Chapter Two

“It’s been far too long, old chap,” Henry said to Julian as they lugged the massive Yule log into place with help from a couple of male servants. With a few more pushes and pulls, the log was positioned just so in the massive ballroom fireplace.

Julian wiped his gloves against each other to get off any remaining soil, lichen, and twig pieces. “Too bad my arrival wasn’t one hour later,” he told Henry. “I could have avoided the physical labor.”

“We both know your otherwise plain visage is enhanced by physical exertion.” Henry gave a pretended sad shake of his head. He came over and placed a sympathetic hand on Julian’s shoulder. Henry’s mouth twitched, a clear tell that he was on the verge of laughter. “If you are to ever woo a woman to be your wife and end your miserable bachelorhood, you’ll need all the aid the world can provide. This bit of labor brought a handsome flush to your cheeks, for which you may thank me later.”

The two laughed and slapped each other on the back. When they pulled apart, Julian shook his head, still grinning. “It’s good to be back, though it’s strange to think of you as the master of the house.”

Henry laughed from his belly at that. “Am I not brooding and suspicious? I can certainly work on those qualities, though I never aspired to take after my father.”

“I was thinking more of the pranks you used to play and blame me for,” Julian said.

“But I still got the whippings, if you recall,” Henry countered. “Somehow, he trusted the gardener’s son more than his own flesh and blood.”

Something Julian would always be grateful to the grumpy old man for. Without the former Mr. Brunson’s approval of Julian, the two boys would never have interacted, let alone been like brothers, and he wouldn’t have had a career in the navy either.

“You must visit sooner next time,” Henry said. His voice held a note of something more serious, almost melancholy, as if he’d truly missed his friend.

Julian’s heart was touched, and a bit of emotion suddenly stuck in his throat. With the servants who’d helped with the log still nearby and plenty of others dressing the ballroom and the rest of the house in the customary Christmas Eve greenery, he wished to keep his private emotions out of public scrutiny. He cleared his throat and turned back to the fireplace, preparing to ask about the remaining piece of last year’s log, with which this year’s would be kindled.

Before he could get a word out, however, several pairs of footsteps sounded in the corridor as a group entered the room. Julian and Henry turned in unison, the latter with an expectant expression.

Several of the Brunson children ran in—Julian never could remember how many Henry had now, let alone their names—calling “Papa! Papa!” and “The Yule log!”

Henry bent his knees and held out his arms, only to be half bowled over by his children a moment later as they swarmed him, throwing their arms about him—neck, arms, torso. There seemed to be childlike arms just about everywhere.

“Happy Christmas, children,” Henry said after regaining his balance. He hugged each child, tousled the hair of the two boys, and turned toward the big, dried-out tree trunk. Henry gestured toward the log. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Breathtaking,” Julian murmured quietly. But he hadn’t turned to the fireplace, and the object of his admiration wasn’t the log. He yet faced the ballroom door.

There he saw a woman with one more child on her hip. A ladder stood beside her, and Julian couldn’t help but notice that on it, a servant worked to hang a bough of mistletoe to a chandelier. Right above her head.

Julian stared at her with disbelieving eyes, for the moment seemed like a dream. Was it possible that Eleanor stood before him?

I did not know she had a child. She probably has several. And a husband, of course.

Blast Henry for not mentioning that Eleanor would be visiting this Christmastide. If Julian listed things he did not want, the very first on the list would be spending Christmas with Eleanor and her husband, seeing the life he might have had.

How many children did she have? What happiness and hardship had she experienced? Whom did she marry? Do I know the man?

Julian found himself wanting in equal measures to look about the place to learn the identity of her husband and to never look away from the dreamlike vision before him. He settled on gazing on her form for as long as his imagination deigned to offer him the sight or until she spoke and proved herself flesh and bone after all.

Behind him, Julian was vaguely aware of a voice. “You remember Andrew and Thomas, of course, but I don’t think you’ve ever met my daughters . . .” The voice trailed off and then said, “Julian. Julian?”

He was pulled out of his reverie—somewhat. He didn’t tear his gaze from Eleanor or stop thinking about how she stood below the beribboned bough of mistletoe, which, newly hung as it was, bore many pearly berries. He’d have to keep an eye on the little shrub; with each kiss stolen beneath it, a berry would be plucked, and when the white pearls were gone, no more kisses could be exacted from those standing beneath it.

“Julian, my dear man, what is the matter?”

He inhaled suddenly, as if waking up from smelling salts, and glanced Henry’s direction. “Pardon?”

His confusion amused Henry, who looked to the doorway and the object of Julian’s distraction. The latter steeled himself for a good-natured ribbing about old flames not quite dying out, perhaps connecting the comment to the Yule log. Or Henry might say something about how a naval captain should have the ability to concentrate on a simple conversation and not be distracted by anyone who did or did not enter the room. But Henry did none of those things.

