by Sharon Sobel
Midnight ushered in a silent New Year. While the clock pounded out twelve beats, Sophy’s heart pounded equally hard, but no knock followed. Eventually her family resumed casual conversation in the drawing room.
The great hall remained silent for so long she decided it was not worth the wait. She was prepared to retire for the evening when a pounding on the door made her heart nearly stop.
Her family drew a collective breath and stepped aside, leaving the way to the door clear for her. Sophy glanced at each face in turn and demanded in consternation, “Must I answer it?”
“It appears to be that time,” Barclay said. He glanced at their mother. “There’s no tradition that says the unmarried young woman must open the door, is there? Here, I shall lead the way.”
As he and Sophy walked alongside each other into the great hall, he turned to her and whispered, “Let us hope.”
Let it be Jeremy, Sophy prayed, closing her eyes briefly as she stopped in the hall. When she opened them Barclay had reached the doors. She drew confidence from his presence. It would be as it had been in childhood, the trio together again—herself, her favorite brother, and his closest friend. After a second’s hesitation Barclay threw open the doors.
Sophy stepped forward, imagining she would see Jeremy there. Before her stood Humphrey Fotherington, a bunch of greens in one hand and a lump of coal in the other.
Disappointment overwhelmed her. She could barely stifle the cry of agony that formed in her throat upon realizing the First Footer was not the one she had hoped to see. It took her several moments to regain her breath in the face of such extreme dismay.
Before she could utter a word, the family who had gathered behind her began to cheer and clap. Barclay invited Fotherington inside, accepting the coal in exchange for the ale Eddie proffered along with a tray of meats and cheeses from Emma.
Once their First Footer had delivered his wish for luck to last the coming year, the excitement died down as the family returned to the drawing room. They stopped as Fotherington set aside his refreshments and cleared his throat. Before Sophy could react, he bowed before her on one knee, taking her hand in his.
“My dearest Miss Templeton—Sophronia,” Humphrey began, his voice humble, “I wish to request your hand in marriage. I would ask you to be my wife and to accept me as your husband.”
Sophy was horrified to be in such a position with onlookers waiting for her reply. She’d so desperately hoped Jeremy would be first through the door that she had nearly convinced herself it would be him. When she saw it was Humphrey, she was heartsick. She realized in a flash that Jeremy was the only man she could ever truly love and want to marry.
She stood ready to cry as Humphrey awaited her answer.
“Oh, look,” she heard Arabella murmur to Barclay. “Sophy is so happy she’s ready to weep.”
Opening her mouth, Sophy was on the brink of declining when the second visitor of the New Year in as many minutes pounded on the door. Before Barclay could open them, the doors burst open. Jeremy St. Laurent entered the great hall swiftly, in his arms the tiniest baby Sophy had ever seen bundled in blankets.
“A Happy New Year to one and all,” he exulted. “I apologize for the delay, but here’s one arrival who was not held up by the storm.”
The baby began to wail as he held out the child for all to see. As the family gathered round, pulling the blankets away to view the world’s newest arrival, Thomas and Dolly Riggs stepped into the great hall, smiling effusively, unnoticed at first by all but Sophy.
“We were fortunate Viscount Cobleigh passed through when he did,” Thomas exclaimed. “He brought our son into the world. Says it’s only the second delivery of his life. You’d never know it. He handled it like a regular surgeon.”
The family congratulated the couple on the baby’s birth by offering blessings and wishes for health, happiness, and prosperity.
“Does this make the baby the Second or Third Footer?” Barclay exclaimed.
“He ain’t a footer at all,” Herbert Prindle laughed, “since he didn’t come by foot.”
“We don’t refer to him that way now that he has a name,” Thomas said proudly. “His name is Jeremy Thomas Riggs.”
What an appropriate time to be born, Sophy thought. The baby’s birth promised a happy future filled with hope and possibility. Jeremy returned the child to his mother’s waiting arms in the drawing room where Dolly had been made comfortable on the sofa. As the others gathered about her, Jeremy took Sophy’s arm and drew her toward the hall.
She was startled when Humphrey Fotherington blocked their path, bowing to Jeremy with a gracious smile before he turned to her. She was stunned to hear a gentle humor in his voice she had not thought him capable of.
“I have not received an answer to my question,” he reminded her with a tentative smile, “but I believe Captain St. Laurent has traveled further than I this evening for the very same purpose. Under the circumstances, I feel it only fair to allow him to ask you his question also.”
Fotherington paused, glancing from Sophy to Jeremy, a hint of expectation in his face.
“I suspect I know the question he wishes to ask you,” he continued, turning back to Sophy, “and your reply as well. Before another celebration is announced, I want to wish both of you in private the very best in the coming year. And now, if you will excuse me, I shall wish Mr. and Mrs. Riggs the congratulations due them.”
With a deep bow Fotherington turned and walked back to the drawing room.
“Now that,” Jeremy said under his breath, “was more than sporting of him.”
Sophy watched Humphrey depart with tears in her eyes, realizing how she had underestimated his character. Before she could reply, Jeremy took her hands in his and turned her toward him.
