Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

"H as it only been five days since you arrived Lord Weston?" Lady Henney had sections of pine on her lap. She and Annette were expertly weaving them together.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" he answered over his shoulder as he stood on a stool and arranged garland over the doorway of the drawing room. They'd already finished the dining room and parlor. He was like a young cove again, sneaking shared glances and little smiles with Nettie across the room.

The butler and housekeeper had done a fine job on the portico. There was a large wreath on the door decorated with ribbon, holly, and pine cones. Garlands of green laced up the steps and around the doorway with the same bright colors and winter scents. In the entry hall, the garland continued up the stairs, bringing the scent of the outdoors into the house.

"How are you doing, Mr. Wilkens?" Annette watched as the tallest man in the room used a stick to place garland along the window tops to trail down along the sides. The room smelled of pine, cloves, apples, and spiced wine.

"As host, I should sample the wassail to be sure it's of good quality." Beecham ladled some of the punch into his already used cup.

"Is that your second or third testing, Papa?" Annette tied the last pine cone to the garland intended for the hearth.

"I believe it's his third," said William, a smirk tipping one corner of his mouth. "Save some for those of us working, eh, Father?"

"Balderdash! There's plenty more in the kitchen, Son," he replied, sipping at the warm drink. Then he winked at Lady Henney. "Is that mistletoe ready yet?"

"I'm working on it now," she said. "Be patient." The viscountess had tied a ribbon around a large ball of mistletoe, creating a loop at the top. She poked a finger through a basket that held the remaining decorations for this last project.

"Would you do the honors, Henry?" Lady Henney asked with a precocious glint in her eye.

"It will be the highlight of my day." He took the mistletoe and walked to the door of the drawing room. Andrew set the stool down for him, and he climbed up to hook the ribbon on a peg already in place. He plucked a berry before he stepped down and held it above his head. "Alice, love, I'm waiting."

She grinned and walked to her fiancé, stretching on her toes while he bent and gave her a sound kiss on the mouth. As she turned away, Beecham grabbed her arm. "Wait a moment, I believe one more berry just fell into my hand."

"How convenient." William rolled his eyes, but his tone was teasing. "Leave some berries for us too."

"Who do you have to trap under the mistletoe?" asked Annette. Was he holding on to a secret?

"One can only hope," her brother quipped back. "The trick is not letting the kiss lead to anything else. Right, Wilkens?"

His friend shrugged. "Truth be told, I've been considering the parson's trap lately."

"No, not you too," grumbled William. "A week ago, my sister had no suitors, and no one saw marriage in their near future. Now everyone is pairing up with someone. Or trying at least."

Andrew snorted. This evening of camaraderie was bittersweet. He wished Phoebe was here to share in his news and this most festive holiday. "Speaking of trying, how do you think Lucius is doing?"

"Driving the poor woman mad, probably. But he's determined." Annette poured a cup of wassail and offered it to Andrew. "Anyone else—besides Papa—ready for a cup?" A round of yes , please , and thank yous filled the room.

Everyone held up their punch and Beecham made a toast. "To old friends, new friends, and our ever-growing family. May we always be so blessed."

Someone called for a game of snapdragon. A shallow bowl containing raisins and nuts was fetched from the kitchen, and brandy poured into it while Beecham doused the lamps. The flames danced brightly on the glassy surface, casting a golden glow across the faces surrounding the punch bowl.

The voices grew animated as each took their turn snatching a treat from the flaming brandy. Andrew chewed on a hot raisin, enjoying the mix of fruit and brandy. The lamps were lit again after the flames died down. William broke out in an energetic rendition of "Good King Wenceslas," Lady Henney dashed to the pianoforte, and soon, everyone was singing.

After the third carol, Andrew saw Nettie stifle a yawn. "If no one else will admit it, I will say it first. It's been a long day. Happy Christmas and good night, my friends."

"Yes, indeed," agreed Lady Henney. "I'm so glad I decided to stay, so I won't have to make the trip tomorrow. Nettie did a superb job with the menu."

"Ambrose and his wife will be here tomorrow afternoon. I don't believe you've met him, Drew." Beecham finished off the last of his wassail. "He stays close to his vicarage. Not much for the noise and commotion of London."

"I look forward to meeting them both." Andrew touched Annette's arm as everyone left the drawing room. "Did you want to play billiards with your brother and Wilkens?"

