by Sharon Sobel
Though, for the same reasoning, Laurentia might have shared some of her talents with Geoff.
Will decided to sit next to Miss St. John’s Aunt Catherine, who seemed a little bereft without her charge. The lady’s responsibilities had kept her quite busy this season, as Chary held everyone’s attention since their arrival, and her awkward engagement to Nick Hawkely was played out for everyone assembled at Seabury. Now Chary and Nick were nowhere to be seen, and Will decided it was a good thing.
“I hope you are enjoying yourself, dear lady?” he asked politely.
She smiled at him, revealing teeth as polished as the rest of her. “Lady Howard’s Christmas party has turned out to be a good deal better than I had any reason to expect.”
“For you, or for others?” Will was not prone to gossip but he was a tad curious.
“For all of us. When Miss St. John is happy, I am happy too. And now I have reason to believe her joy is beyond measure.”
“I wish her much happiness.”
“Thank you, Lord Willem. You may expect to be invited to a wedding in the spring.”
“I?” Will asked. He would not imagine Nick would welcome him anywhere near him, for all they had been through.
“But of course, Lord Willem. My young niece’s happiness is partly as a result of your keen eye while reading Mr. Raffles’s manuscript, which may lead Lord Howard to the real culprit in the case.”
“I only . . .” Will protested.
“Hush,” whispered the lady. “I wish to hear every golden note of Lady Leighton’s song. You will have the opportunity to listen to her every day of your life, but the rest of us are not so lucky.”
Will did not know what to answer. He only hoped it was true.
Geoff and Laurentia stood together on the small stage and paid homage to their princess and prince, and the other notable guests among them. They acknowledged the revelry of the night before, but spoke most eloquently of the sanctity of this night and the music that reflected it. Their audience, so boisterous and irreverent at the ball, sat in silence.
And then Julia stood up with her accomplished accompanist, and Will realized, that for all her modesty, she commanded the small stage and captivated her audience on her very first note.
The darkest midnight in December
No snow nor hail nor winter storm
Shall hinder us for to remember
The babe that on this night was born.
No snow nor hail nor winter storm. Her rich soprano filled the room, but Julia looked directly at him. He knew this song—On Christ’s Nativity—but somehow had never quite heard it before.
And so it was for the Kilmore Carols and Hark the Herald Angels Sing, and Adeste Fidelis, to which she added English words about gathering all those who are faithful. She could not have found a better partner—musical partner—than in the talented Mr. Wolfe, who allowed her brief respites between her songs by playing selections by Handel and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. Will thought he had heard that very recently, but could not remember where.
Then Mr. Wolfe turned the page to another sheet of music, and looked up to meet his eyes. He smiled as he began to play O Kirstnacht, Schoner Dan de Dagen.
One did not have to be a Dutchman to recognize this song, but it was highly unlikely that an Austrian and an Englishwoman would have selected it by chance. For Will, it brought back memories of the Christmases of his childhood, when the king invited his ministers and foreign diplomats to the Ridderzaal, the knights’ hall, to eat and drink and sing, much as had been done for hundreds of years. His mother loved this night and happily bestowed the gift of her language and song on her young children.
As Julia bestowed it on him this night.
His love, his beautiful love, ended the program with The Twelve Days of Christmas, inviting everyone to sing with her. Song and laughter filled the room—for there were few who could remember all the words—but Will found that he could not sing at all.
WHERE WAS HE? Julia smiled and thanked everyone for their praise when they gathered around her and Mr. Wolfe at the conclusion of their concert. She accepted the gratitude of Princess Charlotte and the critical suggestions of Prince Leopold. Geoff hugged her until she could no longer breathe and Laurentia dipped in a deep curtsy. Miss Rossiter asked if she would sing at her wedding, though she did not yet have a groom. And two of the maids brought her flowers.
But where was Will? Had she miscalculated? Did he misunderstand?
Miss Rossiter remained with her, even as the others turned towards the dessert tables.
“He is upstairs, in Lady Howard’s salon,” she whispered.
“He?” Julia asked innocently.
Miss Rossiter gave her a look that completely belied her youth and innocence.
“Yes, he.”
“Thank you,” said Julia. She attempted to slip from the room, which proved to be impossible. But after several more choruses of praise and good wishes, she emerged into the foyer, where there were no more compliments to be had, only the stern looks of Howard ancestors.
She started up the stairs, flush with her success and delight that it was all over, but wondering why Will had not remained. She paused on the first landing, suddenly lightheaded and breathless. And then, as she gripped the carved railing, she heard music from above. Or something that might have been music, if the instrument had been tuned.
Julia followed the sound like a princess of enchantment, drawn to the unknown, the forbidden, the great mystery. She paused at the door to Laurentia’s workroom and then pushed it open.
Will looked up, but continued to pluck at an Irish harp as he stumbled through the words of Greensleeves. Julia sat down on a nearby block of marble and filled in the long pauses between his words.
“I didn’t know you knew how to play,” she said after a while, pointing to the harp.
“I don’t, but I think I might learn. Mr. Wolfe is an excellent man, but I would make a better partner than he.” He strummed a few notes.
“Yes, I suppose you would.” She listened to his song, full of yearning and promise. “I did not know what else to give you for Christmas, Will. Did you like my song?”
