On ushering the noisy mob to the tables, Daniel was somewhat surprised to note that the three older members of the company—the dowager, Algaria, and McArdle—had beaten everyone down and were already partaking of rolls warm from the oven and the rich golden honey from the Vale’s beehives.
Seeing Daniel’s surprise, McArdle grinned wryly. “At our age, laddie, we don’t need much sleep.”
“And”—the dowager transfixed Daniel with her pale green gaze—“we take great pleasure in the small delights life yet affords us.” With that, she took a dainty bite of a pastry.
Finding her penetrating gaze unsettling, Daniel smiled, inclined his head politely, and turned back to his far less unnerving charges.
The girls, who were quartered in a separate wing of the manor, were led in by Melinda, with Claire bringing up the rear. She was surrounded by a trio—fourteen-year-old Juliet, Claire’s actual charge, along with ten-year-old Lydia and eight-year-old Amarantha. All four appeared to be deeply engrossed in some discussion.
When handling any such gathering of the families, the tutors and governesses habitually grouped the children by age and arranged activities for each group. Along with Raven and Morris, Daniel walked along the benches, ensuring that the various groups sat together—all six of the younger boys in one group, leaving the five boys aged fifteen and sixteen congregated toward one end of the long table.
Footmen, maids, and undercooks ferried out bowls of porridge and placed jars of golden honey in the middles of the tables. Jugs of milk and mugs appeared, along with racks of toast and marmalade. The boys dove on the food. Sharing a smile with Raven and Morris, Daniel retreated to the center of the long table and sat at the end of the row of boys. Raven and Morris sat opposite, and then Claire arrived. She’d been settling the girls along the bench; she paused when she reached the space beside Daniel, and he turned with a warm smile to give her his hand to help her step over the bench.
She hesitated, her gaze on his hand. Her expression, as usual serious but calm, gave him no hint as to her thoughts, but just as his smile was about to wane, she gave a tiny, infinitesimal sigh and placed her fingers on his palm.
Closing his hand, holding hers, he felt something in him shift, which seemed odd, as he’d taken her hand before… Perhaps it was an outcome of his having made the decision to actively pursue her that gave the moment an extra edge, a deeper significance.
Hiding his reaction, he steadied her as she raised her dark blue skirts and decorously stepped over the bench. Slipping her fingers from his grasp, she murmured, “Thank you,” then smoothed her skirts and sat beside him.
She immediately gave her attention to the girls on her other side, making sure they were supplied with what they wished to eat and that all were satisfied with their lot.
Melinda climbed over the opposite bench and sat beside Morris, across the table from Claire.
Claire looked at Melinda, and under cover of asking “Are we proceeding as planned?” continued to lecture her unruly senses. Giddily dizzy didn’t begin to describe the whirl they were presently in, all because she’d taken Daniel’s hand, offered in the vein of an entirely polite, conventional courtesy. Yes, his long fingers had felt warm and strong when they’d closed so firmly around hers, but he’d just been helping her over the bench, for heaven’s sake. As far as her rational mind could see, there was no reason whatever for the silly bubbling warmth that had coursed through her.
And as for the sensitivity that, out of nowhere, had afflicted her nerves, leaving her intensely aware of his nearness as he sat on the bench alongside her—perfectly correctly, several inches away—she found it intensely irritating and could only hope that it would rapidly fade.
At twenty-seven and a widow to boot, her senses had no business behaving as if she was some giddy miss just out of the schoolroom.
In response to her query, Melinda confirmed their plans to Claire and the three tutors, who in turn fleshed out their ideas for the boys.
“The tradition of the Yule log differs somewhat in different locales,” Raven said. “Here, they’ve combined at least two different ceremonies into one. They cut and bring in the Yule logs on Christmas Eve, and the logs burn in all the main fireplaces from sunset on Christmas Eve to New Year’s Day. Because the logs are fresh and treated somehow, they burn slowly, but we still need plenty of logs. In addition, each log is carved with the face of an old woman—Cailleach, the spirit of winter.” Raven looked at Morris. “Two of the handymen will come out with us to cut down and help trim the logs, and the carpenter has volunteered his two apprentices to come with us and show the boys how to carve the faces.”
