A Basket of Wishes

by Rebecca Paisley

  Splendor thought about Jourdian’s smile and how happy it made her to see it. Was that happiness the beginning of love?

  “Mr. Frawley began to court me soon enough,” Mrs. Frawley continued, smoothing the dusky pink coverlet on the bed. “Oh, what merry times we had. We danced, and we had picnics. We strolled and held hands, and I began to miss him terribly when we weren’t together. He felt the same. That was when we knew we were meant to be together.”

  Splendor remembered how many times she’d missed Jourdian. Even before she’d known who he was, she’d missed him when she hadn’t seen him out riding.

  “Mr. Frawley and I were wed shortly thereafter, and by the next year we had a son,” the housekeeper recollected. “A daughter followed, and then two more sons. Our children are grown now, with families of their own, and now I have eleven grandchildren to love. Why, love is the reason why I don’t live here in the manor house. His Grace’s father offered me a lovely room when I first came to work here, but how could I leave my dear Mr. Frawley?”

  “But what is this love you have for Mr. Frawley?” Splendor pressed. “What does it feel like? What does it do to you when it comes?”

  A wave of pity came over Mrs. Frawley. Poor, poor Splendor, she thought. The lass had never known love.

  Mrs. Frawley hoped fervently that if the duchess came to love the duke that his lordship would love Splendor in return. Love wouldn’t come easily to the duke, however, for he was a man who had known naught but the unfortunate side of the emotion.

  Still, there was nothing wrong with wishing for the duke and duchess to find love, and Mrs. Frawley wished for it with every fiber in her rotund body.

  “Love is a deep attachment to someone, poppet,” she explained gently. “It creates a profound caring inside you, a caring for the person you love. Love is the sharing of laughter and tears, and of struggles and worries. Love is helping each other. It is a very strong bond, and it holds two people together through good times and bad. When you truly love someone, the love you feel is stronger than any other emotion you are capable of feeling, and it assists you in dealing with anger, frustration, grief, and even fear. It’s a gift to be cherished and protected.”

  “A profound caring,” Splendor murmured, nodding her head. “A bond, the sharing of joy and sadness. A gift.”

  “Yes. All those things, and much, much more. And I hope to have another forty-six years of happiness with…with…”

  When Mrs. Frawley’s voice softened and then faded away on a trail of what sounded like fear and sadness, Splendor touched the housekeeper’s hand. “Is something amiss, Mrs. Frawley?” she asked, then noted the woman’s eyes mist with tears.

  Mrs. Frawley dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her stiffly starched apron. “He will be fine, I’m sure, Mr. Frawley will. But he has been quite ill for almost a month. The doctor says his heart is weak and that there is nothing that can be done for him.”

  “Nothing? Do you mean he might… ’Tis possible that he might die?”

  Mrs. Frawley couldn’t answer, couldn’t bring herself to admit that frightening possibility. “I cannot lose him,” she whispered. “I just cannot lose him.”

  “You mustn’t stop hoping,” Splendor said softly. “Mustn’t stop wishing for his health to return. ’Tis the saddest thing in the world when people cease to wish.”

  “You’re right,” Mrs. Frawley agreed. “And I have not stopped hoping, wishing, or praying. I must have faith that Mr. Frawley will recover, mustn’t I? Yes, that is what I must do.”

  Splendor smiled, and spent the next several days deliberating upon Mrs. Frawley’s explanation before seeking out yet more information.

  Ulmstead was the next Heathcourte employee to be cornered by the inquisitive and determined duchess. But before the butler could answer her questions, she was forced to wait until he caught and put outside the skunk he’d found asleep in one of the china cupboards.

  Splendor watched him place the creature on the stoop outside the front door, ready to intervene should he harm Delicious in any way.

  He didn’t, but simply urged the skunk on its way with a gentle farewell and a soft touch of his hand.

  “What do I know about love, Your Grace?” Ulmstead asked. He closed the door, brushed skunk hair off his spotless black coat, and folded his bony hands in front of his chest. So the duchess wanted to love the duke, did she? he mused. Well, he was more than glad to assist her in any way that he could. And he would pray every night that His Grace would see fit to love the duchess in return.

