Penny’s Yuletide Wish: A Branches of Love Novella

by Britton, Sally

  Neither of the Marhams appeared the least surprised by this news, though Aunt Elizabeth raised one eyebrow knowingly.

  Hastening her words, Penny took a step closer to them. “He has said nothing to me. Not yet. But there have been little things. Hints. And I wish to know if either of you would have objections to his suit. He is not a man of land or property, but he is respectable, and could care for me quite well.”

  “You speak of Mr. Robert Ellsworth,” Uncle Matthew said, a gleam in his eye. “Your childhood friend.”

  Penny gulped away a nervous giggle and nodded firmly. She had not been entirely circumspect in her admiration of him, it would seem. Given that neither of her guardians appeared troubled by the subject, she continued on. “He is a steward. But quite capable of providing for a family.”

  Aunt Elizabeth stood and approached Penny, holding her hands out. Penny reflexively put her own into her aunt’s, waiting for judgment, a word of advice, anything at all.

  “Would he make you happy?” Aunt Elizabeth asked, surprising her niece.

  Yet Penny knew the answer to that question immediately. “Yes. I love him.” She bit her lip after the confession, then laughed somewhat tremulously. “I think I have loved him for as long as I can remember knowing him.”

  “Then we will see if this young man is intelligent enough to recognize he has won the heart of an angel,” Uncle Matthew said, standing beside his wife and laying a hand upon Penny’s shoulder. There was something in her uncle’s expression that struck her as almost secretive. As though he knew something about the matter that Penny did not. Yet he supported her. Penny could tell that much, and her trembling ceased.

  “Come. Let us go to the masque,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “Your Mr. Ellsworth will be there tonight, I believe.”

  “If he has overcome his cold.” Penny had not heard from Robert, or even Samuel, as to whether or not the restoratives she had brought did Robert any measure of help. She adjusted the blue sash at her waist and followed her aunt and uncle from the room. There was not a great deal of time left before they must leave. If Robert did not tell her what he wished, if he did not make his intentions known soon, she would return to her uncle’s home with a heavy heart.

  Of course, Robert could write. If he asked Uncle Matthew for permission. She supposed she could be happy with that much.

  But after the way he had kissed her hand, the intent stare filled with warmth and affection, he had not left her mind or heart. Robert had never behaved that way toward her before. Oh, he had come close once, when they were practically children. That day by the pond. Her sixteen-year-old self had thought he would kiss her. She had nursed disappointment for weeks afterward when he had not.

  Things were different now. They were both quite grown up.

  As she stepped into the carriage, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders, Penny thought back on her New Year’s wish. She had wished for Robert’s happiness, and she had wished he would love her.

  Her breath caused fog to form before her, despite being inside the carriage. The temperature outside had dropped rapidly, and the rain had ceased at last.

  Perhaps that night, if Robert had recovered sufficiently to attend the masque, she would know what the chances were of her wishes coming true.

  Chapter 17

  Robert muttered to himself as he adjusted the sword and the scabbard at his hip. Samuel had brought him the last piece of his costume only an hour before they had to depart for the Devon masque. The sword, though dull, was quite real and thus somewhat heavy. It had belonged to one of their ancestors, a man in the seventeenth century that had left it hanging on the wall of their family manor. Samuel wore one exactly like it, but those were the only similarities in the brothers’ costumes.

  Peter wore a bow and empty quiver on his back, dressed all in green, as Cupid. God of Love. It seemed strange to have a seventeen-year-old in such a part, but Peter had been happy enough to attend a party with a weapon strapped to him.

  As courage, Samuel wore red from head to foot, including a ruby stickpin in his cravat.

  But Robert had decided on a subtle depiction of Justice. He wore the sword, of course. Justice always had a staff or sword. He wore black all over: Gloves, shirt, cravat, boots, and a black mask across his face.

