturally into her own as hostess, and glowed with what appeared to be pure pleasure.
Edwin did his share of climbing and precarious leaning. But he also recognized the yearning of some of the children to feel useful. He took several of them astride his shoulders while they reached high to balance a pine bough along the top of a picture frame or to spread holly along the top of the mantel. He could do the job at least twice as fast without their “help,” of course, but there was no hurry. This was what Christmas was all about.
They were almost finished when Lord and Lady Templar and the others who had retired from the chaos entered the drawing room with the announcement that the tea tray had been sent for. But the kissing bough group had just declared that it was ready for hanging.
“Do let us put it up before the tray arrives,” Elizabeth said, looking flushed and animated and quite incredibly beautiful. “In the center of the ceiling between the two chandeliers, I believe. Does everyone agree?”
There was a buzz of acquiescence, a smattering of applause, and a few stray giggles. The family had livened up considerably since the day before, Edwin thought.
“If you believe, Lizzie, that I am going-” Lady Templar began.