Chapter 6
Marabelle charged through several inches of snow which had fallen throughout the previous day and night. A gamut of emotions danced within her.
Christmas had always brought her the greatest happiness. The choosing of a Yule log was an event that had always been full of festivities. In fact, she’d invited the Duke and Duchess of Huntsdown to join in the excitement of the outing.
In the country, an excuse to go for a long walk was always a welcome thing.
After all, what was life without dogs bounding about and long walks with a good hot drink when one was done?
Well, it would be nothing without company to share it and the good conversation such company brought.
Now, though, she felt a bit of trepidation.
Her husband, undaunted by the snow, strode forward in discussion with the Duke of Huntsdown. She’d rather envisioned conversing with him herself, but the day wasn’t over yet.
They left the meadow and headed into the woods that covered the parkland to the north.
The boughs of ancient trees, swimming under snow, towered overhead.
This was beauty. This was something which could repair the soul. After all, if this forest could survive hundreds of years of change and still remain majestic and awe inspiring, surely she could overcome her own personal losses.
So, she took a deep breath of the chilled air. She tucked her hands into her fur muff a little deeper.
The duchess slowed her pace and came in to step with Marabelle. “I’m so glad you invited us. James does get so caught up in the running of his estates and government that sometimes it’s difficult to remind him to enjoy life.”
“I cannot tell you how glad I am you could come. It will ease. . .”
Olivia gave her a knowing look from under her fur-lined hat. “The newness of it?”
“He doesn’t like Christmas,” Marabelle whispered.
Olivia gaped. “How is such a thing possible?”
“I deduce his parents were about as warm as the snow beneath our boots.”
“Oh dear.” Olivia frowned. “You and I were so fortunate in our respective parents. James’ parents were most affectionate, as well, as far as I can tell.”
“It certainly seems to have affected him,” Marabelle agreed. “He loathes England, too.”
“My goodness. Is he actually English?”
“His lineage does confirm it.”
Olivia leaned in a little closer and said quietly, “And according to James he was a most loyal soldier for the crown. Participated in most dangerous missions, don’t you know.”
She stared at her husband’s broad shoulders, wondering how much he had borne without help from others. “I suppose you’d have to be cold as steel for that.”
“I think for the sort of thing, he did.” Olivia bit her pink lip then added, “Yes.”
“What was that?” Marabelle prodded, eager for any gossip about her husband she could find.
“James, of course, wouldn’t say. But he did say that the fellow was not a regular soldier and that without him, there was a good chance the war would have been lost.”
“I admire him very much, you know.” Marabelle shook her head. “I can’t explain it. But he is rather inspiring, even if he isn’t the nicest fellow in the world.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “My dearest, I have come to realize that nice is terribly overrated. Nice people do very little with their lives, it seems to me. Oh, I’m not advocating cruelty. But I sometimes wonder, especially with us ladies, if our preoccupation with being nice doesn’t prevent us from leading much fuller lives.”
Marabelle couldn’t agree more. But at present, she had something else at the forefront of her mind. “I wish I could help him to love Christmas. It’s so much a part of me, in truth.”
“Why is it so important to you?”
Goodness. Why was it so important? “I suppose I feel if he could like Christmas then. . .”
Olivia reached out and squeezed Marabelle’s arm with her burgundy gloves covering her hands. “He might like you?”
She nodded.
Olivia winked cheekily. “Oh, I think he likes you.”
Marabelle snorted. “Desires me, you mean.”
“My, my,” Olivia said. But then she nodded. Her dark curls bounced about her cheerful face. “Yes, I suppose so. But don’t you think it might be both?”
“I don’t know. He’s most strange,” Marabelle confessed. “And I do wish him to like me.”
“Understandable, given that he’s your husband.”
“My dear Olivia,” Marabelle sighed. She tried not to feel a bit of dread as she pointed out, “I cannot tell you how many married couples give not a whit for like or dislike.”
“Their loss is greater than they will ever know.”
“My parents loved each other,” Marabelle said abruptly.
“Mine did as well,” Olivia said, her voice deep with emotion. “And you’d like the same for yourself?”
Marabelle sucked in a breath, wrenching her gaze away from the men walking before her and stared off into the forest. “I long for it, truth be told, but he seems so. . .”
“Reserved?” Olivia observed. Her friend quickly took her arm and paused their step. “He is afraid.”
Marabelle’s skirts swung about her legs as they stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s the only explanation,” Olivia whispered intently. All the while, she kept her appearance nonchalant. “He’s afraid to let himself be anything but aloof. We know he’s a rogue. A fellow who knows what to do with the ladies but, I think, perhaps he hasn’t been encouraged to know what to do with his heart. At least, James seems to suggest that the man has never been close to anyone.”
Marabelle swallowed. Never been close. How terrible.
Then she knew. She knew what she wanted for Christmas more than anything in the whole world.
She longed for Sebastian Rutherford, the Earl of Gray, to open his heart to her and let her in. It was the maddest wish of them all. Yet, here, in the snow, following her family’s oldest tradition, she wished for it.
