Callum managed not to frown. How could she know…?
Then again, she was Lady Osbaldestone.
Satisfied that one romance-of-the-season was progressing toward a happy conclusion, Therese turned her attention to her other emotional concern. While exchanging comments and observations with those around her, she searched the crowd for Melissa and Dagenham. After quitting the church with the rest of the choristers, they’d initially remained with the group of Therese’s grandchildren and Henry’s friends, but now, Therese noted, the pair had drifted away from the others into the less-populated graveyard on the other side of the path.
Melissa halted beside one of the larger, still-upright gravestones, where the shadow cast by a nearby tree provided a measure of privacy, and swung to face Dagenham. He halted before her, his back to the crowd still milling before the church.
Through the dimness, his eyes met hers. Half a minute passed, then, unobtrusively, he reached for her gloved hand, and she surrendered it.
His fingers moved over hers, a subtle caress she felt even through her gloves.
Their gazes held; they both knew this was the moment in which they had to face reality. Last year, this year—all the moments of their mutual past led, inexorably, to this.
When he didn’t say anything, she drew in a tight breath, tipped up her chin, and stated, “I’m only fifteen. And now you’re on the town…” She shook her head. “I can’t ask you to wait for me. That wouldn’t be fair.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then, his voice deep, countered, “Can I ask you to wait for me?”
She considered that, then inclined her head. “You could try…”
He studied her face, his thumb drawing circles over her knuckles, then his lips twisted, and he whispered, “That wouldn’t be fair, either.”
She drew in a breath and shifted to stare, unseeing, across the quiet graveyard. “It’s as if Fate is toying with us—letting us find each other when I’m still so young.” Her tone ached with frustration.
Dagenham’s lips fleetingly lifted. “I’m not that old, either.”
She met his eyes. “Old enough.”
He knew what she meant; at twenty-one, he was old enough to go on the town—indeed, henceforth, he would be expected to be seen in London’s ballrooms and drawing rooms and making the rounds of the clubs—and being heir to the Earl of Carsely, he was also of sufficient age to be expected to look about him for a bride.
He could put off that necessary decision for some years, yet from the opening of the upcoming Season until he chose his bride, he would rank as one of the most eligible noblemen in the ton.
His gaze steady on hers, he didn’t try to deny any of that—didn’t try to argue.
Feeling tense almost beyond bearing, Melissa dipped her head and conceded, “But that’s not really the point. Not really relevant—not here and now.” She drew in a breath and brittlely stated, “The truth is that there’s nothing we can do but agree to let this”—she raised the hand he still held a few inches, then let it fall—“whatever it is, whatever it might mean, go. It’s come too early—happened too soon. Neither of us is ready—neither of us is in a position to make anything of it, even if we wished to.”
“We wish to.” Uttered without hesitation or doubt, the clipped words were absolute.
Her eyes had flown to his; she considered what she could read in the shadowed gray, then tipped her head in acknowledgment. “Perhaps—but we can’t.”
She swung her gaze to the graveyard once more, trying to marshal the words that had to be said between them. “Neither of us has yet lived long enough to learn what else might be out there—what our futures might hold. You’re about to start at the Home Office—you don’t know if that will suit or where your path might take you. I…have at least two years yet in the schoolroom—more likely, three. At least. And that’s assuming nothing unexpected happens that might interfere with my coming-out.” She gathered her will, raised her chin, and forced herself to say, “We can’t do anything other than agree to go our separate ways.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “We could wait and see…”
She pressed her lips together and briefly closed her eyes. He wasn’t making this easy; she hadn’t expected him to be so reluctant. Opening her eyes, she drew in a short, tight breath and, still looking at the gravestones, said, “We have to part—we have to agree we each have no claim of any sort on the other—but yes, we can still wait and see…”
She didn’t believe their ill-fated romance that hadn’t even had a chance to bloom would survive. “If this, between us, is meant to be—”
They’d spoken in unison.
She broke off as he did, her gaze rising to his face.
