But he couldn’t escape yet. The door opened again to admit a latecomer. Harry was startled to see it was Helen Fallon, swathed in red velvet and glossy sables, rubies twinkling in her ears. Just like Miss Parker, she had not aged since Harry last saw her, perhaps seemed even younger. More glowing. So bright, in fact, she looked as if she would burn from it.
‘Oh, dear, am I late?’ she cried, handing her sable muff and velvet gloves to a footman and reaching for a glass of champagne on a tray. ‘So bad of me, missing a party.’ She glimpsed him over the edge of her glass and slowly lowered it. Her brilliant smile faded. ‘Harry.’
‘Hello, Helen,’ he answered. How long he had known her; how their childhoods were so entwined. Yet it felt like looking at a stranger. ‘How beautiful you look.’
‘Hardly aged a day,’ Charles said, coming up behind them to take his own glass of wine. ‘Here we all are again together. Just like old times, yes?’
The sound of the old carol sounded around them, a merry counterpoint to the sudden sense of unreality Harry felt.
‘Just like,’ Helen said wryly.
‘Please, excuse me, Helen,’ Harry said. ‘I have an errand. I shall see you at dinner.’
‘Yes, I want to hear all about what you’ve been doing,’ she answered. ‘All your adventures...’
Harry glanced at her fine pelisse. ‘They can’t have been as adventurous as your own life, I’m sure.’
Helen laughed. ‘London? It’s dull as tombs. At least here there is this lovely champagne.’
Harry bowed and made his way out of the drawing room. He heard the music swelling behind him and Charlie and Helen laughing together. But he knew that the past, the past they had once shared as children, was gone.
He only wished he could have spent more time talking with Miss Parker, standing in her gentle presence as the rest of the world swirled noisily around them.
Chapter Six
‘“As I lay on Yoolis Night, Alone in my longynge, I thought I saw a well faire sight, A maid hir child rockynge.”’
‘That was beautifully played, Eleanor,’ Rose said with a smile as the girl finished her song at the pianoforte in the morning room. Rose had been most glad of the excuse of a music lesson to avoid breakfast with the other guests. She had seen the way Lady Fallon looked at Captain St George last night and it had made her feel strange and discombobulated, as if she wasn’t quite supposed to be there. She wasn’t sure she could face watching them at breakfast as well. And she was, after all, at Barton to teach music.
But the music lesson had proved most enjoyable. Rose had always been able to lose herself in a song, to pour out her emotions into the notes, and it seemed young Lady Eleanor was the same way. Her sensitivity to the song, the easy way her small fingers played over the keys, was a delight.
Eleanor smiled shyly. ‘Do you truly think so, Miss Parker? I always have such trouble here...’
‘That is where you must change chords like this,’ Rose said, showing her on the keyboard. ‘It merely takes a bit of practice. But you have something much rarer—the ability to capture the very mood of a song.’
Eleanor nodded. ‘So, when I am sad or frightened, I should play a happy song? To help me remember something lovely, like a warm summer’s day?’
‘Exactly so!’ Rose exclaimed. ‘I often do that myself.’
Eleanor gave her a long, questioning glance. ‘Are you often unhappy, Miss Parker?’
‘Not at all, my dear,’ Rose answered gently. ‘Music is a celebration at happy times as well as an escape at sad ones, you know. Just like now, at Christmas. We must rehearse more carols later this afternoon, something to dance to, perhaps?’
‘Rehearsing!’ William scoffed. He lay on his stomach on the pale blue carpet, pushing around a tiny carriage and horses. It seemed music did not interest him as much as it did his sister. ‘That sounds very dull. We know the songs well enough. Who can sit still that long, singing one line over and over?’
Rose had to laugh; he sounded so much as Lily had when they were children and she was too impatient to practise. ‘What would you rather do, then, William? Read your geography lessons?’
‘We could tell you about the treasure!’ he said eagerly. His sat up, his carriage forgotten for the moment.
‘The treasure?’ Rose asked. She wondered if it was the same one that had entranced her and Lily when they were children.
