by Regina Scott
Dottie nodded, eyes sparkling. “Just as Grandmother and I talked about. Oh, Uncle Justinian won’t know what to make of it.”
“I certainly hope you’re right,” Eleanor replied, keeping her smile in place when she wanted to bite her lip in concern. What she was going to do tonight was the most daring thing she had ever done. If it succeeded, she would at last feel that she had done the Darbys a service. If it didn’t… Despite herself, she shivered.
Dottie apparently didn’t notice, skipping to her place near the head of the table. “Where is everyone?” she complained. “I don’t want to wait.”
“Now you sound like a Darby,” Justinian said in the doorway. Eleanor took a hasty step back, and his welcoming smile seemed to dim. He bowed to her, and she curtsied, fingering the deep green velvet of the gown the countess had found for her. It had belonged to the countess’ mother, who apparently had had a build more similar to Eleanor’s. Accordingly, the waist was far too low and the skirt far too wide for current fashion. The light of appreciation in Justinian’s eyes as she rose from her curtsey made it the most beautiful dress in the world. Why did one look from him make the world a better place?
*
Justinian had spent the better part of the afternoon settling his niece. After visiting her grandmother, she had been surprising reluctant to let loose of him, confirming in his mind Norrie’s assertion that Dottie sorely missed her parents. Twice when her attentions were distracted by a new toy or dress he had attempted to locate Faringil to take charge of her, but the fellow seemed to have vanished. Seeing the dining room in all its glory told him how his butler had passed the afternoon. The only remaining puzzles were why six places had been set for himself, Dottie, and Norrie, and why Norrie had been writing his name. Once again, however, now was not the time to ask.
“When my mother suggested I dress for dinner, I had no idea I’d be having such lovely company,” he said, his nod taking in Dottie as well. Dottie beamed at him and waved toward the head of the table.
“Take your seat, Uncle Justinian,” she said. “We’re all famished.”
He obligingly moved to do so, chuckling, but Eleanor remained at her spot. When he reached the head of the table and saw that she had not followed him, he frowned. Would the woman persist in keeping her place even on Christmas Eve? “You will be joining us for dinner, won’t you, Miss Eleanor?”
Too late he realized the question could well have been taken as a command. Eleanor curtsied again. “Of course, my lord. As you wish.”
Justinian gazed at the ceiling. “Lord, give me patience.”
“You can’t say grace yet, Uncle Justinian,” Dottie piped up. “Grandmother isn’t here.”
He lowered his gaze to hers. “The countess doesn’t come down for dinner, Dottie,” he said gently. “You know that. Even though you’ve come home, you mustn’t think everything is going to change.”
“Christmas, my lord,” Norrie said, “is a time of miracles. That’s what I’ve always been taught.”
He glanced over at her, pride in her warring with what he knew to be reality. “You’ve been taught a number of things that appear to be in error, Miss Eleanor. But we can discuss that later.”
She paled.
“Christmas, Justinian,” said the countess from the foot of the stairs, “is no time for one of your scholarly lectures.”
“Hurry, Grandmother!” Dottie urged. “You’ll miss all the fun.”
Justinian straightened, eyes widening in disbelief.
“Patience is a virtue, child,” his mother replied, leaning heavily on a gold-tipped ebony cane and Mary’s arm. “One you will probably not learn until you’re well past my age, if you’re like most of the Darbys. Good evening, Eleanor. That dress is just as lovely on you as I thought it would be.” She offered her cheek to Norrie, who kissed it. For a moment, Justinian was certain she winked at Norrie before laboring past, lace-dusted lavender silk gown rustling with each step.
Justinian hurried from the head of the table to take Mary’s place beside his mother. “Mother, are you sure you can do this?”
The countess thumped the tip of the cane very near the toe of his evening shoe. “Don’t ask ridiculous questions. If I was completely sure of everything before I did it, I wouldn’t do anything at all.” She nodded to Mary, who quietly withdrew. Justinian escorted his mother to her place at his right. From the door at the back of the room, Mr. Faringil and a footman silently materialized. Faringil himself held out the chair for the countess to sit.