His eyes captured hers, and he drew in a tense breath and continued, “If we are meant to be, then perhaps, in time…”
When he faltered, she supplied, “Perhaps, in time, we will be.”
If this is love—and if it lasts.
Neither of them knew; neither could tell.
Neither could make any promise.
The unvoiced words and the acknowledgment of their helplessness were conveyed in the look they shared.
A sudden rush of footsteps crunched through the snow toward them.
“No! Stop!”
“Ooh, don’t you dare, Georgie Tooks!”
A bevy of village children raced past, shrieking and darting between the gravestones, a flurry of snowballs flying.
Melissa’s and Dagenham’s breaths hitched, and they stepped back.
Then they looked at each other, and Dagenham squeezed Melissa’s fingers one last time, then let go, and they turned and, with him sliding his hands into his greatcoat pockets and her wrapping hers in the ends of her shawl, walked, side by side, to where the others, still talking and laughing, remained gathered in a knot on the lawn.
“What-ho!” Henry clapped his hands together as Melissa and Dagenham rejoined the group. Henry tipped his head to where Lady Osbaldestone and her circle were starting down the path to the lane. “Looks like it’s time we were on our way to our dinner at the manor.”
Everyone smiled and agreed, and the company—including Jamie, George, Lottie, and Mandy—headed off along the path. As with Dagenham on one side and Mandy on the other, Melissa walked toward the lychgate, she accepted that there truly was nothing more to be said—and nothing at all that she or Dagenham could do.
No option; no real choice.
They had to place what might have grown between them in the hands of Fate—and wait and see what the years ahead brought.
Therese looked around her dining table with a sense of abiding satisfaction bordering on contentment. Dinner at Hartington Manor following the carol service was becoming an established tradition among the gentry in the village. All those she’d invited were there—Horace and Sally Swindon, Christian and Eugenia Longfellow, Ermintrude Woolsey, and Jeremy and Henrietta Colebatch, as well as Henry and his four friends, along with Therese’s grandchildren, and last but not least, Professor Webster, Honor Webster, and Callum Goodrich.
On arriving, everyone had taken due note of the yule log, burning steadily in the grate in the front hall. The initial gathering in the drawing room had lasted only long enough for everyone to partake of Mrs. Crimmins’s eggnog, before Therese—informed by Crimmins that Mrs. Haggerty, who had slaved all day to prepare what she deemed a suitable feast, was growing anxious over the state of the geese—had waved her guests into the dining room.
She’d duly directed everyone to their places, this year putting Jeremy Colebatch at the head of the table opposite herself. As soon as everyone had sat, Therese had invited Jeremy to say grace, then Crimmins and Orneby had ferried in the first course, a rich game soup that had warmed everyone up.
The company talked, laughed, and exclaimed and—inevitably—started telling stories as they progressed via a remove to the fish course and, subsequently, to the main course, anchored by two succulent roast geese and a r
oasted haunch of boar.
Therese had spent some hours mulling over her seating arrangement. As she had in years past when entertaining in Little Moseley, she’d ignored correct protocol, which would have placed Dagenham—the most senior peer present—by her side and, instead, sat people in the places she deemed most helpful in assisting her in her aims.
Consequently, most members of the older generations were seated closer to her, with only Sally Swindon and Ermintrude Woolsey flanking Jeremy at the far end of the table. Therese had placed Horace Swindon on her left and Henrietta Colebatch on her right, with the Longfellows next along on either side.
Beyond Eugenia and Christian sat the Websters, across the table from each other, with Callum Goodrich on Honor’s other side. Having observed the connection which seemed to be strengthening hour by hour between Honor and Callum, and also the degree of mutual relief flowing between the professor and his erstwhile protégé, Therese had thought that placement sensible and helpful, and as the meal was devoured and comments exchanged across the board, she felt vindicated in that regard.
In the drawing room, she’d stolen a moment to have a quiet word with the professor; it had transpired that he wasn’t as blind as she’d feared, and from what she’d gleaned, he viewed a potential marriage between Honor and Callum as something close to a dream come true.
