I chuckled. “Like a princess, huh?”
“Yes, because you already look like a princess because you’re so pretty. But you also have very long hair.”
“Yes, I do have long hair, don’t I?”
“I wondered,” Julia said, taking on a coquettish stance in front of me. “Do you ever let anyone brush your hair or make braids in it?”
“Would you like to braid my hair?”
Julia’s eyes grew wide. “Could I? Really?”
“Yes. Unless it distracts me from my work.” I put on a stern look that didn’t seem to fool her one bit.
“I won’t keep you from your work. I promise. I’m very good at braids.”
I undid my hair and let it hang down over the back of the chair.
“I want my hair to grow as long as yours.” Julia gently smoothed her small hand down my mane. “I would brush it every morning and every night.”
A sweet memory floated over me as I remembered all the bedtimes when I sat cross-legged on the end of my bed and my mother would brush my hair.
Julia looked over my shoulder at the sketch pad. “Anna, what if you were in the turret of our house and you couldn’t get out? You could let down your hair like Rapunzel and the handsome prince would climb up and rescue you.”
I smiled and kept sketching. At that moment my childhood bedroom in Minnesota seemed far away. I found it easy to believe in castles and princes and dreams about to come true. It made me happy that Julia shared my love of all things fanciful and enchanting.
As Julia did her styling, I could tell that instead of folding my hair into a single braid, she was adorning me with a haphazard assortment of small braids going every which direction. When she ran out of the ties she used on her pony, she pulled a long pink strand of yarn from the frayed edge of her sweater. She then made use of the rubber bands that held my pencils together.
She tugged a little too much as she secured a tight, thin braid that felt as if it were sprouting out the side of my head above my left ear. I was finding it impossible to draw but I didn’t have the heart to say anything.
Fortunately, Julia realized she needed more ties and took off in her usual skip-hop-trot manner. I concentrated on getting the lines of the windows on the second floor to come out in accurate proportion to the roof.
From the end of the long gravel driveway came the sound of the front gate opening. I heard the rumble of a sports car engine. A shiny Austin-Healey came into view and stopped directly in front of the house. The top was down despite the chilly weather and a bicycle protruded from the passenger side.
Everything around me seemed to hush. The driver opened the door, got out, and tossed his cap onto the front seat. My heart fluttered like a butterfly going around in dizzying circles.
Peter!
He turned and gazed across the lawn. I knew he saw me. For a moment, I held my breath. I didn’t move. I’d practiced what I’d say when I saw him but at the moment all those clever, rehearsed lines escaped me.
All I could think was, My hair!
Chapter Four
I quickly fumbled to undo Julia’s handiwork as Peter strode across the lawn. He was smiling. I smiled back and felt a flush of embarrassment racing up my neck. I could only imagine how I must look with a half dozen braids shooting out of my head and my face the shade of a persimmon.
“Hello!” I blurted out while Peter was more than twenty feet away. I would have stood to greet him but I was still balancing the sketchbook on my lap and had wadded up the hair ties into a little ball and was clutching them in the center of my palm. The left side of my head remained a tumble of mini braids.
Peter tilted his head as he approached, as if sizing up the situation. He looked just as I’d remembered. Clean-shaven and fit. His short brown hair was slightly matted from the cap he’d been wearing.
He paused in front of me for a moment and then leaned over to press a whisper of a kiss just above my right ear. It was awkward but sweet. I didn’t grow up in a community that greeted each other with friendly kisses, so when my mother and I were welcomed that way at the wedding by nearly every one of Ian and Miranda’s relatives and friends, it took us both by surprise.
“Hello,” I repeated.
In the back of my mind, all I could hear was a string of admonitions my mother had repeated to me throughout my childhood. Don’t be forward. Be careful around men. You, more than most women, will have to learn to discern the intentions of any man who stares at you.
Her cautions made sense when I was young. It was because all the best traits of her Swedish heritage began to blossom in me at an early age. My blue eyes, white-blond hair, and uncomplicated Scandinavian complexion would always cause me to stand out in a crowd. She had delicately warned me that men would stare at me.
Peter was definitely staring at me now. But I had a feeling it was for other reasons. He seemed nervous, too, which surprised me.
“How was your flight?” he asked.
“Good.”
“That’s good.”
He glanced down at the sketch pad. “May I have a look?”
I carefully handed it to him. “Ellie asked if I’d do some drawings for her. It’s only a start.”
I fiddled with the remaining octopus braids, trying to undo the last ones while he continued to examine the rough sketch.
“Nice. Very nice.” Peter handed the pad back with an approving nod and looked at my hair.
“Julia,” I said, holding out the tight braid above my ear. I hoped the simple explanation was all that was needed. I knew that Peter had a sister who was much younger than him. I’d met Molly the day after the wedding when he was taking her on a bike ride. Certainly he knew something about the fanciful doings of little girls.
“She went inside to get more ties,” I added.
“Then by all means, don’t undo her handiwork on my account.” Peter grinned that half grin of his and I felt myself beginning to relax.
“I suppose you have a lot of plans while you’re here,” he said.
