A Gerrard Family Christmas (Arrangements, Book 8)

by Rebecca Connolly

Susannah laughed and held out a hand to him.

  He came and took it immediately, squeezing tightly before leaning down for a soft, lingering kiss. “Good morning.”

  His wife smiled softly up at him, which somehow still made his stomach flip over, despite their years of marriage. “Good morning. You were up early.”

  He raised a brow at her. “And you are up early now, as is she.”

  Susannah’s smile flattened and she sighed. “She would be the reason I am up this early. She was beginning to wake the others, and I couldn’t let Nurse Alice deal with all of that. So I took Amelia while she soothed the rest back to sleep.”

  “We really ought to consider paying her and Nurse Agnes more,” Colin mused, sitting beside her. “There are so many children.”

  “I blame you for that.”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

  “It seemed impertinent to do so.”

  “That’s never stopped you before.”

  She slapped his leg hard and he laughed in protest, capturing her hand between his, which she immediately tried to wriggle free.

  “Let me go, Colin!” she insisted, laughing herself.

  He shook his head firmly. “Not until you apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “You know very well what, Susannah.” He looked down at Amelia in consternation. “Your mother doesn’t love you as much as I do, poppet. I want you to remember this for the rest of your life.”

  Susannah gasped in outrage. “Says the man who could never be bothered to stay up with her when she fussed!”

  “You always got out of bed before I could do the gentlemanly thing,” he replied with a shrug. “I wouldn’t want you to feel that I doubted your abilities, so I never argued the point.”

  “You should have insisted on it!” Susannah protested. “Any good husband would have done.”

  Colin gave his wife a singularly derisive look. “It seemed impertinent to do so.”

  Susannah opened her mouth, then closed it, pursing her lips in thought.

  He took the opportunity to give those lips something much better to do, and when his wife was entirely soft and languid in his arms, he pulled back, feeling rather proud of himself.

  “Why are you so good at that?” she asked in a drowsy voice.

  “Practice, my dear,” he told her, rubbing her arm gently. “Lots and lots of practice.”

  She chuckled and nestled against him. “What were you doing this morning?”

  Now he grinned in earnest. “Gathering décor.”

  Slowly, Susannah sat up. “Doing what now?”

  He raised his brows in surprise. “Gathering décor for the house. It’s Christmas Eve.”

  “I know that.” Her brow furrowed slightly, and she seemed to struggle for words for a moment. “What did you gather?”

  “Oh, the usual fare,” Colin replied with a wave of his hands. “Boughs of holly and evergreen, some bits of ivy, and a few little samples of mistletoe.” He winked at Susannah there, and she blushed, but for the most part her expression remained resoundingly skeptical.

  “Colin…” she began, hesitation palpable.

  “Mr. Colin?”

  Colin turned at the address, fixing his carefree smile in place as the housekeeper appeared in the doorway, seeming somewhat confused herself, her dark, almost graying hair fixed primly back.

  “Mrs. Donovan!” he called, getting to his feet.

  She looked almost taken aback at his enthusiasm. “Yes, sir?”

  “I have a message for you from Mrs. Fraser.”

  She nodded quickly. “Yes, sir, I am aware, and I have sent out work to all the farmers hereabouts that we will pay a goodly price for some partridge, if it can be got, but I highly doubt it will be possible this close to the holiday.”

  “Partridge?” Susannah broke in, picking up Amelia before she could roll into the leg of the table. “Why do we need partridge?”

  “Christmas feast,” he told her quickly. “Never you mind.”

  “For tonight?” she persisted.

  “No, tomorrow.”

  “You’re having a feast tonight and tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  “Colin!”

  He turned back to the housekeeper. “Never mind about the partridge, Mrs. Donovan. If we can get it, all the better, but quail will do just as well. It would complement the turkey wonderfully, don’t you think?”

  “It is not for me to say, sir,” Mrs. Donovan said in her careful way. “Mrs. Fraser would know best. She also asks if you would mind the Cornish hens being served tonight rather than on Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday?” Susannah managed, now standing herself.

