A Common Christmas

by Sue London

  It was already dark outside again. Dibbs had brought up a candle and set it on her low bureau. He smiled down at her with unmistakable fondness and it made her heart turn over in her chest. “Is that what you’re trying to do?” he asked. He glanced over to where she had hung up the dress to let any wrinkles hang out. “You’ll be wanting to prepare for supper.”

  He turned to leave but she called out, “Wait.”

  She slipped from the bed and by the time he turned back she nestled into his arms.

  “Hullo,” he said in soft surprise.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “Hullo,” she said.

  He was warm and solid and smelled like peppermint. He pulled her close and stroked her back with gentle fingers. She didn’t care that she was dressed only in a chemise. That this was wholly improper. She wanted to stay like this forever and ever.

  But the staff would begin to gather in the kitchen soon and she wanted to serve them a Christmas supper they wouldn’t soon forget. So she drew back and said, “Happy Christmas.”

  Dibbs’ eyes were dark with wanting. Surely now he would kiss her. But he only replied, “Happy Christmas,” in a thick voice and then left her room, closing the door with a soft click.

  *

  He had known it was wrong to enter her room unbidden. When he had seen her asleep, looking so sweet and innocent, he had wanted to kiss her awake. He managed to fight that impulse but still woke her with his touch. She stretched and leaned into his hand like a cat. Then when he tried to leave before doing anything untoward she had called him back so that she could step into his arms and press her body against him. If he lived to be a hundred he would never forget the feel of her. The scent of her. She seduced him with an innocent affection, because surely if she knew the thoughts she roused in him she wouldn’t have done it. He had to escape before he kissed her. Because he knew it wouldn’t stop at a simple kiss.

  He went to his rooms to change for supper himself. It didn’t seem appropriate to wear his uniform.

  *

  Once dressed and sure that her hair was smoothed back to some semblance of order, Grace flew downstairs to arrange the supper table. She put out the linen and decorated the center of the table with the greenery she had saved. As she set out the plates, Dibbs came into the kitchen. She paused in her work and they stared at one another. He had changed clothes as well. He walked over and took her hand, pulling her away from the table and out where he could see her dress. Being near him made butterflies dance in her ribcage.

  “You look beautiful,” he said.

  She ran a hand over his chest. “You’re wearing a green waistcoat.”

  He smiled at her. “It seemed seasonal.”

  “And we match.”

  “And we match,” he agreed with a chuckle.

  They had drifted closer together as they spoke and were now only inches apart.

  “You look very handsome,” she whispered. He leaned down toward her and she closed her eyes for his kiss.

  But that was when the back door banged open and most of the staff came in to supper.

  Chapter Twelve

  When the back door let in a cold wind and three of the staff, Dibbs considered murder. He thought he had sent too many of the staff away, now it was clear it hadn’t been enough. Shortly Whit came down as well and Dibbs tried to join in the convivial banter of the gathering, but all he really wanted was to be alone with Grace.

  After she had filled the table with so much good food it would barely fit she announced she was giving out her first present. He hadn’t expected that she would have presents to give, but then she set a roasted chicken in front of Whit and everyone started laughing.

  “If this is better than your kippers,” the valet said, “I will consider it a marriage proposal.”

  “You’d best not!” she exclaimed. As she laughed she set her hand on Dibbs’ shoulder, which kept him from becoming too jealous over the thoughtful gift that the valet had received. Whit immediately set to negotiating whether anyone would be allowed bites of his treasured bird. After Grace finally sat, the group set to eating in earnest.

  There was laughter and merriment. Dibbs couldn’t remember any Christmas at Kellington that outshone it. Each time he looked over at Grace she glowed with joy and vivacity. As much as he enjoyed it, he couldn’t wait until the last members declared themselves stuffed so that the kitchen could be cleaned and he would finally have time alone with her.

  When she stood from the table she turned to old William. “Did you bring your fiddle?”

  “Indeed I did, missy.”

