by Sue London
She chose to celebrate. And she started by showing Joey how to tie up greens with wire and ribbons to make decorative swags.
Chapter Seven
Dibbs was surprised at how many places greenery began to magically appear throughout the morning. Waxy holly leaves and bright red berries adorning the candlesticks in the front hall. A swag of evergreen boughs affixed to the mantle in the earl’s study with a velvet bow. More evergreen artfully decorating the earl’s breakfast table. Even if it was all quite lovely and tastefully done, he wasn’t sure how the earl would respond. Although the lord had always been indulgent in allowing the Christmas traditions at Kellington since he had ascended, he had never quite been involved with them. Not like when he was a child. There had been a time when the lord himself would tromp through the forest gathering greens and laughing with the other children. But that was many years ago. The letters Dibbs had received from his mother made it clear that over the years the earl had withdrawn further and further from the celebrations. It was possible he had come to London to escape the effect of the season altogether. If so, the decorations would be far from welcome.
When the earl came in from his morning ride Dibbs attended him at table.
“Have you been to the stables this morning, Dibbs?”
The butler paused briefly while pouring the earl’s coffee. “No, my lord, should I have been?”
“All the horses have ribbons and bells braided in their manes.”
Dibbs felt his heart sink lower. Surely that was an affront to the earl’s prized stallion. “I can have them removed, my lord.”
The earl smiled. “Perish the thought! One cannot interrupt the work of elves.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
“However, if you don’t have time for such frivolity on a limited staff, certainly don’t do it on my account.”
Well, there it was. The earl had acknowledged the reduced staff and it would only be appropriate to do the same. To confess his sins. He was gripping the handle of the silver coffee urn so tightly that he was sure his hand was turning white. “My lord, about that. About the household.”
The earl looked up, polite inquisitiveness on his face. “Yes?”
Dibbs knew the earl had a temper but didn’t treat his staff with anything less than kindness. Guests at times got short shrift, but rarely employees. It would remain to be seen if this would be one of those rare times. “It’s entirely my fault, my lord. I had become too certain that you would holiday at Kellington and sent the staff to their families. It won’t happen again, my lord.”
“How long have we known each other, Dibbs?”
The butler betrayed a ghost of a smile. “I’ve known you all your life, my lord.” Had, in fact, been seven when the future earl had been born.
“I am warm, fed, and even properly dressed. What makes you think I need for more? I’m sure we can muddle along until the staff returns.”
“As you say, my lord.”
The earl turned his attention back to his breakfast. “I’m beginning to think that Cook was among those who went on holiday.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“Who is doing the cooking now?”
“Miss Ashman, my lord.”
“You were fortunate to find her on short notice, then. Simple foods, but quite delicious.”
“Yes, my lord.” Honestly, Dibbs didn’t know quite what he could have done without Miss Ashman.
*
Grace patiently assembled more greens with wire and ribbons. Her fingers were getting sore with all the twisting of tiny wires and poking from the evergreens and holly leaves. But she was sure the effect would be worth it. Although she needed to finish soon so that she could prepare the earl’s luncheon.
“Can I help?”
She looked up to see Dibbs hovering in the parlor doorway. If he was offering to help that meant the earl had not been opposed to the symbols of Christmas cheer that he had seen. She was sure that otherwise Dibbs would have demanded she remove every single jot of decoration. There were dogs less loyal than Dibbs.
“Yes, please.” She stood up and stretched her back. “This is for the banister.”
He helped her gather up the garland she had created and they set to draping it along the front stairs. Once she was satisfied with how the greenery was displayed and had it finished off with a large red bow she turned back to the butler. “Thank you very much. I must go to the kitchen for a bit.”
“Is there anything I can do in the meantime?”
He seemed earnest in his desire to help with the decorations so she led him back to where she had the greenery sorted in the parlor. “I’m planning to put a small embellishment on each of the portrait frames.” She demonstrated the way she planned to combine evergreen and holly in a small sprig with a bow.
