Seventeen

J onathan and Claire enjoyed a long, languid, and thoroughly delightful d?ner à deux , spent chiefly in catching one another up on the past year and how they’d each frittered it away in pining for the other. They lingered over the final course, heedless of the poor footmen growing old at their posts, until a noise of distant revelry burst their private bubble.

When they quit the library, the sounds grew more distinct. Raucous laughter, clinking glassware, and off-key snatches of Hark the Herald wafted down the corridor, all emanating from the drawing room.

Somebody had left the door ajar, as though to set a trap. When the two lovers were so foolish as to peep inside, they found themselves immediately seized and beset by hearty handshakes, hugs, kisses, and congratulations. Then, before they could escape, they were furnished with eggnog and made to stay and have a wonderful time.

Caroling was followed by charades and then a call for snap-dragon, the unaccountably popular game of snatching raisins from a bowl of flaming brandy. While the others singed their fingers, Jonathan and Claire (protesting she came by more than enough burns in her workshop) sat down to a nice, safe round of whist with the Cainewoods. The two couples got on famously, and by the end of the set Jonathan was on Christian-name terms with Rachael and Griffin—who would soon be his siblings, he was elated to realize. All his life he’d wished for siblings.

But family relations were not always so easy, as Jonathan well knew. Though the engagement was toasted again and again, one Chase made a point of excluding herself, declaring she would withhold her felicitations until the marriage was actually accomplished. Though at first taking Elizabeth’s declaration in good humor, Jonathan could not but wonder—as the evening wore on and she remained stubbornly aloof—if her hostility toward him would fade, or if she might never accept him as a brother.

Noah, by contrast, seemed twice as thrilled as everyone else—even when, fortified by eggnog, Claire scolded him for hiding his correspondence with Jonathan.

“It was wrong of me, I know,” he admitted with a good grace. “I’m sorry for deceiving you, though at the time I imagined myself to be protecting you. I thought you needed space to heal, an interval to forget. Yet as time went by, and you both seemed more miserable, not less…”

She let him continue apologizing for a while, then brought Rachael in to heap on more abuse, before forgiving him at last.

But no sooner were Noah and Claire at peace than Rachael began to look troubled, even shedding a tear over the year Claire and Jonathan had lost. As Griffin led her away to calm down, her two siblings looked on in astonishment, then spent several minutes debating what had prompted such un-Rachael-like behavior.

Claire concluded she was feeling guilty for having gone off to Cainewood, leaving her hapless brother and sisters to muck about in their folly.

Noah concluded she was with child again.

Whatever the true cause, its effects were realized as the party began to break up. When Rachael embraced her sister and wished her brother-to-be a good night, her eyes grew damp again. “You two have been through so much,” she said tremulously, “and it’s all my fault! If I’d been here to manage things properly…” She sniffled. “But what’s done is done, as Griffin keeps telling me?—”

“To very little effect.” Griffin offered her a handkerchief.

“—and you’re together now; that’s the important thing.” Rachael blew her nose. “I hope you won’t waste any more time. Not a single day! You plan to marry soon?”

“Very soon,” Claire said soothingly. “We’ve already got a new special license?—”

“Have you, indeed? Then why not wed tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow!” Claire’s gaze flew to Jonathan’s. “I—well—I’ve no objection, but…”

“Nor have I!” Jonathan assured her. “Only I’m not sure it’s possible. The license is at Twineham Park, thirty miles away.”

“Unless it’s still on the road from Canterbury,” Claire reminded him. “And then there’s the problem of the vicar, who refused to marry us on Christmas Day last year—and it’s too late to find somebody else this time?—“

“Leave all that to me,” Rachael said, her spirits suddenly improved. “I can manage the vicar. And you”—turning to Jonathan—“send your coachman to fetch the license. If he leaves now for Twineham, he should easily return by morning.”

“That’s true.” Jonathan hesitated. “But even so…”

Griffin touched his wife’s hand. “Is it worth the trouble, my love? Whether they marry tomorrow or next week, what’s the difference?”

Rachael drew herself up. “Not—a—single—day!” she repeated emphatically, imperious eyes rounding on her husband. “Now accompany me upstairs, for I need to be sick.”

With dignified haste she withdrew, Griffin following in her wake.

Jonathan raised his brows at Claire. “Do you suppose Noah was right?”

