Holly stood and gently removed the book from Libby’s hands, picking up an embroidered, cross stitch bookmark. She placed it carefully in the open page before she closed it.
“Did you make this?” Holly indicated the bookmark. “It is very fine work.”
“I made it for Mama on her last Christmas.”
Confound it. I’ve royally put my foot in it!
“How lovely, I expect she treasured it. Now then, up you get. Pop your shoes on, and we shall go and find Matilda.”
Holly held her breath, but she needn’t have worried, for Libby crawled off the bed and did as she was asked, following obediently. Her sisters tagged along with them, and Holly was pleased to see that the younger girls cheered Libby up with their excited chattering.
“After we have seen Matilda, shall we go and visit Cook and arrange a baking session with her?”
“Baking? But what would we bake?” Kitty interrupted.
“Hmm, well, I was thinking, maybe mince pies? I love mince pies, don’t you?”
“Yes!” the two younger girls chorused.
Matilda pulled out a lot of Holly’s gowns and even suggested cutting up the wedding dress she had altered for Holly to wear on her wedding day the previous week. Holly readily agreed to the idea, especially since she was unlikely to wear such an unfashionable garment again.
Libby fingered the old lace reverently, surprising Holly by insisting it was her favourite among the dress fabrics but that it should not be destroyed. She wanted it kept just as it was, but she did agree to the lace mantilla being used. Matilda took Libby’s measurements and promised to begin making her an outfit straight away.
They arrived in the kitchens, warmly welcomed by Mrs Hicks, the cook. The girls were given an apron each, and Holly thought they looked adorable in the oversized pinnies. Cook showed them how to mix flour, butter, and water to make pastry. Holly delighted in being allowed to finish up the tall madeline cakes that Cook was about to start decorating with desiccated coconut. She covered each pillar of sponge with jam and sprinkled coconut over the top; it cascaded like the snow steadily falling outside. Finally, she topped each cake with a cherry.
It was a chatty group of much happier girls that Holly led upstairs to the drawing room in order to await the treats they’d made to arrive with tea. Holly told Cook that the girls would not be having a nursery tea that day but would join her in the drawing room.
With the children settled before the fire, Holly crossed to the pianoforte and began to play cheerful Christmas songs with gusto. One by one, the girls migrated over to where she sat, joining in and singing Good King Wenceslas with evident enjoyment.
Holly swivelled on her stool as the girls fell silent. Gregory stood in the doorway. Her gaze went from his stern face to the children. Libby was pale, and Kitty appeared to be about to bolt, while little Clemmy frantically sucked her thumb. Holly rose and stepped in front of them.
“Oh good, you are back in time for tea,” she said. “Come and join us. The girls are taking tea with us today.”
Since two footmen arrived at that very moment, each carrying a laden tray of tea, Gregory was forced into the room where he seated himself in a fireside chair. He appeared rather bemused.
“Libby, take a cup of tea to your father, he must be somewhat chilled. Kitty, would you carry the platter of mince pies, and Clemmy dear, take this plate with a serviette for your papa.”
The girls obediently did as she asked, busying themselves about Gregory.
“It is rather early for mince pies, don’t you think?” he asked pompously.
The girls froze where they stood, gazing anxiously at him.
Holly forced herself to chuckle, but she actually wanted to strangle him. What was the matter with the man? Did he not want his daughters to be happy?
“Ah, but these are special, aren’t they, girls? Tell papa why they are special, Clemmy,” she suggested.
Clemmy removed her thumb and went to stand before him.
“We made-eth them!” she said, sounding so triumphant that Holly willed her husband to respond warmly to the child.
“Well, in that case, I must try one,” he replied.
Clemmy took that as an invitation and scrambled onto her father’s lap. Gregory seemed surprised and awkward. Holly immediately chattered about the snow, enquiring where the best spot to toboggan was on the estate. A silence fell, not at all the reaction she’d expected.
Then Kitty spoke up. “We have never been on a toboggan.”
