Chapter 11
It was a miracle that Sebastian had managed to let his wife arrive home from York with her hair or clothes in any sort of proper state. For it had been all they could do not to make love in the coach on the way home. But they had made it. And now, said coach was traveling from cottage to cottage on his estate.
Sebastian held her hand, amazed that they’d completely filled the available space with items of goodwill. Bottles of wine, oranges, grapes, cakes, sugared almonds, flowers, toys. Every possible joyous thing that one could think of was overflowing from the coach.
The majority of it was not for them. For their Christmas feast had already been arranged or so Marabelle had assured him.
Oh, no. These were for his tenants. Tonight, instead of merely drinking by the fire and eating as he’d assumed, they were bringing joy to others.
It was a marvel to him.
His parents had not believed in such things. They’d firmly believed God chose those who would excel and one shouldn’t interfere with God’s plans. The poor were to be left in the gutter, where God had ordained they should be. It was something he’d never understood, had always suffered over, and, in his childhood, he’d had to learn to hide that sympathy.
Marabelle, on the other hand, seemed to believe that it was the duty of someone borne to privilege to bring hope and help to those less fortunate. Merely inspiring a smile on someone’s face seemed enough to her.
So, when the coach stopped before the Grants’ small but excellently kept stone cottage, he felt a hint of trepidation. This was not his field of expertise.
Following his wife with a basket on either arm, he prepared to remain silent.
But as soon as the door opened, they were exposed to a rectangle of candle glow and the scent of a well-tended fire. They were enveloped in the boisterous noise of children and adults already celebrating.
“Welcome! You’ll have a glass, my lord!” Andrew Grant called from beside the fire.
The man hadn’t risen, but his face was welcoming.
Mrs. Grant bounced a curtsy, waving them in.
It only took a moment for Sebastian to understand that the reason the man hadn’t risen was almost certainly due to a war wound.
So, Sebastian bowed ever so slightly to Mrs. Grant. She was a plump but friendly woman with soft blond hair and brown eyes.
“That would please me very much,” he said, crossing to the fire.
As Marabelle struck up a conversation with Mrs. Grant, he took a seat on the hard backed but beautifully made chair opposite the wounded man.
At first, Sebastian felt odd sitting in silence as the fire roared beside them. He felt cold despite the warmth blazing against his legs. Worse, he felt unfamiliar with what he should say or do.
“Did you know the old earl?” Mr. Grant asked.
“I had the fortune of meeting him once.”
“Excellent fellow,” Mr. Grant said brightly, folding his hands over his slightly rounded stomach. “We all miss him terribly.”
“I have a great deal to live up to,” agreed Sebastian.
“If you care to live up to him,” Mr. Grant said with no ill humor. “Many wouldn’t even attempt it.”
There was no hint of concern in the man’s voice. But it struck Sebastian that he held his tenant’s well-being almost entirely in his hands.
And very possibly the whole of his estate was wondering if he would be as good as the old earl. They would all be contemplating if he would allow things to go to ruin.
“I had not planned to stay long on the estate,” he replied honestly. “My life has been spent abroad.”
“In service of the king?” Mr. Grant asked.
“For many years, yes.”
“That is a good thing,” Mr. Grant said easily. “But a man should also serve his family and the land he lives on.”
Sebastian looked to the brood of children playing with tops before the fire. A strange pang went through him. Children. He’d never truly thought what that might mean, having children to look after.
“Have you not known the joy of family, my lord?” Then Mr. Grant man winced. “I do apologize. I have imbibed in too much Christmas punch.”
Sebastian shook his head, eager to set him at ease. “No, it is nothing.”
“Mrs. Grant,” Mr. Grant called. “We must offer our guests libations.”
A cry of dismay went up from Mrs. Grant. “How remiss!”
Sebastian started to raise a hand in denial but then he caught Marabelle’s eye. She gave the merest shake of her head.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” he said then, instead.
Quickly, Mrs. Grant poured out two cups of punch and handed him one.
He took a fortifying swallow and nearly coughed. It was spiced and heady and delicious. But without a doubt, it was strong. Strong as any he’d had in his time as an officer. He took another drink.
Sebastian attempted to feel at ease and sat further back on his chair. “I’ll answer your question, Mr. Grant, since you have been forthright with me. I haven’t known family. My parents raised me from afar and I had no siblings.”
Mr. Grant’s brow furrowed. “But soon you’ll have bairns and that will change everything. . . Unless you plan to raise them as your parents raised you.”
That gave Sebastian pause. He supposed that he’d assumed he would. He’d sire an heir and be off. That’s what he’d imagined when he’d thundered across the moors on his borrowed horse.
But now? Now, when he looked at the children playing before him and he thought of Marabelle, and, worse still, when he thought of the cold Christmases he had known, he could no longer imagine doing such a horrible thing to a child. Any child.
“Family is the greatest thing. The only thing.” Mr. Grant smiled softly. “It has gotten me through hell.”
“Were you wounded abroad?” he asked carefully, knowing it wasn’t always easy to speak of the war.
“At sea, if you can believe it.” Mr. Grant let out a sigh. “I was raised on the coast but Mrs. Grant grew up here on the estate. And when I was wounded, we moved back here. The old earl helped me to find work I could do without two proper, working legs. Many wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help me.”