  “Fiddle?” Dibbs asked faintly.

  She gave him a radiant smile. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without song and dance, would it?”

  Under her direction the table was cleared and set against the wall, creating an open space in the large kitchen. William tuned his fiddle as Joe rearranged the chairs. Whit set out a bowl of Wassail.

  Satisfied with the arrangement in the kitchen, she leaned against his arm again. “Josh,” she said softly enough that he knew she was trying not to be overheard. “Don’t you think we should invite the earl to our party? He must be lonely.”

  He looked down to see her eyes were tinged with sympathy. Invite the Earl of Harrington to a commoner’s Christmas party in the kitchen? Never. But Gideon Wolfe, the young man that had grown up at Kellington? The scion that had delighted in escaping the house and playing with the servant children? Gideon would love just such a party. It wouldn’t hurt to ask and the earl could demur if he didn’t care to attend. Dibbs kept his voice low as well. “I think that’s quite insightful of you, Grace.” He lifted her hand and kissed it, eliciting another bright smile from her. “I’ll be back.”

  The earl was in his study reading. Dibbs had never known the man to spend so much time at rest, but perhaps all things changed in time.

  “My lord.”

  Gideon looked up, then raised a brow. “Dibbs, you aren’t wearing a jacket.”

  Dibbs looked down and confirmed that he was in fact in shirt sleeves. “I, ah, took it off after supper.”

  “I think it’s been a good ten years since I’ve seen you without your suit jacket, but then again I haven’t been here for Christmas.”

  “We are having a party downstairs, sir, and wondered if you would like to attend. There is to be music and dancing. Nothing formal of course, but…”

  The earl set his book aside and stood up, “Have you been drinking?” He sounded a bit incredulous so Dibbs thought it best to tread carefully.

  “A bit.”

  “A party with music, dancing, and Dibbs drinking? This is obviously something I can’t miss.” He gathered up some decanters from his sidebar. “Here, carry these. We’ll need this, too.”

  Dibbs balanced four bottles in his arms while Gideon had another three. “There will only be the seven of us, my lord. And Joey is just a child.”

  “Plenty to share then. Variety is the spice of life, Dibbs. Lead on.”

  By the time they were in the back hall they could clearly hear a jig being played on the fiddle. Entering the kitchen Dibbs saw that Grace was dancing around the center of the room with Joey while Joe and Whit were showing off steps to the boy. Seeing the earl arrive, Whit left off from dancing and helped to sort the decanters on the table.

  Grace let go of Joey and came over to greet the earl. She gave a small curtsy. “We’re so glad you could join us, my lord.”

  The smile the earl gave her plucked at Dibbs’ jealousies again. It wasn’t the earl’s fault that he happened to be tall, handsome, and charming. But it suddenly made Dibbs like him quite a bit less. Especially when followed by the statement, “Certainly we should leave off the ‘my lording’ for tonight.”

  Grace looked over to Dibbs in apparent panic.

  “I’m sorry, Gideon, we have a Cit in our midst. She has no idea what the proper etiquette is for your request.” Turning to Grace he said, “One calls a lord
whatever he wishes to be called whenever he wishes to be called it. I would suggest that he is inviting the use of Gideon or Harrington tonight.”

  She tried again. “We’re so glad you could join us, Mr. Harrington.”

  “Just Harrington,” Dibbs corrected.

  She looked back at Dibbs and blinked. “You people confuse me.”

  The earl laughed uproariously at her dry complaint, and humor set the tone as the party swung into high gear again. Everyone danced with everyone. The earl’s collection of decanters was steadily drained. The gaiety denied that it was only a small gathering, for it had the noise and motion of a party three times its size.

