She shook her head. “Because I don’t know whether to marry Lord Davitt. And because I was angry with Alice for no reason when she needs comfort, not sharp words. Because I’m not a child anymore, and I don’t know if I shall ever spend another Christmas at Brightoaks. And none of that matters because you are dead.”
“Oh, my dear, of course it matters,” he said with such tenderness that she wanted to fall into his arms, which could never hold her. “Do you love this lord?”
“I don’t know. I could not see him with me at Christmas. But perhaps I could, in time.”
“If you don’t love him yet, don’t do it yet.”
She smiled ruefully. “Roberta says life will pass me by with such an attitude.”
“And what does Hazel say?”
“Nothing,” Emma admitted.
“And who is Alice?”
“One of the housemaids. I have known her forever. We played together as children before we realized one of us would be a servant and the other a lady. Sometimes, we still forget. We both say more than we should.”
“But if you are such old friends, she will forgive you. And if she needs help, you will give it. This was not your only chance.”
A wave of grief and despair threatened to overwhelm her. “Life is all about chances,” she whispered. “And we let ours go by, you and I. I always thought there would be time, that one day you would leap back into my life and find me worthy enough to…”
“Worthy?” The word seemed to pierce the mist, echoing off the house and sounding more like a god than a mere shade. “Of a homeless, exiled husband? My dear, you could always do better!”
She stared through the mist. If she walked over and touched him, would he just vanish? Or would she feel wrapped in him, surrounded by him in warmth and comfort?
She swallowed. “Is that why you didn’t come back? Because you had no home? Or because I was never more than an amusing child, the little sister of your friend?”
She thought it was one of the questions he would not answer. The silence stretched between them like an invisible thread with as much substance as whatever held his spirit to the earth.
“I gave you time to grow up, to meet and love a better man of your own people. I gave myself time to forget a girl more than a decade younger. And time to win back my standing in the world.”
“And time betrayed us,” she whispered. She took an impulsive step nearer.
“Emma?” came a sudden voice from the room behind her. Joe’s voice, urgent and concerned.
She swung around to face him.
“What are you doing out there? You’ll freeze to death. The room is already like an ice house.”
“Joe, I—” She turned back to face Selim’s ghost, but it had vanished, dispersed into the air. Perhaps his soul had even returned to the heavens, for the star winked at her once more from the place she had first seen it.
A sob racked her body as Joe flung one arm around her and drew her back inside, firmly closing the doors behind them.
She clung to him. “Oh, Joe, I am so sorry! Why did you not tell me about Selim?”
He said nothing, although his hand on her hair stilled. And she knew he did not want to talk about it, and neither did she, not yet. She dragged his head down, kissed his cheek fiercely, and ran out of the room.
Chapter Two
Sir Joseph Sayle watched his sister run out of the room, then turned and gazed thoughtfully at the closed French doors. After a moment, he reached out and opened one a crack. Then he walked across to the dying embers of the fire, stirred it into life with the poker, and added another log.
He sat down on the chair on the left, turned up the lamp at his shoulder, and picked up the book he had left there this afternoon.
It didn’t take long before someone slipped through the French door, closed it, and drew the curtains. Then he strode across the room and held his hands down to the now blazing fire. After a moment, he took off his overcoat and threw it on the sofa. Only then did he sit in the chair opposite Joe. All the old excitement blazed out of him, as bright as it had ever been. And Joe, still won over by the sheer force of his personality, could only smile back.
“Merry Christmas, my friend,” Selim said softly.
“Not as merry as I had hoped,” Joe drawled. “You made my sister cry.”
“For some reason, she thought I was dead.”
“You did not enlighten her.”
Selim shrugged. “I thought you might have told her so.”
Joe frowned at his old, wayward friend. “Why the devil would I do that?”
“To stop her thinking of me,” Selim suggested.
“You really are a coxcomb, are you not?”
Selim grinned. “Yes, but she does think of me.”
“In spite of my evil, mustache-twirling efforts to keep you apart?”
“Forgive me,” Selim said, unabashed. “No one knows better than I the value of a beloved sister. It is not a gift to be made lightly.”
“Are you asking my permission to pay your addresses to her?”
“You will let her choose?”
Joe’s lips quirked. “I don’t think any of us have a choice about that.”
A singularly sweet smile dawned on Selim’s face. “I would spend my life trying to win her love, to earn it.”
“You may have to,” Joe said cynically. “She is not going to be pleased when she discovers you fooled her.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Selim protested. “At least, not at first. I rode straight here from Dover, to presume on our old friendship, and spend Christmas with you if you would have me.”
“And the front door is too mundane for Prince Selim?” Joe said sardonically.
Selim sighed. “The wretched fog slowed me down, and I arrived late. I would still have used the front door, only I saw her out there in the cold. So, I abandoned the horse and ran up. I thought it would save rousing your whole household. But I took her by surprise. I suppose I must have looked eerie, with the fog and the direction of the dim light. I froze when she looked at me. I thought, at first, I had just frightened her. And then I couldn’t think what to say to explain I was not a ghost. And then it struck me I could find out if she loved me. If she didn’t, I could just disappear with my manly self-confidence intact. Publicly at least.”