“That would be all the portrait frames?” he asked.
She smiled. “At least in the common rooms.”
He nodded with the resolution of a man going to war. With some trepidation she pressed her sample sprig into his hands and left for the kitchens.
*
Dibbs was so focused on forming the small decorations that he didn’t hear Whit enter the parlor.
“I see she has you working now, too.”
Dibbs frowned at the valet. “I don’t see you working. You can help me put these on the portrait frames.”
Whit sauntered over to inspect the work. “She had me do something similar in the earl’s rooms. I can’t imagine Gideon needs a sprig of holly on his looking glass, but she seemed determined.”
Dibbs frowned at Whit’s use of the earl’s given name. Being familiar with the earl was not something the butler typically encouraged. However, Whit was the one that traveled everywhere with the earl so perhaps it was natural. It had been quite a long time since Dibbs had even thought of the earl as Gideon, much less called him that. Master Gideon was the boy that he, Whit, and the other children at Kellington had played with. Dibbs’ own father had always discouraged the use of a familiar name for the future earl, but there had been a time that it had only seemed natural. When Gideon had seemed less like Quality and more like a younger cousin.
Then the elder earl died and Gideon ascended to the title. The earl had been seventeen when he inherited. Even as a twenty-four year old footman at Kellington, Dibbs could tell that the grief and responsibility had nearly driven the young man mad. That was when Dibbs had developed something of a habit of cleaning up after him. Shortly the earl had transferred Dibbs to be a footman at the London house. Thus began the period when Whit and Dibbs would follow the earl on his wildly debauched evenings, ready to assist the earl should he need it. Up to and including carrying him home. Or, when the situation warranted it, summoning his good friend the Duke of Beloin to intercede on the earl’s behalf.
The situation warranted it more often than one might have expected.
During those years Dibbs hadn’t thought of the earl as Gideon at all. Even now he bore little resemblance to the youth he had been.
Whit clucked his tongue. “You’re doing that thing again.”
Dibbs frowned. “What thing?”
“That thing where you worry so much that steam actually rises off of you.” Whit waved his hands over Dibbs to indicate steam billowing off. “If I didn’t know any better I would think that something is wrong.”
Dibbs gathered up the holiday sprigs and muttered. “I’m not sure what’s going right.”
Whit ticked items off on his fingers. “The earl is happy, we’re well fed, and it’s Christmas. It’s even starting to feel like Christmas.” The valet scooped up more than half the sprigs. “And I’m going to hang these for you so that the delightful Miss Ashman can see how productive I am.”
“She isn’t for you to toy with, Whit.”
“Nonsense. Everyone is for me to toy with. But don’t get your knickers in a twist. I shan’t try to bed the girl. Depending on the prey, the chase can be even more enjoyable than the kill.”
&n
bsp; Dibbs bristled. “Whit, I’m not joking.”
After a moment studying the butler, Whit sobered. “Don’t worry, I am. She’s perfectly safe here.”
The valet set off towards the music room with his cache of sprigs but stopped as Dibbs added softly, “And Whit, is the earl truly happy?”
Whit paused before saying, “Happy? No. But happier than I have seen him in some time.”
The butler nodded. That was something at least.
Chapter Eight
Grace wasn’t sure the last time she had felt so tired, but the effort seemed to be worth it. They had all supped on medallions of beef, a meal that had been the very pinnacle of her repertoire at home and at the earl’s table was most likely considered common fare. But she had been well pleased with the results. Meanwhile, the house was filled with greenery. She had even saved some pieces to use in the kitchen. It still felt like the men were humoring her determination to celebrate the season, but she had to admit that she was determined. If anyone knew that opportunities were fleeting, that all could be lost, it was her. Why lose this chance to fill such a lovely home with the sights, sounds, and smells of the holiday? Heavens knew that she would be lucky to have a boarding room come this time next year, with no family or friends to speak of.