“Eleanor!” he said, spreading his arms wide as he had for his children. “We have a surprise guest for Christmastide, as you see. I invited my old friend months ago, but he didn’t know whether he could come until two nights hence, and here he is.”

Eleanor stood at a distance of perhaps two dozen paces, thus seeing and interpreting her expression and manner posed a challenge. Julian did detect one thing for certain: she looked awfully pale. Was she ill?

Don’t run to her side to find out. You’ll look a fool.

“Come, Eleanor. Surely you remember Julian Stephens,” Henry said, as if he genuinely believed she might not remember Julian.

Could she have forgotten me? Is it arrogant of me to think not?

The little girl in Eleanor’s arms wriggled to get free, and Eleanor obliged, setting the child on the floor. The girl ran, laughing and squealing as only a free-spirited young one could. She stopped short of Henry, wrapped her arms about his leg, then settled in place with a thumb in her mouth. Eyeing Julian, she pointed at him, sort of, with her thumb-sucking hand. “Papa, who’s that?” she asked around her thumb.

For the briefest of moments, Julian felt shock and panic at the thought that this child’s parents were Henry and Eleanor. But no, that couldn’t be; word of Henry’s being widowed would have reached him even at sea, wouldn’t it?

“This, my dear Emma, is Uncle Julian,” Henry said. “He grew up at Willowsmeade as I did.”

At that moment, Eleanor reached them. Her gaze flitted between Henry and Julian, as if she didn’t know where to look. He could relate to the feeling. There was so much he wanted to know, so much he wanted to say to her. He wanted to wander the gardens with her on a long, meandering walk as they told each other all about the years they’d been apart.

He could tell her why he never had settled down, how it had never been because of the navy, though he was happy enough to let others assume as much. Unlike many sailors, Julian didn’t feel bound to the sea or his ship. He’d served what felt like a lifetime, and he was ready to spend the years to come on dry land. But only if he had the companionship of someone he loved and admired, someone he could feel completely at ease with. Someone like . . .

Forget finding someone like her, he thought. I’ve always wanted it to be her.

He had the means with which to begin a life with a good woman, assuming he ever found one who was both Eleanor’s equal and who would have him. He wasn’t entirely certain the two weren’t opposing, incompatible concepts altogether.

“Eleanor, it is so good to see you again after all of these years,” Julian said with a bow.

She is a member of the Brunson family, while I am nobody, the son of a gardener.

He continued, “Rather, I suppose I should properly call you Mrs. . . .” His voice trailed off as he waited for her to provide the requisite information.

“Hadfield,” she said, extending her hand. “Still Miss Hadfield.”

The beauty and total surprise of her reply sucked his breath away. He’d seen battle and death and suffering. He knew firsthand that life, quite simply, was not fair. The absolute last thing he’d expected was to find Eleanor unmarried. And never married, by the sound of it. Perhaps . . .

No. Stop that line of thinking, he ordered himself. I’ll never be a landed gentleman, never have a title, never have the money and status that a true lady such as she is should have. She deserves to have everything.

When, after a few seconds, he didn’t answer, Eleanor tilted her head in question and glanced at Henry. “Don’t tell me you two have been playing Snapdragon.”

He didn’t blame her for thinking he might have partaken of spirits already; he wasn’t known for having a tongue twisted into a knot, so she was trying to make sense of his silence. Julian found the ability to loosen his tongue and managed, “I’m quite well, thank you. And I have not been drinking. It’s a bit early in the day yet for that, at least for a captain used to being an example of maintaining order for his men.”

“That’s right—you’re a captain now,” Eleanor said. “Captain Stephens. That sounds rather prestigious.”

He cringed. “Don’t call me Captain, I beg you. That is not who I am at Willowsmeade, not in the presence of those who’ve known me my whole life.” He chuckled. “I can’t imagine that you, who saw me unsuccessfully attempt to saddle a cow, would be able to call me Captain with a straight face.”

A little voice behind them piped up—one of the boys. “Uncle Julian? Did you truly try to saddle a cow?”

Henry gave Julian a look with one raised eyebrow. “Don’t give them any ideas. They’re mischievous enough as it is.”

“Oh, it was a dreadful thing I did,” Julian said, “and a dangerous one, as well.” He put on a look of utter innocence as he faced the children. “I could tell you the full story, but it would give you frightening dreams at night.”

“Really?” the middle girl asked, as if she craved a terrifying story.

“Most certainly.” Julian gave a serious nod. “Don’t ever go into the stables unattended, and never touch a cow.”

“We won’t,” the middle girl and her older sister said in unison.