  The brothers stood in the largest room of the Devon house, a grand corridor with doors open on either side to create more room for the evening’s entertainment. While most masques were placed where people acted without inhibition, the Devons had made it clear their evening was about innocent fun for the neighborhood. Thus, there were many participants near Peter’s age and even a few younger.

  Peter shifted from one foot to the other. “You look more like Death than Justice,” he said for the second time to Robert.

  “Both are inevitable,” Samuel quipped, then nudged his brother. “Look. There is a gaggle of boys and girls your own age. Go show off for them and leave the elders to their own entertainment.”

  Peter smirked and bowed dramatically. “Of course, grandfathers.” Then he skipped out of reach before Samuel could retaliate.

  Self-consciously, Robert smoothed his cravat. “He is right. I look like Death. Or a highwayman. But how does one dress like Justice?” He had only ever seen paintings of Justice depicted as a woman holding scales and a sword or a man in Roman armor. As he had no armor, he had thought recalling that judges in the present wore black robes would work as well.

  “Forget the pup,” Samuel said with an easy shrug. He scratched at his nose just below the mask he wore. “The only opinions that matter are Mrs. Devon’s, as she’s the hostess—”

  “And she seemed approving,” Robert noted with some relief.

  “—and Miss Clark’s, because you are madly in love with her.” Samuel’s grin would have been aggravating had Robert not accepted the truth of the statement.

  Robert rested a hand on the hilt of his sword and returned the grin. “Sam, if you keep saying that out loud, I’ll run you through. Dull blade or not.”

  His elder brother laughed, drawing a few stares in their direction. Samuel’s jests no longer ruffled him, but eyes suddenly upon him caused a knot to tie up within. Today would be the day Robert would finally express his love for Penny. Samuel stopped his guffaws and stared over Robert’s shoulder with widening eyes. “She’s here, Rob.”

  Before he turned, Robert’s heart pounded like a drum in a military parade. When his eyes found her, his mouth fell open in his surprise. Penny stepped into the room on her uncle’s arm. She held herself regally, chin level with the ground, half her chestnut hair piled atop her head while the other half fell down her back in ringlets. She had the look of a fairy, or even a princess. Surely only a woman such as she could make the loveliest of storybook creatures come to life. She had never been so enchanting.

  Robert had taken four steps toward her before Samuel caught up to him, slowing his progress and hissing, “Close your mouth, Rob. You look like you mean to fall at her feet right in the middle of the room.”

  Would that be such a terrible thing?

  He slowed, pressed his lips together, and nodded his thanks to Samuel. A room full of his friends and neighbors, particularly one in the home of his employer, was not the place to declare himself to the woman he adored. Not so publicly. What had he been thinking?

  Samuel stayed beside Robert, which annoyed the younger brother. He had always kept a level head. There was no need for Samuel to act the part of a nursery-maid. Of all nights for the man to hold back, he chose the night he outfitted as courage? It made no sense.

  Penny’s head turned, and Robert caught her eye. Samuel could take his uncharacteristically cautious attitude and go to the blazes. Robert had waited long enough.

  With a bow and sweep of his hand, Robert introduced himself. “Good evening, fair lady. I have come to offer my services to you. I am Lord Justice.”

  Beneath the paint she wore as a mask, her cheeks turned an endearing shade that put him in mind
of roses. “My lord.” She dropped into a curtsy worthy of St. James’s Court. “We know one another, for I am Mercy.”

  “Ah, the Robber, more like,” Samuel interrupted, stepping almost between Robert and Penny. “Mercy is forever robbing Justice, is she not?”

  Penny’s lips twitched upward. “I would say that Justice and Mercy are meant to be a pair. My lord,” she inclined her head toward Robert, “makes certain there is a cost for wrong-doing, while I determine if there might be some relief for one who is truly repentant.”

  Samuel’s mouth opened but then closed; his eyes narrowed behind his mask. Robert took advantage of the moment and held his arm out to Penny. “As we are meant to be a pair, might I claim the honor of escorting you through the room?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Penny took his arm, her hand resting perfectly at the curve of his elbow. Leaning closer than strictly necessary, she whispered, “You cut a dashing figure in black, Robert.”