‘It’s just an old story,’ Eleanor said. ‘Cousin Beatrice likes to tell us about how she went searching for it once, when she was our age. She hurt herself and Aunt Emma had to go find her. It’s why we’re not allowed near the old castle ruins on Uncle David’s estate.’
‘We would be much more careful if we were the ones searching!’ William said. ‘I’m sure it’s there some place. It would make a splendid Christmas surprise for Mama and Aunt Emma if we found it.’
‘Arabella’s old treasure?’ Rose said, falling into their enthusiasm. ‘My sister and I used to like that tale, too.’
‘Was Arabella the lady from a long time ago?’ William asked.
‘When Charles I was king and they wanted him to go,’ Eleanor added. ‘This lady was in love with one of the king’s own knights...’
‘And she hid a treasure for him in the old castle, so they could be together one day!’ said William. ‘But he died and she never returned for it, so it is out there some place.’
‘It does certainly sound romantic,’ Rose said, finding herself rather sorry for this long-ago couple, kept apart by the cold realities of the world. ‘But I am sure your parents are quite right not to let you go climbing about old ruins by yourself.’
‘I do think it’s terribly sad Arabella never got to marry her true love,’ Eleanor said with a sigh. ‘I would only ever marry a man I loved madly, as Mama and Aunt Emma have done.’
‘Girls are so silly in that way,’ William said.
Rose laughed. ‘Why will you marry, then, William?’
‘I don’t know. Because I find a pretty girl some day, I suppose. Her portrait will have to go in the gallery of countesses, you know,’ he said grandly.
Rose laughed even louder. She had known teaching children music would be better than serving tea to Aunt Sylvia all day, but she hadn’t realised it would be quite so amusing. ‘Very wise of you.’
Eleanor glanced up at her. ‘Why have you not married, Miss Parker? You are certainly pretty.’
Rose smiled at her and pushed her spectacles up her nose. She remembered Lady Fallon, with her beautiful gown and shining hair, everyone watching her as she laughed. Who would notice someone like Rose after that? And she knew marriage didn’t often turn out as well as it had for her sister and her cousins. ‘I haven’t found someone to fall madly in love with yet.’
Eleanor gave a sad-looking frown and gently touched Rose’s hand. ‘I am sure you will, though, and very soon.’
‘In the meantime, perhaps you might search for treasure with us?’ William said hopefully.
Rose shook her head. ‘I have been hired to teach you music, so I think we should go over these Christmas carols again. Something jolly, maybe—a dance?’
William reluctantly joined them at the pianoforte bench, but they had barely made it through their next song before there was a knock at the door. Jane hurried in, clad in a fur-trimmed pelisse and hat, a matching fur muff in her hand.
‘Mama!’ the children cried and ran to hug her.
‘How is your lesson progressing, then, Rose?’ Jane said as she hugged her children back. ‘Are they prodigies yet?’
‘They are excellent pupils,’ Rose answered.
‘Very good. I think that deserves a reward, then, don’t you? We’re all going out to collect more greenery in the park and since you have been such good children you may come with us,’ Jane said. As the childr
en cheered, she told them to go tell the nursemaid to fetch their coats.
William shouted out with happiness and dashed away, Eleanor following with one small, wistful glance behind her at the pianoforte. Rose started to tidy the musical sheets, already missing their company.
‘You must come, too, Rose,’ Jane said.
Go out—and see Harry St George again? ‘Oh, no...’
‘I absolutely insist! You are obviously a wonder with my children, I haven’t seen them so well behaved in an age,’ Jane said. ‘And it’s a lovely day outside; the sun is shining, though it’s a bit chilly. I don’t think we’ll have many more days of such weather.’
Rose glanced out the window; she did have to agree it looked quite nice out, the pale sunlight shimmering on yesterday’s dusting of snow. Surely there would be so many people there she wouldn’t even find herself alone with Harry. She smiled and hurried off to find her pelisse and hat.
