Chapter 27

27

C hristmas morning dawned with a heavy fog blanketing the land. Instead of casting a pall, it made the residents of Alnwick even more grateful for the warmth of their cosy homes. By the time the bells of St Michaels rang to call the town to worship, the sun had cleared the low clouds from view.

Nearly everyone in town turned out for the morning service. The news of Reverend Shepherd’s involvement in the kidnappings, and subsequent dismissal from the ministry, had spread like wildfire through the streets. All were curious to see who would take his place, particularly on such short notice. Roland had seen to the matter, sending a message to the kind minister he recalled meeting in Alnmouth.

Curate Treadwell had been delighted to step into the gap. He stood out front, dressed in a long black cassock with a bright white surplice and matching stole, offering a smile and word of welcome to all upon arrival. During the service, he provided a rousing message from the pulpit, marking the day as one of celebration.

Grace, dressed in a new gown of emerald velvet with matching jewels winking in her ears, nestled close to Roland’s side as the pastor spoke of the birth of Christ and the return of the missing children. For the first time in her life, she understood something of how Mary must have felt—terror, joy, and hope all mixed into one. Roland reached over, taking her hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Whatever trials lay ahead in their future, as with everything else, they would face them together.

Before they departed for the castle, Grace made sure to introduce the Sprouts to Miss Whitby. Come January, they would join the other local children for daily lessons. Never ones to shy away, the twins peppered her with questions about which books they would read and whether they would have to do sums and such. The schoolmistress held strong against the barrage until Roland stepped in to suggest they join the other children in a game of French and English.

After the children dashed off, Miss Whitby bade Roland and Grace to wait another moment. “I would like to extend my personal thanks to the both of you. Eight families have contacted me about enrolling their children in the last week alone. The additional funds coming our way will allow me to accept them and anyone else in the area.”

Roland and Grace brushed her thanks aside, saying they had only done what was right, given the circumstances. The law saw the children returned safely home. Justice demanded reparations, both to them, and to everyone who had been left unaided by the Percy family in the past year.

They excused themselves from Miss Whitby, left Thorne to speak with the other local residents, and then went off in search of the Sprouts. Gleeful shouts echoed from the nearby village green. As they walked, Grace caught sight of a familiar white cap and black wool coat.

“Is that Elsie?” she asked Roland, as he was taller and had a better view.

“I believe it must be, because I am positive that it is Briggs in stride beside her. I cannot imagine my valet is taking anyone else out for a walk.”

The pair seemed to be going in the same direction, their steps meandering along at a comfortable pace. Briggs was busy chatting, while Elsie, Grace noted, appeared to be searching the area for something. When the pair turned onto the green and wandered toward the old oak tree, Grace figured out Elsie’s intentions.

“Stop here,” she said to Roland, pulling him off to the side. She nudged his arm and nodded toward the tree. Sure enough, Elsie coaxed Briggs onward until they stood directly under the kissing bough. Only then did she interrupt him to point upwards.

For a moment, Grace feared for her maid, for Briggs froze like a fox at the baying of the hounds. Elsie fluttered her lashes at the man and that irascible servant actually seemed to be bashful. Still, it seemed that he succumbed to Elsie’s charms. Before all, he tilted his head down and kissed her right on the lips.

A cheer went up from the nearby children, led, unsurprisingly, by Willa and Wes.

At her side, Roland gave a sigh. “I suppose I cannot dismiss him now.”

Grace elbowed him. “If that is the price we must pay to have the help stay happy in our service, I do not think either of us should complain.”

“I will tolerate his presence, for a price,” Roland said thoughtfully, but he could not hold a stern expression on his face. “Perhaps if you would drop a comment to your maid that you no longer find my burgundy coat so fetching?”

Grace pretended to consider this. “Only if you let me consult with the tailor for a new one.”

“If you must. But if I end up looking like a peacock, the gardener will find not just one but two coats buried in the garden come spring.” He waved for the children to join them and then offered Grace his arm. “Come along, we do not want to be late for Christmas dinner.”

What a dinner it was, indeed. The long dining table was filled end to end with steaming bowls and trays. In addition to Grace, Roland, and Thorne were the Sprouts, Mr Harding and his wife. Belowstairs, the servants enjoyed a similar feast. It took some insistence to convince the twins to taste the oyster soup starter. Roasted goose, stuffed and served with gravy, potatoes, and root vegetables proved popular all around. By the time the footmen presented the trifle for dessert, Grace wondered where she would find the space. But the thick cream and soft sponge cake proved too enticing to resist.

No sooner was the last bite scraped clean from her plate than Willa voiced a question. “Lady Grace, when can we open presents?”

“Who said anything about gifts?” Roland replied. “Has this wondrous meal not been sufficient enough celebration to mark the day?”

Wes and Willa exchanged glances, their faces wearing matching expressions of concern.

Grace decided to put them out of their agony. “The meal was divine, Lord Percy, but that was a gift to all of us from the kitchen staff, and not a heartfelt expression of love from one to another. I suggest we take our coffees and teas to the drawing room where, if I am not mistaken, a few wrapped packages await us.”

Wes leapt to his feet so quickly that his chair rocked back. Only the quick action of a passing footman saved it from hitting the floor. The footman pulled Willa’s clear, and she went dashing off after her brother.

Roland motioned for Thorne to lead the way, with Mr and Mrs Harding following behind. Roland helped Grace from her chair and wrapped his arm around her.

“Roland, the footmen?—”

“Have all headed belowstairs to partake of their own dinner. Now, allow me to gift my lovely wife a kiss before someone else interrupts us.”