  “I have never been married, Your Grace, but I did love once many years ago. Beatrice was her name, and I shall never forget her.”

  “Would you tell me about the love you had for her?” Splendor entreated.

  Ulmstead smiled fondly. “She didn’t know I loved her. It was a secret love, for she was promised to another. I met her when I was of the age of three and twenty. Her father had employed me as a domestic in his house. The family was of the gentry, Beatrice the eldest daughter. I had ample opportunity to be near her, to hear her speak, and to see her smile. She was a gentle person, always very kind to me, very considerate. There were times when I wanted to tell her I loved her, but I never did. When she married a wealthy neighbor, I was happy for her.”

  “Happy for her?” Splendor echoed, completely bewildered. “But how could you be happy when the woman you loved married another?”

  Ulmstead smiled again.

  And Splendor noticed that although his smile was sad, his eyes glowed with inner joy.

  “When you love someone, you want the best for that person,” Ulmstead explained. “I had naught to offer a woman of Beatrice’s station. Her husband provided her with everything she could want or need, and he loved her as she loved him. Yes, I was happy for her. Happy that she had found love and joy.”

  Splendor realized that sacrifice was a part of love. At times, people freely relinquished important or precious things for the benefit of a loved one.

  She laid her hand on Ulmstead’s concave chest, directly over his heart. “You are a dear man, Ulmstead.”

  Ulmstead would have blushed to the ends of his hair if he’d had any. “Happy to be of help, Your Grace.”

  Splendor wasted no time in finding her next source of information.

  “Love?” Hopkins asked. Standing beside one of the barns in a splash of December sunlight, he rubbed his grizzled chin and smiled. “My wife’s b-been g-gone fer tw-twelve years, Yer Gr-Grace, b-but I’ve still g-got my memories. Her name was Jane, and t-to this d-day I’ve never seen a pr-prettier g-girl. She was a b-bit of a thing, she was, her head b-barely reachin’ my chest. Her hair was yellow like fresh st-straw, and her laughter made the whole world a b-better pl-place t-to b-be.”

  Lost in his recollections, he absently ran his hand over the rough planks of the barn. “I knew I loved her when I st-started feelin’ like there was a light inside me whenever she looked at me. I felt a gl-glow d-deep d-down. Here.” He laid his hand over his heart.

  “Sayin’ g-good-b-bye to her was the hardest thing I’ve ever had t-to d-do, Yer Grace,” he continued softly. “She g-got a fever, and I was with her when she d-died. I held her cl-close in my arms, and when her heart st-stopped, the light in mine went out. It’s never b-been lit again.”

  Splendor saw tears gather in his bleary eyes. “Would you rather not have loved her?” She tried to understand. “If you had not loved her, you would not be sad right now.”

  “Not loved her?” Hopkins repeated disbelievingly. “If I had it all t-to d-do again, I’d change nothin’. Lovin’ Jane g-gave me thirty-one years of happiness. A man would have to be insane not t-to want so many years filled with love and joy. Why, I vow that one d-day of love is b-better than an entire lifetime without it.”

  One day of love was worth more than a lifetime without it? Splendor thought, her brow creased with astonishment.

  Hopkins looked up into the sky toward heaven, where he was sure his beloved Jane
was waiting for him. “I would have d-died fer her, fer Jane, aye, I would have at that. When she sickened, I would have t-taken her pl-place on that d-death b-bed.”

  Splendor’s amazement intensified. Hopkins would have given his very life for the woman he loved. Died for her.

  Sweet everlasting, there was nothing at all in Faerie that had the value of love.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Christmas had never been a festive time of the year at Heathcourte. The duke had little time for what he deemed frivolous traditions, and so, with the exception of a . few pine boughs here and there that the servants managed to hang, and the goose dinner Mrs. Kearney insisted on preparing, the twenty-fifth of December had always been a day like any other.

