Chapter 15

15

Cyril closed the doors behind the last of the audience members being shooed out the door and the few remaining helpers who would now dash to join their friends and relatives in the wood. The mice would use snowballs and acorns to redirect them, and the heroic characters would guide toward the generally correct areas with songs and dancing.

He slipped over to Mariah’s side, grinning when he saw what she did—Gyldenkrone and Louise, arm in arm, paying more attention to each other than to the path the little mice were chasing them toward. “I don’t think he needed our help.”

She shook her head good-naturedly. “Well, one could never accuse the greve of not knowing his own mind. Or of being too shy to act on it. It seems he realized the obvious too, and so why delay?”

“Good.” Cyril jauntily offered his own arm. “Now. Shall we?”

She took his arm, and he led her skipping through the snow-covered garden, aimed not for the Almond Gate, but for the more direct route to the lake. They had to be there to receive whoever found the gold-paper–wrapped box and brought it to the sleighs that ought to be lined up and waiting.

They were only halfway there when a snowball exploded against Cyril’s back. “Hey!” It was more a laugh than a shout, but he spun to see who the culprit was.

One of the Green boys, though he didn’t remember the right name just yet. The lad’s eyes went wide with alarm but quickly melted its way into laughter and then apology. “Sorry, Mr. Lightbourne, Lady Mariah. Didn’t realize who you were.”

Mariah chuckled. “Good to know you’re doing your job so enthusiastically, Henry.”

When he grinned, his cheeks all but vanished beneath his paper-cone nose ... which was growing a bit soggy in the snow. “This is the best Christmas Eve ever. Can we do it next year? Or do something that lets me throw snowballs at the blokes?”

They both laughed, and Cyril said, “I’m with young Mr. Green. I think a village-wide holiday play is a perfect new tradition. We ought to start writing next year’s while the Christmas spirit is still upon us, my lady. That will give us plenty of time to prepare.”

“Yeah!” That pronouncement apparently enough of a promise for him, the little mouse scurried off, scooping up more snow for a new snowball on his way.

Mariah, still grinning, turned them back toward their shortcut. “It came together rather well, didn’t it?”

“Indeed. When everyone works together, amazing things can happen. A good life lesson, I think.” Certainly a good one for a future landlord. He hoped he’d always remember it—how all it had taken to unite this whole community was the promise of joy and hope and the humble asking for help.

Perhaps he ought to take a lesson from Gyldenkrone and start a journal. To make certain he never forgot such lessons.

“Though we can’t just have the children’s play as our lead-in to the treasure hunt every year. They ought to have the chance to hunt for the prize too.” She flashed him a grin, her cheeks and nose prettily pink from the chill. “Especially since we can reuse the prize every year.”

“Stroke of genius, that,” Cyril agreed. “Glad the professor thought of it.”

“I only hope the snow doesn’t cover it over. We don’t want to lose it—can you imagine?”

He chuckled. “I daresay the wood will provide enough shelter. The snow won’t be quite as thick in there, at least not yet. And we found a good spot for it.”

“And I suppose if the hour grows too late and no one has found it, we’ll give them hint upon hint until someone does.”

“I will be utterly surprised if it comes to that.”

They could hear the hunt, though from here he only caught stray glimpses of color through the trunks of the trees. Laughter rang out merrily, along with squeals. And the occasional thunk of a snowball finding its target.

No one had made it to the lake yet, happily. Well, no one but the two they’d arranged to meet them there. Kellie and Blakely stood in front of the sleighs, talking and laughing. Mariah’s maid spotted them first and directed Kellie’s attention toward them with a smile while she reached into one of the sleighs and pulled out a bundle of fabric.

“This part was a stroke of genius too,” Mariah said, giving him a smile so warm it was a wonder the snow didn’t melt.

He shrugged off the compliment but not the smile. “Didn’t seem quite fair that we wouldn’t have some role in our own story.”

When they’d written it as children, Mariah had lobbied to have the story end when their little heroine had grown up—the prince must return for her, she declared, and marry her so that they could live happily ever after.