She lifted her chin. “I’d say we both were. But don’t tell him yet, if you please. He’ll be insufferable.”

“Your wish is my command.”

She looked pleased by the notion. “In that case, here’s my next command: Would you be a dear and humor my sister by sending for the license?”

“I will. Though I hope you won’t raise your hopes too much, in case there’s been some delay.”

“La,” she said, tossing her hair, “if we have to postpone it won’t be the first time.”

Though he knew she spoke in jest, her words still touched a nerve. The thought of disappointing her again made him grind his teeth. Draining the last of his eggnog and plonking down the mug, he resolved to do everything in his power to see this wedding through.

Starting now.

“I’ll bid you good night,” he said, taking Claire’s hands, “and be off to find my coachman.” Though he wasn’t superstitious, he was mentally crossing his fingers. “You should get some sleep. Oh, we almost forgot about the ring! I must send along a note to authorize my butler’s opening the lockbox. That’s easily done, at any rate.” He brushed a kiss over her knuckles before turning to go. “Sweet dreams, my love.”

“Jonathan,” she called after him, “about the ring…”

He looked back to her. “Yes?”

“I—” She glanced away, twisting a pearl ring on her finger. “Well, you know how very particular I am about jewelry, being as I am a jeweler, and all.”

He crossed his arms. “I do.”

“And I adore your grandmother’s ring! It’s lovely, and the family association is so special.”

“I’m glad.” He waited.

She bit her lip. “It’s just that—um, the diamonds are a…an old-fashioned rose cut—a-and the design—it’s not quite got the—um?—”

“You hate it.”

“Yes, I hate it!” She hid her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry! How dreadful am I? It’s just not at all suited to my taste—though I’m sure it looked wonderful on your grandmother!—and well, the setting is really not?—”

“Claire, stop!” Laughing heartily, he tugged on her wrists. “It’s all right. I don’t care what ring you wear, as long as you love wearing it. If you should like me to buy a replacement—or if you’d prefer to make one yourself—I’ll have not the slightest objection.”

“Actually...I’ve already made something.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow. “When did you have time for that?”

“In February,” she mumbled.

“Feb—? Oh, right! You spent January in bed,” he recalled, thinking back on their dinner conversation, “and February in your workshop. But you didn’t say what you were making in there! May I see it?”

“Yes, of course.” Bidding goodnight to the handful of remaining revelers, she lead him from the drawing room and down a long corridor, passing by the kitchen stores to enter her workshop.

It was a spare room furnished with two large workbenches—one covered with the in-progress works of Elizabeth’s floral art, the other with Claire’s jewelry-making things—and myriad shelves stacked with supplies for a dozen other feminine crafts, all of which the Greystone ladies excelled at.

“Happy Christmas, Kippers,” Jonathan said, petting the tabby curled up on a stool by the door.

“Here it is.” Looking self-conscious, Claire placed a ring on his outstretched palm.

Jonathan raised it to eye level for a close examination. A line of oval gemstones marched across the slender gold band, trimmed with astonishingly detailed and delicate gold-work, which Jonathan recognized as filigree (having learned all about such things from Claire last year). He gave a low whistle.

She smiled. “Does that mean you approve?”

“Wholeheartedly,” he said in reverent tones. “Makes Granny’s boring old ring look like a rusty screw-nut.”

“Jonathan!” She cuffed him on the shoulder.

“It does, though! I’ll never understand how you can make such teeny little designs—no, don’t explain it to me again!” he added quickly over her indrawn breath. “I just mean that you’re incredibly talented.”

She blushed prettily. “Thank you.”

Rotating the band to admire each stone, he remarked, “I don’t think I’ve seen a ring like this before, with every jewel a different color. It’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“In England, yes. It’s an acrostic ring, a new fashion from Paris. Each gemstone represents a letter, so that taken together they spell out a secret message.”

“That’s clever.” Jonathan had always been impressed by how much thought she put into her pieces. Never content ‘just’ to make a pretty trinket, she was constantly seeking out new techniques and innovations. “How do I decipher the message?”

“Nothing tricky—it’s just the initial of each stone. The first one is?—”

“Don’t tell me!” he bid her. “I want to solve it myself.”

“Oh!” She made an apologetic face. “I fear you’ll find it difficult, since you won’t be familiar with several of them.”

“I may be familiar. Let’s see…a green stone comes first. Is it an emerald?”