  Until Splendor learned of its significance from Mrs. Frawley, Ulmstead, and Tessie. The sly servants took full advantage of the possibility that Splendor might be able to talk His Grace into a real Christmas, and shamelessly filled the duchess’s head with visions of a gaily decorated tree, big red velvet bows, and mounds of beautifully wrapped gifts.

  All Hallows Eve was the only day celebrated in Faerie, for that last day of October was the time of the year when Faerie enchantment reached its peak of power. When Splendor realized that Christmas was an enchanted time of the year for humans, she was determined that Jourdian would have his Christmas. But she didn’t seek His Grace’s permission like the domestics had been sure she would.

  She simply brought Christmas to Heathcourte without mentioning her plans to a soul.

  The house was as the house always was when everyone sought their beds on the night of the twenty-third. And when they awakened on Christmas Eve, every Christmas tradition they’d ever heard of graced the mansion. All staircases, fireplace mantels, and door frames were adorned with fresh, spicy-scented evergreen boughs, complete with bright red velvet bows and streamers and clusters of silver jingle bells. White, crimson, and emerald candles sat lit in every room, alongside bowls of clove-studded oranges and peppermint candies. A life-size Nativity scene, complete with manger, lambs, the proverbial donkey, a host of angels, and a huge star brought Christmas into the courtyard.

  And Christmas trees abounded. Each servant found one in his or her room, and Mrs. Kearney discovered one in her kitchen. The live trees stood in Jourdian’s office, his library, bedchambers, two sitting rooms, and the grand entryway, and each tree was trimmed with strings of plump cranberries, tiny white candles, lacy snowflakes, and shining silver stars.

  The servants were amazed by the beauty and authenticity of the snowflakes and stars.

  “Such fine lace,” Mrs. Frawley said, admiring the snowflakes that graced the tree in the foyer. “Why, the snowflakes appear so real that I could swear they feel cold.”

  Tessie nodded. “And the silver satin stars… I’ve never seen such glowing satin. And they’re warm, nearly hot to the touch.”

  “Perhaps because they hang near the lighted candles,” Mrs. Frawley guessed.

  Only Jourdian and Emil knew that the snowflakes were not made of lace, but of real snow that fairy thrall kept frozen. And the stars were not of silver satin. They were real, and they twinkled with the magic of the fairy who’d borrowed them from the sky.

  Emil was delighted over the Heathcourte Christmas, but Jourdian’s first impulse was fury. How could Splendor have taken Christmas into her own stardust-filled little hands and created a situation he was at a loss to explain to the bewildered servants? Didn’t she realize that her magic had to be elucidated somehow?

  Emil came to the tenderhearted Splendor’s rescue by inventing an answer to all the questions. “Lord and Lady Amberville wanted to surprise the household,” he lied merrily to the staff. “While everyone was asleep, Their Graces had a host of villagers from Mallencroft come and decorate all through the night. The villagers barely finished before dawn.”

  The servants accepted the falsehoods and thanked the duke and duchess profusely. And much to her complete astonishment, Splendor didn’t mind the gratitude. On the contrary, all the sincere thanks she received warmed her inside and made her feel twice as happy over having given the glittering beauty of Christmas to Heathcourte.

  Her willing acceptance of gratitude was yet one more proof that human ideals and emotions were finding a dwelling place within her fairy heart, and the knowledge so thrilled her that every time she thought about it she floated several feet off the floor.

  “You are not still angry at me for touching the house with a bit of enchantment, are you, Jourdian?” she asked on Christmas Eve night as she, Jourdian, and Emil sat before the fire in one of the sumptuous sitting rooms. “I had nay another way to decorate, and I so wanted to give you a real Christmas. And Mrs. Frawley said that Christmas is an enchanted time of the year, so I did not think that a sprinkle of magic would be unfitting.”

  Looking at her, Jourdian noted that her lovely face was not as pale as usual, but was flushed with joy, and her gorgeous violet eyes shone more brightly than all the burning stars on the tree. She seemed…so alive tonight. Alive and… Well, she seemed different. As if there was more to her.

