Emily's Christmas Wish

by Sharon Stancavage

  Nigel leaned over toward Henry, his hands white around the snifter of brandy. "You know, Henry, I could call you out for making that sort of remark," he said between clenched teeth.

  "Nigel, there's no need for that!" Henry exclaimed, beginning to panic. "I certainly didn't mean to slander your character—I just wanted to find out what was going on with Emily. She's practically a member of our family, and, since she is alone at our home, I feel that it's my responsibility to look after her," he finished hastily.

  Nigel leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I understand, Henry. I've just been feeling waspish ever since the weather became so dashed terrible and Susan Claredon and her ghastly mother appeared. And as for your question, no, I'm not simply being nice to Emily because I feel sorry for her, since I don't particularly pity her," he concluded, his grip on his brandy loosening a bit.

  "Are you trying to get in her good graces so you can get the pendant back? Harriet was terribly concerned about that— that's why I'm asking," Henry asked nervously.

  "No, to be honest, I'd forgotten the dashed pendant," he confessed, finally beginning to relax.

  A slow smile spread over Henry's regular features. "That's good to hear. You know, if you continue to pay court to her, there's every chance that she'll develop a tendre for you, and I wouldn't want to see Emily hurt," he finished in a more serious tone.

  Nigel envisioned Emily willingly in his arms, her breath in his ear. "My intentions are perfectly respectable," he said in a strange tone, then added with a grin, "Would you rather have me leg-shackled to Susan Claredon? She's becoming more of a harpy as the minutes pass."

  "That is quite the understatement. She appears pleasant enough, but is still tied to her mother's apron strings. Why were you courting her in the first place?"

  A sigh escaped Nigel. "It wasn't actually planned. We just ended up at many of the same entertainments, and I began spending time with her since I've known her since she's been in the schoolroom. And it kept my father from badgering me about finding a suitable female to bring into the Manning family," he explained.

  Henry nodded. "It happens all of the time. That's how Haversham got caught in the parson's mousetrap. One moment he was spending time with a childhood friend, the next moment her family was expecting him to post the banns. Unfortunately, he couldn't squirm out of it, and she wouldn't cry off, so now they're both miserable."

  "I will not find myself leg-shackled to Susan—you can enter that in the betting books at White's, no matter what her family might be expecting."

  Henry smiled gently. "That's good to hear. She would make a difficult wife. Now Emily, she's a different matter entirely. She might be of a certain age and the veriest of bluestockings, but she will be a splendid wife to some lucky cove," he proclaimed heartily.

  Nigel gazed into the fire and thought of Emily and a passel of dark-haired children at her feet. "Yes, she would," he said in a soft voice, lost in his daydreams.

  "Aunt Emily, can I come in?" a small voice asked from the other side of her partially closed wooden door.

  Emily quickly placed the package that was going to Victoria on Christmas morning into the top drawer of the zebrawood escritoire and replied, "Of course, Victoria."

  Victoria peered around the door and saw Emily, wearing a long sleeved merino gown of Devonshire brown, sitting at the escritoire on the far side of the room facing the window. She closed the door behind her and bounced over to Emily, asking pertly, "What are you doing?"

  Emily smiled down at her. Victoria was, for now, the daughter she always wanted, but never quite managed to have. "Silly, what do you think I'm doing?" she replied.

  Victoria glanced around the top of the writing table. There was a pair of scissors, a large variety of ribbons in red, white, green, and gold, and colored tissue paper. "Are you wrapping presents?" she asked shyly.

  "You guessed my secret," Emily replied, as Victoria sat down on the freshly made bed behind her.

  "What are you wrapping now?" Victoria asked, straining to see what Emily was putting in the red paper.

  "A gift for Lady Markston, or at least that's who I think I'll be giving it to, since I don't think the snow is going to end anytime soon."

  Victoria nodded her head in agreement. "I wish it would stop snowing and Lady Markston and Lady Claredon could leave. I don't like them very much," she finished, a bit hesitantly.

  Emily made a slight clucking noise. "Victoria, you know you should mind your tongue. It's not polite to talk about people you don't care for," she admonished, putting the final touch on the package.