*
Sebastian arched a brow and scowled. “This is the most absurd endeavor.”
The Duke of Huntsdown laughed, a jolly sound. A jollier sound than Sebastian could ever recall him making. The duke had been a practical and dangerous man-of-arms. Levelheaded. Sure of hand. A great man.
“What the devil is so amusing?” Sebastian demanded as they strode over the snow.
The duke clasped his hands behind his back. “I assure you, this is most reasonable. If you wish to become acquainted with absurdity you must meet my brother, John.”
“We are slogging through snow,” Sebastian began to point out. “Looking for a tree limb to set alight when there is already enough wood cut to burn the entire house down if we so chose.”
“If you see it that way, then yes.” The duke grinned. “It is absurd.”
“Is there another way to see it?” he inquired dryly.
The duke’s grin dimmed and sincerity darkened his eyes. “We are seeking a feeling.”
“Oh God,” Sebastian groaned, doffing his hat and shoving a hand through his hair. “A feeling? I should have brought a bottle of brandy.”
Huntsdown shook his head. “Feelings aren’t your forte. I know it. It’s why you served me so well. But in the end, we are all made up of emotions. And Christmas is all about feelings and memories, aside from the holy day. We don’t seek out a tree to seek out a tree. We seek out a tree to remember all those years before we carried out this tradition and the people we did it with.”
Sebastian allowed these words to sink in before he snuck a glance back at his wife.
Happiness had transformed her face. The walk through the snow in pursuit of tradition had lit her cheeks with a beautiful cherry tone. Her eyes positively sparkled under her crimson hood.
Her animated conversation with the duchess gave him a strange pang.
; He winced. Envy. That’s what it was. He envied their ease.
He envied their mutual joy.
In all his life, he couldn’t recollect such an experience of convivial ease. Suddenly, he found himself wishing to be a part of it.
Dare he try?
All his past told him no. . . Yet, his past had been a joyless march. What wouldn’t he give for a bit of joy? Something the likes of which Marabelle had experienced with her family. Something which the duke clearly experienced with his wife.
“You’re right,” Sebastian confessed, clapping his hat back atop his head. “I am unfamiliar with feelings. . . But I wish to make this Christmas pleasant for my wife.”
“Do you? I’m glad to hear it.”
Sebastian nodded, surprised that his own throat was tightening at the thought of Marabelle’s pain. “She’s known a great deal of sadness recently and I should like to alleviate it.”
The duke eyed him. “You like her, do you not?”
“Yes,” he answered honestly. “I’ve never met a soul like her.”
Huntsdown smiled, a trait he now seemed tied to. “You ought to give marriage a real chance, you know. Before you fly off back to the continent.”
Sebastian cleared his throat. “What makes you think I was going to do that?”
Huntsdown narrowed his gaze.
“Fine, yes.” Sebastian blew out a short, sharp breath. “That was my plan.”
Walking steadily on, the duke advised, “Consider this new option.”
“What option, exactly?”
“Happiness.”
“For me?” Sebastian scoffed. “I have no skill for it. But she does. And it’s beautiful to see,” he said softly.
In that moment, he made a decision. He was going to do everything in his power to fill her Christmas with joy. It was the one thing he could do in exchange for her having to marry such a man as himself.
So, Sebastian quickened his step. “Come along, Huntsdown. Let us find a perfect Yule log.”
“That’s what we’re doing,” drawled the duke.
“Are we?” Sebastian wagged his brows. “We can certainly do better.”
And with that, he turned his gaze to the trees about him and headed off the path, deep into the forest.
Chapter 7
What the devil was he doing?
Sebastian had bounded off the path with the speed and determination of a stag. He moved with precision over the rough terrain, his dark coat flicking about his long legs.
Goodness, he was a sight to set the heart and other places stirring.
“Do we follow?” Marabelle asked Olivia.
“I certainly won’t be left behind.”
A rueful smile twitched at Marabelle’s lips. “A horrible fate, indeed.”
The servants were staring after the new earl as if he’d gone as mad as a cuckoo.
“Come,” she said brightly to the young men. “We will need a saw when we find the proper log.”
The servants nodded, their lips curving with barely-concealed amusement.
Clearly, they’d never seen a lord behave in such an unordered fashion.
She quite liked it herself.
Pathways were well and good but they did rather limit what one encountered.
So, it was with enthusiasm that she set off after her new husband and the Duke of Huntsdown.
Laughing, she linked arms with Olivia. They leapt over low fallen trees, rocks, and brambles.
They swished their skirts from clinging foliage and drank in the sounds of winter birds cawing in the crisp air.
Just ahead, Sebastian and the duke were stopped in what appeared to be terribly serious discourse.
Sebastian pointed to an old oak.
The duke nodded.
Their serious discourse deepened.
Olivia whispered, “Do you think they have found the one?”
“No doubt,” Olivia said with great drama, her mirth rife in her voice. “There shall be a great deal of discussion as to the merits of said oak.”
They grinned at each other.
Men were such silly sorts. But she was terribly pleased to see Sebastian so interested in their project.
