Christmas Delights

by Heather Hiestand

  “Congratulate me, Miss Redcake. I am about to acquire a new son,” her father said.

  Rose turned to Victoria, her gaze somber. “Oh?”

  “The baron has spoken to Papa,” Victoria confirmed.

  “How charming,” Rose said, though not in a tone of congratulations.

  Her feelings were hurt, Victoria realized. “I had better go see what he wants. The piano is our special place, you see.”

  “Go on,” her father said jovially. “I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it.”

  Victoria nodded and walked through the room, feeling the stares of every inhabitant stabbing her in the back. Her cucumber sandwich had formed an uneasy knot in her stomach. At least Lewis wasn’t there to witness the end of her freedom, of her passionate explorations. No, she was to become a wife again. That happiest of occasions in a woman’s life, the fulfillment of all her dreams, tasted like ashes.

  As she reached the piano and John stood to welcome her, she noticed he wore a fine black evening suit she’d never seen before, with a new silk necktie. His thick black hair had been slicked back and tamed. He looked younger than his twenty-seven years, and surprisingly anxious, given that he’d already proposed once and had her father’s permission.

  “How are ye this evening, Victoria?” He forced a smile.

  “Very well, thank you. And you?” Her palms itched underneath her gloves and the skin of her arms felt very cold.

  “I will know better in a moment.” He cleared his throat. “I know it has been a trying day, not at all the one I might have planned for ye.”

  “You cannot control the earth’s movement.”

  “No, nor the stability of structures.” He smiled for a moment. “I hope ye came through your ordeal unscathed?”

  She had a few bumps and bruises, but it would be unladylike to mention them. “I am happy to be so.”

  “Have ye given any thought to my question?”

  She realized they were both still standing. As more people came into the room, the clatter of teacups against silver salvers became all but intolerable. She wondered why the cups had survived when the plates had not.

  “Victoria?” He put his finger on the sliver of bare skin between her sleeve and her glove.

  The skin-to-skin contact made her shiver. “I’m sorry. The air feels very close.”

  “Probably debris in the air from everything that fell and broke. Did ye notice the artwork in this room has changed? I believe they consolidated the paintings with unbroken frames in the most public rooms.”

  “I noticed the greenery is gone. I suppose it all fell down.”

  “The earthquake cleared away the holiday decorations a day early.”

  “My goodness,” she murmured. “It is a lot of work to run an establishment of this size.”

  “I have two homes, my ancestral pile and a house outside Edinburgh. Nothing so overwhelming as this.”

  She forced a smile. “Then I shall have little to do with my time.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Does that mean ye will say yes?”

  “Yes, John.” As if she had a choice. She wanted to clutch his hands, to find an anchor somehow. An engagement should feel like finding port, not sailing out into a stormy sea, but it didn’t this time. It simply didn’t feel right.

  She glanced around, wondering if anyone had noticed their private conversation, and found herself staring right into Lewis’s eyes. He had a blank expression, rather than his usual concentrated one. Had he seen John caress her wrist? She tossed her head defiantly. What if he had? They were engaged now. John was entitled to a few liberties. It was not as if anyone expected her to be a blushing virgin bride.

  “May I make an announcement?” John asked.

  She couldn’t bear it, not with Lewis watching her. “What about waiting until the bonfire? Even though tonight is Twelfth Night, the countess delayed it a day due to the earthquake,” she said. “That seems like such a romantic way to end the celebration here, and the house party.”

  “Of course.” He grinned at her, then touched his hair self-consciously. “We’ll keep our delicious secret for tonight and announce it tomorrow.”

  She nodded and glanced away again. Lewis had vanished. What had he seen in her face? Triumph, relief, fear? “Also, I must say I heard the champagne supplies were destroyed in the earthquake. We need to give the butler some time to find replacement bottles.”

  He laughed. “Very well. We wouldn’t want to toast to our future with tankards of ale.”