It had been one of their many arguments. What did Cyril care, after all, about that? Growing up and taking on the responsibility it entailed hadn’t sounded like a perfect ending to him. He’d insisted they end their story while the girl and the nutcracker-turned-human were still young. Still able to live in their imaginations.

But she’d been right, of course. The real world always found them, whether they wanted it to or not. Their part, then, ought to be to bring what magic they could into the world with them. Steal a bit of the joy of childhood and carry it always in their pockets—or their hearts, as it were.

Would she still want the fairy prince to carry her away? Or in this case, to stay here with him forever? Would she grant him a chance to be that prince?

He’d know soon.

Kellie greeted him with a smile and the old military jacket they’d dug up from the attic, which looked close enough to the nutcracker’s style. “Found the hat too,” he pronounced happily, waving it in the air. “You’ll be quite the grand hussar.”

“Perfect.” Cyril shrugged off his cape coat and traded it for the uniform, doing the same with his hat a moment later. “How do I look?”

“Dashing.” With a grin, Kellie pulled a promising little paper bag from the floor of the sleigh too. “And here. Mrs. Trutchen insisted you’d need a little something to tide you over out here in the cold.”

With a grin of his own, Cyril took the bag and, after a gentle squeeze to ascertain what was in it, tucked it into his pocket. Sugar plums, naturally. Perfect. He didn’t want to sample one now—with his luck, he’d have a mouth full of the chewy confection just as the winners rushed forth with their treasure in hand—but he’d share them with Mariah after they’d ushered the players into their sleighs.

He spun to see how her own transformation was going, and his eyes went wide. Like his own, her impromptu costume was more outerwear than anything. But she or her maid had dug up a cloak of thick, luxurious velvet in deep purple, trimmed in white fur and embroidered with silver and gold thread.

“What queen did you borrow that from?” he had to ask.

She laughed and spun in a quick circle so that it flowed out around her. “It was Papa’s mother’s, I believe. Or stored with her things, anyway. Magnificent, isn’t it?”

“And instead of your hat, my lady...” Blakely held out a box with a grin. “Found this with the late countess’s things too. His lordship said you were welcome to wear it tonight. I think he thought I meant for the ball, but why not start now?”

Clearly intrigued, Mariah pulled the lid off the short, square box and then gasped at whatever was inside.

A tiara, he saw a second later as she reached in almost reverently and pulled it out. Not an uncommon thing for a countess to have, he supposed. Even having missed the London Season, he’d seen enough drawings and photographs in newspapers to know that such accessories were a favorite for noblewomen to wear to balls.

This one shimmered with gold and was inlaid with purple stones he guessed were amethyst—though why a tiara with so many gemstones had been in a random corner of the attic and not in the earl’s safe with, presumably, the other family jewels, he couldn’t imagine.

Perhaps Mariah heard his thoughts. “It’s paste. The late countess had duplicates made of her grand pieces, which she would wear in place of the real ones on most occasions. She had a necklace stolen once and became quite paranoid. But it’s just as lovely, isn’t it? I always loved this purple one.” She touched a finger to one of the large oval stones. “Don’t they put you in mind of plums?”

“Perfect, then, for the lady of Sugar Plum Manor.”

She grinned at him, unfastened her hat, and let Blakely position the tiara on her hair. Snow quickly claimed the newly available space too, but the crystals clung for only a moment before melting. Even so, she looked as if she really had just stepped from a fairy tale.

Blakely clapped her hands together, beaming. “Absolute perfection. And with that, Kellie and I had better hurry back to the house so that everything’s ready for you when you come in. Don’t linger too long out here, now—you do still have a ball to dress for.”

“I know, I know.” Mariah touched a hand to the tiara. “This will go with the gown too, don’t you think?”

“Beautifully.” That assurance given, Blakely moved to Kellie’s side, and the two set off for the house with waves and demands for a full update on how the adventure ended.

Cyril could turn his full focus, then, on Mariah. He offered his arm once more. “Ready to greet our guests, princess?”

She chuckled and rested her hand on his forearm in a far more stiff and formal way than usual, and they turned to face the exit from the wood, set off for the adventurers with velvet ropes someone had dug up from a nearby theater. The laughter and shouts from within the forest had grown a bit louder.