Dibbs entered the kitchen as she was finishing up cleaning the last of her pots and scanned the orderliness of the room as he was wont to do. She wondered if he even realized his tendency to do so. Everything was apparently in order since he turned to her and said, “Good evening, Miss Ashman.”
“Good evening, Mr. Dibbs. When will we be leaving for church?” He looked at her blankly for a moment so she prompted, “For the midnight Christmas service?”
“I wasn’t planning to attend.”
Whit entered the kitchen at the end of Dibbs’ statement. “Attend what?”
Grace turned to the valet. “Midnight mass for Christmas.”
Whit selected an orange from the bowl on the table and then lounged against the surface, slowly peeling the fruit. “I would be happy to take you, Miss Ashman.”
The glower Dibbs turned on the valet was dire. Whit grinned in response.
“Certainly Joe is taking Joey as well,” Grace said.
Whit shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”
Grace frowned at Dibbs. “Why don’t you gather the staff for the service?”
“Yes, Dibbs,” Whit echoed, “Why don’t you gather the staff for the service?”
The butler continued to give the valet a baleful glare but answered Grace politely enough, “I don’t presume to tell the staff how to spend their free time.”
Whit snorted with laughter. “If only that were true.”
Grace discovered that it was quite freeing to know that she wouldn’t be staying on at the house, as she was able to speak her mind. “Mr. Whitman, why do you insist on antagonizing Mr. Dibbs?”
The valet looked surprised. “Me? He’s the overbearing, officious one!”
“I daresay it’s the nature of his job. How long would you tolerate me rifling through the earl’s wardrobe, leaving everything in a ripped, soiled mess?”
Whit looked from Grace to Dibbs and back again, answering with a sardonic grin. “Not even five minutes.”
“Then have some sympathy or that’s precisely what I will do.” She turned back to the butler. “Now, Mr. Dibbs, about the midnight mass.”
*
Dibbs wondered how he had seen her as a timid doe. He had let nothing short of a mother bear into their household. One moment defending him, and the next demanding that he bow to her wishes.
“Miss Ashman, I don’t think-”
Whit stopped him with a friendly hand on the shoulder. “She’s threatened the earl’s clothing. I’m inclined to give her what she wants.”
“A lot of help you are,” Dibbs shot at the valet.
“You’re still quibbling like…” she paused and looked back and forth between them. “You aren’t brothers are you?”
“Cousins,” Dibbs said.
“You don’t look much alike.”
Whit turned in profile. “We used to have the same nose. Until he broke mine.”
“Cry baby.”
“Ruffian.”
Miss Ashman laughed, a little burble of pleasure. “And here I thought you hated each other.”
Dibbs shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“I can only think of one thing I could do to make Josh hate me, so I suppose that’s the one thing I won’t do.” Whit took Miss Ashman’s hand to kiss it. “I trust you have our cantankerous butler well in hand. I will round up the rest of the staff.”
Dibbs felt a flare of panic. “But the earl-”
Whit interrupted. “Will undoubtedly survive an hour or two alone in the house in the middle of the night.”
Miss Ashman asked, “The earl won’t be going as well?”
Dibbs drew breath to voice an unequivocal no but Whit beat him to it. “The earl’s nickname is Lord Lucifer, love. Certainly we don’t want the church bursting into flames while everyone is gathered for Christmas mass.”
Miss Ashman’s eyes rounded in surprise and she remained quiet until the valet left the room. The silence stretched between them. She was eying him a bit curiously and he was fairly sure she was going to ask after the earl’s nickname, something he was not inclined to discuss, but her next question took him by surprise. “Your name is Josh?”
“Yes, why?”
“That isn’t a very… stuffy name.” He didn’t know quite what to say to that and his continued silence made her chatter some more. “I expected it to be something like Albert or, I don’t know, William. Something, you know…”
“Stuffy?”