One kiss led to two, and would have continued on had they not heard the halting gait marking the arrival of the Breaker.

“This truly is a Christmas miracle,” Grace murmured as she pulled away. She and Roland hurried to the doorway. Sure enough, the old duke’s bent frame was making slow progress down the stairs. He glowered at Roland’s offer of a hand.

“I can still make my own way in this world,” he muttered darkly. But he stopped himself from speaking further, instead giving a single nod to show his appreciation for the offer.

It was not much, but for the Breaker, it was more than Grace would have ever expected.

Cheered by the fragrant holiday decorations and warmed by the roaring fire, the others were chattering brightly in the front drawing room. Their conversations tailed off when they caught sight of the Breaker following behind Roland and Grace.

“I will take my normal seat,” the Breaker announced.

Before the old man could make his way to the wingback chair he preferred on the far side of the room, Roland hurried ahead of him. “Thorne, give me a hand.” Together, the brothers lifted the chair with ease and carried it across the room, placing it near where the others sat.

Grace braced herself for an argument, or at minimum a complaint, but the duke took their intervention for what it was. An invitation to be part of the family, if only for this one day of the year.

Withers served hot drinks and left wool-wrapped teapots and a plate of sweets behind, before taking his leave as well.

Together, Roland and Grace took gifts from the stack and handed them around to their intended recipient. There was something for everyone, from the silver snuff boxes Grace had purchased in the village, to a hand knitted scarf for the children from Mrs Harding. The children soon overcame their reticence of speaking around the duke, their excitement for their gifts too much to contain. Wes received wooden soldiers, a chess set, and a new adventure book. Both children delighted over the battledore and shuttlecock set and dissected map of England. Even the duke had a present or two to enjoy.

The last present in the pile was an oddly shaped box with Willa’s name printed on the front. The little girl untied the cord and lifted the top free. A squeal of pure joy escaped her lips.

“A doll,” she sighed in awe.

“With hair and eyes just like your own,” Grace said. “Look what else is inside.”

Willa dove back into the box, finding several changes of clothing in just the right size for her new toy. “There’s a ballgown, and a riding habit?—”

“And a shirt and pair of trousers for when she needs to accompany you on some of your wilder adventures. Adventures for which you have permission,” Grace hastened to add. “If you can behave, you might find a dollhouse coming in time for your birthday.”

“Lady Gra, err, Percy,” Wes said, casting a quick glance at the duke. “Lord Percy didn’t get you a gift.”

“I have not yet presented my gift,” Roland corrected him. “If Sir Nathaniel will agree to showing you how to arrange the chess pieces on the board, Lady Percy and I will excuse ourselves for a moment. My gift is awaiting her in my study next door.”

Thorne leapt into action, with Mr Harding offering to help while Mrs Harding asked Willa to show her the doll up close.

Grace let Roland help her to her feet again and followed behind him, mystified for what awaited her. What kind of gift needed to be given in private, but could be done in the confines of his study?

Roland’s eyes sparkled with humour, though she could sense him growing more tense with every step. He was nervous. That baffled her thoughts even more.

The study chairs had been shifted around to make space for a large, cloth-covered object in the middle of the room. The contours made it immediately clear what the object was, but that knowledge was not much help.

“A trunk?’ Grace asked. “We are not going anywhere, are we?”

“It is a trunk,” Roland confirmed. “If you will allow me to properly give it to you, you will understand. Now please, sit here.” He motioned to the chair nearest the covered object.

Grace sat on the edge of her seat, unable to take her eyes off the strange gift. Slowly, Roland lifted the edges of the cloth and pulled it aside, revealing inch by inch the treasure.

It was a satin birchwood trunk, its polished surface gleaming in the candlelight. Iron studs, arranged in elegant swirling patterns, caught the light like tiny stars, creating a delicate, sparkling design that wound gracefully across the top.

He opened his coat and pulled a key from his inside pocket. “Open it.”

Grace took the key, now fully engrossed in seeing what else Roland had in store. The key turned smoothly in the oiled lock. She lifted the lid to find a velvet-lined tray, and underneath, a deep chamber lined in the same deep blue velvet.

“This is a memory chest, where you can safely store trinkets and mementos, both past and future. I have a few items to help you get started.” Roland went behind his desk and came back with a box. One by one, he handed her the items he had saved. “The first is this pack of letters. Inside, you will find the invitation to the Fitzroy ball where we first met, Prinny’s invite to the ball where we waltzed, and… the messages we exchanged during all of our adventures this summer.”

“You saved all these?” Grace could hardly believe it.

“Most of them. I will admit I had some help from Thorne and Elsie.” He handed her more mementos from their days of courtship and travels in Brighton. “This last item, however, is one for which I will take full credit.”

Grace unfolded a bundle to find a square baby quilt made in shades of the pale green of spring grass and yellow buttercups.

“It was mine, years ago, and my father’s before that. With your approval, I would like our child to continue the Percy tradition. Our son, or daughter, whichever one we are blessed to receive next year.”

Grace’s eyes filled with tears and for once, she did not try to hide them as they rolled down her rosy cheeks. She threw her arms around her husband and sniffled against his chest. “Oh Roland, this is the most lovely, thoughtful, perfect gift I have ever received. My poor little snuff box pales in comparison.”

Roland forced her to pull away and tipped her chin up until their eyes met. “Grace, you are carrying my child, the most precious, unexpected, and wholly welcome gift a man could ever receive. Between that, and having you in my life—I need no other present for Christmas, my darling.”