She shook her head. "I've had enough billiards for the week. I?—"

Andrew held a berry above her head and bent to kiss her. Her lips were soft and warm and tasted of sweet wine and raisins. Mixed with her familiar jasmine, it was a heady combination. Straightening, he held out his arm, knowing she was tired.

"Keep that up, Lord Weston, and I'll never sleep tonight."

Andrew returned to his room. Bowman was waiting to assist with his undress. Andrew's thoughts were on Christmas Day. He had given Phoebe her gift early. A new pair of leather riding gloves and a diamond hairpin. This new courtship had him longing to give Nettie something special. Symbolic.

"I'm afraid this development with Lady Annette has left me in a spot. I'd like to give her a token, but I'm at a disadvantage with Christmas already tomorrow."

"I have an idea." Bowman hung his employer's trousers in the wardrobe. "I'm sure the ladies have silk thread in a multitude of colors. I'll have the housekeeper procure some. You could make a?—"

"A lover's knot!" exclaimed Andrew. "Zooks! You're brilliant."

"Thank you, my lord. And if you need something on the cuff, consider an apple."

Andrew frowned. "An apple? Wasn't it the fruit that destroyed the Garden of Paradise?"

"Yes, sir. However, the apple has long been considered the fruit of health, healing, knowledge, and affection. The apple tree is considered sacred in mythology, symbolizing good health, future happiness, and a place of rest and shelter." The valet coughed lightly. "The goddess Aphrodite was given one as a symbol of love. It is also connected to eternal youth, long life, and renewal."

Andrew snorted. "Quite the academic of random facts, Bowman. You never cease to amaze me."

* * *

25 December

Annette woke with the sunrise, anticipation spurring her from her bed. It had not snowed overnight, but a sheen of white still glittered under the early rays of the sun. They would attend church, eat and graze like the cows and sheep all day, greet carolers, and remember how blessed they all were.

She, Lady Annette Page, was being courted by a man who held her with great affection. In turn, she had fallen in love with Lord Weston in a matter of days. Her future shone like the north star, her heart full, her soul at ease. A dream, a fantasy that had become reality.

Alice had spoken with her, pointing out there were a few issues Annette should discuss with Andrew. This was one reason for a courtship, to get to know one another. Should he tell his daughter about the courtship before Annette met her or after? Did he want children?

"Nettie, these subjects can be daunting, but if you wait, you could both end up disappointed. We must make sure you and Drew have the same outlook when it comes to your future together."

What if he didn't want to raise another child? She couldn't imagine her father not asking that specific question before he gave his approval to court her. And Alice had pointed out he had no heir. Her cheeks burned at the thought of giving Drew a son.

Christmas Day shone bright. Everyone was up early and in the breakfast room. The smell of bacon and ham, eggs, warm chocolate, strong coffee, and tea filled the air along with the scent of pine. She'd worn her favorite day dress, a burgundy muslin with delicate Italian lace on the sleeves, hem, and under the high bodice. She wore a pearl pendant with matching earbobs and a bracelet of tiny seed pearls.

"You are stunning, Nettie," Drew whispered in her ear. "I must get you under the mistletoe as soon as possible."

She pressed her lips together to hold back the silly smile that threatened, letting the room know the viscount had said something not quite appropriate. "Happy Christmas," was all she replied. He held out a chair for her, and she sipped her warm chocolate as her gaze swept around the table. Papa, Alice, William, Drew, and Mr. Wilken, who seemed quite at ease.

"I wonder how Lucius fares?" she asked the group at large.

William grinned. "Better question: How does Lady Winfield fare?"

"If anyone has the perseverance to win over the countess, it's Lucius." Her father shoveled a fork of eggs into his mouth, then talked around them. "Ambrose and Hester arrive this afternoon."

As they spoke, the butler announced the arrival of a guest.

"There is no way Ambrose skipped his sermon, today of all days," remarked Alice.

"No, my lady," said Mr. Gibbs. "Her name is Miss Phoebe Weston."

In burst a young woman, her auburn curls in disarray, brown eyes flashing with anger. The petite full-figured lady stomped across the room to the viscount. "Please pardon this untimely interruption," she announced as all the men stood, "but I must speak to my father." With that, she turned on her heel and returned to the hallway.

Drew rose from his chair, cheeks stained with embarrassment, and made his apologies as he followed his daughter from the room.