Henry sent the girls off to find their mother so the entire family would be present for the lighting of the log. After they scampered out, the adults stood in silence for a moment. Julian finally broke it. “Miss Hadfield—”

“Absolutely not,” Eleanor interrupted with a shake of her head. “If I’m not to call you Captain Stephens, then you mustn’t call me Miss Hadfield.” She held out her hand as if waiting to shake to seal a bargain.

He looked at it a moment, wanting to kiss the top of her hand rather than shake it.

Henry elbowed him. “After the stories I’ve heard from the nursery, you’d better agree to her proposition, or tonight you’ll be the one with frightening dreams.”

Eleanor gave him a look, then rolled her eyes with a laugh. “You’ve heard no such thing.”

“Oh,” Julian said, light dawning in his mind. “You’re the governess.” He felt as if he were putting together a very large and complex puzzle, one tiny piece at a time, and this was the latest he’d uncovered.

“As you see,” Eleanor said with a dip of a curtsy. “I’ve been planning to teach the children about plants. Perhaps during your stay, you could show us about the hothouse and tell us about the plants growing there? That is, assuming you remember those things after all these years.”

“I’d be happy to help,” Julian said. He hoped she would understand from his tone and eyes that he meant so much more than that. Teaching the children with her at their side would not quite be like taking a turn about the gardens with her alone, but it would be better than nothing. Eleanor was seeking out his help, or perhaps his company. That was a good sign. At least, he chose to see it as such. “Being the son of a gardener means working in the gardens so much that those things are emblazoned in one’s memory for life.”

Standing this close to her, he noted a few evident signs of the decade they’d spent apart—a handful of lines about her eyes and forehead, more clearly defined cheekbones and jawline. For the most part, however, she looked very much as she had. The lighthearted girl had merely been replaced by a mature woman. How did he appear to her? He was four years beyond his thirtieth birthday and had a hint of gray above his ears. Would she find him dreadfully old?

The boys, likely tired of waiting for their mother’s arrival, chased one another in an intricate game of tag that came close to toppling more than one servant and did, in fact, tear a wreath of holly off one wall. Henry called to them in an abrupt tone only a father could muster.

After the boys settled down, Henry leaned in to Julian and spoke quietly. “Keeping the two of them happily and safely occupied until they return to school may well take the steady hand of a man such as yourself.”

Julian looked at Henry in surprise.

His friend turned his back to Eleanor and whispered, “If you’re looking for reasons to spend time with her, I can provide several more.”

Feeling oddly as if Henry could read his mind, Julian stepped away slightly, as if a little distance would prevent his thoughts and emotions from being exposed to his friend. Julian now found himself close enough to Eleanor to smell her hair. It still had the scent of lavender and vanilla. She looked at him expectantly, but his mind had been wiped clean like a slate. He didn’t know if she’d spoken, and if so, what answer she expected. He merely smiled, which seemed to be the appropriate response, as she spoke next.

“Today, Thomas asked when he’d get to have the plum pudding, not because he likes to eat it, but because he likes to see it afire.”

Her wide eyes made his heart soften all the more. Oh, how he’d missed those eyes. He fought the urge to run his thumb across her jaw, to cradle her head in his hands, and kiss her as he had the day they’d said goodbye in the gardens so long ago.

He shoved thoughts of kisses out of his mind and returned to the subject at hand—flaming plum pudding. Julian leaned in close to her and, when he spoke, was gratified that she didn’t draw away even a quarter of an inch. “I always like the plum pudding too, but not because of the flames.”

She turned her head and looked up at him. Had she taken a step closer? He wasn’t sure, but she certainly felt nearer, and if she drew any closer, she’d be able to hear his heart thrumming against his chest. “Why did you like the plum pudding, if not for the flame? I don’t recall that you ever found it particularly delicious.”

“Remember how the whole family would gather in the kitchen with the servants on Stir-up Sunday when the pudding was first made?” he asked.

“And each person got to stir it with the special wooden spoon used only for the plum pudding. I always closed my eyes when I got to stir and make my wish.”

“As did I.”

What kinds of things had she wished for? He’d always wished for Eleanor to be his wife when they grew up.

After the stirring, Mr. Brunson had done the honors of dropping several trinkets into the batter, which would be cooked into the pudding. The finder of each had a certain fortune predicted for the following year: a silver coin for wealth, a small wishbone for luck, an anchor representing safe harbor, and a ring indicating marriage.

The Christmas before he enlisted, Julian found the ring in his serving of pudding. He never did tell anyone, and the family assumed it had been lost in the kitchen somewhere or accidentally swallowed.

“Too bad I missed Stir-up Sunday this year,” Julian said as he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and touched the tin ring he always carried on his person.