Chapter 15

Rosalyn paused in the hallway. She had risen early, at least an hour before the guests usually gathered to break their fast, but she had taken time deciding what to wear and how to style her hair, and as she walked down the hallway, she realised that the breakfast room was already almost full. She paused in the corridor, her heart thudding as she heard the loud, strident noise of chatting and laughter. Crowded rooms always made her feel a little uncomfortable.

Her hands smoothed her skirt of heavy silk in pale yellow. She had taken almost an hour to decide on an outfit that she felt was right, and even as she stood there, she wondered if she had chosen correctly.

Stop it, she told herself, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement. She knew that it was because of the duke that she had taken so long to get ready.

Her stomach twisted as she recalled the previous evening. She remembered staring into the duke’s eyes as they mimed the kiss. It had seemed as though time stood still, as though only he and she existed in the room; in the world. All that she had thought of was his eyes and his closeness. She was drawn into them, drowning in them.

What is the matter with me? she asked herself as she walked into the breakfast room.

The guests fell quiet. Her cheeks burned. Luckily, nobody had received the French words badly, and many of the guests had congratulated them afterwards on their daring performance. It would have been hard to enter the crowded room had it not been received so well.

Her gaze moved to the duke. He was staring straight at her. Without moving his gaze, he stood up, politely acknowledging her as she entered. Her stomach tied itself in knots, her cheeks flaming hotly as the other men at the table, too, stood.

“Good morning,” she managed to say, moving to a chair beside Sebastian, which was fortunately unoccupied. The reason for this was that Lady Harriet was seated on his other side. Rosalyn smiled at her as she sat down. Lady Harriet beamed.

“Good morning,” the duke said politely. His voice was resonant, and her throat tightened with emotion. It felt as though it were just the two of them in the room. The tenderness in his voice made her heart twist. His eyes were focused on her and he poured tea for her.

“Thank you,” she managed to say.

“I trust you slept well?” he asked her. His expression seemed as though he really cared about the answer.

“Mm. And yourself?” she asked. She had lain awake for an hour, the memories of the charades game playing around her mind. She had feared she might lie awake all night with the same lovely memories dancing through her thoughts, but she had fallen abruptly asleep.

“I slept well, thank you,” the duke replied, his voice sounding as though his throat, too, was tense with emotion.

Rosalyn smiled. “Good,” she managed to say, shyness making her cheeks flare red. She reached for a pastry from the basket, not paying much attention to what she took. She was too busy focusing on the duke. “How does your horse fare?” she added, remembering the coughing horse.

“Buttercup? She is much better. The draft of herbs that the apothecary gave her seems to have helped a great deal. Thank you,” the duke replied. He smiled warmly at her.

“Have you...” she began, wanting to ask if he thought snow was likely—thick, heavy clouds hung over the hillside—but before she could finish, his mother clinked her spoon on her teacup, clearing her throat to make an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen! After breakfast, you are invited to the ballroom, where we will assist in decorating the room with Christmas boughs. Then we will retire to the drawing room for early tea.”

“Oh!” someone exclaimed, a woman’s voice. “Oh, how grand!”

“What a splendid idea,” Lady Bronham commented.

The room was instantly loud with excited chatter as people discussed the idea. With only a week before Christmas Day, the excitement was growing considerably. Rosalyn leaned back, smiling to herself. Christmas had always been one of her favourite celebrations.

“You seem to be thinking of something happy,” the duke commented. Rosalyn jumped.

“Yes. I was. I was recalling Christmas in my childhood home,” she said with a smile. “I recall opening my Christmas gift in the drawing room. My sisters would be shrieking with joy, and Sebastian would usually already have opened his gift. Mama and Papa would be eating breakfast while they watched us. We were all so happy.” She sniffed, trying not to cry.

“That is a beautiful memory,” the duke said softly.

Rosalyn swallowed hard. She had not expected her sorrow for her mother to surface just then. It was the prospect of decorating the hall that reminded her. The kissing bough had been something that all the children had helped to make, decorating it with ribbons and apples. Once it was completed, Papa would hang it up, always making a little charade of placing it where it might catch Mama unawares. Of course, she had always known where it was, her surprise just a sweet act that Papa, laughing, would dismiss, and they would share a tender kiss.

Rosalyn blinked back tears at the memory and focused on her pastry, feeling a little shy. It was a fond and intimate memory of her family, and she was not sure how he would take it. She gazed at him, sneaking glances as they ate. He caught her eye on him and smiled. Rosalyn blushed.

