Chapter Six

“We need to hold a Christmas celebration.” Lord Jonquil waved Robbie into the book room after she put Adam to bed that night and made the pronouncement without preamble.

“A Christmas celebration?” she repeated, confused.

He nodded. “Apparently, he was sent away to Harrow just before Christmas.”

“Aye. ’Twas a shame, that. I did try to convince his mother to let him remain.” Robbie preferred to avoid speaking ill of the lady who now had such control over her employment, but that had been an unkind thing to do to her son.

“He spoke of it while we were on the mountain,” Lord Jonquil said. “I think he would enjoy the chance to have the Christmas he missed.”

Robbie looked to Lady Jonquil, who sat on a nearby sofa, listening intently. The lady sat with a hand laid gently on her middle, a position she assumed often. Though Robbie’d not been told as much directly, she suspected Lord and Lady Jonquil would be parents before the year’s end.

“I think it would be wonderful,” Lady Jonquil said, “but we defer to you. Adam is better known to you, as are the Christmas traditions at Falstone Castle.”

“I’m afraid there weren’t many,” Robbie said. “When the old duke was alive, he and Adam would drink wassail and exchange little gifts. The servants put up greenery on Christmas Eve. Adam and his father would sing Christmas hymns. It was a quiet evening, always only the two of them. I’d wager that’s what he misses most: being with his father.”

“Do you think having a belated Christmas here would only add to his grief?” Lord Jonquil spoke as one who knew loss and one who had walked with others through their sorrows.

Robbie pondered the question for a long moment. “Were we to have this substitute Christmas at the castle, I think it’d be a difficult thing for him. He’d be faced over and over again with his father’s absence.”

A surprisingly charitable thought entered Robbie’s mind: maybe the duchess had sent Adam away thinking it’d save him from the stark reality of Christmas at home without his father.

“Being here, where everything’s new,” Robbie added, “would lessen that association, I think. He’d nae be thinking of how he’d once done this with his father. Might be a healing thing for the wee boy.”

“And we could always choose some traditions that were different from what he’s known,” Lady Jonquil said. “Then it would feel like Christmas but not like a Christmas focused on his loss.”

“And”—Lord Jonquil’s expression turned immediately mischievous—“we should give some thought to making our celebration a highwayman’s Christmas.”

Lady Jonquil looked as confused as Robbie felt.

“While we were on the mountain,” Lord Jonquil explained, “we had such a laugh at the idea of highwaymen during the holy season. They would, we decided, spend Christmas giving people things instead of stealing from them. He thought the idea was an utter lark.”

“Did he truly laugh?” Robbie asked.

Lord Jonquil nodded, quite as if it weren’t a complete oddity. Adam never laughed. He seldom smiled. What magic were these two working on the solemn and grieving little boy?

“We should ask Mr. Simpkin if he would help us create some Christmas greenery,” Lady Jonquil said. “He has such a lovely eye for plants and such. He would do a wonderful job, I’m certain.” She looked to her husband. “He would help us, don’t you think?”

“No,” Robbie said, almost without thinking.

That brought both their eyes to her, surprise written on their faces.

“He grumped and groused about Adam being here,” Robbie said. “Warned me against the child getting in his way. Gave me a dressing down, he did, as if I were neglecting my duties.”

“That doesn’t sound like him.” Lord Jonquil looked more confused than doubtful.

“Bring up with him the matter of a little boy being on the estate,” Robbie said. “It’ll sound like him, sure enough.”

Lady Jonquil rose. “I will go speak with him.” On that declaration, she glided regally from the room.

Lord Jonquil grinned as he watched her leave. “We should likely pray for Simpkin.”

“I think your wife might be a warrior.” Robbie liked that the lady was wielding that fire on behalf of her beloved Adam.

“She loves that little duke.” Lord Jonquil turned back to Robbie. “I’m grateful to you for bringing him. I’m certain it was more of an inconvenience than you’ve let on.”

Robbie shook her head. “If you’ve lightened him enough for that heavyhearted laddie to laugh, every effort will’ve been well worth making.”

“And if Simpkin is willing to help us create this odd and magical Christmas we are plotting, would it be worth the effort of working with him?”

She held herself firmly and with determination. “I’d work with the devil himself if it brought my Adam joy. He deserves it more than any little boy I’ve known, and he’s had less of it than even you can imagine.”