Mariah’s face softened. “I admit it—I was afraid my family would think this ... silly. Stupid. I can’t say how relieved I am that they seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“As am I.” Not because he feared being deemed silly or even stupid by the family—but because embracing this joy meant embracing hope, embracing light. And it was a relief to know they could. That they were willing to. How dismal life would be without that.

Other words, more important words, warmed on his tongue, ready to be spoken. But he didn’t dare, not yet. Not when at any moment the household could come bursting out of the tree line. No, much like the sugar plums, his heart would have to keep a few minutes more.

But only a few. The snow must not have hidden the package too much, because soon enough, Fred came dancing out, the small golden box held high as Castleton tried, laughing, to reach up and snatch it from him.

Mariah’s breath of laugh sounded incredulous. “Is that Fred? Acting like a child? Teasing Papa?”

“Either that or we’re sharing a vision of madness.”

But it really was Fred, cheeks pink, hat covered in snow, and smiling—truly smiling—in a way Cyril had yet to see him do. He was flaunting his victory, yes, but with nothing but teasing in his tone as he mocked his parents for being too slow.

His shouts of success must have urged the others to cut short the hunt and follow the path, because after those first three came a steady stream of family and staff, all emerging from the trees with smiles and laughter. They came in twos and threes and fours, arms linked together, hands sometimes clasped in hands, shoulders touching.

Cyril drew in a long, happy breath. It had turned out exactly as Mariah had hoped. A snatch of adventure, a dose of fun, a dash of competition for a mystery prize. It had united them. More, it had filled them with joy and anticipation. It had made their hearts and faces bright.

He couldn’t think of a more fitting way to usher in this holy night. The Christ child they would celebrate had already touched each of them with His love. And He’d done it through the sweet imagination of the woman beside him.

Please, Lord , he prayed even as the happy crowd approached. Please help me to keep her always beside me. Nothing in this world would make me happier.

Fred reached them first, though only by a few steps. His eyes glimmered with a lightness Cyril had never seen in them, and he was grinning wide as he held out the golden box with its white ribbon, still tied. The expression took about a decade from his looks. He could have been a boy with a mouse nose tied to his face and a rope tail dangling behind him.

More fascinating still, he took one look at Cyril and his sister and dropped to one knee, holding up the box as if it were his pledge of fealty. “My lord nutcracker, my princess. I have recovered the golden box and present it to you as instructed.”

Mariah’s lips twitched. If he was surprised to see her brother playing along so fully, he could only imagine how she felt. She’d said he’d been like this once, eager to join her games of make-believe. But not for many years. Since he went off to school. Since the burden of the Lyons estate and title loomed and then rested so heavily on his shoulders.

“Well done, brave knight,” she said, projecting her voice enough that it would reach the rest of the crowd too. Their happy chatter faded as they realized she was speaking. “Well done, all! Your laughter has unlocked the magic of Christmas Wood, and your joy has sent the vile mouse king, Squeaks, away from our kingdom for good! For his treachery cannot stand in the face of such joy and goodness. And as long as peace reigns in your hearts and on your lips, he will remain banished.”

“But beware!” Cyril added on cue. “When strife comes among you, so will Squeaks and his minions. Cling to the joy, my loyal subjects. Cling to the love warming your hearts now as you prepare to celebrate the true King.”

“Hasten now to prepare for this grand celebration! Sir Frederick the Brave, bring your prize to the ball with you, and you will see what magic it unleashes.”

They stepped to the side, indicating that the guests should pile into the sleighs. Fred, however, moved to his sister first and gave her a swift hug. “This was fun, Ri,” he said. “Just what I didn’t know I needed.”

Within a few minutes, everyone had climbed into the line of sleighs—Fred and the Castletons and their personal servants in the first, Gyldenkrone and Louise and some other upper staff in the second, and so on. And then they were dashing toward the manor, bells jingling merrily on the horses’ harnesses and laughter filling the air once again.

Beside him, Mariah let out a happy sigh. “Better even than I imagined. And that Fred found it!” She laughed in delight. “I honestly expected him to be moping at the back of the pack, furious at being dragged into the game.”

