Chapter 4

Frank kept himself in the corner of the room while the staff entered with presents that they placed beneath the tree. Miss Rowley’s brother handed them out with the help of his five-year-old nephew.

When George handed Frank a present, he stared in disbelief at it for several seconds. “Surely not,” he said. “I have not come with gifts.”

“Your presence is your gift, major,” George answered.

Frank took the package and looked at Miss Rowley. He knew by the expression on her face that the gift was her doing.

“Thank you,” he said aloud to George, but his eyes remained on Miss Rowley. They both nodded their acknowledgments.

Frank opened the gift. It was a pouch of the same tobacco Lord Beckett smoked in his pipe. Frank looked up to find Miss Rowley standing near him.

“You’ll have to forgive me if you have no need of tobacco,” she blushed. “I assumed since you were a friend of Uncle John’s that you were, well, that you were of the same age, and that you had similar habits. I know how he enjoys his pipe and brandy each night, and assumed you did, too. Rather foolish of me!”

Frank smiled at her embarrassment. “Then I’m not the old curmudgeon you expected me to be.”

“Not at all! I mean, not that I expected you to be but—oh dear.”

Frank felt his chest expand. And then a guttural sound burbled up from his throat. And a moment later he experienced something that had eluded him for eight long years. Frank Collyard actually laughed.

“I’m relieved to hear it, Miss Rowley! In fact, your gift is spot on, actually. When we have the time, your uncle and I have a long-standing habit of sitting down to talk over the day’s events with a snifter of brandy and our pipes.”

She smiled, a look that might have been coy, or may have merely spoken of her delight in having chosen the right gift.

Frank marveled at how comfortably ordinary he suddenly felt in her presence, but the moment spun quickly away as the children tore past him to gather in front of their Great Uncle John’s chair. The adults moved, as well, and settled into their seats with refills of warm cider, or wine, or brandy.

“Please, join us. I’m sure you'll find Uncle John’s reading familiar.”

Frank shifted his shoulders. In the space of a few hours, nothing seemed ordinary any longer. He felt like a newborn babe, experiencing things for the first time. In one breath he was content, in the next, in turmoil. It was a cacophony of emotion that threatened to completely unbalance him. But above it all, whatever it was that had transpired this evening seemed to have dislodged the unease in which he’d wrapped himself for years. He reached for it, wanting to draw his familiar blanket of grief about him. But there seemed to be a chink in it. A chink that was mending itself with new and strange sensations.

He followed Miss Rowley to a small sofa and sat beside her. With a glass of brandy in his hand he listened to Lord Beckett read.

“And it came to pass that in those days ….”

A lump formed in Frank’s throat as he listened to the familiar reading from the Bible. Words he hadn’t heard for more than eight years echoed in his mind and wanted to spill from his lips. He mentally recited the familiar story with Lord Beckett, words he’d read to his own sweet children as their eyes reflected the warmth of the hearth and the magic of the story and his wife sat on the arm of his chair with her sweet head tilted to rest atop his own.

His heart twisted in knots, tensing with the poignant memory of Christmases past, and expanding with the tenderness of the moment. A veil of agony seemed to lift from his eyes and he saw the dear people around him with a long-forgotten warmth.

When the reading was over, the children’s nurse came in to take them to bed and the adults were left to relive the evening. The clock struck the midnight hour and Lord Dunstan rose to fill everyone’s glass.

“A toast,” he said, lifting his glass. The men stood and turned to face Miss Rowley.

“A very happy birthday to you, my Christmas angel,” Lord Dunstan said. “May this Christmas be the most special ever.”

Glasses lifted and a toast was made. A birthday toast. It was her birthday. Miss Rowley had been born on Christmas Day.

Frank turned to face her. “Now I see why Christmas is your favorite time. My best wishes to you always.”

Her cheeks turned a warm shade. “Thank you, major.”

“Please, call me Frank.”

“If you will call me Tillie, as my family does.”

“It suits you.”

The words came out so easily now. He didn’t even have to think what to say. For the first time in nearly a decade he felt a sense of belonging.

Their conversation was interrupted when Lord Beckett rose to retire. The elderly Earl and Countess of Dennison followed, as did Tillie’s parents. Frank rose, too.

“I believe I shall retire, as well. The hour grows late.”

Tillie stood. “Thank you for making this Christmas a very special one.”

“I’m the one who owes you my gratitude. Because of you, I survived what is usually an unbearable time.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “But I must warn you. Tomorrow will be nothing like today. We will be on our own. Father always gives the staff the day off to celebrate with their families. He presents them with their Christmas bonuses, then those who live close enough leave to spend the day with their families. Those who live too far to travel stay here and celebrate in the servants’ quarters.”

“Not to worry,” Frank said with a smile on his face. “I’m sure we’ll manage.” He stepped away from her then stopped. Her eyes had followed him, and he found himself loath to take his eyes from her.

“Good night, Tillie.”

“Good night, Frank.”