As the rest of the guests stood, she and the duke followed them downstairs to the ballroom.

Excited exclamations filled the room as the guests entered. Rosalyn craned her neck to see what was causing the agitation, and she, too, let out a sigh as she saw the vast bundles of greenery set out for them to work with. There was ribbon in red and white, and piles of holly, ivy, fir branches and other evergreens.

“Rosalyn! Look! Oh, isn’t this so diverting?” Georgina asked, pressing close as they stepped into the ballroom.

“I hope we can make a kissing bough! We must ask her grace who is to make it!” Isabel said excitedly.

Rosalyn nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes,” she replied.

The duke smiled at her. His grey eyes sparkled. “This will be quite a task,” he said with a grin. “And I am afraid that I will require your assistance. I have no notion of how one proceeds with decorating a hall.”

Rosalyn giggled. He sounded so serious. She looked around the room.

“I think the staff have given us some ideas,” she replied, looking over to where hooks had already been set out at regular intervals around the walls, some of them already supporting boughs or bunches of greenery.

“Quite so,” the duke replied. “Ought we to make bunches, do you think?”

Rosalyn shrugged. “That is a good way to begin. And be certain to put enough holly and ivy in each one.”

The duke frowned, looking puzzled. “Why is that, pray, Miss Rothwell?”

She chuckled. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and began her explanation. “The holly represents Christ, and the ivy His mother, the Holy Virgin. We should try to put equal amounts of both into every bunch. That will ensure a harmonious festive season.”

“Mm.” The duke inclined his head. “Whatever you say, Miss Rothwell. Well, then. May I choose whatever ribbon I like, or is there a tradition regarding those as well?” He went to the trestle table, where ribbon, wire and other things had been set out to assist them in the making of bunches. His lips tugged upwards at the corners a little, showing he was teasing. Rosalyn followed him.

She giggled. “I shall let you choose whatever ribbon you like. Though I shall tie mine with both red and white ribbon.”

“Does that ensure a harmonious season?” he asked.

“Well, the symbolism is a little different,” she began. He started to laugh. “What?” she demanded a little crossly, going to choose some holly from a big pile on the floor.

“You are a mine of information,” the duke said, smiling at her with real warmth. “But pray, enlighten me. What are the red and white ribbons for?” He leaned back against the wall as if waiting for her to answer him.

“Well,” Rosalyn continued, choosing a red ribbon and a white ribbon from the table. “The red are, of course, representing the blood of Christ. His suffering on the cross.” She wound the red ribbon around the bundle. “And the white is purity and innocence.” She wrapped the white ribbon and tied it in a bow.

“That is beautiful,” the duke murmured. He coughed, seeming genuinely affected by her words. She frowned. She wondered what he was remembering. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

“I remember our father taking us to the chapel on Christmas morning to celebrate mass. We used to be so excited. We would bundle up in our coats and cloaks and walk to the chapel with him. It is here in the grounds,” he added, gesturing out of the window. “Harriet was just one or two years old, toddling along through the snow. Papa would lift her onto his shoulder.” The duke sniffed. “Mama walked behind us, with a lady’s maid carrying our muffs and scarves and other things.” He chuckled. “The chapel was lit with candles, and I remember sitting listening to the priest’s words, and then we would sing. I would often be dreaming about pudding and Christmas gifts,” he added with a guilty smile.

Rosalyn laughed. “You were a little child. Of course, you were excited.”

“Excited does not do it justice,” the duke said with a chuckle. “I was ecstatic. I could barely believe that Christmas had come and that we would have a whole day of celebration and diversion ahead of us. When the service was concluded, we would walk back to the manor and our gifts would be waiting in the drawing-room. I will never forget the year that Father gave me my first horse. I did not understand why there was no gift for me upstairs.” He laughed, and Rosalyn swallowed, her own heart aching as a tear ran down his face.

“He must have been so happy to see how excited you were.”

“I think my scream of joy must have deafened him,” the duke said with a chuckle. “Poor man.”

Rosalyn shook her head. “He must have loved to see your happiness,” she replied. She had made one bundle of holly and ivy, and reached for some fir branches to make another, different, bunch.

The duke sniffed. “I never considered it much,” he said softly. “I suppose he must have.”

Rosalyn smiled gently at him. “Of course, he did.”

