by Sharon Sobel
Tears sprang to her eyes at the memory. She had been so full of anger when she hung the greenery that she had not taken time to appreciate those who were still part of their lives.
Pulling herself together, she told herself such maudlin thoughts were natural at holiday time when she might be gone from home for many months. She must take in all the sights and smells and memories to sustain herself while she was away, she reminded herself fiercely. Although the country’s war had ended it still waged at Deervale Hall, she realized as she glanced toward the circle of gentlemen in the room. Humphrey Fotherington appeared to have the advantage over his enemies.
But was it what she truly wanted? Sophy remembered Jeremy’s warning that Humphrey would say what she wanted most to hear simply to win her hand. The gentlemen present were about ready to put her to the test, she realized, as Barclay called everyone’s attention to the kissing bough.
“Here in Derbyshire,” Barclay explained, “we call it the kissing bunch. Whatever name it goes by, we make the most of it. One mistletoe berry, of course, entitles you to one kiss. When the berries are gone, so is the opportunity. Bear that in mind, gentlemen.”
“That’s an impressive collection of holly and ivy,” Humphrey said, studying the greenery hung about the sphere.
“In Derbyshire,” Barclay said, “you need both for luck.”
“Then may this be a lucky year for us.” Humphrey flashed Sophy a smile that made her blush.
Sophy felt her insides tighten with trepidation as Sampson Hodge gazed first at the plant with its white berries attached to the bough’s center, then raised an eyebrow to give her a surreptitious glance. She glanced quickly toward Jeremy, looking for his reaction. It irritated her to see he was too engrossed in conversation with Arabella to have heard the conversation.
“We haven’t much mistletoe in Derbyshire,” Barclay chuckled, “but Riggs manages to get us some every year.”
They waited for the annual tradition to begin, as the butler was called upon to bring the long taper to light the candles set among the greens for the first time this season. Sophy looked forward to the ritual that would be performed tomorrow and every night during the twelve days of the Christmas season.
Her suitors took turns requesting her hand so they might bestow a proper kiss. Humphrey Fotherington waited until Herbert Prindle and Sampson Hodge had taken their turns to lift her hand lightly and peck the back side with a kiss. Sophy suspected he’d gone last for dramatic effect.
She waited impatiently for Jeremy to rise and offer the same, but he remained on the far side of the room, engaged in conversation first with Harry and then with Arabella, who at least had the grace to show interest in the festivities.
She had waited through the others’ attempts for nothing, she realized angrily, for Jeremy had barely watched the proceedings. Harry and Eddie appropriately kissed only the hands of their wives in their turn. The men then took turns politely kissing Arabella’s hand.
Sophy’s heart leaped as she watched Jeremy at last pick a berry for the right to take his turn at the kissing bunch. Her relief was short-lived. Instead of approaching her it was Arabella’s hand he sought, bestowing upon it a kiss Sophy felt was destined for her. It was also a kiss she considered longer than was customary.
She fumed. Whether his display of affection was intended merely to be polite or for her benefit alone, it was uncalled for.
By the time the last mistletoe berry was about to be pulled, she realized Humphrey Fotherington had refrained from kissing Arabella’s hand, no doubt leaving it to Barclay. Yet her brother had taken his turn earlier, seizing the opportunity rather than leaving it to chance. Sophy was horrified to see Fotherington pick the final berry from the bunch.
“The last kiss of the evening, I fear,” he said with a smile. The act was deliberate, Sophy thought with irritation, giving Jeremy no opportunity to kiss her hand. The privilege disappeared with the berry Humphrey had just picked. She watched as Humphrey lifted Arabella’s hand idly, raising it to his lips for a meaningless light kiss.
The only meaning it had, Sophy reflected, was to deny Jeremy the opportunity to kiss her hand through this mean-spirited triumph. Humphrey had stolen his rival’s chance. Trying to keep tears of frustration from her eyes, Sophy looked away as applause heralded the conclusion of the night’s romantic ritual.
It was not until everyone had turned to other activities that she glanced back at the kissing bunch to remind herself of the season’s real meaning. Her mother and Maggie had done an admirable job decorating it, combining hoops to form the frame that was then covered with garlands of holly, ivy, and other greens. Apples and oranges were suspended from the center ribbons, while roses crafted from paper, snippets of colored ribbon, and bright streamers and ornaments the children had made children brightened the green globe.
But the highlight of a kissing bunch in Derbyshire, the part unique to her home province, was the three small dolls painstakingly crafted and detailed to resemble Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus. They hung from the top to form a simple manger scene. This year, especially, they reminded Sophy of her mission work.
With so much of her future in question, the sight made her wistful. She had no idea what might await her after America. She had no idea whether Jeremy might still come up to snuff or whether Fotherington would try to claim her hand as part of the First Footing tradition. Worse, if she were asked at that very moment, she had no idea what she herself wanted.
And that, she realized dismally, was her greatest worry. Of all those gathered at Deervale Hall, the person she had become was the biggest stranger of all.