  Victoria woke the next morning to find Penelope sitting up in bed, staring at her. She blinked and wiped the sleep from her eyes. “What?”

  “It’s January sixth,” Penelope said.

  “And?”

  “I’ve always received presents today.” Penelope bounced on the bed. “Do I get presents?”

  Victoria yawned. “Your present is that I’ve agreed to marry John and you’re going to live in Edinburgh with us. No boarding school.”

  Penelope threw her arms around her cousin, overbalancing them until they fell back on their pillows. She giggled and rested her head on Victoria’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “You are very welcome.”

  “You’ll be happy with him, won’t you? Like Princess Everilda will be with Prince Hugh?”

  “We don’t even know how that story ends.”

  “Will you finish it? There isn’t much left. Just two croaking ravens and saving the merman from the sea, which is obviously Prince Hugh.” Penelope pulled the carved bird Eddy had made her from under her pillow and set it on her knee.

  “Then you already know how the story ends. The two ravens are like your white storks, ready to make wishes come true. Of course, the princess wanted to wish for her prince to come. But the Normans were attacking and she couldn’t make a selfish wish.”

  “No, she’s a princess,” Penelope agreed. “So what does she wish for?”

  “That her people will be safe.”

  “That priest died.”

  “He died of shock when he saw the ships approaching shore. It wasn’t in the actual attack. As the princess cradled his dying body, the two ravens settled above them on the bells. She knew they were magical creatures and begged them to hide her people from the Normans.”

  “Did they?”

  “A thick fog swirled into the village, obscuring all the buildings. Then the earth moved, just like it did yesterday. Waves as high as the bell tower lashed at the ships and threw them off course. The Normans never landed at Everilda’s castle. She ran down from the tower toward the sea, stopping on a cliff to look into the white-capped waves.”

  “What did she see?” Penelope asked, bouncing on the bed until her small bird tumbled to the sheet.

  “A head bobbing, of course. Was it a man? Everilda saw a tail, though. What could it be? She’d heard of such things, of course, living so near the water. She ran to the secret path that went to the shore from the cliff. Few knew which of the spindly trees could hold a person’s weight as they climbed down, but she knew each one, and even in the fog she was sure-footed. When she reached the shore, the merman washed in on a huge wave. Though he could have dragged her out to sea forever, she charged forward, grabbing the merman by the shoulders and pulling him to safety.

  “When she had him past the rock line, she turned him over, because he had been facedown in the waves. His face was blue and his hair was made of green seaweed. A soaking-wet shirt of white lawn covered his chest, but below that a long black tail stretched down where his legs should have been, until they became a wide broom of black fin. Despite the odd coloring and frightening tail, she recognized her true love.”

  “It was Prince Hugh?”

  “Oh, yes, under an enchantment. She had risked her life to save him from the sea’s clutches. But now he was a fish. Could he even breathe on land? She knew what she had to do.”

  “She needed to give him a true-love kiss?” Penelope’s eyes were wide.

  Victoria nodde
d. “Exactly. She bent down, put her warm lips to his cold ones, and breathed humanity back into him. She could feel his skin warm under her mouth. Soon, he was kissing her back enthusiastically. When she lifted her head, she saw his hair had gone back to his normal blond curls and his face had lost the strange blue tinge.”

  “Was he wearing clothes?” Penelope put her hand to her mouth. Her cheeks were bright red.

  Victoria laughed. “It didn’t matter to the princess. She and the prince ran hand in hand to the village, still worried about the Normans. But when they reached the top of the cliff, they could see all was well and the ships were gone. They went to the church to kneel down and thank God that they had been spared. And who should come in? A man in a shiny, supple black cassock. It was the priest, who had been resurrected by those magical crows. He married them immediately.”

  “Did they ever see the evil queen again?”

  “Of course they did, but that is another story.” Victoria grinned at the child, quite pleased with herself.

  Penelope nodded. “I guess that is a good ending, all things considered. I’m glad the priest didn’t die.”