“He was a noble man. In every sense of the word.”
“Aye.” Mr. Grant lifted his cup in salute. “That he was. You have the air of him.”
“No. No. He was far too kind.”
“Pardon me, my lord,” Mr. Grant countered politely. “But I think it’s there in you. I see the way you’re looking at my children. You’ll make a good father, I think. No running off and leaving them for you. And I think, you’d be loath to leave our Lady Marabelle. She’ll make your life worth living.” Mr. Grant leaned forward and whispered, “Now, don’t you forget that. You love her well and you’re a made man, my lord. A made man.”
“Thank you for your advice.” Sebastian smiled. He couldn’t help himself. And it struck him that Mr. Grant was a wise and very happy man despite life’s tribulations. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“We must go,” Marabelle said regretfully. “There are many homes to visit. But we wish you the happiest of Christmases.”
With that, he took one last drink and placed the cup on the fireplace mantel. They left the baskets of fruit and wine before heading out into the winter air.
As Sebastian stepped out into the darkness, he looked up.
The night sky was lit by thousands of stars. Twinkling and winking down upon them and, for once, he felt completely at peace.
And he knew without a doubt, he had Marabelle to thank for that.
Christmas morning came on a soft whisper. Once again, he found himself in his wife’s arms.
He had struggled and struggled to think of a gift for her. Nothing had seemed adequate. Oh, he could have sent for a jewel or books. Books were something she clearly loved. But how to make it truly from him?
The dilemma had been all too real.
So, slowly, he stood, tucking the thick counterpane about her. Her peaceful, sleeping form filled him with wonder. Wishing to surprise her, he pulled on his breeches, shirt, stockings, and boots as quietly as he could, ignoring the frigid morning air. With one backward glance at the woman who had somehow managed to make him wish to be a better man, he went downstairs.
There was truly only one thing that he could give her. One thing that was truly of himself.
He headed into the salon then crossed to the beautiful, polished pianoforte. He opened it. He sat down on the bench and stared at the ivory keys.
Once, long ago, he’d learned to play certain songs. But they had only filled him with sadness since he had no one to enjoy them with.
Today would be different. Today, he would know joy. And today, he would share it.
So, he rested his fingers over the ivory keys, paused, and then began to play.
He stroked his fingers over the keys, touching the pedal with his foot when needed and threw himself into the music. He put every bit of himself into it, knowing it was truly the only way to show her that she had taught him the meaning of Christmas and the happiness that it could bring.
And as he allowed the music to transport him, he felt his heart soar. For this Christmas, he had finally found a home.
With his wife.
And there was no changing that. No cruel past. No years at war. No fear of failure. He’d found a home and he was never going to let it go.
Marabelle awoke, full of bliss and anticipation of a wonderful day. She stretched under the linen. But then she paused as she realized what had awoken her wasn’t the silvery winter morning light pouring into the chamber through the pane glass window but the strains of Christmas carols floating through the air.
Christmas carols?
She rolled over and listened carefully.
The beautiful notes of an old song, one she’d heard sung since childhood surrounded her and then she smiled. She smiled so intensely she could have cried.
Jumping out of bed, she pulled her gown on, not giving a wit that she’d look a fright.
She stuffed her feet in a pair of boots. Then she ran out of the room, through the hall, and down the stairs.
In fact, she couldn’t recall such enthusiasm for Christmas morning since she was a little girl.
As she slowed and ventured into the salon, her hopes were realized.
Sebastian sat the piano, playing as if he’d been borne to Christmas music. His whole body was engaged by his movements and the music pouring out of his fingertips filled her eyes with tears.
When he’d played the last note, his body came to rest just as the hum of the piano calmed.
He looked up.
She broke into applause then crossed to him and took his face in her hands. “How beautiful. Thank you, Sebastian. I cannot imagine a better way to have awakened.”
He gazed tenderly at her. “I wanted to give you something special.”
And oh, this was. She knew that he’d come to Northly hating Christmas. But this? This meant that he had opened his heart to her and the holiday.
For a man who was still determined to leave and who hated the day would never wake her with such playing.
She bit her lower lip as a tear slipped down her cheek.
He reached up and brushed it away. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Tears of joy.”
“I have only read of those.”
“Well, now you’ve seen them.” She laughed, savoring the feel of his arms about her waist. “Point of fact, you’ve caused them.”
She stroked a hand through his tousled dark hair. “Stay with me. Celebrate Christmas with me forever.”
He pulled her tight against him, gazing up at her. “That is the most beautiful proposal I’ve ever received, wife.”
“Then say yes.”
“On one condition,” he said, his voice a delicious rumble.
“What is it?”
He grew serious. His voice was rough as he said, “That every day you continue to teach me to love.”
She smiled down at him, her heart slamming against her ribs with so much happiness she almost couldn’t speak. “I think you already know how.”
“I am learning. You’ve been teaching me how to love you,” he agreed. “Teach me forever, Marabelle.”
Another tear of joy slipped down her cheek and she somehow managed to climb onto his lap on the piano bench. “With all my heart, if you will let me love you in turn.”
“Every day.” He cradled her against his chest, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Wherever we go. Whatever we do. Let’s grow in love together.”