“No, not really. I mean, not yet.”
“I’m sure that will change once Ian comes back from London this afternoon.” Peter glanced back at the car. “I promised I’d leave his car at the station for him. I was on my way but wanted to come by here first.”
I smiled, trying to anticipate what he’d say next. It looked like he planned to ride his bike back from the train station, so it wasn’t likely that he was about to invite me to go along for the ride. Perhaps he was going to ask me to do something afterward or later that evening.
“Listen, Anna.” He looked uneasy and I tried to understand why it was so unnerving for a guy to ask a woman to go out with him. Certainly Peter knew that I’d say yes.
“I wanted to set the record straight on something that happened at the wedding.”
I managed to untangle the final braid and brushed back my hair, giving Peter my full attention.
“After we danced, if you recall, we shared a kiss.”
I nodded, finding it cute and sort of funny that he’d said “if you recall.”
Does he think I’ve forgotten it? How could I?
That brief brush of a kiss, as awkward and unexpected as it was, had been reviewed in my memory a hundred times. No, a thousand times. I didn’t want Peter to know it, but that kiss was my first kiss.
He looked down at his hands and then back up at me. “I should have said something sooner, but I never found the right moment and I didn’t want to write it in an e-mail. But you see, I hoped I didn’t give you the wrong message.”
“The wrong message?” I repeated.
My expression must have reflected the flash of fear that coursed through me, because he moved closer and in a low and soothing voice said, “It was lovely, mind you. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t enjoy it. But…”
I waited.
“I intended to only give you a kiss on the cheek, you understand.”
I nodded even though I most definitely did not
understand. I thought our lips met because they both wanted to.
“You know how it is here. We say hello and good-bye with a small sort of kiss. So, at the end of our dance I thought you and I were saying good-bye. The error was all mine. I seem to have missed the mark, so to speak.”
My heart was pounding wildly and I could feel my face turning red.
Peter looked over his shoulder and both of us spotted Julia hop-skipping her way across the lawn, heading toward us.
“I just wanted to set things right,” Peter said quickly. “Since I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other quite a lot while you’re here. I didn’t want us to start off on the wrong impression.”
Peter released a nervous laugh. “Or, I guess, I meant to say, start us off on the wrong foot.”
I couldn’t move. It felt as if seven months of stardust was invisibly showering all around me and I was caught in the downpour without an umbrella to protect my poor little heart.
How could I have been so naıve?
Peter glanced back at Julia who was almost upon us and with a tilt of his head he added in a low voice, “You didn’t take my actions to mean anything else, did you?”
“No. No, of course not.” I looked down at the sketch. It turned into a blurry tangle of unfinished lines as I blinked quickly.
Julia eagerly started chatting away. “Hallo, Peter. Did you bring Molly with you?”
“Not this time. She’s at home.”
“Is she going with you to the Tea Cosy tonight?”
“No, she won’t be there.”
“Would you tell her that I’m happy that your family is going to have Christmas with us? And tell her to bring her pony.”
“Yes. I’ll tell her.”
I drew in a stabilizing breath and glanced up. Peter was checking his watch. “I should be going.” He caught my eye for a moment and said, “I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“At the Tea Cosy?”
“Yes. At the Tea Cosy.” His parting smile seemed promising.
I nodded and forced what I’m sure was an unconvincing smile. It was all so confusing. As soon as Peter drove out of sight, I planned to close my sketchbook, collect my pencils, and escape to the guest room where I could set free the tears of embarrassment I was trying so hard to hold back.
“Molly is his sister,” Julia informed me. “She has some different kinds of problems but she’s my friend. Peter made her a special seat so he can take her on bike rides with him.” Julia turned her full attention back to me and squealed. “Oh, no! What happened to your hair?”
I handed her the wad of hair ties I’d been clutching in my fist and said in a strained voice, “Sorry, Julia. I need to go inside for a bit.”
“That’s okay.” Julia sounded very mature all of a sudden. She picked up her pony and took over my vacated throne. “When you’re a princess, sometimes you have to go do important things. That’s what Miranda told me.”
“Miranda is a wise princess.” I barely made it across the lawn before my throat closed and the onslaught of all my bruised feelings threatened to overwhelm me. I paused in the alcove trying to compose myself before going inside the home that only a short time earlier had seemed like a castle.
Looking up and blinking back the tears, I saw five words etched over the front door, the motto of Whitcombe Manor.
GRACE AND PEACE RESIDE HERE.
I pressed the latch on the ornately carved front door and entered, dearly hoping those words were true for innocent, “feathery women” like me.
Chapter Five
I stepped into the stunning entry hall of Whitcombe Manor and felt as I had on my first visit to this extraordinary home. I was welcome here.
The ceiling rose to the top of the grand staircase and beyond. Light poured through the large window above the stair landing, enlivening the dark wood floor and giving the sensation of entering a small cathedral. I saw Ellie coming down the stairs with a large box in her arms. It appeared that she had just finished looping the last garland of Christmas greenery on the stairs. The string of twinkle lights woven through the garlands was lit, adding a festive cheerfulness to the entry.