. . .

For the first time in eight years, Frank thought he might survive Christmas Day, and he had Tillie to thank for it. It was her birthday, and even though the staff had been given the day off, her family stepped in to see that there was food on the table. In the afternoon, Tillie’s brother George hitched a team to a sleigh and took everyone on sleigh rides.

Frank couldn’t help but laugh at Tillie. Everyone took one round with George, then got off to go inside the summerhouse to warm up before riding again. But not Tillie. Even though her cheeks were a rosy red with a nose that matched, she continued to go round after round.

Frank stayed with her. Not because he was so partial to the sleigh ride, but because he didn’t want to give up one minute of the time he could be with her. The smile on her face never faded, and her eyes glimmered with excitement as the horses pulled the sleigh through the fresh dusting of snow.

When everyone had several turns in the sleigh, George exclaimed it was time to take the horses back to the stable. Frank helped Tillie jump down, then took her arm.

“Are you having a good birthday?” he asked.

“The best. Everything is perfect.”

“I’m glad. You deserve it.”

She turned to focus on him. “Everyone deserves their day to be special. It’s just one day out of the year.” She stopped when they entered the house and he helped her remove her wrap. Since there were no servants, everyone was responsible for their own cloaks. When he’d hung their wraps in the vestibule closet, Frank accompanied Tillie to the main room where hot chocolate and leftover pastries from the night before awaited them.

“When is your birthday?” she asked after they finished their hot chocolate and a pastry.

“The twenty-eighth of August.”

“Ah, a summer babe.”

“Yes.”

Frank and Tillie visited with her mother, sister, and her family. The only members not present were Tillie’s father, brother, and Lord Beckett. It wasn’t until George entered the room that Frank realized something might be amiss. The serious expression on George’s face confirmed Frank’s suspicion.

“George,” Tillie greeted with a broad grin on her face.

“Are you enjoying your day, sister dear?”

“Very much,” she answered.

“Then would you mind terribly if I took the major away for a while? We won’t be long.”

“Of course not. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. Uncle John simply wants to speak with the major for a moment.”

Frank rose, then turned. “I’ll return shortly.”

The smile Tillie gave him warmed the blood flowing through him.

“You and Tillie seem to get along quite well,” George said as they exited the room.

“She’s a remarkable woman,” Frank answered.

“Yes, she is. We love her very much, and…” Tillie’s brother stopped his progress and turned. “. . . and we wouldn’t want to see her hurt.”

Frank stopped alongside George. “You think I will hurt her?”

George shrugged his shoulders. “I’m simply warning you not to let Tillie become too fond of you if you have no intention of furthering your relationship.”

“Warning noted,” Frank answered with a raised eyebrow as they continued down the hall. “I appreciate your concern for your sister. Be assured I have no intention of hurting her.”

Frank followed George, and when they reached Lord Dunstan’s study, George performed the absent footman’s duty and opened the door for them.

Frank hesitated. Lord Dunstan and Lord Beckett were seated in two of the four chairs clustered before the fire. From the expressions on their faces, it was obvious something was wrong.

“Pour the major a drink, George,” Lord Dunstan said.

Frank noticed the two men had drinks in their hands, and a third glass sat on the table where George had no doubt been sitting before he came to get Frank.

George did as his father asked, then brought a glass of brandy to Frank.

“Thank you for joining us,” Lord Dunstan said when he and George were seated. “I didn’t intend to bring up this subject for several days yet, but something happened to prompt me to act sooner than anticipated.”

Lord Dunstan paused to take a drink from his glass. “Lord Beckett tells me my wife is concerned for me.” A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I’m not sure how to feel about Mary realizing something’s bothering me when I’ve tried so hard to keep it from her. But there is something… something very troubling going on. So I’m glad you’ve joined us, major. John tells me one of the reasons he asked you to join us was because of your knowledge of the inner workings of the government, as well as your experience during the war.”

Frank listened to what Lord Dunstan was saying. He confirmed what Lord Beckett had indicated on their trip here: that the problem at hand had something to do with a vote that was coming up in the House.

“As you know, a mining act is to be introduced in the House. This act is designed to protect the workers in the mines, especially the youngest workers.”

Lord Dunstan rose and separated himself from them. “It will prohibit miners from hiring young boys under the age of twelve instead of ten, as it is now. Most mine owners can come to terms with this new regulation. What they are in conflict over are the new safety regulations that are included in the bill. These regulations will cost each mine owner a great deal to implement. Which will decrease their profits.” Lord Dunstan looked over his shoulder. “But what are profits compared to human lives?”

“Except not every mine owner feels as you do,” Frank interjected.

“No,” Lord Dunstan continued. “And they are being quite insistent that I vote against the bill that will come up when the House reconvenes.”

Dunstan walked to his desk and picked up a piece of paper. “I received this several weeks ago.”

He handed the paper to Frank.

Think carefully before you cast your vote. All miners need to stick together.