He looked up to gaze into her eyes, and she thought she would drown in his blue depths.
“I realized that I must give you a song as well, as poor a player as I am,” he said, putting down the harp. She slid over and settled herself in his lap.
“But Greensleeves?” she questioned.
“It seemed apt,” he sighed. “I shall always remember you in this gown and our first dance at the Christmas Ball in Langerford. And then there’s: “thou couldst desire no early thing, and yet thou hadst it readily. Thy music still to play and sing . . .” It is a very fine song, I think, for having survived all these years. Someone ought to set Christmas words to the music.”
“Perhaps they will someday. But what of: “And yet thou wouldst not love me? It doesn’t seem to be going too well for him and the lady.”
Will held her carefully as he lowered her to the cold stone, and then gently sheltered her with his large body.
“But it will go better for us, I think, for I love you,” he said. “What have you to say, my lady Greensleeves?”
“You know I love you, Will. I resisted when I realized there were great hopes that you and I would find each other this Christmas, for I am weary of doing what everyone else wants.”
He kissed her along her hairline, to the spot beneath her ear. “What made you change your mind? My singing, perhaps?”
She laughed, tickled by his tongue and his words. “No, it is only that I decided that you are what I want.”
“Shall we surprise everyone with a Christmas Day announcement, then?”
“I doubt anyone would be surprised, Will. And Laurentia’s house party has been such
a success, we may have to stand in queue to make our announcement.” She stopped laughing, and brought him closer so that she might kiss him. “I love you.”
“Then I promise never to sing again,” he said.
She nestled against his shoulder. There might be more comfortable places at Seabury, but she wished to never move from this place.
“You have it altogether wrong, Will,” she said. “You must sing to me every single day.”
Epilogue
December 1817
JULIA SANG O KIRSTNACHT very slowly, still savoring the sounds of the newly-learned words on her tongue, and wondering if she had gotten it all right. But as to that, it did not matter so very much, for Willem Alexander was already asleep in his cradle, only knowing his mother was with him and her voice capable of dispelling any discomfort or fear.
“You are becoming quite proficient, my dear Lady Frost,” Will whispered, entering the room in stockinged feet, so as not to wake the baby. “My mother will be delighted.”
“I daresay your mother is delighted that she is finally a grandmother, and will scarcely give a thought as to whether or not her daughter-in-law can correctly pronounce ‘s’Gravenhage.’”
“Yes, it is a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?” Will laughed, and Julia put her finger to her lips. He lowered his voice. “We’ll get the little fellow started with ‘The Hague,’ and perhaps he’ll manage the rest by the time he studies at Leiden.”
“You speak as if it’s nearly upon us, that his childhood will pass in an instant,” Julia said, and Will stopped laughing.
“But I feel as if it will. Does it not seem like yesterday that we traveled through the snow, and danced at the ball in Langerford, and I wore that absurd costume at the masquerade, and you sang to Laurentia and Geoff’s many guests? And yet we have somehow gone from one Christmas Eve to the next. A lifetime has passed in a year.” Will bent down to caress the baby’s cheek, and Willem Alexander stretched and yawned in his sleep.
“It has been a year, and an extraordinary one,” Julia reminded him, though she knew she did not have to do so. “The darkness of Tambora’s eruption has finally lifted, treasures have been restored, there have been weddings, and everywhere there is the hope of new life.”
“Do you not regret that we did not return to Seabury this year? Laurentia hoped that you would once again provide the entertainment for Christmas Eve,” Will asked, but he already knew the answer to that, as well.
“I daresay Miss Rossiter shall manage just fine. Oh, dear. I must remember that she is Mrs. Wolfe now and is accompanied by her husband—in both senses of that word.” Julia slipped into her own husband’s arms. “Their music will be splendid.”
“Everyone thought the same of you last year, as I recall.”
“I never thought about that. Never was I concerned about everyone else’s approbation,” she said and shrugged. “As I recall, I sang only for you.”
“And I distinctly recall you told me that I ought never sing for anyone but you,” Will said. “I, apparently, was a man in want of a tune.”
Will took her hand and together they walked to the window to watch the snow fall this Christmas Eve. It was the first snow of the season, and softly covered Edgware Road and the few carriages bringing friends and families together to celebrate the holy night. Silently, Julia and Will walked from the nursery to go downstairs, where dinner awaited.
“I think you are mistaken, my dear,” Julia said, thinking of the year that passed, and all the many years ahead. “I believe you played your tune to perfection.”
The End
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About the author
For the past five years SHARON SOBEL has spent the hottest days of New England summers writing about the coldest days of English winters. She is the author of fifteen works of romance fiction, including novellas in the four Regency Yuletide Collections and two novels published by ImaJinn Books. Her short story “The Jilt” was selected for inclusion in Second Chances, published by Romance Writers of America, from which she received a Service Award in 2017. She earned a PhD in English Language and Literature from Brandeis University and is an English professor at a Connecticut college, where she co-chaired the Connecticut Writers’ Conference for five years. An eighteenth century Connecticut farmhouse, where Sharon and her husband raised their three children, has provided inspiration for either the period or the setting for all of her books.