Morris looked resigned. “I’ll bring the bandages. We’re sure to need some.”
Raven chuckled, then he leaned forward and looked down the table at the older boys. “Aidan.” Raven waited until the eldest lad present looked his way. “Are you going riding, and if so, who else is going with you?”
Aidan looked around the group. “We’re all going—me, Evan, Gregory, Justin, and Nicholas.”
Morris fixed his charge, Gregory, with a firm look. “Just remember—don’t get out of range of your elders. You are released on that undertaking.”
They all grinned, but Gregory nodded, and when Morris directed his gaze around the others in the group, they nodded, too. By and large, they were a reliable bunch; all of them rode well, and with the older ones in charge, none of the tutors harbored any real qualms.
Daniel turned back to Melinda as she said, “Good. That takes care of the rapscallions. As for our ladies…”
Melinda met Claire’s gaze, then both governesses looked up the table to where Louisa sat, with Therese opposite and Annabelle and Juliet alongside. “Girls,” Melinda said, “we’re in dire need of some decorations for the hall. Are you four willing to see to it?”
Louisa glanced at Therese, then looked back at Melinda. “What do we need to do?”
“You need to collect evergreens,” Melinda said. “That’s the tradition here. I asked the gardeners and also McArdle. Apparently, evergreens means holly and fir—you need both. The gardeners said they would leave a sled for the boughs by the side door, along with the right size shears and saws. They recommended boughs about a half inch in diameter or less, and look for longish, well-leafed specimens. For the holly, of course, you want the berries.”
“Where do we go to get the boughs?” Louisa asked.
“I know,” Annabelle, the younger daughter of the house and one of the fourteen-year-olds, said. “It’s not far—just across the bridge over the burn and into the wood on the other side.”
“So we get to explore the woods?” Therese grinned. She glanced at Louisa. “We can try out our new boots.”
Louisa considered Therese for a moment, then smiled and nodded. “Yes.” Raising her gaze, Louisa looked at the hall’s largely bare walls. “And it’ll be good to make this place look more festive.”
“Excellent!” Melinda said. “So we’re handing that task to the four of you.”
Claire smiled at the four girls. “We’ll be relying on you to make this place look wonderful for tomorrow.”
As Claire sat back, Melinda caught her gaze and, lowering her voice, said, “It’s not far, and there’s no chance of you and the girls getting caught even by a freak storm. You’ll be able to get back easily.”
Claire arched her brows. “Good. I have to admit that, coming from the south, I don’t tend to think in terms of freak storms.”
Melinda chuckled. “Live up here for a year, and you never forget to allow for Mother Nature.” She turned and regarded the three youngest girls, who were sitting closest to her and Claire. Raising her voice, Melinda said, “And that leaves us with you three. I checked with Cook, and she has sunburst shortbread on her list of things to make today, as well as mince pies.”
“What’s sunburst shortbread?” Margaret promptly asked.
“It’s the modern version of an old tradition called Sun Cakes,” Melinda ex
plained. “The original cakes were shaped like a ring—round with a hole in the middle. And the cakes had lines drawn on their tops to represent the sun’s rays. They were eaten at this time of year to call the sun back into people’s lives.”
“But nowadays we do it with shortbread,” Annabelle explained. “The shortbread is made in rounds like plates, with a circle in the middle representing the sun, and the rays are drawn outward from that.”
“Exactly.” Melinda glanced at the younger girls. “So are you interested in making sunburst shortbread? And Cook said you can help with the mince pies, too.”
“Yes!” came from the three young throats.
Daniel found himself smiling.
“Right, then,” Raven said. He clapped his hands together. “I’ll supervise the Yule log expedition.”
“And I’ll assist,” Morris said, “armed with bandages.”