The duke said nothing, and Rosalyn focused on her bunch of fir leaves. She watched as the duke made a tolerably good bunch of holly and ivy and stared after him as he went to hang it on the wall at the back of the hall. The images from his stories played through her mind. She imagined a dark-haired young boy with grey eyes and a solemn face. She completed her fir bundle, wove ribbons through it swiftly, and went to join him. He turned to face her.

“I have not thought about those things for a long time,” he said quietly. “I had forgotten them.” he paused. “I mean I had forgotten so many memories of Father.”

Rosalyn nodded. “I understand. I often think of Mama, but these happy memories are ones that I try not to think about too hard. Or I will miss her too much.” She sniffed, looking at the soaringly high ceiling as tears threatened to fall. “I cannot help thinking of her at Christmas.”

When she looked back into the room, the duke was smiling. “It does me good to remember,” he said softly. “It is good to remember the happy times.”

“Mm.” Rosalyn nodded. “It is good.”

They looked at each other without speaking. Rosalyn sniffed. The duke lifted his hand and, very gently, pressed his thumb against a tear that was running down her cheek. Rosalyn stiffened. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest, her entire body rigid with the sudden, beautiful sensation of his touch on her cheek. He gazed into her eyes, and she gazed back, her awareness filled with him, with his closeness. She could think of nothing else.

A loud whoop startled her, and her head whipped around to see her two sisters, running over with a sphere made out of wire. The sphere was a little uneven in shape, but Isabel was trying to repair it, while Georgina gestured excitedly to it and then to Rosalyn.

“Look! Look, sister! Her grace said yes.”

“We are making the kissing bough for the ballroom!” Isabel said happily.

“I am sure it will be beautiful,” Rosalyn assured them, her heart filled with warmth. They were flushed and smiling, real joy making their eyes sparkle with brightness.

“Oh, you must help us!” Georgina pleaded. “You used to do such grand ribbons for the kissing boughs in our house when Papa and Mama...” she trailed off, looking down uncomfortably.

“When Papa and Mama used to kiss under them,” Rosalyn replied, completing the sentence. Georgina and Isabel were always hesitant to mention their mother, not wanting to upset Rosalyn or each other. Lately, though, Rosalyn had found herself wanting to talk about Mama. She wanted to recall all the happy memories, to talk endlessly about her. Perhaps it was because it was Christmas, or perhaps it was because her life was changing so fast and she missed her guiding presence, but she felt a need to speak and remember.

“Yes,” Isabel replied, her eyes shining. “We used to decorate them with red apples. And red and white ribbons,” she continued.

“I wanted to put rock candy on too,” Georgina said with a giggle. “It looks so pretty! But Mama said no.”

Rosalyn laughed aloud. She recalled that year very well. Georgina had been eight, she ten. The considerable quantity of rock candy had been a gift from Uncle Jack who had returned from a tour abroad.

“I think that my mother will likewise say no, sadly,” the duke quipped. They all laughed.

“We need some holly,” Georgina said, gesturing to the pile beside them, where there were only two branches left. “There is some over there.”

“We will come and ask you to tie the ribbons,” Isabel told Rosalyn. Then she hurried off after her sister.

Rosalyn and the duke shared a smile. She swallowed hard. Her heart ached with the happy memories, her mind wandering in the past. She gazed into his eyes, and she could see that he, too, was lost in thought. He saw her staring and he smiled.

Rosalyn smiled back and, without thinking, she stepped forward towards him. He took her hand, folding his own around it. She stopped breathing for a moment. The gesture was so tender that she could barely think.

“Shall we go and assist Sebastian and Harriet? I think they are having some difficulty reaching the hooks,” the duke said with a laugh.

Rosalyn looked over to where Sebastian and Harriet were attempting to hang a bunch of fir boughs, tied with red ribbon, from a hook at least eight feet up on the wall. He was standing on a chair, but even then, he was having a hard time reaching it. As they watched, Sebastian wobbled on the chair and Harriet shrieked and then giggled.

“There is a ladder in the corner,” the duke said with a grin as they reached the pair. “You know, the one that the staff use if they have to pull the curtains,” he added to his sister Harriet, gesturing to the high curtains over the small windows.

“Oh! Yes! I know where it is. Come on!” Harriet gestured excitedly to Sebastian. He climbed down from his stool and grinned at Rosalyn.

“I am not sorry to be relieved of chair duty,” he said with a rueful grin. “I feared for my neck.”

They were all laughing as they followed Harriet to the corner to retrieve the ladder.