  His heart swelled, and he bent his head to return the compliment. “And you are more lovely than ever. Your costume suits you perfectly.” He caught her gaze with his and offered a most sincere smile. “Thank you for tending to me. Without your restoratives, I would not be here this evening.”

  Penny colored prettily. “I am glad I could help. You certainly seem much better this evening.” Music began in the next room as she began her reply, and she hesitated before asking, “Have you any desire to dance tonight, Lord Justice?”

  “I think I must, my lady,” he answered, staring at her intently. Was it too soon to ask her, too foolish to believe she would respond kindly if he laid his heart before her? There were moments in the past two weeks wherein he saw an affection in her eyes as well as fondness in her manner. But if he had read into things too far, his suit would be nothing more than a laughable insult.

  He led her into the room where couples had begun to form a line, his courage failing him. Until he stood across from her, and Penny’s warm brown eyes met his stare. She lifted one silvery-painted eyebrow at him, then said, “Do you remember when we were children, and we played the wish game?”

  His heart practically tripped over itself, just as his feet did when he was called upon to move as he answered. “I remember.” They had taken turns and played often with her brothers and his, making wishes and requiring one another to do increasingly foolish things to make them come true. Sometimes it was nothing more than a wish for a biscuit which meant someone had to snatch a biscuit from beneath the cook’s nose. Sometimes the wishes were more serious.

  “I wish you would tell me what you really think of my costume,” Penny said, her voice low as they crossed one another in the dance.

  His racing heart sagged in relief. He could make that one come true easily enough. “Granted.” He held his hand out and walked forward with her, up the row, bowing to another couple before resuming their stance. “I think you the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” The words were bold, but the truth in them made it easier to speak.

  Penny’s lips parted, then turned upward. Before she could respond, however, he offered up his wish.

  “I wish you had not run away the night of the Christmas ball.” When he had kissed her. She had told him to forget the moment, but she surely knew he had not. Not with that tiny silver berry so readily on his person when she had come to call the day before.

  “I cannot change that,” she answered, her eyelashes lowering. “But I can tell you, if I had the moment again, I would behave differently. I did not think you wished to be caught under the mistletoe with me.”

  Robert took in a breath of air, his whole frame growing lighter. “I wish there was mistletoe here, now.”

  After recovering from a moment of what appeared to be delighted surprise, she narrowed her eyes at him, somewhat playfully. “It is not your turn to make a wish.”

  “Forgive me, Lady Mercy.”

  “You know I must.” She stepped closer to him than was strictly necessary for the next action in the dance, then whispered, “I wish you would kiss me again.”

  A fierce pounding started in his ears that very nearly put him out of step, but he somehow kept to the rhythm required.

  “I cannot tell if you are serious,” he admitted, studying the saucy grin she wore. “Or if you are merely being playful.” It was a near-relative to the mischievous smile of childhood, but there was more to it now. The smile challenged him to take action as much as it showed her amusement.

  Penny tilted her chin upward, her eyes flashing. “Why not both, Robert? You have known me for many years. I am serious in my play, and playful when I am serious.”

  Oh, how he wanted to scoop her up in his arms that very moment and kiss away that smile until she kissed him in return. It would not do, of course. He could not—

  The music stopped.

  Of course he could.

  Robert took her hand while the other couples arranged themselves for the next dance in the set, leading her out of the line. Without looking back, one hand holding to her and the other resting on the hilt of the sword he wore, Robert wove through the crowds and out into the corridor. Without a word of protest, Penny followed as he took her to the stairs and down to the ground floor.

  There he paused, somewhat amazed that no one had stopped them, and that no one stood in the entryway to look askance at them. Not even a footman was in sight.

  Penny twined her fingers through his, bringing his attention back to her. When their eyes met, Penny tilted her head toward a pair of closed doors. Another moment and they were through those doors, in a darkened room where only a fire flickered in a hearth to give them light.