  Colin ignored her, nodding rapidly. “Yes, yes, very well. None of that was what I wished to speak to you about.”

  “It’s not?” Mrs. Donovan asked, swaying weakly. “What is it, then?”

  “The greenery, Mrs. Donovan. I trust you’ve been apprised of the situation?”

  She nodded again, now a little pale. “Yes, sir. I have two of the gardeners trimming and cleaning it all as we speak, and as soon as it is ready, it will be brought up. Where should we bring it?”

  “Here, by all means,” Colin told her. “This is as good a place as any, and almost a central location of the house. Better here than in the hall, don’t you agree?”

  “Of course, sir,” Mrs. Donovan said, now speaking stiffly and looking at Susannah with an expression Colin did not comprehend. “We shall get some ribbons and things to make everything up for hanging.”

  “Mrs. Fraser had something to say on that subject as well,” he told the housekeeper, drawing her attention back to him.

  Her brow snapped down and Colin bit back a laugh at the change in her expression. “She did, did she?”

  “Yes,” he said carefully, not entirely sure what was going to happen when he revealed the rest. “She says to get red ribbons, but nothing too fancy or fine.”

  “The day I take decoration advice from Edna Fraser is the day pigs will fly,” Mrs. Donovan snapped. “If she wishes to have a say in the matter, she must come out of her overheated hovel and do it herself.” She huffed and turned from the room. “Red. As if I would intentionally put a violet ribbon on our Christmas greenery. Of course red, you dunce, but it is the shade of red that matters…”

  The sound of her voice continued down the hall, the words no longer intelligible.

  Colin turned to Susannah with wide eyes, grinning. “Did you know that was going to happen?”

  She only looked mildly surprised. “I knew it was not outside of the realm of possibility. Mrs. Fraser likes to step out of what Mrs. Donovan sees as her domain, and she doesn’t care for it. Marianne had something similar happen last time they were here, and she said it was dreadful.”

  Oh, it was as if his Christmas present had come already. It could not have been more perfect. There was nothing Colin loved so well as mischief, and this was certainly something he ought to explore further.

  “Oh, no, Colin,” Susannah said at once. “No.”

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking,” he said, still smiling.

  “I have an idea of the general tone of your thinking, and I am saying no.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her brow quickly. “You’re adorable when you’re trying to scold me.” He turned to vacate the room.

  “Colin, where are you going?” she asked, worry evident in her tone.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her with a quick smile. “To ask Mrs. Fraser where she thinks we should hang everything.”

  Susannah’s groan of distress was all he could hear as he left the room.

  Chapter Two

  “Higher . Higher. No, lower. And a little to your left… There!”

  The footmen were perspiring, but they affixed the boughs where indicated, and a very fashionable, deep red bow was handed up to them.

  Colin turned to the woman beside him with a proud smile. “It is a lovely bow, Mrs. Do
novan.”

  The housekeeper smirked and folded her arms. “It is, isn’t it? Just wait until you see the beads.”

  “Beads?”

  She nodded, her smirk growing. “I have taken the upstairs maids from their chores for a moment to string beads to be hung with everything else. I think it will add a certain air of elegance, don’t you?”

  Colin looked at his housekeeper with an entirely new appreciation. “It certainly will, Mrs. Donovan, and I applaud your creative eye.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She turned to him, clasping her hands. “May I leave you to oversee the rest, sir? The children will be up soon, and I must ensure that breakfast is prepared for them.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Donovan, of course. Feed the army, by all means.”

  She smiled fondly and nodded once more. “Yes, sir. And I shall give you a full five minute warning before I inform Mr. Gerrard, as usual.”

  Colin gave her the most adoring look he could manage. “You are the most wonderful housekeeper in the entire world, Mrs. Donovan, and you know I never exaggerate.”

  She chuckled good-naturedly. “Yes, I know, sir.” She bobbed and moved down the corridor to attend to her duties.