“It’s rather difficult to find lambs this time of year,” he told her, gazing into her eyes with an intensity that made her heart flutter, “but I found a shepherd who sheltered me during the storm, and we have three men here. I believe they are wise enough to know there is no longer any need to vie for your hand.”
Sophy’s spirit soared as she smiled back at him playfully. “Then they are wise indeed,” she said softly, “for they have read my mind. They have, however, given gifts in the form of a sedan chair and splints for Mother.”
“Might I consider myself as wise?” he teased. “I have brought a gift also. On my journey I found a jewel for which I request permission to place on your finger.”
Sophy felt herself grow faint. She could find no voice to speak.
“Sophy, my love,” Jeremy said tenderly, taking her hands and squeezing them in his, “you have never been afraid to do away with tradition for a more suitable arrangement. I would ask that you disregard our First Foot custom and accept instead the proposal of the Second Foot. It is a rather delicate matter, but then, you come from a family that has the most delicate of limbs.”
Sophy felt her heart pound. “I would be most willing to accept the hand of a Second Foot,” she whispered, smiling at how silly it sounded.
Jeremy removed a simple gold band from a small velvet-lined box, slipping it onto the third finger of her left hand where it fit as comfortably as if it were made for her.
“As for this ring,” he explained, “it was my mother’s, and I am quite certain she would want you to have it, having known you as well as she did.”
“I would be most honored,” Sophy said, fighting back tears of joy and disbelief.
“There is another matter as well,” he reminded her, again holding her hands. “The matter of your mission.”
“Oh,” she assured him meekly, “I know now I could not leave those I love again. It was a hard lesson for this former teacher, but I am grateful I learned it in time.”
“Do not think for one moment that all is lost. There are children here who have no
parents to teach them right from wrong or to teach them the gospel.” Lovingly he cupped her chin in his fingers. “I left here to go home and confirm that I would serve on the board of a new children’s charity in London. The charity will address issues concerning children in the workhouses and in orphanages. Children who have no home; children who need teachers and someone who will love them. Someone like you. Am I correct in thinking you might enjoy that work very much?”
Sophy’s heart skipped a beat. Such fortune could not be happening to her. “I would indeed, my lord,” she said disbelievingly.
“One day, of course, you might be too busy for that,” he said, linking arms with her and patting her hand, “if we have our own little ones. In the meantime, I can think of no one better than you, dear Sophy, to help with such a project.”
For the third time in the year a knock on the door announced a new arrival. Jeremy opened the door to find Sampson Hodge shivering in the cold. Hodge hurried indoors away from the cold, his thin form nearly bending in two as he tripped over the threshold.
“Am I too late?” he demanded, eyes bulging when he saw Jeremy.
“Only if you do not mind being Third Foot,” Jeremy said.
As she sauntered into the drawing room on Jeremy’s arm, Sophy saw that Barclay had observed their approach. He made his way toward them.
“Since no one took me up on my suggestion of skating lessons as a Christmas present for Sophy,” he teased, “might I suggest them as a wedding present?”
“I already have all the presents I need.” Sophy laughed, taking her brother’s arm on one side with Jeremy’s on the other. “Including the presence of mind to know where I belong.”
Barclay gave her hand a tender squeeze as he led them to a private corner and asked, “When do you plan to marry?”
“As soon as possible, I should think,” Jeremy said, “though I have not yet discussed it with my future wife. I shall soon turn thirty. At my advanced age, I see no reason to wait for happiness.”
“Nor I,” agreed Sophy.
“It is no wonder there is so much you want to achieve, Sophy. When we were little we played together, you, Eddie, Harry, and I,” Barclay told her reminiscently, “and we always won our races while you struggled to keep up. We were bigger and older, but that didn’t stop you. You sailed to America before we did. You touched our nieces’ and nephews’ hearts in a way none of us could. As adults I think none of us has experienced joy as fully as you have. And now, it appears, you shall beat me to the altar.”
After Sophy and Jeremy announced their engagement to the rest of the family and their guests, Barclay remained in the corner, watching as his sister and his best friend walked arm in arm, not doubting for a moment that she had outdone them all.
The End
Dedication
For A Delicate Footing
To Carolyn Sullivan, Jeanne Paglio, Paula Scully, and Janet Jones.
For the blessing of your friendship, a cozy Christmas story to enjoy over a cup of tea, with a little love stirred in.
On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, My True Love
by
Sharon Sobel
Chapter One
“I’VE NEVER KNOWN a man to ignore a call to claim his inheritance, even if he has to crawl on his hands and knees through rain and snow to do so,” said Lord Peter Milton as he selected a handful of dainty tea cakes from a silver tray. “Though I suppose having to crawl all the way to Penzance would try the fortitude of any man.”
“I have experienced a good deal worse than that,” Nathaniel Evander pointed out, his hand hovering over the tray. But he did not have much of an appetite for sweet things, and he settled on his dark, rich tea, which was the specialty of the club. “And I have no intention of crawling, or even riding, for that matter. My leg is still not strong enough for a ride from London through Cornwall, and I shall be perfectly content to stretch out in a warm coach and do nothing more than admire the passing scenery.”