“We have ridden in the sleigh which is pulled by horses. That was nice, wasn’t it, Papa?” Libby added.
“I am not sure that girls should go tobogganing, they might be hurt,” Gregory replied, clearly sceptical.
“Nonsense,” Holly contradicted him. “I went tobogganing with my father many times, and it was great fun. The snow cushions any falls.”
Gregory frowned. “I do not wish my daughters to go tobogganing. Holly, do you understand?”
She was saved from reply by a knock at the door, and Nanny slipped into the room, thus Holly did not answer Gregory.
“Nanny,” Clemmy called joyfully. Sliding off her father’s knee, she flew across the room to her.
“Hello, my poppets,” Nanny greeted her charges.
Once the girls had left to return to the nursery, Gregory faced Holly.
“I had not intended for you to become involved with my children,” he began.
Holly interrupted. “We are a family now, and the household is my responsibility. I know that I am younger than you, Gregory, but I have been well-schooled in the running of a large establishment. Your children are miserable, and it is time they were allowed to be happy again. Two years of mourning is enough. They will never forget their mother, just as I hope that you will never forget your wife, but they need to move on as you are doing. I think it would help them to see a few pictures of their mother placed back about the house. Perhaps in the New Year, we could commission another family portrait with me included?”
“I will certainly give your suggestions some thought.” He sounded so formal.
“Oh, Gregory, what is wrong?” she asked, exasperated by his lack of understanding.
“Nothing is wrong. Our plans for Christmas are that the girls are going to stay with their grandparents—Bunty’s parents, that is. My mother is coming to join us here in order to make your acquaintance…”
Holly leapt to her feet. “Well, plans can change, and with the depth of snow now lying on the ground, I think all travel should be cancelled. Did anyone ever tell you that you are a stubborn and pompous man?” With that barb thrown, she stormed out.
Chapter 11
After refusing dinner that evening and taking her supper in her room, the last thing she expected to see was Gregory appearing in her bedchamber in his nightshirt.
“We have unfinished business,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Holly was reading, propped up on fluffy white pillows and was not at all pleased to see him.
“I think we have both said all that we needed to. I don’t want to argue before we settle down to sleep,” she responded frostily.
He ignored her and came to sit upon the edge of the bed.
“I thought about your remarks, at least the sensible reasoning element of our conversation. I wish to address some of your comments.”
She squirmed, remembering some of the less than flattering observations she’d made earlier that day.
“First of all, I am making a rule that whatever disagreements we may have during the day, we leave them outside the bedroom door when we retire. I did not like eating my dinner alone this evening and I will not countenance you sulking in your room every time we disagree. You will join me for meals unless you are indisposed, and if I hear that you are unwell then I shall check on your welfare. If I should find you are being less than honest with me, then I will put you across my knee, and despite your earlier outburst about enjoying a spanking, I shall endeavour that you take no pleasure
from my punishment and be more than happy to show you the difference between a quick smack and an actual spanking. Are we clear so far?”
She pinkened at his words, the flush travelling rapidly from her neck to her cheeks. With a dry mouth, all she could do was nod.
“Good. Moving on to the subject of my daughters: I accept that you are doing all that you can to make them happy but I removed the family portrait from the nursery after Libby began to have dreadful nightmares. She woke the house with her screams, and I thought it might help her to adjust if the painting was gone,” he explained.
“Do you know what her dreams are about?” she asked.
“No, but they are obviously to do with her mother’s death.”
“Yes, they are, and they are heartbreakingly cruel…”
“You mean you know the subject of Libby’s dreams?” he interrupted, his gaze intense.
“Why, yes. Libby has been having terrible nightmares about her mother being trapped, buried alive and crying for help,” she elucidated.
Gregory looked wretched by her disclosure.
“Oh Lord, my poor little girl,” he muttered.
“Did she actually witness her mother laid in her coffin?” Holly asked.
“No, no, I kept the girls away. I did not wish them to see her. It was nailed shut because of the baby…”
“Baby?” she interrupted, shocked.