“No.” Her eyes danced. “Do you give up?”

“Never!” He gave a lopsided grin. “But do give me just the first answer, please.”

“Chalcedony.”

“Kal-se-what? Never would have reckoned that one. Is the first letter K or C?”

“It’s C.”

“Very well, next we have something blue. Sapphire?”

“No! Shall I tell you?”

Sighing, he nodded.

“Lapis lazuli.”

“Ah! Yes, now I recognize it. C—L. All right, now an iridescent green, or perhaps blue. Looks familiar, but…what is it?”

“An opal.”

“No! Aren’t opals white?”

She laughed. “It is white, if you look closely. But I wanted it to complement the other stones, so I chose one with lots of fire—that’s the shimmery blue-green that you see.”

“Huh. So we have C—L—O, and then comes another green one—though a bit of a bluer green—still, I shall guess emerald!”

“It’s vesuvianite—first discovered on Mount Vesuvius, you may be interested to know.”

“Indeed I am! By Jove, was I there just last month? Italy seems a lifetime ago.” He shook his head to clear it. “At any rate, that makes C—L—O—V, and yet another green stone comes next, so tell me it’s not an emerald.”

“But it is.”

“Well, I’ll be! And is this one beside it a sapphire?”

“Right again!”

“Only one more to go, then: C—L—O—V—E—S, and…oh, no! Has the last stone fallen out?”

“Actually, I never set it,” she admitted with a sheepish air. “I couldn’t, because I didn’t know what stone to use. But now I do. Would you like to see it as well? It will take a few minutes.”

“Of course I want to see it!” Enjoying himself, he rolled his eyes at her. “I cannot leave without solving the puzzle.”

She laughed as she moved to her workbench, where she opened a drawer and pulled out three large, very unusually shaped keys. Then she walked across the workshop to a tall, dark, equally unusual cabinet. It looked ancient and fancy and seemed to be made of…

“Is that cabinet made of iron?”

“Yes. It may look like a cabinet to you, but it’s a safe.”

“It must weigh a ton.”

“At least. Interesting, isn’t it? I’m told it’s been sitting right in this spot for more than a hundred years.” As she talked, she slipped her fingers along some decorative pieces, apparently finding a few release mechanisms, because all of a sudden three keyholes appeared. “The keys have to be used in a certain order,” she explained, using the ones she’d brought with her to complete the sequence. “And then...” He heard a loud click before she pulled a hidden lever and the door swung open. “There we go.”

The safe was neatly filled with boxes and trays made of wood, leather, and velvet. “There we go, indeed,” he repeated, fascinated.

She grinned and reached inside, removing a long, thin black leather box.

“These are my colored stones,” she said, in answer to his unasked question. She flipped a flap cover to reveal a single neat row of small paper packets. Pulling one out, she opened the precisely folded paper and placed the contents in his hand.

“It’s beautiful.” He marveled at the large red heart-shaped gem. “Ruby?” he guessed.

“Correct! It’s flawless, so it deserves to be made into something very special. I’ve been working on a pendant design.” She plucked it from his palm, her fingers flying as she refolded the paper around it in a complicated pattern. Even having seen her do it, Jonathan doubted he could make such a parcel from a plain rectangle of paper.

She replaced the packet and flipped through a dozen or more. On the fronts, Jonathan glimpsed nonsensical numbers in tiny, precise handwriting. With a smile and a nod, she finally pulled one out and unfolded it, revealing a much (much!) smaller opaque green stone.

“It’s jade,” she said “A perfect oval cabochon—and just the right size to be the last stone in my ring.”

“Jade…” He thought for a moment before the answer came to him. “Does C stand for Claire? If so, then could your wedding ring spell out Claire l-o-v-e-s…Jonathan ?”

She nodded vigorously. “You solved it!”

“Claire loves Jonathan.” His heart swelled. “Does she?”

“She does.” Wearing a mischievous grin, she dropped a deep curtsy. “I love you, your grace.”

This time, he couldn’t chide her for the your grace . He was too busy laughing. “I love you, too.” He caught her up and twirled her around (slightly jostling the stool beneath Kippers, who leapt to the floor with a plaintive mew ). “And the ring is perfect—or it will be, once it’s finished. I can’t wait to put it on your finger tomorrow.”

She smiled into his eyes. “You’d better clear off, then, and let me get to work.”