“I’ll need to supervise in the kitchen.” Melinda looked at Claire. “Cook’s run off her feet at the moment, what with all the preparations for the coming days.”
Claire lightly shrugged. “I’m sure the girls and I can find our way to the wood and back, especially as Annabelle knows the way.”
Raven, Morris, and Melinda all looked at Daniel.
He opened his mouth to offer his services, but before he could speak, Louisa fixed her large, limpid eyes on Claire and said, “Shouldn’t one of the gentlemen come with us? Some of the boughs we want might be out of our reach, or heavy, and the sled certainly will be after we’ve loaded it up with boughs.”
Daniel leapt to fill the perfect opening. “Raven and Morris won’t need me as well—I’ll come and assist the bough-gathering party.”
“That’s an excellent idea.” Melinda nodded approvingly.
“Much safer,” Raven added.
“And Raven and I will also have the two carpenters with us,” Morris pointed out. “That’s more than enough adults to supervise six boys, Cynsters though they may be.” The last was said with a wry look directed at the boys in question, all of whom grinned back.
Daniel turned to Claire and smiled encouragingly. “You lead—I’ll bring up the rear.”
Claire looked into his eyes and wondered what had become of her grand plan to avoid him. Stifling a sigh and ensuring that no hint of her rising anxiety showed in her face, she inclined her head and, glancing at the girls, rose. “Come along, girls. Off to get your boots and coats—and don’t forget your hats and gloves—and let’s get started. Not only do we need to fetch the boughs, we have to get them on the walls before dinner this evening.”
She waved the girls up and shooed them along the bench—so she could follow and not have to place her hand in Daniel’s again.
If she was to survive the next nine days, she was going to have to do all she could to limit further physical contact.
* * *
Richard had arranged for three comfortable armchairs to be set on the dais before the fireplace built into one corner of the hall. Having removed to the comfort of those armchairs, enveloped in the warmth thrown out by the flames leaping in the hearth, Helena, Algaria, and McArdle watched the four groups of youngsters depart the hall, three of the groups under the close guidance of tutors, governess, or—in the case of the four fourteen-year-old girls—both.
“And that,” Algaria said, indicating the last group with a tip of her head, “is undoubtedly wise.”
Alerted by her granddaughter’s comment, Helena watched Daniel Crosbie as he ushered the evergreen-gatherers out—saw his gaze lift to rest on the lady who led the way. Helena’s lips curved. “Louisa is very quick, is she not?”
Algaria snorted. “I’m tempted to say she sees too much for her age, but I suspect she gets that from you.”
Helena’s smile took on a proud edge. “From me, via my son, to her. It goes with the eyes.” She, Devil, Sebastian, and Louisa shared the same large, peridot-pale green eyes. “But for my money, Louisa is right—there is a romance blossoming there. All the better to brighten our days.”
McArdle, who’d been struggling to follow their oblique exchange, frowned. “Romance?” He glanced at the last boys filing out of the hall. “What romance?”
Helena and Algaria exchanged a look, then Helena waved. “Never mind. We will just settle back here in comfort and watch events unfold—and then we will see whatever it is that we will see, and whatever we see will be right.”
It took McArdle several minutes to sort through that tortuous statement, then he snorted and cast Helena a reproving glance.
Helena laughed.
* * *
Claire saw her four charges start up the turret stairs to Annabelle’s room, then turned and quickly detoured into the corridor that led to the side door.
Daniel, of course, followed her.
When she tugged at the heavy wooden door, he reached around her, closed his hand about the upper latch that she’d already released, and opened the door for her.
Letting go of the door handle, ruthlessly quelling her utterly ridiculous fluster, she inclined her head. “Thank you.” Stepping onto the stoop, she felt compelled to add, “I wanted to check the conditions.”
His gaze touched her face, but after an instant’s pause, he, too, looked out. “Always a point to remember when up here. I think that in the south, we fall into the habit of taking the weather for granted.”
Acknowledging the comment with a nod—it was, indeed, true—she looked out on a world of glistening white and forced her mind to focus not on her senses’ obsession but on what lay before her.