  When William took a break from fiddling, Grace announced that she was providing another gift to the group and set out platters of fancy biscuits and her special treat of fresh, warm gingerbread. Whit took that opportunity to renew his marriage proposal, and although Grace laughed she also leaned over to whisper in the valet’s ear. Dibbs felt a thread of jealousy again and wasn’t sure if it was good or ill that so much of his employer’s expensive brandy was running through his veins. Whit nodded and left the room. Dibbs tried to prepare himself for what he would do if Grace shortly followed, but apparently he needn’t have worried because she was walking towards him. She stopped a mere foot from him, her face flushed from dancing and the Wassail she had imbibed.

  “Hullo, Mr. Dibbs.”

  “Hullo, Miss Ashman.”

  “Happy Christmas.”

  “Yes it is, isn’t it?”

  She smiled at him, seeming pleased with her efforts. Then she gave him a thoughtful look. “You never correct me when I put a ‘mister’ in front of your name.”

  He took her hands in his own. Her skin was soft and smooth. Lovely. She was lovely. “No I don’t. Have I told you that my father is also a butler?”

  “I don’t think so, but I suppose that makes sense.”

  “Only one person calls him Mr. Dibbs.”

  “Who?”

  “My mother.”

  She looked both startled and pleased by that. She opened her mouth to say something, but was distracted by Whit returning with a large, square red box under his arm. Keeping Dibbs’ hand in her own she tugged him with her over towards Whit. Dibbs sorely hoped he wasn’t going to have fisticuffs with the man again. Grace retrieved the red box from the valet and walked over to the earl.

  “Harrington,” she said, “I’ve had to improvise on Christmas gifts this year. But I hope this will bring you many years of joy.”

  He looked surprised but took the box from her and opened it. The black kitten Grace had arrived with poked her head out, making the earl laugh again.

  Grace chuckled and said, “Really this is just formalizing the arrangement she has made for herself as the Harrington Town House cat.”

  “I didn’t realize she was your cat, Miss Ashman. You may, of course, have her back if you wish.”

  “She was only mine for a few days before I arrived here, and it’s clear that she far prefers you.”

  The earl set the box down on the hearth so that the kitten could climb out at her leisure. Once she had, she set to cleaning herself with a vengeance. “Thank you very much for the gift, Miss Ashman. And for the sweets. I must say that your baking is among the best I have ever tasted.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dibbs was a bit surprised when the earl turned and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dibbs, a word if you please.”

  “Of course, sir.” As they moved to a more remote corner of the kitchen he found that all the expensive brandy didn’t do a very good job of forestalling anxiety. “Is something wrong, sir?”

  “Wrong? I don’t think so. I rely on you to tell me when things are wrong. This has been remarkably enjoyable. Do you spend every Christmas like this?”

  Perhaps in the future he hoped to. “No, sir. This is entirely Miss Ashman. When it comes to Christmas she is a force to be reckoned with.”

  “I thought that might be true, otherwise why send all the staff away?”

  Ah, at last. The earl had decided that he did not like having all the staff away. “Why, indeed, sir.”

  “Now is no time to be circumspect. You showed initiative ensuring that as many staff as possible were able to spend the most holy of days with family and loved ones. Except for yourself. When is the last time you were home for Christmas, Dibbs?”

  “I’ve not been to Kellington since I was assigned to London.”

  “Not since-Whyever not?”

  “My first duty is to this house.”

  “Dibbs, that’s… I should have anticipated this, shouldn’t I?

  “It’s not a bother, my l-Gideon. It’s my duty.”

  “You loved Christmas at Kellington.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You were always in the middle of everything. You directed us in gathering the greenery, selecting the Yule log. I doubt that I have a single childhood memory of Christmas that doesn’t have you in it. You led us boys when we went skating and taught us how to build snow forts.” Gideon paused for a moment, considering. “I have been lamenting to myself in recent years that Christmas at Kellington wasn’t what it used to be, and now I have to wonder if it’s simply because you aren’t there.”

  “I sincerely doubt that, sir.”

  “I don’t. I’ll admit that it didn’t help to receive a polite decline for the fourth year in a row from the duke. That’s what pushed me to quit Kellington this year. But our new tradition will be to close the town house, and any staff that doesn’t have other plans can repair to Kellington with us. And you must bring your Miss Ashman with you. Her biscuits will be a welcome addition to our larder.”