“It wasn’t terribly threatening, of course, but the anonymity of it had me worried. Then this came today.”

Dunstan handed Frank a second missive.

I saw your daughter buying Christmas gifts for her nieces and nephews. It would be a shame for something tragic to happen to her because of her father’s foolishness.

Frank’s blood ran cold. They were talking about Tillie. They were threatening Tillie’s life if Lord Dunstan voted the wrong way. This was no cautionary note. This was an outright threat.

“Did you see who delivered this?” he asked.

Dunstan shook his head. The agony on his face stole Frank’s breath.

“They’re threatening Tillie.”

Frank pointed to Dunstan’s chair and the viscount sat. “Who are the most vocal opponents of the bill?”

“There are only a handful. Lords Broughton, Derwin, Neville, and Tomkins.”

“Tomkins?” Lord Beckett asked. “One wouldn’t think he would be against improvements to his mine.”

“He’s not the most vocal. Broughton and Neville are. But he and Derwin have indicated they’re against making any improvements in the near future. Although I think they may have been encouraged to vote in the negative the same as I am being forced.”

“So Broughton and Neville are our most likely candidates to have sent—or at least instigated—these threatening notes,” Frank said.

“I would say so,” Dunstan answered, raking his hand across his face. “And of the two, I would put my bet on Broughton.”

Frank rose to his feet and paced the room, suppressing a shudder at the thought of something happening to Tillie.

Lord Dunstan slammed his empty glass on the table. His agitation was escalating. “I’m taking this to the authorities. Whoever is doing this will be ferreted out and made to pay!”

Frank stopped his progress from one side of the room to the other and turned to face Lord Dunstan. “You would certainly be within your rights to do that, my lord,” he said, hoping his calm voice would have the desired effect. “But I wonder—if it were possible to sort this out ourselves, find out who is most opposed to the point that they might sanction violence, and then try to find a common ground, wouldn’t that be a better resolution?”

Dunstan grumbled. “But we don’t know who they are, do we, young fellow?”

Frank ignored the pointed words and seized on the opportunity to turn from threats to dialogue. “I wonder if you might consider inviting them all—anyone who you know feels strongly either for or against the mining bill, that is—to Cherrywood for a weekend of gaming? Perhaps their wives, as well, for—oh, I don’t know, perhaps for a musicale?”

Lord Dunstan huffed. “I’d love the chance to relieve Neville of a few quid. But Tomkins doesn’t gamble. Not in any way.”

Lord Beckett sighed and ran a hand through his thinning white hair. “If not for the bloody snow we could have a nice go at the fox and hounds.”

“Hear, hear,” Lord Dunstan agreed.  “But—”

“Hold on a moment,” Frank interrupted. “How difficult would it be for you to host a holiday party, in say, ten days? Make it a Twelvetide celebration, and hold it on the twelfth day of Christmas which would be, what, January 5th?”

Lord Dunstan grunted. “Smashing idea, my boy. Why, I’m sure Mary would love to plan a Twelvetide ball. Hasn’t been done in years and she’d be the one to revive the tradition. And you know Tillie would be ecstatic over the idea.”

“Be sure to invite anyone you think might be against the passage of the bill, as well as other friends, neighbors, and members of the House who are in agreement with the bill. The event doesn’t have to be excessively large, but enough so that Broughton, Neville, Derwin, and Tomkins don’t think there’s anything out of the ordinary for your hosting a ball on such short notice.”

“But if any of them decline, the plan would fall through.”

“Hm, yes, but they wouldn’t dare if it were a celebration of something particularly special.”

“Like what?” Frank asked.

“Like a betrothal,” George grinned as he slapped his knee.

“A betrothal ball? For whom?” Dunstan asked.

“For someone willing to play the part. Someone like Tillie and, say, Major Collyard here.”

“Mr. Rowley,” Frank said, turning on Tillie’s brother.

“It doesn’t have to be real, Frank. Father doesn’t have to actually announce your engagement to Tillie. And no one needs to think it’s a betrothal ball except Broughton, Neville, Derwin, and Tomkins.”

“I don’t like it,” Frank said.

“Can you think of another reason that will guarantee their attendance?” George asked.

Everyone was silent.

“She’ll have to be told,” Frank said, not wanting to be the one who told her their plan.

“I’ll tell her,” George said. “She already suspects something is wrong. She’ll be happy to do whatever the family needs.”

Tillie’s father gave his son a surprised look.

“Oh, Father. When has anyone been able to keep something from Tillie? She knew something wasn’t right the minute you got the first letter.”

Lord Dunstan sank into his chair. “And I’ll have to tell my wife. Although she already suspects a problem, she’ll need to know she will be hosting a ball in less than two weeks.”

The men rose from their chairs and walked toward the door. When Frank reached the hall, he headed for an exit that would take him outside. He needed to think. He needed to find another plan that would keep Tillie from any possible mishap—physical or social. Involving her in this could lead to embarrassment for her, and that he could not allow.