As he should; having Callum working in close association would do the old man good.
On the Goodrich-Webster front, Therese felt thoroughly content. And in respect of the Hartington Hoard, all was decided and would, no doubt, proceed as they’d agreed, and Callum and the professor had spoken of the possibility of returning in summer with a band of students to excavate further in the manor woods, a prospect Therese was quite looking forward to. Aside from all else, the proposed return would allow her to monitor Callum and Honor’s progress to the altar; indeed, with any luck, they would be married by then.
Smiling in anticipation, Therese studied the pair, then allowed her gaze to continue down the table.
She’d sat Lottie next to Callum, with Dagenham beyond; despite Lottie’s tender years, Therese had every confidence that Lottie would listen and not unnecessarily interfere with the conversations on either side of her—those between Callum and Honor and between Dagenham and Melissa. Moreover, neither gentleman would feel overly pressured to make conversation with a seven-year-old girl, particularly not one giving an exceedingly good imitation of being entirely engrossed with the food on her plate.
Hiding a small smile, Therese glanced across the table; she’d placed Henry opposite Callum, and Mandy opposite Lottie, with Thomas Kilburn beyond—opposite Melissa. As Therese had hoped, despite occasional concerned glances at Melissa, Mandy devoted herself to holding both Henry’s and Kilburn’s attention to the extent that neither so much as looked at what was transpiring across the board.
The rest of the company—George Wiley, Jamie, Mrs. Woolsey, Reverend Colebatch, Sally Swindon, George, and Roger Carnaby—were ably entertaining themselves about the other end of the table; Therese wasn’t sure—couldn’t tell—if anyone other than herself, Mandy, and Lottie was aware of the constraint that now existed between Dagenham and Melissa.
They attempted to smile, to keep up appearances, and given the rest of the company’s apparent obliviousness, in that, they largely succeeded. They continued to speak to each other, exchanging comments as anyone would expect, but now their tones were subdued and their expressions somber, and when their eyes met, their gazes would lock for but an instant before one or the other—and most often both—would look away.
From the aura of fatalistic sadness that hung over them both, Therese concluded that they’d made their difficult decision and released all claim on each other. She felt a pang over what she suspected they were feeling, yet in her heart, she knew they’d made the right choice and could only commend their courage in doing so.
They were too young to tie themselves down—both too young to make a pledge that would link them for the rest of their lives. Yet Therese was a firm believer in the old adage that if something was truly meant to be, Fate wouldn’t forget and, when the time was right, would move her pieces on the board of life, and the inevitable would come to be.
Viewing the pair, all but feeling their youthful heartache, Therese made a mental note to have a word with her daughter Henrietta, Melissa’s mother, stressing that Melissa and Dagenham were to be supported in their decision—that it now rested with Fate and not any human agency as to whether, years from now, something came of this nascent connection, and moreover, that nothing would be gained, and worse, all could be lost were any attempt made to influence the outcome.
Therese’s gaze shifted to Mandy, and Therese noted the swift glance Melissa’s older sister sent Melissa’s way. Therese had wondered what had been behind Mandy’s insistence on accompanying Melissa to Little Moseley; she’d been concerned about what motives Mandy might have harbored vis-à-vis Melissa and Dagenham. But she needn’t have worried.
Although these last weeks had been the first during which Mandy had spent any extended time under Therese’s eye, she had to admit to being impressed by the traits that, transparently to Therese, Mandy had displayed. She’d been first and foremost concerned for Melissa, but after meeting Dagenham and seeing Melissa and him together, Mandy had been nothing but supportive. She was, it seemed, naturally caring and protective, and in dealing with the issue of her younger sister’s ill-fated romance, Mandy had shown and continued to demonstrate more maturity than Therese had expected from one of her years.