  "I'm sorry," Victoria said and glanced over at Emily's dressing table. "Why is there a rose on your dressing table, Aunt Emily?" she ask curiously.

  Emily continued wrapping her presents and desperately hoped that Victoria didn't notice her blush. "It's another old Christmas tradition. Would you like to hear about it?"

  "All right."

  "Well," Emily began, "on Midsummer's Day an unmarried young lady is supposed to pick a rose. She saves the rose until Christmas morning, and if she wears it to church, her future husband will come to take it from her," she concluded, feeling dashed silly for following such an absurd tradition.

  "But what if someone she doesn't like tries to take it from her? Will she still marry him?" Victoria asked curiously.

  Emily smiled. "I don't know, Victoria. This is the first time I've ever saved the rose. I think a smart lady will avoid any gentleman she doesn't like at church, so then she won't have to end up leg-shackled to him," she concluded with a chuckle.

  Victoria giggled and replied, "Mama hasn't told me that story yet. But today she told me about the Twelfth Night cake."

  "Oh, really. What did she tell you about it?" Emily asked, placing her next gift, a belcher handkerchief for Aubrey, in a small box.

  "She told me what everything in the cake means."

  "Well, let's see how much you remember. What does it mean if you get the ring?"

  Victoria giggled. "It means that you're going to get married. And the thimble means patience, and the button means faithfulness," she proclaimed, quite proud of herself.

  "Why, you certainly remembered your lessons well. What else did your mama tell you about?" she asked, wrapping the box up in golden paper.

  "She told me about the Yule log. Mama said we're very lucky because this year our Yule log is made of ash."

  "And did she tell you why a Yule log made of ash is so special?" Emily asked, reaching for her next gift. This time it was a small silver comb for Lady Susan. I hope I won't have to present this gift, either, she thought, inwardly agreeing with Victoria's assessment of both ladies.

  "Mama says an ash Yule log is best because Mary washed and dressed the baby Jesus for the first time by the firelight of an ash tree. Our Yule log is in the barn—Mama said we'll bring it in Christmas Eve. That's in two days!" Victoria exclaimed.

  A slight cough, then a high-pitched bark interrupted their coze.

  "Victoria, see who's at the door," Emily asked, covering the remaining presents on the escritoire with the tissue paper.

  Victoria opened the door cautiously and cried, "Uncle Nigel! You found Wellington!"

  Emily turned around in her seat, only to find Nigel standing at her door, Wellington squirming happily in his arms.

  "I'm sorry to bother you, Emily, but Harriet mentioned that Wellington had been missing, and I accidentally found him locked in my bedroom. I thought I'd return him to Victoria," he finished, his eyes raking over her slender form.

  Wellington continued to lick his chin, which caused him to blush most becomingly, so he handed the puppy over to Victoria.

  "He likes you, Uncle Nigel, just like Aunt Emily. Maybe you should have a puppy, too!" Victoria announced.

  "I have my own dog at home, Victoria. Do you have your own beast at home, Emily?" he asked casually.

  Emily smiled at the handsome peer. "No—I've always wanted some sort of pet, but we travel so much that I've never really h
ad the opportunity to have my own," she explained, noticing how gentle Nigel had been with the puppy, and how well he treated Victoria.

  "I've had them all of my life, as well as the odd and assorted cat," Nigel explained, his eyes never leaving Emily.

  Before Emily could reply, Victoria eagerly asked, "Could you help me train Wellington, Uncle Nigel? He's ever so smart, but I don't know what to do and neither does Miss Turner."

  A warm, gentle smile flitted across Nigel's features. "Of course, Victoria, but you must promise me something."

  "Anything," she replied, a wide smile on her innocent face.

  "You must promise to tell me immediately if Lady Markston or Lady Claredon appear so I can, well, avoid speaking to them," he replied wryly.

  Victoria giggled. "I promise, Uncle Nigel. I don't really care for them, either, but Aunt Emily says it's not proper to say so."

  Nigel glanced over at Emily, who was blushing delicately. "Your Aunt Emily is perfectly right, but you see, I don't have particularly good manners, so I can admit it," he replied with a rakish grin.