She blushed but nodded.
“Certainly you realize that Whit would just turn those names into something like Bertie and Willy, rendering them yet again not stuffy.”
“So he’s the only one who calls you Josh?”
He found that he rather liked the sound of his name on her lips. He wondered how he could encourage her to use it as much as possible. “My parents call me Joshua.” He could feel a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he added. “Everyone else calls me Dibbs.”
She poked his shoulder. He was beginning to like it when she did that. Few people felt comfortable enough with him to be playful. “Dibbs isn’t your name,” she said, “it’s more your title.”
He caught her finger before she could poke him again. It was tempting to kiss it. That’s what Whit would have done. Undoubtedly Whit would have kissed her by now.
“And what is it,” she asked, as though knowing the thoughts that ran through his mind, “that Mr. Whitman could do that would make you hate him?”
“I haven’t the foggiest,” he said, reluctantly letting her finger go. “But if there is anyone who can figure out how to make me angry, it’s Whit.”
“You’re the older of the two, aren’t you?”
Now he was grinning. “By two years.”
“It all starts to make sense. You were an unbearably serious child, weren’t you?”
His grin faded. “I was oldest. I was responsible for the rest of them.”
“Mr. Dibbs,” she admonished. “It’s long past time you learn that responsibility is not a burden.” She gave one more look around the kitchen to assure everything was to rights, and then announced. “I’m going to fetch my walking cloak and mittens and will meet you here in a trice. Don’t forget to dress warmly.”
Dibbs didn’t think he had ever been so neatly, or nicely, trapped into a course of action by anyone. She wasn’t shrewish or overbearing. She seemed genuinely convinced that gathering the staff for an outing to the church was simply the right thing to do. She was gently determined to celebrate the season with all the joy and circumstance of a woman surrounded by her closest friends and family. It made Dibbs miss Kellington and his parents all the more keenly as that was the only Christmas he had ever known. But it was clear that he was the only one fi
ghting her. The earl seemed charmed by the touches around the house. This morning Joey had been wide-eyed and delighted as only children can be about the holiday, his father looking on indulgently. And Whit. Well, the valet was clearly charmed by Miss Ashman overall. The thought of having Whit escort the young woman to church set his teeth on edge.
“I just need to apprise the earl of our plans,” he said.
She acknowledged him with a nod and smile, disappearing up the back steps to fetch her things.
Now he had to hope that their plans didn’t upset the earl.
Chapter Nine
Grace stood outside the servant’s door with the rest of the home’s staff, save Mr. Dibbs. She hoped that he hadn’t changed his mind about going. How a man of such a serious and responsible nature didn’t understand his role in setting a good example, she couldn’t fathom. It was bitterly, almost brutally, cold outside, and they all stood stamping and shifting to keep warm. But there was an air of frivolity to the group as well. An indefinable sense of holiday cheer that brought a smile to her lips. Then the back door opened again and Dibbs let himself out, locking the door behind him.
“Everyone remember that we can’t lose Dibbs,” Whit said, “or we’ll never get back inside. I wouldn’t care to freeze to death outside on Christmas.”
Joey pulled on the valet’s coat sleeve. “You could sleep in the stables with us.”
Whit scooped the boy up. “Could I now? I suppose smelling like horses and hay would be better than freezing to death.”
“Do I smell like horses and hay?” the boy asked.
“When you walked up earlier I mistook you for a pony. Then you spoke instead of whinnying and I realized my mistake.”
“Don’t tease him so!” Grace admonished. She buried her nose in Joey’s neck and took a good sniff. “No, you smell like little boy.”
He looked at his father. “What do little boys smell like?”
But it was Dibbs who answered. “Snips and snails and puppy dog tails.” He sniffed at Joey’s neck, but huffed out a tickling breath that made the little boy squeal and squirm in Whit’s arms. “Indeed. Also, apparently, cinnamon.”