Therese had also noted that Mandy wasn’t susceptible to the charms of, for instance, Thomas Kilburn, despite considerable effort on his part. That, too, was all to the good. Mandy appeared to have a sound, level head on her shoulders; Therese added that to the information she intended conveying to Henrietta.
Therese viewed her new insight into Mandy’s character as another blessing accruing from the past three weeks.
After taking several minutes to contribute to the conversations nearer at hand, Therese swept her gaze once more around her table and felt contentment well and warm her. To her mind, the outcome of this year’s events—the Roman hoard, the evolving romance between Callum and Honor, the long-overdue reconciliation between Callum and the professor—stood as testimony to the inherent magic of Christmastime in Little Moseley.
Her gaze settled on her three younger grandchildren; judging by the animation they’d displayed throughout their stay, barring unforeseen disasters, she suspected that she and her household could look forward to hosting them again next year.
The prospect filled her heart with joyful anticipation; the pleasure and entertainment the three brought to her and her staff—indeed, to the whole village—was a gift quite literally beyond price.
Not long after, with everyone sitting back, replete, and the platters all but empty, Crimmins, Mrs. Crimmins, and Orneby came in to clear the table. The instant they did, Tilly and Dulcie swept in, bearing large jugs of steaming golden custard.
After setting the jugs on the table, the maids stepped back, eyes alight, their gazes going to the door. Then Mrs. Haggerty appeared, bearing a large plum pudding, wreathed in blue brandy-flames, on a silver platter.
Mrs. Crimmins and Orneby followed, bearing two more fiery plum puddings.
The women set the puddings down along the board, then, after the guests had oohed and aahed and the flames had died down, served slices onto plates, which the maids handed around.
The staff stood back against the walls. Therese glimpsed Crimmins and Simms peering in from the hall. With everyone watching, Therese picked up her spoon and gestured to her guests to do the same.
At her signal, the company dug into the luscious pudding, soft and sweet and surprisingly moist. Therese savored her first mouthful and spontaneously closed her eyes in sensory delight. From all about her came sounds suggestive of gustatory swoons.
She opened her eyes, intending to compliment Mrs. Haggerty�
��who’d been watching anxiously—but Henry spoke first.
“Oh, my Lord! This is heavenly.” Henry grabbed his goblet and raised it to Mrs. Haggerty. “I give you the inimitable Mrs. Haggerty and her plum pudding recipe!”
“Hear, hear!” came from everyone at the table as they raised their glasses to the cook, who blushed deeply and executed a rather wobbly curtsy, then without more ado, the staff—all the rest smiling fit to burst—beat a hasty retreat.
The door had barely shut when Lottie let out a squeal. She held up a shiny coin. “I’ve got a sixpence!”
The others laughed, smiled, and congratulated Lottie, then applied themselves to their plates, and soon, Henry, and then—of all people—Callum found silver pennies in their helpings, while Honor was blessed with a threepence, and Mrs. Colebatch as well, and finally, Mandy found another penny.
“That’s correct.” Smiling, Therese nodded down the table. “Each pudding had two coins—a penny in each, plus one other silver coin.”
“So we’ve found all the treasure,” Jamie said, with just a thread of disappointment in his voice.
Therese noted it, along with the look Callum exchanged with Honor; his eyes plainly stated that, about that table, treasure existed in many forms.
Deeming the sentiment exquisitely en pointe, Therese reached for her glass and raised it. “I have a toast for you all.” She waited until everyone had their glasses in hand, then looked at her grandchildren, one by one. “I give you our most precious treasures, wherever they are found.”
The “Hear, hear” that followed was powerful and strong, and everyone drank, then returned to the remnants of their puddings, and the celebration—of the season, of Christmas, of love and good cheer—rolled on.
“Thanks,” Therese whispered, entirely to herself, “to the magic of Little Moseley.”
A magic that drew its power from the strength of a supportive community and the intrinsic good in human souls. Therese smiled and sipped in a private toast, then returned her attention to her plum pudding.
Lady Osbaldestone’s Plum Puddings: Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Chronicles Volume 3 Page 23