At last, he looked up. His dark eyes met hers. Those eyes were full of what she could only call hope.
Without question, then, she knew he was doing this to please her.
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly to hide them.
“What do you think, Marabelle?” He gestured to the towering oak which had seen at least one hundred summers. “This one? We won’t cut the tree, just one of those branches. That will allow the tree to continue growing for generations.”
Generations. It was such a strange word from the man who seemed to care nothing for his heritage.
She looked up to an ancient tree limb. Its gnarled surface was a badge of honor, showing its triumph over so many obstacles.
“It is perfect,” she praised.
For the briefest instant, she could have sworn she saw relief flash across his face. But then it was gone as quickly as it came.
The servants, unbidden, came forward with the saw.
To her astonishment, Sebastian divested himself of his great coat. . . And then he peeled off his emerald frock coat.
“Whatever are you doing?” Huntsdown asked.
She couldn’t have put the question better. Though, in truth, she was marveling at the sight of her husband so casually attired in shirtsleeves, silver waistcoat, and creme cravat.
“I’m going to cut the limb, of course,” Sebastian replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“The servants—” Huntsdown began.
“Shall assist,” cut in Sebastian. “There’s no question that I will need them.”
Assist? Oh dear. He wasn’t going to do something terribly foolish was he? Men did often do so when attempting to make an impression. She longed to tell him she already felt confident in his masculine abilities.
She stepped forward, ready to speak sense.
A sudden tug on her hand pulled her back. She glanced down to Olivia just as Sebastian entered into conversation with the two young men bearing rope, other tools that she couldn’t name, and the saw.
“Do not intervene,” Olivia said sotto voce.
“Why ever not?” she protested. “He might break his neck.”
And just as she whispered this, Sebastian grabbed hold of the tree’s trunk and scaled up into the limbs with the ease of a wildcat.
“Men are silly yet wonderful creatures,” Olivia replied lightly. “He will not be pleased by your lack of confidence in his prowess.”
Marabelle felt her heart leap up into her mouth at the sight of him in such a precarious position. “But what if he breaks his leg?”
Olivia batted her lashes. “Then you will nurse him back to health and he will love every moment of that.”
“So, you suggest I allow him to act like a madman?”
Without even a hint of jest, Olivia said, “Yes. Or you shall have a great, wounded bear rambling about, dismayed that you think so little of him.”
Marabelle drew herself up, determined not to be ruled by her concern. “I clearly have much to learn of marriage.”
“Indeed.” Olivia pulled her closer so that they might stand side by side to watch the carryings on. “My mother long ago told me, no matter how capable you are, a man desperately wants to be needed. Let him feel needed.”
So, much to her astonishment, she faced Sebastian. There he was, dangling from the tree, gamboling about it with remarkable ease and she forced herself to smile.
It mattered not that her stomach was churning with apprehension that he might plummet to the earth.
Tom, the youngest of the two servants, tied a rope about the saw, then threw the end of the rope over the large branch and pulled.
To her amazement, Sebastian did, indeed, seem to know what he was doing.
And much to her relief, he took the rope and tied himself
off, as well. He was ensuring that if he did slip, he wouldn’t crash to the rock hard winter ground.
Clearly, he did know what he was about.
He took the saw in hand. Quickly, he began working it back and forth with seemingly great ease over the massive branch. Marabelle’s mouth opened in appreciation.
Oh, it did appear easy for him. But that didn’t stop the way in which his muscles worked beneath his clothes.
Good lord, he was strong and had great balance.
Sebastian perched near the tree trunk and worked away as if he’d been born to do this. How on earth he knew what to do, she couldn’t fathom. But within a few moments, he called, “Stand away!”
And the Duke of Huntsdown crossed towards them, gesturing with his gloved hands for them to retreat.
The two servants stayed closer, agape.
But then a great crack filled the air and the tree limb crashed to the earth.
Laughter and applause exploded from the young men. Despite her earlier doubts, a wave of exhilaration shot through Marabelle.
“Bravo!” she called, joining in the applause.
Sebastian swung his gaze to her and gave her a surprising, cheeky salute. As he scrambled down the tree as easily as he’d gone up it, she picked her way over to the fallen limb and her husband.
“Astonishing,” she said simply. “And absolutely wonderful.”
“It will burn all night,” he said.
“It’s perfect,” she enthused, wishing to heap him with praise. “But what about—”
“The young men will trim it,” he informed. “I’d hate to take away all the work.”
Tom and Andrew, who had already gone to work on the extraneous limbs, laughed again.
The Duke of Huntsdown scowled, “Well, Gray, you’ve managed to make me look exceptionally ineffectual. I suppose I shall have to assist in dragging the log back.”
Sebastian laughed; a deep, delicious sound. “Your Grace, you’ve always been excellent at organizing things. That is your specialty. And one which very few are actually effective at.”
Huntsdown smiled, clearly not offended at all. “Even so, one mustn’t appear less than manly in front of the wife.”
At that, Olivia went up on tiptoe, pulled her husband down, and whispered in his ear.
’Twas the Night Before Scandal Page 13