***

Adam sat beside Lady Jonquil on the rattan furniture on the terrace at the back of the house. She had found him attempting to read Lord Jonquil’s copy of the Times and had, through some miracle, convinced the boy to sit with her and read The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes instead. The book was far more fitting for a boy of eight. Seeing him focused and content, Robbie took advantage of the opportunity to step out onto the lawn and go for a bit of a walk.

She loved Adam, and she was grateful to still be in his life, caring for him and looking after him. But her mind remained heavy. The old duke’s passing had prevented her from losing her position at the new year, but she knew even the neglectfulness of the duchess wouldn’t allow her to remain Adam’s nursemaid much longer.

The Duchess of Kielder would, she was certain, provide her with adequate references. Robbie would have no difficulty finding a new position, but she’d little enthusiasm for it. Was she simply so attached to Adam? So worried for him? Or had she grown weary of being a nursemaid? She wasn’t likely to find work as anything else.

“Miss MacGregor?”

She stopped abruptly at the unexpected interruption to her ponderings. Mr. Simpkin stood in front of her, his expression as uninviting as ever.

“His Grace has caused you no difficulties,” Robbie immediately asserted. “You cannot have any honest complaints against him, can you, now?”

To her surprise... he looked surprised. “I didn’t stop you to complain.”

“You’ve been seized by some mind-softening fever, then?”

He didn’t seem to know whether to be offended or amused. Good. If the man could be a bit upended, he might not have the wherewithal to cause her grief.

“What was your purpose in stopping me?”

“Lady Jonquil asked me to gather some greenery for the Christmas celebration.”

She folded her arms fiercely. “And what has that to do with me?”

“Don’t ruffle up, woman. I’ve not come to you with an argument.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what sort of boughs and garlands are usually hung at that drafty old castle where you and your little duke live. As this is meant to be a celebration for him, I thought I’d do best to find out.”

That was actually a thoughtful reason to have interrupted her. Not at all what she’d expected. “I’ll nae necessarily have the accurate names for them,” she said.

Mr. Simpkin shrugged. “Describe ’em. It’s the best way.”

“Garlands of evergreen are placed on mantels and windowsills. Evergreen wreaths are hung on doors. The servants usually made kissing boughs, but those were only ever hung in the belowstairs; the old duke did nae care for that tradition. So our wee duke would nae necessarily be familiar with them.”

“There are likely some evergreens up a bit, toward the mountain. Nearer by, we could probably find other bits of flora to fill in what’s needed.”

Robbie eyed him, unsure how he truly felt about the matter. “You’re likely put out with the lot of us, pushing on you this distraction from the job you came here to do.”

He shook his head. “I don’t mind. Christmas was a special time of year when I was a child. It’ll be a bit of a lark to celebrate it in the spring.”

“And what of your building project?” Robbie asked.

“I’m waiting on supplies just now. I’d rather have something to do than be idle.”

To her great surprise, she felt a kinship to the man just then. Nothing overly fond, but a bit of understanding.

“I’ll see what I can find,” he said as he made his way toward his odd traveling coach. Robbie brushed off the strange interaction and made her way back toward the terrace.

Adam abruptly stopped his reading and looked directly at her. “Why were you talking to him?”

Oh dear. They’d decided the Christmas celebration would be a surprise. She couldn’t be full honest with Adam, but she also didn’t care to lie. He struggled to trust people as it was; being deceitful would only add to that.

“He had a question about the gardens and plants at Falstone Castle.”

Adam’s expression hardened. “Why does he care about the castle?”

“It is a fine auld home. And the planted forest must be of interest to a man who makes his living creating gardens and landscapes.”

“I don’t like him asking so many questions.” His little mouth pulled into a mighty frown. “And he shouldn’t be bothering you.”

“He wasn’t, Adam.”

“You didn’t like when he talked to you last time.”

He’d noticed that, had he?

“Well, he was friendlier this time.”

Adam assumed the expression of fierce determination she was all too familiar with. “He’d better keep being friendly. I already don’t like him.”

That was not a reassuring evaluation. Adam didn’t like a lot of people. He’d too vast a history of being hurt. And yet one ought never to be dismissive when a child felt an instant distrust of someone.

Perhaps it would be best if Robbie kept up the interactions with Mr. Simpkin as they prepared for the surprise festivities. She could keep an eye on him, just as he’d sworn to keep an eye on Adam.