“And does she?” Joe asked.
Selim’s dark eyes glowed. “There is feeling there waiting to be awakened.” His gaze focused on Joe’s face. “Tell me I am wrong.”
Joe met his gaze for a moment, then rose to his feet. “Come. We had better deal with your horse and your baggage. The bedchamber you had on your last visit is prepared. You might as well use it.”
Emma woke with the knowledge that a light had gone out in the world. In her world.
Only now, when she knew there was no chance of Selim coming back to her, did she realize how much she had been relying on it. Although it wasn’t in her nature to brood or repine, he had always been there, at the back of her mind or at the front, through every party, every drive in the park, and every amusing conversation. At quiet moments. And during offers of marriage.
Davitt’s had been the first she had truly considered. Because she had begun to realize Selim would not come back?
And he wouldn’t.
Except for the miracle of his ghost, which made her ache and yet warmed her to the core. She had never encountered a spirit before, but she knew his must have come for a reason. To make her understand that everyone’s time in this world was precious and finite. She and Selim should not have wasted theirs in parting.
And she should not be quarreling with old friends who needed her help. Or sitting in her grand home feeling sorry for herself while others truly suffered.
Nell, the chambermaid, came in with a cheerful good morning and threw back the curtains. The fog had lifted, leaving only a faint haze over a pale sun. It would be a pleasant, wintry day.
But with the daylight came doubt. Had she really seen what she
imagined? Had she dreamed it? She had no proof that Selim was dead.
No. If it was not his spirit, it was a dream sent to her for a reason. To wake her up to reality and stop her wasting time.
Emma rose, washed, and dressed with sadness tugging at her, but new determination in her heart.
Finding only Joe and Hazel at breakfast, she said at once, “Joe, what is the problem with Tom Fairnie?” She sat down next to Hazel with only a cup of coffee and fixed her surprised brother with her most serious gaze.
“He was ill and couldn’t look after his land as he should,” Joe said. “Too proud to accept help from his neighbors, let alone from me. His crops failed—as did many this year—and apparently, he has no savings.”
“Then Alice’s wages are all they have?” No wonder she had glimpsed desperation in the girl’s eyes last night. She must have feared Emma would ask Hazel to dismiss her.
Joe nodded and pronged his last piece of bacon.
Emma took a last gulp of coffee and jumped up. “I need to find Alice.”
“She isn’t here,” Hazel said. “Her little brother brought a message that she will be late because her father is poorly again.”
“Oh, no.”
“I made sure the doctor was called,” Hazel offered. “And I mean to go there later on with a gift.”
“I don’t think he needs the doctor so much as a swift kick to keep him off the ale,” Joe said dryly.
“What will happen to him if he can’t pay his rent?” Emma asked. “Will you evict him?”
Joe sighed. “No, not if I can avoid it, but I can’t ignore it, or no one will bother paying. We’ll come to some arrangement of loans, I suppose, as we have with others who’ve struggled with the horrendous harvest.”
Emma nodded slowly. “He’ll need money for seeds, too, won’t he?” She knew the answer already. Alice’s family, like so many others all over the country, was going under. She could not change the whole country, but she could make a difference here.
“Hazel, are you doing your rounds of gifts to the tenants today?” she asked.
“You could help, if you like,” Hazel offered. “I’ll take the lower farms, and you take the upper? That way, you could see the Fairnies.”
“Of course.” Emma jumped to her feet. “I just need to fetch a couple of things.”
“I’ll have someone ready to drive the pony and trap,” Hazel said behind her.
“Thank you!”
In her bedchamber, she raked through her jewel box until she found a trinket she thought Alice might accept—pretty but not too obviously expensive. Eventually, she landed on a little brooch and dropped it into her reticule along with the considerable remains of her generous allowance.
No wonder some thought it wrong that she had all this to waste while good people like Alice’s family lived on the verge of starvation. Or worse.
She wore her warm, ermine-lined cloak and a pretty bonnet as was expected, and went down to make sure the trap was loaded. Jim, another old childhood friend who now worked in the stables, would probably be driving it. She looked forward to picking his brains about what else she could do.
Without stepping on Hazel’s toes, of course. Hazel was a kind and efficient lady of Brightoaks. But Emma had been born here. And until she was married and had her own home, she needed to contribute something here, to make a difference and not waste the life she had been granted, a life that could be taken any moment. Like Selim’s.
She ignored the ache in her heart. She could not save Selim, but perhaps she could save Alice’s family. And tonight, when she had done something for others, she could ask Joe about Selim.
Vaguely, she registered Joe and Hazel at the foot of the stairs, not arguing, which they did rarely, but certainly in intense conversation. Joe finished it by pressing a quick kiss on her lips. And Hazel laughed and pushed him toward the library.
It was a small scene, an everyday intimacy that caused Emma a pang, not of jealousy, but of grief. Joe had found his true love. Emma had lost hers and not even known it until he was taken beyond her reach.
She called a cheerful goodbye and hurried outside. Hazel’s gig was being loaded up with parcels so that there would barely be room for her.