Justinian turned to see Eleanor standing still in the doorway. He frowned at her, but her face was turned toward the great stair, smiling in welcome. His frown deepened at the sound of footsteps on the stair.
“And then I told Wellington he could jolly well do without me for just one Christmas,” his brother Alexander proclaimed, striding to the door in full dress regimentals. “Good evening, Miss Eleanor.” He offered her a sharp bow as Justinian stared.
“You’ve been in the military far too long, Alex,” his brother Jareth quipped, bumping his older brother aside with the elbow of an immaculate black evening coat. “One does not bow when one catches a lovely lady under the mistletoe.”
Eleanor blushed as he politely pecked her cheek, and Justinian had to stave off a wave of jealousy. “Happy Christmas, Miss Eleanor,” Jareth murmured, then turned to the room. “Happy Christmas, all.”
“Happy Christmas, Uncle Jareth, Uncle Alex!” Dottie exclaimed. “Come sit by me!”
“As there is only one seat beside you, infant, that is architecturally impossible,” Jareth replied, strolling up the room. “And since Alex is far more comfortable with the infantry, I shall leave the honor to him.” He took the chair beside his mother’s, bending to kiss her cheek as well. “Bravo, old girl. You’re in fine looks. Makes me wish I wasn’t related.”
The countess rapped his knuckles where they rested on the back on her chair. “Jackanapes! You promised to behave tonight.”
He pulled back his hands, grinning. “And so I shall. A Darby always keeps a promise. Isn’t that so, Justinian?”
“Certainly,” Justinian managed, not fully recovered from seeing them in the same room. What could have possibly induced his brothers to appear on Christmas Eve? His gaze seemed drawn down the table to where a lovely young woman stood under the mistletoe. Norrie’s hands clasped and unclasped before her green gown, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to see her bite her lips. Had she any idea of the miracle she’d brought about?
His brother Alex made his way stiffly up the table, stepping to Dottie’s side and saluting. “Captain Dorothea, requesting permission to sit.”
“Permission granted,” Dottie replied with a solemn bow of her head. The giggle that escaped as she did so spoiled the effect.
“In polite society,” the countess said to no one in particular, “the host generally escorts a guest in to dinner.”
Justinian shook himself. Their guest deserved far more than his escort for what she had done this night. He came down the table toward her, watching her smile waver on her face. The only desire in his heart was to make her feel welcome in this house she had made into a home once again.
*
With delight and no little trepidation, Eleanor watched Justinian as he approached. The countess had confided that her sons had not been together for Christmas in more than fifteen years. Eleanor had been a little afraid how they might react to seeing each other again. She hadn’t thought they would agree to come in the first place. Yet everything seemed to be going well.
Now Justinian was nearly at her side. Like Justinian, Alex had inherited the thick golden Darby hair, the tall slender build, the planed features. While Jareth was a more muscular and far more dapper in his stylish cutaway coat, tapered trousers, and paler blond hair, and Alex far more commanding in his uniform, they were in her eyes shadows compared to Justinian. He moved with the power and assurance of his position, his family, and his own accomplishments. The light in his
eyes made the black evening clothes seem all the more elegant. He bowed and offered her his arm.
“Uncle Justinian,” Dottie sang out, giggling. “Remember what Uncle Jareth said about ladies under mistletoe.”
Eleanor gasped, then shook her head at him, begging him with her eyes not to kiss her again, not in front of the countess and Dottie, his brothers, Mr. Faringil and the footman. Justinian looked up as if he had just noticed the bough swinging overhead.
“I remember, Dottie.” Following his brother’s lead, he bent and placed a chaste kiss on Eleanor’s cheek, which she knew was turning as red as the velvet of Dottie’s dress. “Happy Christmas, Miss Eleanor,” he murmured.
