Chapter 8
Full to the brim with joy, Harry fairly danced down the hall. Any worry she’d had about Rob and their visit had vanished entirely with this morning’s confession. She had waited to tell him of her condition, both because she had wanted to be absolutely certain the life had taken root and because she had no idea how to tell him. It had been far easier and sweeter than she could have imagined.
Now, all was well and the sun was setting.
Christmas Eve had arrived, as had almost all their guests. The preparations were well underway for the evening’s festivities and tomorrow’s elaborate dinner. Cook had seemed in very good spirits, too. After years of cooking for only the family, or just the servants on staff, she was reveling in the large party and decadent meals she was preparing.
While all this to-do did cause Harry great happiness, in the end, it was Rob’s reaction to her news and his general good cheer at his country seat that caused her to fly down the corridor. If ever she had cause to worry about this visit, that seemed to be gone now.
It seemed almost foolish now to have doubted.
She had always loved Christmas. It was a time of year that had filled her with so much joy throughout her life. But it was also the first Christmas she had not spent with her own family and, suddenly, she hesitated in her near skipping down the hall. She paused before a tall window which looked out to the frozen lake.
She contemplated the still view before her, wondering what was transpiring at the Harley estate across the hills. Likely, they were all scurrying about preparing for minced pies and game fowl for their dinner. Certainly, there would be all sorts of games to amuse the children.
Her mother and father had made every Christmas one of happiness for their children and their tenants.
It had been quite a blow when her father had died. For he had always been the kindest of men. Every year, he and her mother had gone to the tenants, giving out presents which were dearly necessary. The baskets had been laden with provisions and oranges. She had taken up that very tradition herself at Blackdown, having gone out with Rob after breakfast. He had tried to protest, insisting she rest. She had scoffed and proclaimed a bit of bracing air would be just the thing. It had. For her spirits had felt light in continuing a tradition her parents had instilled in her.
Now, she could still recall the feel of her family, all standing about the harpsichord, singing in Latin, as the candles flickered and Christmas Day drew close.
Her dear brother was the duke now and married to her closest friend. And it felt so very strange to be so near to them, for the estate she had grown up on abutted her husband’s, and yet, not be with them.
It was. . . the only ill thing in such a wonderful Christmastide.
She lifted her hand and touched the cold glass. It was the oddest sensation coming over her. Part of her felt such joy at her new situation, and another felt the slight melancholy of memory.
A wry smile tilted her lips.
How lucky she was to have so much family and so many who loved her and that she could love. Yes, that was how she would manage those strange, slightly unwanted feelings at the loss of the past. She would count her blessing, and ensure the Yuletide spirit of those around her.
“Harry?” Mary called from down the long corridor. “Are you well?”
Harry turned to her sister-in-law and nodded. “I could not be better.”
Mary tilted her head to the side, firelight from one of the wall sconces catching her dark hair. “You looked. . . sad.”
Harry nodded, not bothering to deny it. “I was thinking of my father.”
“He was a good man,” Mary said kindly before she added, “unlike mine.”
“My father was exceptional, it is true,” Harry agreed and she extended her hand to her sister-in-law. “I wish yours could have been, too.”
Mary sighed as she strode forward, the red silk skirts shot with gold braid swishing about her legs. “Indeed, I should wish it but cannot. For if he had been different, I would not be me. Who knows if Rob would have married you and then we should not be sisters.”
“How true,” Harriet declared. “You bear your pain very well.”
Mary merely smiled before she linked arms with Harriet. “When will the last guests be arriving?”
“Any moment, I should think,” Harry replied as they began to head down the hall that led to the central stairs. “Can you imagine?”
“What?” Mary asked.
Harriet guffawed. “A house full of dukes at Christmas.”
“It is rather surprising.” Mary squeezed Harry’s arm and said with exaggerated seriousness, “Thank goodness they’re all handsome, witty fellows. Not a crusty sot among them!”
“Mary, for all your seeming quietness in the past, you really have the most marvelously wicked tongue.”
“Why, thank you. I always wanted to unleash it upon the world.”
“And now you can,” observed Harry as they turned and stepped out to the landing, the red and gold carpet stretching before them.
Mary nodded. The unspoken words that it was the death of her father, a destructive and cruel man, which had prevented such a thing played in her mind.
“Let us go down then and await them.” Mary waggled her brows. “For, in but a few hours’ time, the revelry shall begin!”