  Dibbs glanced over at Grace. The magic of Christmas was in laughter, a giving spirit, and the sense of peace bestowed by the Christ child. Growing up, he had assumed such magic was dependent on being with scores of people, including close family. She had proved to him that even a disparate group of seven could embrace the season just as fully, as deeply, as any celebration had at Kellington. He was grateful that she had shared Christmas with all of them, including the earl. “As you wish, sir.”

  “If you call me sir one more time tonight there will likely be a brawl.”

  Dibbs allowed himself a smile. “You just want an opportunity to prove you finally grew bigger than me.”

  *

  Grace kept an eye on Dibbs talking with the earl in the corner. Dibbs had seemed quite stressed when the conversation began, but was more relaxed now. Even after they started a friendly shoving match she wasn’t quite as worried as she had been when she had seen his pale, pinched face at the beginning of the discussion.

  Whit spoke at her elbow. “That’s good to see.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Josh and Gideon,” he said, motioning to the shoving match with his slice of gingerbread. “When Gideon ascended everything changed overnight.”

  “And not in a good way?”

  “Not in a good way,” he agreed.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “It’s a long story; I’ll let Josh tell you. But it’s been a long ten years. Eleven now, I suppose.”

  “How long have you been his valet?”

  “Pretty much his whole life. Officially for, oh, fifteen years.”

  “You’ve all been together forever. It feels very odd having only been here for a few days.”

  He waved the last bite of gingerbread. “And yet you fit in so easily. You will be staying with us, won’t you?”

  She looked back over to Dibbs, where he was now leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling and chatting with the earl. “I don’t know,” she said absently. “I tend to think not.”

  Whit grabbed her hand. “Don’t say that! Who will roast my chickens, make my gingerbread?”

  The valet’s expression of mock terror made her laugh. “I’m sure you’ll find some way to get on, as you
did before I arrived.”

  “How can you be so blasé? Having touched heaven, even being set back on earth seems the worst sort of torture.”

  Grace laughed in earnest now. “Goodness, Mr. Whitman, you do know how to do it a bit brown.”

  *

  Dibbs missed the last thing Gideon said because Whit was holding Grace’s hand and she was laughing. He really needed to find a way to control this jealousy because it wasn’t wholesome. Whit was flirtatious. Grace was friendly. It didn’t mean anything at all if they were just being themselves. But what bothered him the most was that he had no claim on her. No true right to challenge another man who might be too fresh with her. He felt his fists clenched and knew that having the right or no, he would defend her should she need it. He saw Whit stroke the sensitive skin on the underside of Grace’s wrist, startling her, and thought perhaps he should check on them.

  “Excuse me, please, my lord.”

  *

  After her accusation Mr. Whitman had started to wax poetic, as though her saying he was doing it a bit brown was a challenge. Then she heard Dibbs at her shoulder.

  “Is he bothering you?”

  “I think he’s on the verge of proposing to me again in order to secure a future of roast chicken and gingerbread.”

  “There’s more than one way to do that. You could marry me instead.”

  Grace’s gaze flew up to meet Dibbs’. His summer blue eyes were sincere, no hint of teasing. The room grew quiet as if everyone were collectively holding their breath waiting for her answer. She had already paused too long to simply laugh off his offer as though she thought he was joking. But there were too many things to consider. She didn’t want to be a servant. She didn’t want to accept simply because she was homeless and desperate. On the other hand, she didn’t want to hurt him, either. She loved him, she already knew that. As he wasn’t the type to make casual proposals, she knew he felt a great deal of affection for her as well. If only they’d had the chance to talk about the future before this. Now five people stared at them while she dithered, one of them a Peer. It was an almost unbearable torture. Quickly she tried to imagine possible futures, ones both with and without Joshua Dibbs in them. Surely she would see some clear path?