The rest of the party was already gathered in the front drive when Rose hurried to join them. Various carts and carriages waited, equipped with warm blankets, picnic baskets, as well as tools for cutting green boughs once they were found.
For a moment, she stood in the shadows of the doorway, just watching the bright scene before her. At Aunt Sylvia’s house they seldom had company at all, except for the elderly vicar for tea, and at her mother’s cottage they’d had no time or money for parties. This felt like a whole different world, the swirling brightness of velvet pelisses and caped greatcoats, the sound of laughter. She wasn’t sure she belonged there.
She saw a quieter cart near the end of the row and started to turn towards it, to remain unobtrusive and watchful. But Emma Marton suddenly grabbed her hand and drew her into the very midst of the chattering throng, gathering her close.
‘Miss Parker, I do believe there is a seat here,’ she heard a deep, rich voice say, and turned to see Captain St George holding out his hand to her with a half-smile. In the sunlight, his scars looked more evident, yet that smile was as handsome as ever. Too handsome for her peace of mind.
Rose glanced around, but there was nowhere else to sit. Don’t be such a ninny, she told herself sternly. Yes, he was an attractive man, and, yes, talking to him last night had made her feel things she never had before. Most confusing things, such as—a girlish desire to laugh. The exhilarating sense of being seen, of being heard, of being free of all the caution and responsibility, to be just a young lady talking to a handsome man, if only for a moment.
All those things had happened and it felt like a dream. Yet this was in the clear, cold light of day and she was a sensible, grown woman. A woman with many responsibilities. Surely she could not now make a giggling, silly fool out of herself.
He curled the outstretched fingers of his gloved hand and his smile widened, as if he could read her thoughts. His uncovered eye, so very blue, gleamed like a summer sky.
Oh, yes, she thought wryly. She could be a giggling, silly fool after all.
But she didn’t have to show it to everyone. She smiled back and took his hand to let him help her on to the cart. She sat down beside him on the narrow bench, demurely arranging her skirts around herself. A few other people clambered up with them, and she glimpsed Lady Fallon climbing into the carriage ahead of theirs, helped by Charles St George. She watched Harry from under the brim of her fur-trimmed bonnet.
‘I hope you slept well enough after last night’s festivities, Miss Parker,’ he said. ‘I saw William racing through the hall this morning and he said he was late for your music lesson. I think he was stealing bacon from the dining-room sideboard.’
Rose laughed, more at ease with his light tone. ‘Oh, yes, it all went quite well. Barton Park is very comfortable and the children most attentive to their lessons—once they are there. Lady Eleanor in particular is very talented.’ She peeked up at him from beneath the brim of her plain grey bonnet. He smiled at her again and she suddenly felt so light, so wonderfully giddy.
‘I remember from our last meeting, as well as last night, that you quite enjoy music, Miss Parker,’ he said. ‘Jane says that she’s lucky to have a lady of your rare talent instructing her children.’
Rose felt her cheeks turn warm under his praise and looked away as the cart jolted in motion. ‘I have no more talent than most ladies who are made to practise their pianoforte and harp from their childhood,’ she said with a laugh. ‘But, yes, I do enjoy it, very much. When I have the chance to play. My Aunt Sylvia does like things to be—quiet.’
The cart jolted around a corner, following the line of carriages before it in their jolly little caravan. Rose was not prepared for the sudden motion and fell against Harry’s shoulder. He caught her against him and for an instant she felt all of herself pressed against him. She sat up straighter, feeling her cheeks grow embarrassingly warm again, and she was all too aware of his strength pressed so close to her.
In the open carriage ahead of theirs, Charles St George stood up and started to lead everyone in a rousing chorus of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’. The riders around Rose and Harry soon took up the tune and they were surrounded by the wondrous sounds of the season as they jolted and jounced over the frosty lanes into the wooded part of the park. Charles almost toppled over on to Lady Fallon.
‘I do not think Barton could ever be described as quiet,’ Harry remarked wryly.