Snow covered all the open ground, and the low temperatures of the night had frozen and crisped everything, but the cover wasn’t thick, and bare patches showed beneath the trees and larger bushes. In addition, the manor staff had already been out with brooms and shovels, and the paths had been cleared.
“Once we get into the wood, we should be free of the snow,” Daniel said.
She nodded. “Their boots should be enough—it doesn’t look slushy enough for pattens.”
The air was so clear, so pure, it felt crystalline—bright, sharp, and invigorating. She drew a breath deep into her lungs, held it, then slowly exhaled. “But scarves and mittens obligatory, I should think.”
She’d seen enough—and the temptation to stand there, with Daniel’s warmth at her back, and enjoy the strange, isolated beauty of the manor’s surrounds, somehow made more interesting through knowing that he was doing the same, was not one she should indulge. Turning, she had to wait for him to step back, then she led the way back to the stairs.
Of course, the girls hadn’t yet come down. “They’ll be chattering in their room,” she said to Daniel as she started up the steps.
Gaining the next floor, she paused, then glanced at him. He halted on the top step of the flight and she met his eyes—hazel with overtones of rich toffee… Eventually, she recalled what she’d been about to say. “That’s where they are.” She pointed to a door just along the corridor. “I’ll go and get my coat and meet you here—they’ll natter for as long as we let them.”
Daniel nodded. When Claire headed toward the stairs leading to the floor above, he stepped up and turned the other way. On this level, the manor was a maze of corridors, connecting turrets and towers and the stairs that serviced them, as well as a plethora of major bedchambers and suites. “I’ll get my coat.” He glanced at her departing back. “Don’t forget your scarf and gloves.”
She threw him a look—one he caught. He grinned and heard a small huff as she turned and vanished up the stairwell.
The grin lingering on his lips and in his eyes, he strode for Raven’s room in the next turret along.
Raven and Morris had already departed. While shrugging on his heavy brown overcoat, then winding a pale knitted scarf about his throat, Daniel wondered if the fact he’d been the one of the three tutors left free to accompany Claire had been lucky coincidence or deliberate assistance. He hadn’t said a word of his hopes, much less revealed his dreams,
to the other men, yet both were intelligent and knew him well enough to have realized…
Picking up his gloves, he turned to the door; he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the thought that his peers might have guessed his intentions regarding Claire, but if they had and felt moved to ease his path, he wasn’t such a coxcomb as to refuse their help.
He was waiting at the head of the first flight of stairs when Claire reappeared. A cherry-red pelisse was buttoned to her throat, and a warm knitted scarf much like his dangled about her neck. Looking down, she pulled on a pair of fine leather gloves as she walked briskly to join him.
Halting beside him, she glanced at the door of the room the girls were occupying. “Still no sign?”
As if the words had conjured them, the door opened, and the four girls spilled out in a rainbow of colors. Louisa’s coat was a stylish dark green, Therese’s a rich brown, Annabelle’s a pale blue, and Juliet’s a soft mauve-pink.
Claire held up a hand as the four filled the corridor. “Inspection first.”
Annabelle and Therese mock-groaned, but all four lined up happily enough and allowed Claire to check their boots and gloves.
Daniel appreciated the necessity; frostbite wasn’t something either of them wished to risk, much less have their charges risk.
“Very well.” From the end of the line, Claire waved the girls forward. “If you would lead the way, Mr. Crosbie?”
Lips curving wryly, Daniel turned and did, going down the stairs and on toward the side door. That Claire wished to keep her distance from him hadn’t escaped him, but he assumed that had more to do with their audience than any rejection…or, at least, he hoped it did. As he hauled open the heavy side door, the notion that she might not be as interested in him—in pursuing a future with him—as he was with her surfaced in his mind; he considered it for only an instant before pushing it aside.
The connection—the right sort of sensibility, the awareness and consciousness of the other, the inescapable reality of being attuned to the other—was there between them; he knew that.