  He pulled his mask off, then took both her shoulders beneath his hands. “Penny.”

  Her hands slid onto his shoulders, then behind his neck. “Robert.” The firelight reflected in her eyes, dancing merrily. “Are you granting my wish?”

  Nothing else needed saying.

  Her lips were soft as before, and sweeter. Tired of being careful, overjoyed to have her in his arms, Robert crushed her to him and lost himself in kissing her most thoroughly. Her return kisses—ardent and full of longing—well enough signified she had waited for this moment with as much hope as he. They parted for breath at last, yet he could not refrain from brushing kisses across her forehead, then down the line of her nose, before capturing her lips again.

  Penny sighed, a sound of bliss, and Robert finally came to himself. He tipped his forehead to rest against hers, his arms found their way around her waist and his hands locked behind her. “My dearest Penny. You must be able to guess how much I care for you. Will you consider me an alternative to your plans, my love? Will you marry a steward or are you set on becoming a teacher?”

  “Oh, Robert.” She laughed breathlessly. “I would marry you if you were a clerk, or a footman, or a toll attendant. You are the only man I have ever loved.” Then she kissed him, standing on her toes with her hands cradling the back of his head. As he was settling into the moment, she abruptly stood back. “You must speak to my uncle—”

  “I spoke to him this morning. He gave me his blessing,” Robert hastily reassured her, chuckling when she frowned at him. “I take it he did not give me away.”

  “Not at all.” She shook her head, then placed one last, abbreviated kiss upon his cheek. “But we had better return to the party before he rescinds that blessing.”

  Taking her hand in his, Lord Justice escorted Lady Mercy back to the party, quite forgetting his mask. To which no one, not even Samuel or Peter, said a word.

  Epilogue

  December 24th, 1826

  Moving on quiet feet, Penny entered Robert’s at-home study. A quick glance about showed the chairs both near the fire and behind his desk empty. Pursing her lips, she crossed the corridor to the drawing room. The man could not have simply vanished. Yet he was not sitting upon the couch or in his favorite comfortable chair with a book, either. She turned to leave, but a quiet coo stopped her.

  Penny turned back to face
the room, puzzled. Robert was not sitting upon the couch, that she could see, but perhaps…

  Tiptoeing nearer, Penny peeked over the back of the furniture, and there she found her husband lying upon his back, head upon a cushion, and a small bundle cradled against his chest.

  Robert’s warm brown eyes met hers in the semi-darkness of the firelight, a drowsy smile upon his face. She came around to kneel beside him, not wishing to disturb the tiny one resting with him. “You sneaked Matthew out of the nursery again,” she accused quietly, smoothing back Robert’s hair.

  His expression turned plaintive. “I could hardly leave him there all alone. On the Eve of Christmas.” Robert’s smile returned when she leaned forward and kissed him. Then Penny stroked the soft, silky hair of their son. At only eight weeks old, he was the center of their world.

  Slowly, Robert sat up, keeping the baby named for her uncle tight against his chest. “Which reminds me. I have a small gift for you.”

  “Whatever for?” she asked quietly, sitting beside him. Robert stretched one arm behind her, the other remaining wrapped around their baby.

  “Because I am your husband, and I can give you gifts anytime I like. But this seems one that is most appropriate to give you tonight, so you may wear it to the ball tomorrow.” He kissed her forehead. “Reach into my waistcoat pocket, love.”

  Penny did and drew out a silver chain. Her lips parted to thank him, but then she saw there was something small dangling from the chain. Frowning, she held the chain up to the light and grasped the small round object in her finger. Then she laughed, though tears pricked at her eyes. “Robert. This isn’t the berry, is it?”

  “It is.” His grin turned sheepish. “I had it turned into a bead. I know it is simple, but I thought you might like to keep that reminder with you. Of last Christmas. Our first kiss. Disastrous though it was.”