The words seemed stuck in her throat, but she managed a watery smile as she accepted his arm and let him lead her to her place next to Alex.
It was as merry a meal as Eleanor had prayed it would be. The countess was in rare form, teasing all of them until even Justinian was laughing. Dottie’s enthusiasm was infectious. Jareth kept his quips kind, and Alex made an obvious effort to refrain from military cant. The food Eleanor and Mrs. Childs had decided upon was delicious, and Mr. Faringil went so far as to whisper, “Well done, Miss Eleanor” when the dessert, a steaming Christmas pudding, was served.
The countess rose as the last dish was cleared away, and Justinian and his brothers rose with her. “Do not tarry long, dears,” she commanded them, moving slowly down the table with Dottie beside her. “We have need of you in the withdrawing room.”
As Eleanor rose to follow them, Justinian moved around the table to catch her arm. “Thank you,” he murmured, as if conscious of his brothers’ gaze on him. “What you did tonight makes me believe you are right about Christmas. It is indeed a time of miracles.”
Eleanor swallowed, blushing under the warmth of his regard. “We are not finished yet, my lord,” she replied, pulling gently away. “Please join us as soon as you can.”
“Every moment will seem an eternity,” he promised, sending a flood of fresh color to her cheek.
For once, she quite agreed.
*
Justinian knew he should refuse the port Faringil hovered to pour for him and his brothers and follow Eleanor from the room. But the dinner had caught him completely by surprise, and he needed time to collect himself. Accordingly, he returned to his seat and let his man fill the goblets.
Jareth picked up his glass, rolling the stem between long fingers. “She’s a treasure, that one. I assume I should wish you happy, brother.”
“One should not assume, Mr. Darby,” Alex countered, taking a quick shot of his port. “Miss Eleanor is undoubtedly charming, and she certainly won this battle, but does she have what it takes to win the war?”
“By war, I take it you mean the famed Darby consequence?” Justinian replied, voice laced with sarcasm. “I find it difficult to remember that we are so very high above her when in her presence.”
“Women have a way of clouding one’s logic,” Alex said with a nod. “Dangerous thing that, very dangerous.”
“For once we are in agreement,” Jareth put in. “However, as I leave the logic to you two, I say marry the chit. Either that or set her up in a nice flat in London.”
Justinian glared at him. “That is unthinkable. Surely after meeting her you would advise marriage.”
Jareth grinned. “For anyone but me, of course.”
“Do not listen to him, Justinian,” Alex countered with a scowl. “You cannot ask the cooking pot whether the lamb should go free. You are the earl now, and certain conventions must prevail, regardless of how you might feel. It’s a shame, old man, but there it is. No amount of Christmas miracle will change that.”
When Justinian did not answer him, he sighed and rose, motioning Jareth to do likewise. “We will leave you to think on it, brother. When it comes to that, we always did what you and Adam agreed on.”
Jareth could not pass up a parting comment. “At least, in most areas.” They quit the room, leaving him alone.
The room was suddenly silent, reminding him of how it had rang with joy only minutes before. Even his brothers’ advice was a precious gift, one he would not have had without Norrie’s work. In fact without her, he feared, this is what his life would return to, this wasteland of duty and silence. Whether she knew it or not, she had just swept away any doubts he might have had on her ability to play his countess.
What had he thought he needed? Someone to organize parties, entertain his mother, shepherd Dottie to adulthood. He saw now that those were superficial things, unimportant in his life. What he needed, what they all needed, was someone who truly cared, someone like Norrie.
Suddenly, it didn’t matter that his father had suspected she was after the family fortune. It didn’t matter that Alex thought she was still beneath them, or that Jareth thought she would make a good mistress. He didn’t care that she’d been discharged from the school for disobedience. So what if she’d been writing his name over and over again for some purpose he couldn’t fathom? Everything told him that she was what he needed, what they all needed. This time, he would not let her leave his side so easily.
He rose and went to join his family in the withdrawing room.