  As if she had somehow become less transparent, he thought. She retained her shimmering glow, yes, and she still had no shadow. But for some odd reason Jourdian couldn’t explain, she was more corporeal. More substantial.

  She couldn’t seem to keep still, popping up from her chair every five minutes or so to touch the tree, fiddle with the greenery and bows looped on the mantel, and check each tiny flame on all the many candles. She ate four clove-oranges and so many peppermint sweets that Jourdian was sure she would soon double over with a stomachache. She even tied a thin red satin ribbon around Delicious’s scrawny neck. The fickle animal had chosen to be a bat for Christmas, and hung upside down from one of the drapery cornices.

  No, Jourdian thought in answer to Splendor’s question. He wasn’t angry. Not anymore. After all, Emil had eased the staff’s confusion, and all was well with the domestics.

  Looking around the ornamented room, he discovered he felt happy. He had no memory of such a grand Christmas. His parents had always celebrated the holiday out of England, and although the servants had tried to give him a small Christmas, those Christmases were nothing compared to the one Splendor had given him.

  He watched her while she sat in her chair. In a completely unladylike action, she crossed her legs in front of herself on the chair, exposing her bare ankles. She’d wear naught but a chemise beneath her gowns. Shoes she refused altogether. Jourdian had refrained from arguing with her about her skimpy attire, for he felt lucky to have convinced her to dress at all.

  Lost in her beauty, he continued to observe her. Nervous excitement running through her, she began to fiddle with her hair, making braid after braid, and then unbraiding them all. She played with the fringe on the chair pillow, stuck her fingers between her little pink toes, and blew bubbles in her glass of cream.

  How like a small girl she was tonight, he thought. And how strong was his desire to hold her in his lap, stroke her soft cheek, and whisper sweet words to her.

  “You did a superb job, sprite,” he said, then sipped his brandy. “But you know? Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without presents.”

  Splendor gasped. “Do you… Jourdian, do you mean we do not have to wait until tomorrow to open the gifts?” she asked loudly.

  “I don’t imagine you can wait that long, Splendor.”

  Up from her chair Splendor popped again, her lavender silk dress and long copper hair whispering around her long legs. Giggling all the way, she glided over to the tree and retrieved three brightly wrapped boxes.

  “Who’s the other one for?” Jourdian asked when she’d given him one box and Emil another.

  Splendor looked at Emil, who turned quickly away and brushed specks of nothing off his coat sleeve.

  “Harmony,” Jourdian guessed suddenly. “That trouble-making sister-in-law of mine is coming!”

  “Now, Jourdian, calm yourself,” Splendor cooed. “I
invited Harmony because ’tis Christmas, husband. I thought to share this special occasion with her because, like me, Harmony knows nothing of it.”

  “Really, Jourdian,” Emil chided. “It is Christmas, and Harmony is a part of your family now. And I’ll see to it that she behaves herself.”

  At that, Jourdian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your relationship with that witchy elf, but you have made yourself scarce. It’s been weeks since you were last here. Could it be that you have found more enjoyable company elsewhere, and is it possible that said company’s name is Harmony Hellion?”

  “She is not a hellion!” Emil swiftly rose from his chair and hurled a furious look toward his cousin.

  “No?” Jourdian asked. “Then what is she, Emil?”

  “She’s… She’s highly spirited, is what. Misunderstood and in dire need of someone to care about her feelings. And you would do well to understand, Jourdian, that I will not sit here and permit you to slander—”

  “How often do you see her?” Jourdian queried.

  “Every day now, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed each second in her company.”

  “She doesn’t turn you into anything?” Jourdian wanted to know. “Doesn’t give you extra heads?”

  Emil smiled smugly. “No. She likes me better than she likes you.”

  “’Tis true, Jourdian,” Splendor announced. “Although Harmony professes to hate Emil, she has worked none of her magical mischief on him. Out of habit she’s been tempted, but she told me that for some reason beyond her understanding she simply cannot make herself torment him the way she can you.”