  “Me, too. I know it’s probably just porridge for breakfast, thanks to the condition of the kitchens, but I find myself starving this morning.”

  “No maid came with a tray.”

  Victoria nodded. “Everything is still at sixes and sevens, I expect.”

  “I’ll help you dress,” Penelope said. “Even if it is only porridge, we should go down. It is our last day and I don’t want to miss anything.”

  Victoria thought Penelope should be going to the nursery, not downstairs, but on this last day, what did it really matter?

  They used what was left of the previous day’s water to wash up. She glanced at her face in the mirror. Did she look any different now that she was an engaged lady again, soon to be a Scottish baroness? No. Something troubled her, though, as she stared at her dark braid. Shouldn’t Prince Hugh have had black hair instead of blond curls? For her future’s sake—for John’s sake—she needed to banish Lewis from her every thought. She had to be honest with herself. Lewis didn’t care enough to offer for her, even if Rose schemed successfully and in time to stop her wedding to John.

  After breakfast, they wandered through the public rooms. Penelope chattered away about the damage they found: cracked ceilings, broken moldings, shattered vases. Victoria remembered moments where she’d spoken to one of her suitors or shared pieces of her fairy tale in every one.

  When they entered the mirrored gallery, Victoria expected to find cascades of shattered glass, but instead, the miniature Versailles was completely intact. The room was in the oldest part of the Fort. Perhaps this section had been spared. She hoped the beautiful rococo ballroom had been safe from damage as well.

  As they walked down the ornately decorated gallery, they heard whispers in a corner near the carved wood fireplace at the end. Victoria put a finger to her lips and turned to leave, but Penelope grabbed her hand.

  “It’s Uncle Rupert!”

  Victoria peered into the gloom. Her father was kneeling in front of Rose. As she watched, her father took Rose’s delicate fingers in his bearlike paws and kissed the tips, then spoke in a low voice. She stood, entranced, as Rose’s lips trembled. Her father said something else and Rose responded; just one word it seemed, but the right one, for her father kissed Rose’s fingers again, then pulled the young woman onto his lap and kissed her soundly.

  Penelope hopped and started clapping. “Huzzah! Many happy returns!”

  Victoria hissed, “Shhh,” and grabbed for her, but the romantic spell had been broken. Both Rose and her father turned, blushing.

  “I’m sorry, but Penelope is beside herself. Such a romantic proposal. I’m so pleased for you both!”

  Her father lifted Rose back to her chair, a demonstration that despite his years, he still had the strength she had so admired as a child. Rose put her hands to her mouth, and Victoria could see how she trembled. Her friend must feel so much relief at finally finding a husband after years of loneliness, ill health, and despair.

  She and Penelope came forward, offering congratulations.

  “We could have a double wedding,” Rose said, smiling.

  “I’m sure you want your own special day,” Victoria demurred. “My wedding will be a very restrained affair, since it is my second marriage.”

  Rose nodded. “Will you have a short engagement? I must say, I do not want to wait very long!”

  “Until spring at least, so you can have the best flowers,” Victoria said.

  Rose shook her head. “It is better now.”

  She didn’t say it, but Victoria guessed that flowers made Rose sneeze. “Then perhaps you will marry before I do.”

  Rose squeezed her hands. “I cannot believe I’m going to be your stepmama, and Penelope’s aunt.”

  Penelope jumped up on the bench and gave Rose a hug. Victoria turned and hugged her father, who was uncharacteristically shy.

  “Congratulations, Papa,” she whispered.

  The mirrors all around them reflected nothing but happy faces, but she knew what lay beneath. Why hadn’t her father done this a day earlier? If Rose had a child, her own responsibilities might be less onerous. Her father might be happy enough with his new fiancée to commute Penelope’s sentence to Miss Treadgold’s Academy. And Victoria might have had Lewis instead of John.

  It was too late now. She had said yes. The weddings would proceed. She would be happy. That would be the best revenge on the Fates.

