A Gerrard Family Christmas

by Rebecca Connolly

  Colin grumbled under his breath. “Next year, give them the weak basket leftovers.”

  “Colin!” Susannah scolded, although she laughed as she did so.

  “What?” he protested. “It’s not as though they would know.”

  “Speaking of things people don’t know,” Kit broke in as his conscience reminded him of something that he really ought to tell his wife.

  That silenced the room effectively, and Colin went completely wide eyed, shaking his head as much as he dared with his wife standing there.

  “Yes?” Marianne prodded in a thin voice he had learned to dread.

  “Kit, don’t,” Colin said at once, shaking his head again.

  “Don’t what?” Susannah snapped as she looked at Colin, then back at Kit.

  “Don’t,” Colin mouthed when he was free to do so.

  But Kit had had enough of secrets and sneaking around, and he had other matters to see to besides wondering who had been foolish enough to bring in a massive amount of presents when they had all agreed to keep everything to a moderate level so as not to overshadow the finer points of the season with greed and possessions.

  Or so he’d thought, anyway.

  He was fairly certain they’d had the conversation.

  He couldn’t recall any of the particulars surrounding said conversation, but surely they’d had it.

  “This morning,” Kit began, ignoring his brother’s look, “there was a delivery. A delivery of gifts.”

  Marianne and Susannah looked at each other in surprise, then back at him.

  For two of the chief suspects in this matter, they were acting in an oddly choreographed manner.

  Perhaps they were in on it together. He looked up at Colin, who had also noticed the mirrored reaction. Now Colin gave Kit a brief nod and watched the women carefully.

  “Gifts?” Marianne prodded, expression unreadable, but her tone markedly curious. “Gifts for whom?”

  “Everyone,” Kit replied, “and not in the general sense. There were tags on the presents, as I understand it, and every member of the family had at least one.”

  “Two,” Colin corrected. “Every member of the family has at least two.”

  Susannah looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

  Colin nodded, somehow keeping his suspicion of his wife’s involvement cleared from his features.

  “That’s wonderful!” Marianne squealed, clasping her hands. “Who are they from?”

  “That is the mystery,” Kit told her. “The packages do not say.”

  Her brow furrowed. “They don’t… Why would someone send packages without informing us who was sending them? Surely they would want the credit, if not our gratitude.”

  And there was Kit’s chief point in his wife’s innocence, and he turned a superior look to Colin, who caught it and sneered.

  Marianne was in possession of a kind, generous heart, but she rarely acted in secrecy in anything. She didn’t necessarily need praise or attention drawn to her works, though she was not particularly opposed to it, but she preferred the attribution of her deeds to fall where they ought. It gave her a sense of pride and purpose, and therefore, she could not have been the mysterious gift giver.

  “Well,” Susannah began slowly, “I suppose it is the time of year for people to perform secret acts of kindness, and to show an outpouring of generosity. Perhaps they did not wish to identify themselves in the hopes that their pride might be lessened in our ignorance?”

  It was a valid point, but Kit didn’t think many people would choose to act in such a manner. Very few of the wealthy of his association would have, anyway.

  But if Susannah thought so, it was entirely possible that she had sent the gifts.

  “That is true,” Marianne replied as she moved away from Kit and sat on the blue sofa in the room. “There would be a thrilling sort of satisfaction in being a secret benefactress, wouldn’t there?”

  It was now Colin’s turn to look triumphant, and he shared that look with Kit freely.

  Kit ignored him yet again.

  “What do the presents look like?” Marianne asked Kit.

  Kit stared back at her, wondering if his wife was truly so indiscernible to him after years of marriage. “I don’t know. They’re in Colin’s study.”

  Susannah barked a laugh. “Well, no one will find them there!” she crowed.

  Colin scowled as Marianne joined in the laughter. “I fail to see the humor in this,” he grumbled.

  “And I fail to see the harm,” Marianne informed them all with an impertinent tilt of her chin. “What are a few additional presents?”

  Colin opened his mouth to argue, but Kit spoke first. “The concern that Colin and I have,” he said quickly, “is that we have already obtained gifts for the children, and with the desire to make this Christmas truly special, having additional gifts from an unknown source might set a precedent that cannot be maintained.”

  “Or should not,” Colin agreed, sounding serious for the first time in a long while. “You said so yourself, Marianne, only a few hours ago that you would not want any of the children to become spoiled at Christmas.”

  She looked doubtful, but nodded anyway.

  “These gifts are excessive,” Colin continued, “which is why I have hidden them away. If the children saw them, they would not think about anything else, and Christmas would become entirely focused on the gifts.”

  Susannah folded her arms and gave her husband a hard look. “That seems to be a rather somber attitude for two Gerrard brothers to take, considering the mischief you’ve been up to in the last few days.”

  Well, that was hardly fair! She made it sound as though he and Colin were not capable of serious thought and reflection where Christmas was concerned, and that simply was not true.

  They were capable of it.

  That didn’t necessarily mean that they would do it, but it was not out of the realm of possibilities.

  And they did want Christmas to be about more than the gifts.

  There was an entire list of activities and traditions to uphold to prove that point.