Rose laughed. ‘No, indeed. Aunt Sylvia would quite hate it. Your brother does seem to take his role as Lord of Misrule for the holiday most seriously.’
Harry smiled and Rose had the sense it was something rather rare for him, smiling. She found herself wanting to make him do it again, to laugh even. ‘Charles would be King of the Revels all the time if he could.’
‘He sounds like my sister, Lily. She does love a good party.’
‘The curate’s wife?’ Harry said, his tone surprised.
Rose laughed again. ‘You must not let that fool you. She does take her parish duties and her children very seriously, but she still loves a dance or a practical joke more than anyone I have ever known. When we were children, she would gallop up and down the stairs and pretend to be a pony whenever she could!’
‘And you, Miss Parker? Did you concoct such games when you were a girl?’
Rose studied the scenery around them, the trees growing thicker, the shadows darker, as she thought about her girlhood with Lily, the sounds of music and laughter that had always echoed around their corridors—until their father died. She turned back to Harry to find him watching her intently, as if he could read her wistfulness.
‘The world is different for an eldest child, is it not, Miss Parker?’ he said.
‘Is it, Captain?’ She thought more of her childhood, of the times she had pulled Lily back from disaster. ‘I had never thought of it thus, but so it seems. Someone must keep it all from falling to bits, I suppose.’
‘Or put it back together when it does,’ he answered, so softly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him.
Before she could answer, could tell him of how things had fallen apart when her father died, the cart lurched to a halt in a large clearing surrounded by a circle of trees.
‘Very well, everyone,’ Charles cried, still Lord of Misrule, ‘I command you all to go out and find as much greenery as possible to deck the halls of Barton tonight. The winner will have the first glass from the wassail bowl!’
A great cheer went up and everyone scattered into the woods like a flock of brightly coloured birds. Harry held out his hand to help Rose down, but when she stumbled on the step he swiftly caught her around the waist before she could fall. She gasped with surprise at the sparkling jolt of pleasure his touch gave her.
As he slowly lowered her to her feet, Rose wished she didn’t have to let him go. Didn’t have to keep her feet planted firmly on the plain, practical ground, as she always did. The Christmas spirit was taking he
r over.
‘Th-thank you, Captain St George,’ she said, wishing her voice did not sound quite so breathless. ‘So clumsy of me.’
‘Not at all. I’m afraid I must beg your assistance now, Miss Parker.’
‘My assistance?’
‘Yes. I see a patch of holly over there just begging to be a mantelpiece decoration, but my depth perception is not—quite what it was.’ He gestured to the dark cloth over his eye.
‘Oh, of course!’ Rose cried, embarrassed she had forgotten his injuries. The truth was, after the first shock when they met again last night, she had barely noticed his scars. He was still much too attractive for her peace of mind. ‘I am quite sure that between us we can defeat the holly and bring it home in triumph.’
As he offered her his arm, she glimpsed Lady Fallon’s red pelisse through the trees, just ahead of them. She smiled up at Harry and took his arm to make their way between the thick wood, chattering easily about inconsequential matters such as the cold weather, favourite Christmas songs from their childhood holidays, and places they had seen—many for Harry, few for Rose. A chilly breeze swept around the bare branches, making the voices of the others a mere murmur, but pale sunlight struggled down on to their heads through the lacy patterns.
‘And where else have you travelled, Captain St George?’ she asked as she paused to clip a clump of low-hanging mistletoe, pearly with white berries.
‘To Switzerland and Austria, many places in Italy,’ he said, as casually as if he’d said Kent or Brighton.
‘How lucky you are to have seen such things,’ she said. ‘I have never even been to Bath!’
He gave her a smile. ‘Bath is overrated, I assure you, Miss Parker. As is Italy.’
Rose gazed around them at the quiet trees, the silent, pale sky. ‘This must all seem so dull to you after all you have seen. A plain English country Christmas.’
He turned to study her for a moment, his gaze unreadable. She turned away with a blush. ‘Oh, Miss Parker. An English country Christmas is one of the loveliest things imaginable. This quiet is astounding.’
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