  Before Emily could give him a proper dressing-down in front of Victoria, he took Victoria's hand and casually remarked, "I'll see you at supper, Emily."

  You are a scamp, Lord Stratford, Emily thought with a smile. And yes, I will see you at dinner and reprimand you for your odious manners in front of Victoria, she decided, wrapping her last present.

  She still hadn't chosen a gift for Nigel, and was in quite a quandary. In her heart, she wanted to give him something personal and meaningful, but that wouldn't be the thing, since they really weren't that closely connected. And what does one get an earl who has everything he could possibly want?

  Unfortunately, Emily didn't get the chance to give Nigel a proper dressing-down at dinner. From what Henry reported, Nigel had a bad scone and was currently in bed, recovering from its effects. Emily had no idea how one had a bad scone, and from the other side of the table, heard Harriet mutter the word "curse" to Henry. It was most curious, she thought, thoroughly disappointed that she wasn't going to be seeing Nigel that evening.

  It was well past midnight when Emily sat alone in the darkened ballroom, the candelabra on the pianoforte her only light. She couldn't sleep, and was playing to relax a trifle, since she seemed to be nervous for no apparent reason.

  She had just finished one of her own compositions, a desolate piece she wrote after the Roger Manning episode, when a voice at the door said, "You're quite an accomplished musician, Emily. I think I'm more impressed each time I hear you play," Nigel said.

  Emily turned around and saw him standing in the shadows of the doorway, expectantly waiting for her reply. "Thank you, Nigel. I hope my playing didn't disturb you," she said softly.

  Nigel walked into the room, and brought one of the numerous mahogany chairs next to the pianoforte. "Not at all. I wasn't feeling quite the thing this evening—in fact, I dozed for a while. I woke up a short time ago, and everyone else in the house is asleep, save my valet. I noticed the light from my bedroom window, and thought I'd investigate," he said, gazing intently at her ethereal form.

  "I couldn't sleep, and playing usually relaxes me," Emily explained with a blush.

  Nigel didn't seem to notice her embarrassment. He was busy watching the moonlight dance off her long auburn hair that hung in slight waves around her shoulders. "Yes, it used to relax me, too," he replied, entranced with the vision sitting casually in front of him.

  Emily glanced over at Nigel, who looked dashed handsome in his black breeches and white shirt. He even had on a pair of brown slippers, she noted with a smile. His long, wavy black hair was wild and uncombed, but it made him look exotic somehow, like a Gypsy, she thought. "Are you feeling more the thing?" she asked softly.

  "Yes, something in the scone I ate didn't agree with me at all," he replied, studying the long, graceful fingers that rested in her lap.

  For some strange reason, Emily could not think of a thing to say. Nigel was looking at her with an odd expression on his face, one that made her excited and nervous all at the same time. So finally, after a long silence, she asked, "Are you looking forward to the Christmas holiday?"

  Nigel smiled casually. "I was, before Susan and Lady Markston appeared."

  "Yes, they can be a trial. Luckily I can disappear back into my little world and never encounter either of them again," she replied, then blushed at the audacity of her words.

  "I envy you, Emily. As our nearest neighbor, it's not as easy for me to avoid them," he replied, then quickly added, "I really don't want to blither on about them. Tell me, what do you want for Christmas?"

  Emily looked away as a vision of a family came into her head, with children, a dog, a cat, and a husband. That's what I want for Christmas, she thought desperately, certain that it would never happen. Not at the advanced age of four-and-twenty. "I don't know if I want anything in particular, Nigel. I received a wonderful gift from my grandfather before I came to see Harriet, though," she said, hoping to get her mind off the depressing subject of her lack of marital prospects.

  "Oh really? What was it?" Nigel asked, watching the shadows from the candlelight flicker across her face.