  “It was never about the gifts!” Colin protested.

  “And that has nothing to do with the fact that these mysterious presents might overshadow whatever you had secured for the children as gifts?” Susannah suggested, keeping her tone mild, even if her stance and attitude had become somewhat superior and intimidating. “You aren’t just saying this because better presents might actually overshadow your own?”

  Colin gaped at his wife as if truly offended. “How can you even think…?”

  “I thought the same thing,” Marianne broke in without shame.

  Colin turned to her. “About me?” he demanded.

  She scoffed. “No, about him.” She pointed directly at Kit, who stared down the end of her finger as if the barrel end of a rifle.

  “Me?” Kit asked. How could she? His own wife doubted his motives!

  “Of course, you,” she replied with a laugh. “Kit, you would hate for someone to give a better gift than you did. You would hate for anything you gave to somehow lack in quality and meaning, even from one year to the next. I’m surprised you and Colin haven’t had an extensive fight about these gifts and which of the two of you out-gifted the other.”

  Kit stared at Colin, who stared back, and an understanding passed between the pair of them, as it sometimes did. They would remain absolutely silent about their small skirmish earlier, and about accusing each other. No one needed to know that their wives could peg them so easily.

  “So you think we ought to give those presents to the children?” Colin asked in a remarkably stiff voice.

  Marianne and Susannah exchanged another look, and they waited for judgment to pass.

  “Perhaps we ought to see them,” Susannah murmured to Marianne. “If they really are excessive…”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Marianne agreed. “The children are well enough off, they truly do not need more than what they already have.�
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  “What about your foundlings in London?” Susannah pressed, lighting up. “Perhaps they could use whatever they are?”

  Marianne considered that thoughtfully. “Well, it would depend on what the gifts are. It wouldn’t do any good to bring in one pair of little girl petticoats when there are twelve that need them.”

  “So you think we should open them.”

  Marianne sighed and put her head in her hands. “I don’t know. But yes, let’s see them.”

  Kit and Colin looked at each other in confusion. Was this an act by their wives to somehow add something grand to Christmas? Were they being had by the women, despite their detailed planning and efforts to make the season more meaningful and fun?

  Susannah offered Marianne a hand and then gesture for Colin to give them the key. “We’ll go take a look, and see what the fuss is all about.”

  Colin hesitated, clearly not trusting either of them to be on their side, but handed over the key anyway.

  Susannah clenched her fingers around the key and nodded, then pulled Marianne from the room towards Colin’s study.

  Kit watched them go, frowning.

  “I don’t trust either of them,” Colin told him as he came alongside him. “Together or separately.”

  “I agree.” Kit shook his head with a sigh. “At least the decorations are done.”

  “They look splendid. Shall we see how the tree is coming?” Colin asked, sounding like himself again.

  Kit grinned at him. “Yes, I think so.”

  They moved to the drawing room eagerly and pushed open the door.

  “Well, how are things in here?” Kit boomed.

  Then he looked at it.

  And Colin yelped.

  Chapter Eight

  "It is not ruined.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Yes, yes it is.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Ruined!”

  “Atrocious, Marianne, really, you should see it.”

  Marianne sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. “I have seen it, Colin, and it is not that bad.”

  “It’s not that good either,” he pointed out.

  Kit paced the room, shaking his head. “What were we thinking? They’ve never decorated a tree before, how could they possibly know what all goes into it?”

  “Oh, surely it’s not so complicated,” Marianne scoffed as she picked up Daphne and put her against her shoulder, patting her back softly.

  Kit paused his step to look at his brother in shock, then looked down at his wife. “There is a very exact and precise way of doing it, Marianne. Believe me, it is both an art and a science, and it takes a great deal of effort to craft both into a perfect form.”

  Colin echoed his sentiment by nodding frantically.

  Marianne looked between the pair of them as though they had sprouted horns, and just shook her head. “All right then, perhaps you should decorate the tree yourselves instead of leaving it to a group of children who have never heard of any such thing, let alone seen it.”

  Despite his aversion to being told off, he had to admit that his wife did have a point. He continued to pace the room anxiously.

  “Do you think we would hurt their feelings if we take it all down?” Colin asked from his position by the mantle.

  “Yes,” Marianne said quite frankly. “You got them all riled up about a fir tree becoming something great and magnificent for Christmas and the honor of decorating it, and to now tell them they got it wrong?” She gave him a scolding look.

  “But they did get it wrong,” Colin tried to explain, looking to Kit for help.

  Kit had no help to give.

  “In what way, Colin?” Marianne snapped. “How did the children destroy or ruin that fir tree? It’s still standing, is it not?”

  “Yes…”

  “And nothing has caught fire?”

  “No…”

  “Then nothing is destroyed or ruined. If you don’t like what they did, find a way to change it. But so help me,” she warned, holding up a finger, “if you make any of the children cry over your unfeeling comments about their eager attempts to live up to your expectations…”

  Kit winced and pointedly looked away from her. Images of crying children floating around in his mind was not going to help him find a way to save his favorite tradition of Christmas.

  It really just needed some reorganization, that was all.