Peter raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Perhaps realizing the tray of delectables was all his, he pushed several more pastries onto his own plate and devoured them as if he had not eaten in a week. Nathaniel watched, reminded of Peter’s conquests through all the years of their friendship, and considered how much stock Peter put in the very art of winning. Then, with a start, he realized what his friend had just said.
“Are you suggesting I must suddenly assert a claim to my inheritance? Whatever gives you that idea? I assure you, my relationship with my Uncle Michael is as strong as ever and I remain his only heir. He has called me home to celebrate the Christmas holiday at Pencliff with him and a few guests.” Nathaniel raised his cup and studied his friend through the steaming mist of the hot tea. Peter looked a little self-satisfied, if a trifle ridiculous with a smear of pink icing on his chin.
“Do you know who else is of the party?”
Nathaniel shrugged. “I suppose Lady Westbrook will be there, as they are the oldest of friends. My uncle enjoys hunting with the local squire, so I am sure he will be of the number. And there will be others, as it is a family tradition to welcome all who are alone for the Christmas season. To what do your questions portend? Are you fishing for an invitation?”
Peter laughed. “Not at all. I am following a certain Mrs. Rolande to Danbury House for Christmas, and shall pack an ample supply of mistletoe in my bag. I will not be very far, as Danbury House is in Helston, but undoubtedly will be far more comfortable. I will not envy you in your ancient and drafty fortress.”
“Pencliff has a vast library, where I intend to spend a good deal of my time. The house has not been tested against invaders for hundreds of years, so hardly qualifies as a fortress.”
“It only has to hold off one invader this season.”
“Surely you do not mean Lady Westbrook. She and Uncle Michael have known each other since the beginning of time. He reads Latin poetry to her. She bakes him cakes, little decorated things that look better than they taste.”
Peter leaned closer and whispered, “She has a niece.”
“She has one niece,” said Nathaniel. He had not thought of the girl in years, but recalled her in an instant. She was a bit of a pest, always following him around and wanting him to teach her to swim, or climb trees, or heal small animals she found along the road. Her hair was very dark and hung in a long braid down her back. He once dipped the tip of her braid in ink and wrote out her name in bold print on a piece of wood. But what was her name? Emily? And what had he heard about her? He thought about it for a moment. “I believe she married many years ago.”
“She did not marry,” Peter said, emphasizing each word. “Not once, not twice, not thrice. She was betrothed three times and each man died before the wedding. Lady Westbrook’s niece has a fine reputation indeed. She is known as The Black Widow, and now, it is generally understood she has designs on your uncle.”
Nathaniel snorted. “Impossible! She’s a girl!”
Peter slapped his hand down on the table, as if he held the winning hand at cards. “Very possible! She’s nearly the same age as you and I, old man! And we both know that men of sixty, like your uncle, think nothing of marrying women half their age.”
Could such a thing be possible? While Nathaniel was canoeing down unchartered rivers in America and digging through ancient ruins in Italy, could Lady Westbrook’s little bit of a niece have become a woman capable of luring men to their death? He laughed out loud. It was lucky he managed to avoid her all these years, for he proved himself perfectly capable of nearly killing himself without any help from a girl. As it was, his most recent fall in the largest Greek temple in Paestum and the indifferent skills of the Italian surgeon were likely to leave him crippled for the rest of his life.
“I do not understand what you find so amusing, my man,” said Peter. “A woman of thirty is very likely to produce an heir,
if your uncle is up to the task.”
“But you have just given me some degree of reassurance, for you tell me the wedding is not likely to happen at all. I do love my uncle, however, and he has always treated me like a son. Therefore, you have also given me a motive to travel through the ice and snow that is even more compelling than my inheritance or a Christmas party—it appears I must save my uncle’s life.” Nathaniel pushed away from the table. “I will leave at once.”
Unfortunately, his resolution was stronger than his broken and ill healed leg, and he required the assistance of his friend to rise to his feet. To the other men in the club, it must have seemed an embarrassing business to witness, but to Nathaniel it was only another bitter reminder of the end of his adventurous life.
Peter handed him his cane, looking overly pleased to be of service. Perhaps the man had bets down on Nathaniel’s likelihood of success; though if success was measured by saving his uncle’s life or losing him, Nathaniel could not say. For his part, there was no paradox. He loved the old man dearly and was content to wait for many years before inheriting the Earl of Bristol’s title or fortune.
“Have a safe journey, my friend,” Peter said. “Even more important, have a safe Christmas party. I think you and your uncle should avoid slippery stairs, archaic weaponry, rabid dogs, and roaring fires.”
“Have you forgotten anything?”
“Do you have something specific in mind?” Peter asked.
“You tell me Lady Westbrook bakes fine cakes. Should I not be concerned that she or her designing little niece might include a heavy dose of arsenic among the ingredients?”
Peter looked down at the few remaining pastries on their table and pushed the tray away.