In front of that, the horse and trap stood waiting and loaded. A man stood with his back to her, stroking the big horse’s nose. A tall gentleman in a many-caped overcoat and a fashionable beaver hat. It was neither of her brothers nor her brother-in-law Lord Standish. Did they have other guests she did not know about? She saw no signs of a recently-arrived carriage among the less fashionable vehicles currently on the front terrace.
“Good morning,” she called, walking toward him. “Merry Christmas!”
The gentleman turned slowly. At the same time, the sun managed to break through the haze, low and blinding, causing her to fling up one hand to shield her eyes. The light gleamed on a lock of raven-black hair, bronzed skin… She halted abruptly, swaying. Surely not Selim’s ghost in the daylight? Was she going mad, imagining him everywhere?
But this time, he was not frozen. He walked up to her with the same strangely sensual grace she remembered, even took her numb hand and bowed. A faint, rueful smile lurked on his lips as she stared at him. And then the heat from his hand penetrated her glove, sparking a torrent of emotion.
Involuntarily, her free hand shot up to slap, to hurt, but he caught it, holding both firmly between them.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said. “I really didn’t mean to…”
With a sob of rage, she stamped on his foot, and then, somehow, she was leaning against his chest, her breast heaving as she clutched his hand. His breath stirred her hair, and he murmured something soft and intense in his own language.
She gasped and abruptly whirled free of him. She almost threw herself up onto the trap, with every intention of driving herself, but somehow, he was there before her. He landed beside her, large and solid, and the pony trotted forward, past the front steps, where Joe and Hazel and John stood watching.
She trembled with fury, with relief and joy, and a hundred other reactions she had no name for.
“They knew!” she burst out. “They all knew!”
“I spoke to Joe last night,” he admitted.
“I hope it was a good joke,” she said with dignity, although her whole body shook. “I trust you will forgive my not joining in the general laughter. In fact, please stop and step down. I would rather drive myself.”
“In all honor, I could not allow that.”
“Honor!” She stared at him. “You dare speak of honor when you lied to me! Misled me, humiliated me…!”
“No, Emma, no!” he burst out. “How can you think that?”
“Because I was there,” she retorted. “God, I even doubted my sanity when it was merely my intellect—”
“Stop it, Emma,” he said urgently. “It was merely a misunderstanding I was too slow to fix.”
She let out an angry laugh. “That is the first true thing you have said to me. I cannot believe I looked on you as some kind of hero, an adventurous prince, so dashing and honorable and charming. I suppose I should thank you for showing me the error of such belief before I let you humiliate me in public as well as private.”
“Emma,” he protested. “I never humiliated you. I never could. God knows I am no paragon, but I swear before Him, I would never hurt you!”
Too late… She bit back both retort and tears, for they passed a milkmaid on the path and had to greet her cheerfully.
“I was Selim,” she quoted intensely, all but flinging his words back at him. “Who are you now? Napoleon Bonaparte?”
“I said I was just Selim. Because we always spoke together as friends without the silliness of titles. The words blurted out without thought because I didn’t know what else to say when you looked at me like that.”
She laughed bitterly. “Like what? As if I’d seen a ghost?”
He did not answer, and they lapsed into charged silence.
&nb
sp; “Which way?” he inquired as they reached the fork.
“Left, up the hill,” she replied coldly.
“I only landed in Dover early yesterday morning,” he said conversationally. “I did not even ask Joe if it was convenient. It was an impulse, an urge I could not ignore, and having some weeks to myself, I cajoled a passage across the Channel. As you know, it was late by the time I reached Brightoaks, so I was glad to see a light on the terrace. As I came closer, I saw it was you, that some sorrow weighed you down. I didn’t want to startle you, and then you turned to go back inside. I forgot about the mist and how it must make me look. You looked quite ghostly yourself, now I think about it.”
“And in all the subsequent conversation, you found no way to tell me I was wrong?” she asked scornfully.
“After the first shock, I chose not to,” he said frankly. “I thought it was a way to discover if I had a chance with you.”
“How ironic. If you had not chosen that particular way, perhaps you would have had a chance.”
“Emma,” he said reprovingly. “You are not so unforgiving.”
She glared at him, and he cast her a lopsided smile that tugged at her heart. “Come. Will you not cry truce?”
Chapter Three
Selim’s heart beat fast, as it always had for her. Two and a half years ago, he had, with difficulty, walked away from an enchanting young girl. In that time, her beauty had only increased and matured, as though she had grown into it. The essence of that girl, surely, was still there, distilled into something more serious, more mysterious, more desirable.
She was right. It would indeed be ironic—and tragic—if their first encounter after the years apart was to separate them again. Surely it was not in her nature to bear grudges? He remembered her as mischievous, good-natured, fun-loving. There had been little of the haughty English lady about her, then. But she had it now in spades.
A truce did not appear likely.
She said coldly, “I do not recall being at war.”
She sat in rigid silence for some time longer. He concentrated on the road and muddy tracks, casting only occasional glances at the little glacial figure beside him.
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 19