“Yes, Bunty died in childbirth, and our son was stillborn. They were buried together, the baby cradled in his mother’s arms.” With obvious distress, he ran a hand over his face.
Horrified by this sad revelation, Holly stretched out her hand. “Dearest Gregory, I am so very sorry.”
A weak smile crossed his face. “Thank you. It has not been an easy couple of years.”
She shifted across the bed and slipped her arm around his waist, resting her cheek against his back.
“I am not trying to replace Bunty. In fact, I honestly believe we need to keep her memory alive and talk about the happy times you and she shared with the children. I instinctively feel that in doing so we will make us a more cohesive family,” she told him.
He patted her hand. “Thank you, darling. I will attempt to be more involved, but it’s as if I have forgotten how to have fun,” he acknowledged.
“I will try and help all of you with that—I am good at having fun,” she bragged.
He chuckled. “I noticed,” he said wryly.
“Oh, and I agree that we should leave our arguments at the bedroom door.” Holly snuggled into his side.
Gregory turned slightly, leaned in and kissed her. She responded in kind, loving the way his tongue slipped along the seam of her lips, gently exploring her mouth. His arms tightened about her as he deepened the kiss. Holly felt passion flare between them. Warm moisture dampened between her thighs.
Next she found herself naked and on her back while Gregory suckled her breasts. How had he disrobed both of them so fast without her recollection of it? All she could think about was the pleasure he was giving her with his skilled hands and mouth. His murmured praise of “Good girl” and “That’s it, show me that you want me,” heightened her desire until she was writhing under his clever ministrations.
Taking her hand, he placed it on his large cock. Her gaze lifted to his face; he smiled reassuringly.
“Take it in your palm and gently squeeze; rub your hand up and down my flesh,” he encouraged throatily.
She grasped his iron-hard erection as suggested, exploring his maleness, fascinated by the velvet smoothness covering his tumescent shaft. His groan of appreciation bolstered her confidence, and she tugged harder, loving the sound of his sharp intake of breath.
“Ye gods!” he cried.
“You don’t like that?” she asked in her innocence.
“I enjoy it too much, you’ll unman me, and I’ll spill,” he exclaimed, easing her hand away from his body.
She felt a sense of pride at his admission.
They rolled sideways. He slipped a hand between her legs and found that part of her that cried out to be played with. He strummed until she came apart, spending in his arms with moans quickly swallowed by ardent kisses.
They lay entwined for some minutes, saying nothing, until he pushed her onto her back. Instinctively, she parted her legs; he shifted until he rose above her, his shaft nudging her quim. The delicious thrust of him entering her body felt sublime. The wonderful pounding quickly escalated until she was yet again at the point of culminating.
He snapped his hips, plunging deeper. With a shout, he froze above her, his head thrown back. She felt his cock swell as he spilled. At once, her own pleasure overwhelmed her and she trembled, shaking with the power of her release.
In a place of serene bliss, she was startled out of her trance by a sudden unearthly scream. Gregory leapt off her and pulled on his night robe. Holly moved to the edge of the bed.
“You stay here,” he commanded and dashed out of the door.
“I am coming with you,” she called after him.
He had gone without a candle, so Holly took a moment to light the bougie, which she reasoned was safer to carry through the house than a chamber stick. She tugged on her shawl and entered the passageway. A chilly draught gusted around the corner, she shivered. The shrieking stopped. The house creaked eerily about her as she crept along dark corridors and up unlit stairways. She wondered if Gregory might consider installing gas lighting at Lamberhurst; she made a mental note to mention it to him.
Reaching the nursery, she walked slowly through the large room towards the bedchamber. The welcoming space in daylight appeared creepy by night. A man was singing in the children’s room. Holly tiptoed to the doorframe and peered into the dimly lit nursery. The two younger girls were no more than small curled bumps, each still asleep in their own beds. Gregory sat with his daughter cradled on his knee.