Chapter Eight
IF HE FOUND Christmas Eve difficult, Jeremy realized with sobering clarity, then Christmas Day would likely prove even more challenging. The wandering musicians from the village had reached Deervale Hall surprisingly early considering the deep snows that lay beyond the window. As they stood caroling beneath the breakfast windows to welcome in the holy day, Jeremy’s head ached from the glare of the snow. It would be worse for the others, he thought, for only he and Harry had not imbibed any liquor other than the lamb’s wool the night before.
The high point of the morning was the delight on the faces of the children as they opened their presents. Even the family’s spaniel was enjoying his present. Teddy and Emily had tied a bright ribbon around a piece of meat so tasty that Sylvan made sure to get every last bit of grease from the drawing room rug.
Accustomed to the discordant noises of war for so long, Jeremy found the children’s squeals of laughter and surprise as enchanting as music. He wished he might experience the sound more frequently, but Fate did not appear cooperative in that regard.
He had not helped his cause last evening by foolishly displaying his resentment. Having used a mistletoe berry to kiss Arabella’s hand, he’d found none left to kiss Sophy’s. No doubt she suspected his action had been deliberate rather than the mistake it was. He hadn’t expected Fotherington to seize the last berry.
Kissing Arabella’s hand had been a waste. Perhaps Sophy had not noticed, distracted as she was by Fotherington, Hodge, and Prindle.
Jeremy sat quietly to one side, returning his attention to the children until Barclay startled him by handing him a very small box from a branch amidst the kissing bunch.
“A gift from my sister,” Barclay told him with a grin.
Jeremy glanced across the room to the spinet, where Humphrey sat on the bench beside Sophy, who ran her fingers slowly across the instrument to produce a gloomy sound.
He held the box for a moment, looking up briefly to see others opening small gifts as well. He was relieved, for he felt more comfortable knowing he was not the center of attention. He proceeded to remove the wrapping from his gift.
Inside he discovered the familiar figure of a toy soldier on horseback. The paint had worn away from the small wo
oden figure in spots, but the musket with the bayonet was still intact, and the horse looked as majestic as ever. The sight of it stunned him, the memories even more so.
How well he remembered playing with the soldier as a child, but seeing it again as a battle-scarred cavalry officer stirred him deeply. He vividly recalled thinking of the toy soldier as a battle hero when he was young.
Now, as he studied the small figure seated on a rearing horse with his sword raised in triumph, he alternated between pride and regret. War was not a matter for childhood, despite how strong an impression the figure had made on him.
He set the figure aside, glancing toward Jonathan and Teddy and hoping they need never fight as he had. He glanced across the room to see Sophy watching him with anxious eyes.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Realizing his words were lost in the crowd, he rose and walked across the room to her. Was it hope he saw in her eyes? At his approach, Fotherington stepped aside to greet Barclay.
“Being hindered by this ankle, I only ventured as far as the attic for a gift,” she said awkwardly. “I found the soldier you played with as a child. You always chose that particular one. It was Barclay’s, but I know it has more meaning for you.”
“I remember this fellow well.” Jeremy smiled, seeing the relief on her face. “Thank you. I trust Barclay won’t miss him.”
Sophy took a deep breath. “You’ve earned him with your service to the Crown. Perhaps you might keep him in case—in case you have a son one day.”
“I shall keep him in a safe place.” Obviously she intended to go ahead with her plan to leave. If he were ever to have a son, it appeared he must find a wife elsewhere. The thought made his holiday meaningless. He nodded to the kissing bunch, useless as it had been to him. “There is one there for you as well.”
“Wait here,” she instructed, rising. “I am well enough to walk independently. I shall find it.”
He watched carefully as she discovered his present hanging among those left on the kissing bunch. Thinking he detected a slight spring in her step, he waited as she removed her gift and returned to sit beside him. She seemed more subdued this morning, careful to avoid his eyes as she unwrapped the package slowly.
“I hope you like it.” He felt suddenly inadequate and shy, as if he were courting a girl for the first time. “It’s just a trinket. I made it while I was in Spain.”
He heard her draw a sudden breath. “It’s a horsehair bracelet. Is it Sir Walter’s hair?”
“Yes. In retrospect it was rather risky to take my horse to war. I’m extremely fortunate he survived and was able to return with me. This way we—you shall have something of his after he’s gone.”
She looked at him in confusion. “Was it—did you make it—for me?”
Jeremy spoke up to ease her mind. “I made it for you long before I knew Rosalita. I’d forgotten about it until I discovered it among my things recently.”
“It’s truly lovely,” she said simply. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“You’re most welcome.” He watched as she stared at the bracelet in her hand. Her fingers appeared to tremble. “Would you like to wear it? Allow me to fasten it for you.”
As he fumbled to tie the knot his fingers were as useless as hers. They exchanged a smile, and the tension eased slightly. He set the bracelet aside, noticing Sophy’s expression had sobered.
“I shall take it with me to America,” she promised, “and keep it as a remembrance of my past.”
Jeremy’s spirits fell, but his smile remained. “Well then.”