  Colin turned back to the greenery and the footmen that were currently hanging more. “Yes, just there, Tom. Excellent. Now if you would steady that ladder a bit more, Harry, I think Tom could go even higher.”

  “What in the world is this?”

  Colin bit back a curse as his brother appeared in the hall, obviously having just come from outside, his cheeks rosy in color and his hair in disarray. “Good morning, Kit.”

  Kit barely spared him a glance. “I say again, what is this?”

  “This? It’s a footman,” Colin explained very patiently. “We have several.”

  Tom and Harry struggled to remain composed, but Kit turned to Colin with a resigned annoyance that always seemed to be present. “Actually, I was confused about you, but now I see you are the court jester, escaped from his position, and under the delusion that somehow anyone else finds you in any way amusing.”

  Colin scowled, though he really was impressed with his brother’s retort. Kit may not look it, but he was in possession of a rather sharp wit, and it had the tendency to take one by surprise. Even Colin, experienced as he was with his twin’s ways and nature, forgot on occasion.

  “It should be obvious what we are doing, Kit,” Colin grumbled. “We are decorating for Christmas.”

  Kit’s furrowed brow cleared and he looked speculatively at the hanging boughs. “Excellent thought, and most excellent workmanship.” He glanced at Colin. “Do we have enough for the entire hall and all of the lower level rooms?”

  There were no words to describe the warm feelings Colin currently felt for his twin. “We do, yes. And for the stair railings, unless you would rather leave them open for the boys to slide.”

  “Leave the back one free, wrap this one.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Occasionally, and much rarer of late than it had been in the past, the Gerrard twins actually behaved as twins.

  It was a fair reminder of their relationship.

  “What have you been up to?” Colin asked as Kit removed his jacket and scarf. “Daphne up early again?”

  Kit scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Naturally. She’s determined to torment her mama and me in every possible way. One month old, and no better behaved than when she first arrived. Poor Marianne.”

  “I say that every day,” Colin agreed mournfully. “Every day since she married you, that is my exact thought of her. Poor Marianne.”

  “But no,” Kit went on, ignoring Colin, as he usually did, “Daphne is not the reason I was up early. I had some business to see to.”

  That did not come close to making sense, as Kit had done very little by way of business since their arrival. It was the holiday season, and they had each made an effort to see to it that their servants and tenants were able to enjoy the time as much as they were. As far as Colin knew, the manager of the estate wasn’t even in the county, let alone in the vicinity.

  “What sort of business needs to be done before breakfast on Christmas Eve?” Colin prodded suspiciously, folding his arms over his chest.

  “Oh, all right,” Kit groaned, tossing his hands into the air, “but not a word to Marianne, understood?”

  Colin crossed his heart. “I swear. Secrets from your wife are my very favorite kind.”

  Kit nodded, grabbed his arm, and pulled him into the nearest room.

  “What, did you have something fancy delivered to Mr. Trippett’s shop in the village?” Colin teased as they entered. “I know how your wife feels about trinkets.”

  “No!” Kit hissed, shutting the door. Then he paused. “Well, I mean yes, but I picked that up two days ago. I have all of the presents I need.”

  “I thought you might,” Colin muttered. “I still don’t know what to give Marianne.”

  Kit frowned. “Why would you need to give Marianne a present?”

  Colin gave him a look. “You didn’t get one for Susannah?”

  “I…” His brother looked panicked for a moment, then he shook his head. “I’m sure our wives took care of presents for each other.”

  “And man and wife are one,” Colin added, nodding in thought. “So they would obviously be from us as well.”

  “Precisely.”

  Colin frowned. “Does that mean we have to give each other gifts?”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Kit mused. “We’ve never done so before, why break tradition?”

  “I quite agree.”

  They were silent for a moment, unified in their decisions, and then Colin looked at his brother expectantly.

  “What?” Kit asked when he noticed.