Chapter Eleven
Eleanor laughed out loud as Alexander succeeded in capturing another handful of raisins from the steaming silver snapdragon bowl. Jareth pouted, greatly resembling the countess, while Dottie clapped her hands with glee. Bowing, her uncle surrendered the fruits to her enjoyment.
Justinian leaned against the mantle, watching them with amusement. He had never seen his family so happy. Even the jaded Jareth was chuckling as Dottie attempted to hand feed him the now quite squashed raisins. As Justinian shouted bravo to Eleanor’s final attempt to plunge her hand into the bowl of flame-tipped, brandy-soaked raisins, something nudged his foot. Glancing down, he found Jingles sitting on his feet as if surveying from a throne. He scooped the little fellow up into his arms. Jingles sniffed but, apparently deciding the view was better, settled himself against Justinian’s black watered-silk waistcoat.
“Oh, that was fun!” Dottie declared as the footmen extinguished the flames and carried away the bowl. “What shall we do next?”
“Bring in the Yule Log, of course,” the countess proclaimed from her seat on the sofa. “Eleanor, my love, be so kind as to show Justinian where we put it.”
Faringil stiffened, but Justinian knew he would say nothing against the countess. Alex and Jareth exchanged glances. It was hardly a Darby’s place to lug a damp log from the cellar or kitchen to the withdrawing room. Eleanor was paling as if she too realized the impropriety. He silently blessed his mother for interfering and giving him time alone with his Norrie. He swept her a bow in offer of his services, and she had no choice but to proceed him out the door.
He stopped her in the entry way, motioning her down the corridor to the library where they were unlikely to be disturbed.
“But my lord,” she protested, feebly he thought, “the log is in the breezeway.”
“And there is something far more important in the library,” he assured her, shutting the door behind her. She jumped at the sound and scurried toward the dwindling fire as if afraid to be near him. He took a step toward her and belatedly realized that he still held Jingles. Bending, he let the kitten free on the floor and went to light a lamp on the desk. He didn’t want to frighten her, but the need to hold her was almost overpowering.
*
“You have already thanked me for tonight,” Eleanor started, hoping to forestall anything he might say so that they might escape the library before he saw the letter laying on the desk. It was her final gift to him, and she didn’t want him to see it before Christmas Day. “Let us fetch the log and return to your family.”
“I would not have a family tonight but for you,” Justinian countered, moving slowly closer. “Norrie, I cannot stand having you near but being unable to touch you.”
She closed her eyes to block the view of his anguished fa
ce. “Don’t. Please. I cannot be what you want.”
“You don’t know what I want. I’ve heard all the arguments about propriety and place. None of them matter. Marry me, Norrie. Let me give you the place you deserve.”
Her eyes snapped open, heart leaping within her. “What—what did you say?”
He dropped to one knee and held out his hands to her. “Please, Miss Eleanor Pritchett, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
“Oh, Justinian!” She fell to her knees beside him and was immediately swept up in his embrace. When at last he released her, she could only lay her head against his chest with a sigh. Behind them came the unmistakable rustle of paper.
“Jingles!” she cried, clambering to her feet. Justinian rose just as hurriedly as she dashed to the desk. The unrepentant kitten was shoving about the papers, sending Justinian’s many reports sliding off to the floor and rumpling Eleanor’s precious letter nearly beyond recognition. She snatched up the startled kitten and thrust him at an equally surprised Justinian. Smoothing the letter, she found it was still readable and heaved a sigh of relief.
“What is it?” Justinian asked, looking over her shoulder as Jingles wriggled in his grip.
Eleanor swallowed, turning to him. “Your Christmas gift. I believe it is customary for servants and tenants to give a gift to the lord of the manor on Christmas.”
He frowned. “You are hardly a servant or tenant.”
“Well, I must admit I wasn’t completely convinced of that until a few days ago. I ran away from you once, Justinian, and I almost did so again. I was afraid I wasn’t good enough for you.”
“That is ridiculous,” he protested, but she held out a hand to stop him.