He caught her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “Those least likely to want a bit of fun are the ones most in need of it. I’m glad he embraced it.”

“Me too. And now I suppose we had better walk back.” But she didn’t take off, plowing new tracks through the snow already filling their old ones.

Good. Had she tried it, he would have had to stop her. As it was, he could shift to move in front of her and reach for her other hand too. “Mariah, I ... Before we go in, I have a confession to make.”

Though she frowned, it couldn’t erase the joy shining from her whole self. “That sounds terribly serious.”

“Serious, yes. But happy, I hope.” He lifted their joined hands between them, easing closer. “I’m afraid I lied. Last week, when I arrived.”

“Lied.” That probably sounded quite serious to her ears. Her brows sank lower.

He nodded. “I lied when I said that I was happy with your suggestion that we just be friends. I’m afraid ... I’m afraid it didn’t take but an hour for me to regret agreeing to that.”

Now her brows flew upward. And he hoped with everything in him that the shift of her expression from lighthearted to something deeper was because it was wonder that filled her, and not dread. It didn’t look like dread, but she didn’t say anything.

He lifted her hands higher and pressed a kiss to each set of knuckles. “Mariah—my lady. My princess. I have no desire to imagine a future without you at my side. Please tell me you’ll let me try to win your heart. Give me a chance to be more than your old friend.”

It wasn’t just the laughter that rang out like silver bells that made his heart sing—it was the sheen of happy tears in her eyes and the way she leaned closer too. “Silly Cyril. You needn’t try to win my heart. It’s been yours all these years. There is no one I would rather serve beside to make our little corner of the world filled with joy and love.”

Love . A week ago, as he was preparing to leave London and come here, he’d thought the whole notion one that brought more pain than joy. But that was only because he’d let himself forget. Let himself be ruled by his fears and insecurities. Let himself think this—her—nothing but a dream.

Yet here she stood before him, promising a lifetime of laughter to counter every heartache. Of smiles to combat every pain. Of dreams to lead them through any nightmares life threw at them.

It felt as though his blood bubbled like champagne. Laughing, he let go her hands so he could put his own on her waist, lift her, spin her around in the whirl of Christmas snow. When he put her feet on the ground again, she was laughing too, and she made no argument when he drew her closer, his arms wrapped now around her.

He caught her gaze and lowered his head, asking silently if this could possibly be true. If she’d let him kiss her, let him clasp hold of this dream.

She circled her arms around his neck and tilted her face up to meet his. Answer enough for him. He touched his lips to hers—and he could have sworn he heard a chorus of angels singing. Or perhaps that was just the echo of the neighbors singing a carol as they trekked back toward their homes.

Either way. He kissed her softly, a promise of what was to come. And then again, because he couldn’t help himself. More, because she was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

When he pulled away enough to claim a breath, she smiled up at him again, her eyes looking as dazed as he felt. “Please tell me you’re not planning a long and drawn-out courtship with an equally long and drawn-out engagement. Are you?”

Was he? It was probably the reasonable thing. But then, her parents had been willing to let her go off with Gyldenkrone to Denmark after scarcely an introduction. Cyril, at least, would be here, right here, all the time. Even with four years of near-silence and twelve since they’d last been face-to-face, they knew each other so well.

“Perish the thought.” Perhaps they would need a bit of length to their engagement—there were plans to be made, after all, and put into reality. But they both knew what they wanted. He dropped to one knee, claiming her hands again. He didn’t have a ring—didn’t honestly even know how to get one. But he had something to offer, anyway.

Grinning, he withdrew the bag of sugar plums and pulled one out, held it up. “It’s the only sparkling thing I have to offer right now. But I think it’s a fine symbol of all I would make yours. Will you marry me, Lady Mariah Lyons? Will you spend your life here with me at Plumford? At Sugar Plum Manor?”

She took the plum from his fingers, the most beautiful smile in the world on her lips. “Yes and yes and yet another yes. Today, tomorrow, and forever.”

What was he to do but surge to his feet and seal the promise with another kiss?