“Oh, good. I was just about to come find you and see if I could persuade you to help me with one more wee project, as your Uncle Andrew would call it.”
“A wee project?” I cleared my throat and pulled my emotions back in check.
“It’s for the play. You know how every Christmas we perform A Christmas Carol by Dickens?”
“Yes. Miranda told me about it. She said your father-in-law, Sir James, started the tradition.”
Ellie was in front of me. “Yes, well, I volunteered to take care of the programs this year and I’ve fallen behind. Terribly behind. I was hoping you could help me out.”
“Of course. What do you need?”
Ellie looked at me more closely. “Are you all right? Your eyes look a bit red. Is it jet lag, do you think? Here I am loading you up with projects and you probably want to be taking a catnap right about now.”
“No, I’m all right. I can sleep later.” And cry later. “What did you want me to help you with?”
“It’s the programs, you see.” Ellie scrutinized my expression one more time. “Are you certain you don’t need to lie down for a bit? We’ll be up late at the Tea Cosy, you know.”
“What exactly is going on tonight at the Tea Cosy?”
“I thought I mentioned it while we were baking. It’s the soup dinner for the cast of the play.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t remember if she’d told me or not. “Are there a lot of people going tonight?”
“I suppose. You can never be sure who will show up. We’re going because, as you know, your Aunt Katharine is fighting a bad cold. I told her we’d take care of everything. Miranda is there now, making the soup. Ian is coming later and he said he’d ask Peter to help out. I thought you and I could go around four. Is that all right?”
“Yes. Of course.”
Ellie motioned with her head for me to follow her into the study. I was grateful for the distraction as well as the detour from what would have turned into a desperately sad hideaway time in the guest room.
The moment I entered the study I was reminded that there was a long list of reasons besides Peter that had endeared me to this place and to this extended family. The high shelves were stacked full of wonderfully musty-smelling books. The leather chairs, imposing desk, and intricate rugs in this room spoke to me of stories not yet told. Tales of mystery and adventure. I belonged here. This romantic setting was enough to help me rewrite the script in my mind. It would be a different Christmas than I’d hoped for, but it would still be wonderful in many other ways.
Although, Peter will be at the Tea Cosy later.
I set that thought aside and told myself that if I kept all my fanciful thoughts centered on the charm of this old house, the enchantment of the library, and the delight of spending time with Ellie, Miranda, and Julia, my heart would sail through the rest of the visit without any additional bruises.
With my chin raised and shoulders back, I paused in front of one of the photos of Sir James that hung on the wall. He really had been the last of a breed of distinguished, honored British actors. Sir James had convinced the world that handsome gentlemen who drove speedboats, spoke five languages, and wore a tux under a scuba suit were capable of protecting England and her beloved queen from all harm. The allure of his legendary persona lingered in this dusty room.
Ellie put the box down beside one of the wingback chairs and opened the laptop on the large, dark mahogany desk.
“Don’t be shocked, but this is all I’ve got so far.” Ellie motioned for me to sit in the chair at the desk and have a look at her open laptop.
It did strike me that it was an extraordinary thing to be casually sitting at Sir James’s desk. How many people ever got to do that?
On the screen was the image of a plump couple in Victorian garb. They looked like they were dancing a jig.
“W
hat am I looking at?” I asked.
“It’s the Fezziwig’s Ball. I had to scan the illustration three times from the book to get it right. Don’t tell Edward. He’s quite protective of the books around here. That one is a first edition.”
I reached for the old book on the desk that she’d pointed to and smoothed my hand over the brown cover. The title A Christmas Carol was in gold lettering with a detailed etched wreath circling it. I opened to the title page and checked the copyright date: 1843. I could only imagine the value of a first edition of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. Turning to the next page with more care, I smoothed back the tissue that covered the illustration. I recognized the process that had been used on the Fezziwig’s Ball drawing and was impressed.
“This is needle and acid etching,” I said. “It’s beautiful. This is not easy to do.” I had to agree with Edward that none of the pages in this valuable book should be scanned three times.
“Are you able to fit that image onto the template for the cover? I had no success in lining it up properly and I’m desperate. The play is only two days away.”
“Sure. I can try. Graphic design is not my specialty but I know a few basics.”
“If you click on the other open file, you’ll see the rest of the information.”
I was relieved to see that the interior of the program was completed and that I wouldn’t be responsible for listing the names of the cast and crew.
“My thought with the Fezziwig’s image was to play off the pensioners. Although you don’t call them pensioners in the States, do you? Seniors. Is that right? Those who are in retirement. Last year the cast was all children. It was delightful. This year it’s all pensioners. You’ll meet them at the Tea Cosy this evening.”
All I could think about as I clicked and resized the image to fit the program template was that I shouldn’t be thinking about the fact that Peter would be at the Tea Cosy this evening. I tried to convince myself that our uncomfortable conversation was the last awkward moment I’d experience with him. We were both going to be in the same small circles this week. It would be fine. It had to be fine.
Kissing Father Christmas Page 2