  CHAPTER 19

  The earl had decided to hold the delayed bonfire near the site of the destroyed stable in order to easily burn some of the unusable wood. The enormous fire lit up the lake and the ruins, bathing the ancient stone structure in light and smoke.

  Lewis held a cup of hot spiced punch and ignored the crowd gathered together for the last night of the house party. Twelfth Night had been the night before, but the festivities had been all but obliterated by the earthquake. Now the wine, punch, and spirits flowed freely and everyone was in the mood to celebrate. The temperature had warmed to something approaching normal. Many of the guests had even abandoned their extra layers of clothing and mufflers and shawls, despite the cloying damp.

  The air had a putrid scent, partially from the paint that was burning on the coated wood but also from the muck at the bottom of the lake, which had been churned up by the earth’s movement. Who knew what else had been there, along with the ruins of the putative church? He wondered if the lake had once been an inlet connected to the sea. Had the church been on an island?

  This house party seemed to have been adrift in legend and folklore from the first, between the stories the workmen told during the long days in the stable, Victoria’s fairy tale, and Rose’s legends. And meeting Victoria herself. He’d never thought he, Lewis Noble, would be an aristocrat’s lover. This Christmas season had been a dream, and never more so than now, when he regarded his lover bathed by the flickering bonfire, next to another man.

  He watched with a curious sense of detachment as the earl called the assembled guests to attention with a small gong and announced the arrival of champagne.

  Footmen wandered through the crowd with trays of the beverage served in an assortment of containers. Flutes, wineglasses, even teacups—whatever they had undamaged in the Fort—until everyone had champagne.

  Then the Baron of Alix announced his engagement to Lady Allen-Hill. Lewis heard Victoria’s name with a sense of unreality, as if it was part of a tale and not his actual life. He understood her reasons. After all, he had given her nothing and her father had made his position clear. So the lady wasn’t strong enough to fight Rupert Courtnay. He hadn’t wanted to spend the next twenty years or so battling him either, so he understood.

  But then he lost all comprehension of her action. Rupert Courtnay himself took a position in front of the leaping flames and, instead of restating the baron’s words, announced his own engagement. Cousin
Rose came to stand with him, blushing furiously as the guests pressed forward, offering congratulations to the foursome.

  The countess laughed and held her son’s arm when the local vicar made a joke about this being the most successful house party in the history of house parties and that he hoped to have the honor of marrying every one of the newly engaged couples. Bullen merely looked bored.

  Lewis turned away, his ears tuning the noise down to nothing but the furious buzzing of bees. Victoria had accepted the baron when she might have been released from her father’s demands. Why hadn’t she waited to marry, at least for a year or two? Rose might not be strong, but she was young. They would know soon enough if she could bear a child.

  Betrayal. Victoria had betrayed what they had felt for each other. If she could have slipped out from under her father’s thumb, they could have been together.

  He turned away from the festivities in disgust. A footman had left a tray on a tree stump and he placed his teacup of champagne there, untouched. The cup of punch, however, he drained in one long gulp; then he went to the refreshed bowl of steaming brew and ladled more into his cup. He had no need to stay sober in anticipation of pleasing a lover tonight.

  He had resolved to take a long walk in the firelight, just him and his punch, when Penelope skipped up to him. Her light step indicated a different girl than the moody nine-year-old of days gone by.

  “Why are you so happy?” he growled when she stopped in front of him.

  She did a little dance. “I’m to live with Victoria forever.”

  “How is that any different than before?”

  Her eyes grew wide. “My uncle was going to send me to Manchester, to a dreadful school where the students often die, it is said.”

  He snorted. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true. One of the maids said she overheard Uncle Rupert telling Victoria that if she didn’t become engaged by today, I was going to the school. That’s not exactly what Victoria told me, of course, but I don’t think the maid was lying.”

  What could have prompted Courtnay to be so cruel? Lewis squeezed the handle of his cup until it broke in his hand. The bowl of the cup fell, his steaming punch swallowed by the thirsty earth.