  "Well, I should tell you my grandfather is my only claim to respectability and the only reason I'm accepted in some of the better houses. He's the Marquess of Rawlins, and even though he's a bit crusty, he's the best grandfather anyone could ask for," she began, while Nigel's eyes widened in horror. "Be-fore I left, I received the most wonderful gift from him. He picked it up in London—it's a pendant in the shape of a mermaid. It's a queer piece, but I've come to adore it, since I know Grandpapa went through quite a search to find it for me," she concluded with a smile.

  "A mermaid? How unusual," he replied in a choked voice. "Would you ever sell the mermaid, say, for another pendant that was more attractive?" he asked casually, and unconsciously held his breath, waiting pensively for her answer.

  Eight

  "Sell my pendant? Of course not," Emily exclaimed with a frown.

  Nigel sighed and shrugged. "I was just curious. I know someone who collects unusual jewelry, and would be interested in something like your mermaid. I didn't realize you were so attached to it," he replied lamely, with only one thing on his mind. The Manning Curse. He was going to have bad luck until the end of his days because he didn't have it in his heart to convince Emily to sell a gift from her beloved grandfather.

  Emily tucked a long, wavy strand of hair behind her ear. "It would devastate Grandfather if I sold his gift," she replied, gazing into the flickering lights of the candelabra.

  She is so incredibly beautiful, Nigel thought, studying the way the shadows fell across her high cheekbones. She doesn't care about the money she could get for the pendant, but is more concerned about her grandfather's feelings, he mused, unable to take his eyes from her shadowy figure.

  Emily began to play again, a soft, lingering song of love and desperation. Her fingers glided over the ivory keys, and Nigel felt his heart lurch into his throat as he realized that he was beginning to fall in love with Miss Emily Winterhaven, a female who was firmly on the shelf. And completely right for him.

  When the song reached its pinnacle, he held his breath in awe of her talent. The silence that followed was deafening until he reached over and took her hand in his.

  "You're quite a remarkable woman, Emily Winterhaven," he began in a husky voice. "Your talent is surpassed only by the kindness of your heart," he finished passionately.

  Emily looked down at the ivory keys, at a complete loss for words. Her delicate mouth opened for a moment, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. She just gazed rapturously at him in the candlelight, her eyes large and innocent.

  Nigel raised her long, delicate fingers to his lips and gently kissed her soft, porcelain skin. "I bid you good evening, dearest Emily, since I'll do much more than kiss your hand if I stay," he said huskily, gazing into the liquid pools of her eyes.

  He s
trode rapidly out of the ballroom, his heart welling up into his throat. Nigel was positively entranced by the sole female who he was trying to connive into selling the mermaid. The Manning Curse strikes again, he thought ironically, slamming his bedroom door.

  "Eliza, I'd like to wear the mermaid pendant today," Emily said, deciding that it would look perfect against her bottle-green velvet morning dress.

  Eliza, being the efficient abigail that she was, quickly walked over to the portmanteau where she kept Emily's jewelry, and riffled through the satin case.

  The weather had turned warmer, and now the snow was being temporarily replaced by freezing rain which, to Emily, meant that she would have to suffer through one more family meal with Susan and her mother. Which was not the most pleasant task, she decided, frowning at Eliza.

  "Isn't it there?" Emily asked curiously, walking up behind Eliza.

  "I can't find it, and I know it was there. I keep all of your jewels together, Miss Emily," Eliza replied in alarm. She continued riffling through the portmanteau, but to no avail.

  "Then it has to be here somewhere. I'll help you look," Emily said calmly, not in the least bit concerned. Eliza was wonderfully conscientious, and Emily was certain it was just temporarily misplaced.

  For the next hour, the pair searched every inch of the room for the elusive pendant. There was no trace of the mermaid pendant. Eliza was near tears. Emily was in a full-fledged panic.

  Harriet, Henry, and Aubrey were in the breakfast room, enjoying a wide variety of morning fare. The enormous mahogany sideboard was filled with kippers, kidneys, sweet omelets, bacon, and poached eggs, their scents wafting alluringly out toward Emily.

  She didn't notice them. Instead, she walked into the room, and, ignoring everyone, announced, "Harriet, I must have a word with you."

  Harriet looked up from her poached eggs with a slight frown. "Of course, Emily," she said softly, following her friend into the hall.