  Some adjustment was all.

  Oh, all right, it required a complete overhaul short of bringing in a fresh fir tree completely devoid of decorations of any kind. The children had taken every single item that Mrs. Donovan had brought in and tossed it all on the tree with the sort of haphazard energy they might have done with wildflowers on the breeze. The result had been an eyesore destined to give any viewer the sort of headache that would lay one up for weeks.

  It boggled his mind how the servants overseeing the project could have failed so spectacularly by not intervening before anything got so out of hand.

  Perhaps he ought to overhaul the staff of the estate while he was overhauling the tree.

  After Christmas, naturally. He would never cast out anyone on Christmas Eve.

  Colin, perhaps, but at the moment he was useful and an ally, so he could remain.

  A low laughter he was quite familiar with drew his attention back to his wife, who was watching him with marked amusement.

  “What is so funny?” he asked her pointedly.

  Marianne’s brilliant blue eyes sparkled as she rose rather gracefully considering their daughter was weighing her down. “You are so agitated, and it’s only Christmas. It’s not so bad, is it?”

  “Only Christmas?” he repeated in disbelief. “Marianne, this is the first real Christmas our family will have had since Colin and I were boys. We’re only trying to make it special in our own way!”

  “Far be it from me to prevent a Gerrard having his own way,” she retorted drily, her mouth curving into a smile, “but it seems a great deal of fuss and bother over one silly tree.” She quirked a brow and swept from the room, cooing softly to Daphne.

  Kit watched her go, then turned to Colin with a disgruntled look. “Did she just say…?”

  Colin held up a hand, obviously disgusted. “Don’t repeat it. I’m doing my best to forget that your beloved wife just made such an egregious error in judgment in saying something so offensive to my ears. I shall remain here until I am calm so I do not engage in any action I may have cause to regret.”

  Kit stared at Colin, no longer disgusted as much as bewildered by the lofty nonsense he had just spouted. Sometimes his twin really was a mystery beyond all comprehension. “Very wise,” he drawled slowly.

  “You didn’t think it was horrific?” Colin asked with all the accusation his ten-year-old self had ever employed.

  “I thought it was ignorant and uninformed,” Kit hissed, glancing around to make sure his wife hadn’t heard, “and yes, it was rather upsetting, but you can hardly blame her when she doesn’t know anything of the Christmas tree either.”

  Colin ground his teeth together and folded his arms tightly. “She’s half Scottish. You would think she would have some respect for tradition, even if she does not understand it.”

  Kit laughed hard. “You look at my wife again and tell me how much of her Scottish blood actually makes it to the surface.”

  Truth be told, Marianne had a very Scottish way of looking at things and a very Scottish temper, and last summer when they had visited her cousins, she had even managed a near-perfect brogue that still sent a warm shiver up and down his spine when he recollected it. Which he did from time to time.

  And she looked the part of a rare Scottish beauty, that was for certain.

  He smiled to himself as he considered the possibility of procuring Scottish property, preferably near her relations, purely to bring her more Scottish side out from time to time.

  “This is no smiling matter, Kit!”

  He shook himself and returned h
is attention to Colin, who was frowning darkly.

  “Right.” Kit shook his head again. “So how do we manage this?”

  “Well, I’d rather not make my children cry,” Colin pointed out, “though I doubt they are old enough to be driven to that unless the older ones do so.”

  Kit nodded in thought, sensing his brother was probably right in this. “Livvy might,” he pointed out.

  Colin cursed softly and swept his hands behind his back as he rocked on his heels. “She might. She’s a bit sensitive. But if we keep her distracted long enough, she might not notice.”

  “Distract her with what?” Kit inquired. “She’s three.”

  “Three-year-olds can be surprisingly helpful,” Colin pointed out. “Wait until you have one.”

  “I await your suggestion, oh wise one,” Kit offered with a mocking bow.

  Colin nodded in acknowledgement of the honor, sarcastic though it had been. “She can’t very well help with the Yule log, or whatever else you have associated with that, and the baskets have already been delivered to the tenants, so she can’t help there. Mrs. Fraser would have our necks if we sent her to the kitchens when we’re only hours away from the feast…”

  “I’ve got it!” Kit announced with a snap of his fingers.

  Colin looked at him with a hint of a frown. “Were you even listening to me?”

  “No,” Kit said, shaking his head. “Rarely do.”

  “I knew it.”

  Kit took two steps towards him. “I was going to collect all of the children this afternoon and have them help to prepare boxes for the servants for St. Stephen’s Day. Livvy would be able to help there, yes?”

  Colin grinned slowly, nodding his head. “She would indeed. She will fetch anything you ask her, with more energy and precision than any hunting dog. She will tire herself out so much she may even need a nap before the end of it.”

  “Perfect.”

  That was one child, which only left all the rest.

  Kit groaned and rubbed at the furrows in his brow that were destined to be permanently etched there. “And what about everyone else?”

  “Boxes for them all,” Colin said with a wave of his hand. “Rafe and Matthew are too little to be useful there, so we’ll send them off to the nursery with the Nurses A, and the babies, too.”