After stealing a kiss, Jonathan went in search of his coachman. A series of inquiries sent him zigzagging about the castle grounds, strolling down to the village, and ducking into the Black Horse, where at last he met his quarry. Unfortunately, the fellow had fallen deep into his cups (for which Jonathan could scarcely blame him, given he’d been off duty and it was Christmas Eve).

There was nothing for it—Jonathan had to go fetch the license himself.

Luckily, the clear weather held, and the waxing moon gave a tolerable amount of light. By way of an absurdly enormous tip, Jonathan enlisted a hardy-looking groom to ride alongside him. They took turns bearing a lantern to further aid the horses’ footing. After hours in the saddle followed by an apprehensive foray into his dark and silent house, he felt sure of disappointment—but at once discovered the license awaiting him on his desk.

They made splendid time on the return journey, and Jonathan even scraped an hour or two of sleep before the clanging of church bells roused the castle to joyous worship. After the two nights he’d spent at Greystone—one on a horse, one on a torture device masquerading as a sofa—small wonder if he did nod off in the family pew, what with its benches and walls all upholstered in velvet. But at the conclusion of the Christmas service, he came instantly awake, all fatigue drummed out of him by the jitters of anticipation.

The Greystone party filed out with the rest to mill about the churchyard. St. Michael’s was a typical country church drenched in charm, and today the picturesque scene was enhanced by the snow blanketing its sloped roof, the bells ringing out cheerily, and all the pink-cheeked parishioners turned out in their Christmas best.

But Jonathan saw none of it, for he was keeping his eyes on the vestibule.

When at last it yielded the stout form of the Reverend Mr. Hanley, Jonathan made to alert Rachael—quite unnecessarily, he saw at once. For Rachael had already pounced, and within ten minutes had Claire and Jonathan installed before the altar and the vicar opening his Book of Common Prayer.

The ceremony was short, simple, and perfect. If Jonathan felt perhaps the tiniest of pangs at his mother’s absence, he reminded himself she had buttered her own bread, and everyone else he’d grown to love was here. Noah stood up as his best man, while Claire had her two sisters for bridesmaids and Griffin to give her away. Wearing a cream-colored velvet dress and a lace veil, she carried a bouquet of Elizabeth’s dried flowers. Jonathan carried the ring.

It was over in a trice. Vows and ring were exchanged, the parish register signed, and they were married. It had happened so fast that Jonathan felt it would be many hours before the reality truly sunk in—and many weeks before he could at all acclimate himself to so much happiness.

For her part, Claire was likewise in disbelief. She and Jonathan, married? Impossible! After such a run of bad luck as they had faced!

Yet somehow, it was true. Four wedding days, twelve miserable months, and one accidental poisoning later, at long last Fate had seen fit to bring them together—though just yesterday Claire would have sworn that fickle entity was determined to keep them apart.

But today, from Claire’s vantage ground, all was sunshine and serendipity. Since childhood she’d watched countless weddings at St. Michael’s, all with the same traditional words echoing round the old, familiar edifice, which having stood for six centuries already, seemed bound to endure at least that many more. Now it was Claire’s turn, and as she underwent the ritual, she felt the presence of all those couples who’d come before and all who would come after.

Most especially she felt the presence of her parents, married on this very spot some twenty-odd years ago. She felt their love for her and their blessings upon her marriage—upon the new family she was creating with Jonathan. Though her parents were no longer able to guide her, she knew she would always be guided by their example. For it was they who’d shown her what a loving marriage looked like.

After a burst of cheers and dried flower petals from the congregation (which barely filled the first pew, being comprised only of the other houseguests), the vicar lost no time expelling them from the church. Jonathan couldn’t fault the chap, having seen how Rachael had manhandled him—and in lieu of his customary tip, left a large donation on the way out.

Back at the castle, it was time for Christmas dinner—which would also serve as the wedding breakfast. And though they had mulled wine for champagne and Christmas pudding for wedding cake, Jonathan could not have conceived of a better one. The feast itself was magnificent (especially the dressed breast of lamb). But it was the atmosphere that truly filled him up. Everybody gathered round the table, loud and merry, laughing and bickering…it was exactly what he’d never had, growing up alone with maman .

In the process of gaining Claire as his wife, he reflected, contentedly gazing round the table, he had also gained this . A new family—big, boisterous, and loving as even the loneliest little boy could wish.

It was almost enough to make up for the mother he’d lost.