  “You pulled me in here. I’m keeping secrets from Marianne. I need to know the secrets to keep them,” Colin reminded him.

  Kit shook himself quickly. “Right. Right. I went to the village.”

  “We’ve established that.”

  “Shut up. I found carolers to come to the estate this evening.”

  Colin brightened at the prospect. “Did you really? How did you manage that?”

  “Easily enough. They were caroling in the village.”

  Colin stared at his twin without blinking for a long moment. “That was so anticlimactic, I may give you a second chance at telling me on the off chance you might improve the story.”

  Kit was not amused. “I also got a Yule log, and a Yule candle.”

  “That’s a lot of Yule.”

  “It’s traditional, Colin. The Christmas Eve feast is eaten by the light of a Yule candle, and it’s never completely extinguished.” He pulled the candle out of his coat and showed Colin.

  Colin took it, examined it carefully, then looked up at him. “It’s a rather large feast, Kit. We may need more of these.”

  Kit rolled his eyes and took it back. “There are more candles on the table, Colin, but this is the Yule candle. We’ll talk about it with everyone later.”

  Colin held up his hands in surrender. “Yes, oh Master of Tradition.” Then he paused, a memory pricking the back of his mind. “Wait, isn’t a Yule log lit with the splinters of the previous year’s Yule log?”

  Kit winced. “Yes, technically.”

  “Well, technically, I didn’t have a Yule log last year. And neither did you, if I recall.”

  “No, I had a raging headache because Cat was days old and thought night was day,” Kit grumbled.

  Colin shuddered, then laughed once. “Wasn’t that when Rafe decided the inkwell needed to be emptied on your new shirts?”

  Kit groaned and rubbed at his brow. “I think that boy is yours.”

  “Oh, I know he isn’t. But back to the log.”

  “Thank you.” Kit straightened up. “I spoke with some of the farmhands on my way in. They had some spare pieces from their Yule log and are willing to share.”

  Colin made a face, considering the idea. “Do you think
we’ll tempt fate by using someone else’s Yule log remnants? I mean, the house won’t burn down because we’re not strictly adhering to tradition, right?”

  “It shouldn’t…” Kit shrugged. “I’m not that superstitious, and we are trying to start new traditions, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So that counts for something.”

  Colin smirked at his brother. “I think we used that excuse a time or two in our younger years, and I am fairly certain whatever we did never went well.”

  “Nothing we did ever went well in our younger years,” Kit reminded him.

  “That’s true.”

  Kit’s eyes widened. “That’s not a foreshadowing, is it?”

  Colin returned his look blankly. “For what?”

  “This Christmas.”

  Colin thought hard on that. “Well, we never had much of a Christmas growing up…”

  “You didn’t really have one with Susannah after you were first married, you were freshly off your honeymoon,” Kit told him. “The girls and Freddie were so young.”

  “And the year after that, she was pregnant with Livvy and miserable.” Colin shook his head. “And then the next year she was sick in the early stages of carrying Matthew.”

  “And Marianne was carrying Rafe and ill herself.” Kit pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then that Christmas with Loughton on his false deathbed…”

  “That one was the worst in the history of Christmases,” Colin muttered darkly. “Next time he’s dying, we need to be sure he’s actually dying.”

  “Agreed.” Kit gave a brief shudder, then went on. “And last year, Cat was brand new, so we couldn’t do anything.”

  Colin looked at his brother morosely. “We’re terrible at Christmas.”

  “Except for this year,” Kit said stubbornly. “It can’t be foreshadowing because we’ve never really tried to have a Christmas before.”

  “This is true.” Colin brightened and rubbed his hands together. “Care to take over the greenery project? I have another task to see to.”

  Kit nodded at once. “I can do that. What are you plotting?”

  Colin looked around as if about to convey a great secret. “I want to cut down a tree.”

  He wasn’t sure what sort of reaction he’d expected from his brother, but he certainly didn’t expect to be grabbed by the shoulders and squeezed tightly as Kit’s eyes suddenly turned almost crazed.