“What a marvelous pair you are,” Barclay said dryly in passing. “You have even given each other matching presents.”
The remark made Jeremy turn to his friend. The reservation in Bark’s voice surprised him. It seemed unfounded after the merriment of the previous night, for he had been fairly giddy last evening with Miss Prindle.
At least Barclay had reason to be merry, Jeremy acknowledged. As for himself, he and Sophy might have exchanged matching presents, but he was not at all convinced their hearts matched.
THE MORNING’S church service was appropriately respectful, with the time of fellowship at the parting afterward uplifting and hearty. Sophy was glad to see again those with whom she had renewed her acquaintance last night. Conscious of the poor among them and the returned soldiers who were crippled and unable to work, everyone deposited as much as they could spare in the alms box for those less fortunate.
As she made her contribution, Sophy remembered Jeremy’s admonition about England’s needy. The reminder prompted her to give more than she had planned.
Beneath her long sleeves she felt the soft horsehair of the bracelet he had given her. His thoughtfulness had touched her beyond words. She was so overcome words were inadequate.
Yet words had not changed his mind about accompanying her into her future. The inevitability of their parting weighed heavily on her. If he were not willing to join her abroad for only a few months, what might it foretell about the years that lay before them? His reluctance did not bode well.
She was relieved that the bustle of Christmas dinner preparations prevented close contact with Jeremy when the family and their guests returned home to Deervale Hall. Conversation that was already merry and optimistic became more so when Barclay surprised everyone by providing more cause for celebration.
“I am delighted to inform you,” he announced just before they went in to dinner, “that I have given Arabella my hand and my heart, and she has graciously agreed to give me hers.”
There were exclamations of joy and congratulations all around on the engagement, as Arabella met the gazes of each of them in turn, blushing a flattering shade of rose.
“Now that I’ve done this,” Barclay confided to Sophy, taking her aside, “you know everyone is hoping for a second betrothal today.”
Sophy smiled shakily, trying to remain lighthearted to keep up her spirits. “I’m afraid it isn’t likely. But there is still First Foot.”
The family’s jubilation continued over the sumptuous Christmas dinner Maggie had prepared. The enthusiastic chatter during the preliminary courses diminished once the main course was delivered on a gold platter arranged with greenery and the pungent aroma of roast goose filled the room. Those gathered turned serious as they tended to their dinner.
“Now that Christmastide has come, even the rabbits and birds outdoors can have extra food,” Emily piped up, proud of the gifts she, Teddy and Susannah had offered nature’s creatures.
Instead of feeling uplifted by the Christmas cheer and contentment, Sophy felt heartsick at the thought of leaving such kind and precious nieces and nephews and, of course, her loving mother. What would the holidays be without her? she wondered, gazing at her elderly parent who sat at the end of the table. She was too distracted to eat.
When Maggie appeared with the plum pudding, the jocularity returned among family and friends. The familiar frumenty filled with plump, mouth-watering raisins and currants was Maggie’s specialty, the like of which Sophy would never find in America.
“And it’s made proper,” Maggie advised them, “right after church the Sunday before Advent, and stirred east to west, as it should be, in honor of the Three Wise Men.”
Maggie’s words hit a strange chord inside Sophy. Three men had come to court her, but how wise were they? They had chosen to court a woman who was bound for another life in a foreign land. If even for a few short months, she thought indignantly, they might have expressed more interest about the cause to which she was deeply committed.
After its arrival, the steamed plum pudding was cut up and devoured quickly. The silver sixpence hidden inside that supposedly brought good fortune was discovered in Jonathan’s slice, a happenstance all considered a good omen for the family.
“Why do we no longer pass the was
sail bowl as in days of old? Let us drink to our health,” Harry announced, summoning for the potent ale to be brought in, “for we have much to look forward to.”
Afterward, they gathered in the drawing room again, quiet and reflective now, their energy dulled by the heavy dinner they had consumed. Playing cat’s cradle with Emily in the window seat, Sophy watched from a distance as Barclay talked privately with Jeremy. She saw Jeremy’s face drop and lose color as he turned toward her, an expression of profound regret on his features.
She turned away quickly. Barclay must have told Jeremy she still intended to travel. Glancing back furtively, she saw Jeremy nod his head slowly, decisively, before rising to leave the room. His departure went unnoticed because he had been so quiet over the last two days. Perhaps he hadn’t been as quiet with others, she thought, as he had been with her.
The finality of his movements told her he had made up his mind about her, even if she was the one who had made the choice.
They were as cool and distant, she realized with a pang of dismay, as they were when they were first reunited. His leaving made it feel as if the intensity of the past few weeks had never happened.
In the absence of Jeremy’s constant attention, Humphrey had been extremely attentive to her throughout the day, but she remained withdrawn, preferring the companionship of the children. Being in their presence saved her from conversing and helped her smile again.
The day passed quietly thereafter, with the tiny mince pies saved for a supper treat. Everyone ate theirs in customary silence as they would for all the twelve days of Christmas.