“Lavender’s blue, dilly-dilly, lavender’s green. When you are king, dilly-dilly, I shall be queen,” he sang in a beautiful baritone voice.
Libby had her thumb in her mouth, and her eyes were closed. Nanny sat in the dark corner beside Clemmy. She smiled as Holly entered and lifted a finger to her lips.
Holly nodded and drew back. Quietly withdrawing, she left and returned downstairs to her chamber.
Chapter 12
During breakfast, Holly brought up the subject of gas lighting. As she’d expected, Gregory resisted the idea, explaining that he was unsure whether it was safe or worth the expense. Especially since other innovations were presently hinted at in various newspapers. Holly sensibly dropped the subject. He had left the breakfast room shortly afterwards. He explained that he needed peace and quiet to work out how much each retainer should receive in their Christmas box this year.
Holly slipped upstairs to the nursery where Nanny had dressed the children warmly, ready for an outdoor excursion. Collecting the girls, Holly took them outside, crunching through the deep snow over to the kitchen gardens where the first of the outbuildings were located. Her intention was to search for a toboggan.
Kitty suddenly cried, “Oh, look, there is old Silas!”
An elderly gardener was leaning on his fork. He was well wrapped up in an old muffler and woollen cap and puffed upon a pale clay pipe. He was watching a lad, who appeared to be woefully underdressed for this bitter weather, brushing snow from the tall brussel sprout plants. A trug was set on the low wall beside him, already half full of the small green brassica vegetables.
Holly introduced herself to both men before she explained their mission.
Silas knocked out his pipe on the wall and disappeared into the recess of the building, returning shortly carrying an old wooden toboggan.
“Will this un do? ’Tis solid, made of oak. The wood be good’n strong, even though the paint be worn away.”
Kitty clapped with excitement.
“It looks perfect, and we can paint it up, can’t we, girls,” Holly suggested.
“Oh, but I wanna go on it now,�
�� Clemmy whined.
Holly laughed. “And you shall; we will all have a go. I meant after we are done playing, then we can take it inside, dry it off, and paint it,” she explained.
“Nay, bring it back here, Lady Caulderbury, an’ I’ll paint it for ’ee using good, outdoor paint. I ’ave green, black, or red. What’ll it be, m’ladies?”
“Red!”
“Blue!”
“Red!”
“He didn’t say blue, Clemmy. I suggest red,” Libby said, being diplomatic.
“But I want blue!” Clemmy argued mulishly.
“I am afraid you are outvoted, Clemmy dear. Three reds to one blue because I vote for red as well. Don’t you think perhaps red is more of a Christmassy colour?” Holly quickly intervened, fearing a tantrum.
“Yeth, all right,” Clemmy agreed, plugging her thumb in, which she quickly removed because her mouth filled with the wool of her mitten.
Holly sighed with relief.
She turned to Silas. “Red would be perfect, thank you, Silas.”
“Red it shall be then. A word of warning fer yer ladyship. Buttercup Hill, ’tis best known for sledgin’, but don’ go down the eastern side towards the woodland, ’cause the weight of the snow has toppled the fencing down there, an’ the wire be all rusted through. It snowed again last night an’ covered the fallen fence. ’Tis dangerous. Make sure the young’uns stick to the western slopes, an’ you should be jus’ fine.”
“Thank you, Silas, we will, and I shall look after the girls. We will bring it back to you later on ready for painting.”
“Bye!” the children chorused as they each took hold of the rope and towed the toboggan away while chattering excitedly.
Holly was thrilled to see the colour return to Libby’s now glowing cheeks. All the girls were warmly wrapped up, each wearing mittens, mufflers, woollen bonnets, and thick winter capes.
Trudging through the altered landscape, they marvelled at the humps and bumps formed by the snow covering bushes and shrubs. Gradually leaving the gardens behind them, they walked around field edges, slow going in the deep snow. Clad in sturdy, lace-up boots enabled them to continue the climb until they finally reached the top of Buttercup Hill.
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