“Christmas was always celebrated as a strictly religious occasion,” she said. “There was never any fun, never any real joy.”
The best thing Gilbert had ever done for her, he thought without even a twinge of guilt, was to die young.
“This year,” she said, “there is such joy.” And yet she spoke the words with a wistfulness that made her sound more unhappy than joyful.
“We have been blessed with the perfect setting,” he said. “I am accustomed to winter snow, but I remember how rare it is here, especially at Christmas. Have you noticed the sky tonight, Christina? The moon and the stars seem so close that one might expect to be able to reach up and pluck one.”
“It is as well we cannot do so,” she said. “Happiness cannot be plucked or held and hoarded. It has to be recognized in fleeting moments and accepted wholeheartedly and remembered with gratitude.”
Had she remembered with gratitude?
He had suppressed memory with bitterness.
“I will remember this Christmas,” he said.
“Yes.”
It had been a short conversation. It had also been the kindest they had shared in longer than ten years.
Rachel did not fall asleep. She was still half awake when they arrived back at the house. But the hall was full of chattering, laughing people removing outdoor garments before going up to the drawing room for promised hot drinks. It would seem cruel simply to set her down.
“I’ll carry her up,” he told Christina, and followed her up the stairs to the nursery.
He set Rachel down in the bedchamber she shared with Tess. Christina bent over one of the beds, intent on undressing the younger child without waking her.
“Good night,” he said.
But before he could straighten up and take his leave, Rachel wrapped her arms about his neck.
“I wish,” she said, her voice fiercely passionate, “I wish you could stay forever and ever. Mama says your home is far away. I wish it was here. I wish you were my papa.”
“Rachel!”
Christina clearly shared the embarrassment he felt. Though there was something stronger than embarrassment in him. He hugged the child and then released her firmly.
“Any man would be honored to be your papa, Rachel,” he told her, “and Tess’s. I am your papa’s cousin and therefore your relative too. I always will be. When I have gone back home, perhaps your mama will let you write to me occasionally, and I will write to you with her permission. I will always think of you and always love you. But we still have some days together here—all of Christmas. Go to sleep now, and when you awake there will be one of the happiest days of your life awaiting you. Good night.”
“Good night,” she said—-and yawned loudly.
Christina, he noticed, had not turned. She was still bent over Tess’s bed. He left the room, passing the children’s nurse in the doorway.
Chapter 14
CHRISTMAS morning had always been busy. In Gilbert’s time there had been extended prayers for family and servants early in the morning, followed by visits made to the cottages of the farm laborers and other poor people of the village. The visits had been grand, formal affairs. The family had remained in the carriage for the whole tedious ceremony, while the recipients of the Hall’s munificence had been called from their houses to pay homage in shivering discomfort in exchange for their basket of food.
This Christmas morning was to be just as busy, if not more so. But whereas Christina had never particularly enjoyed it in former years, this year there was the anticipation of joy beyond the morning and even during it.
This year there were to be gifts for the children, and Christina hoarded to herself the novelty of the occasion by taking them into her private sitting room and enjoying the luxury of almost an hour alone with them. She had bought them porcelain dolls, which she had dressed herself with meticulous and loving care, as well as books and a few other small items. But there were gifts too from Meg and Aunt Hannah and their nurse—and little fur muffs from the earl.
Their excitement brought tears to Christina’s eyes. And the tears brimmed over when they presentedherwith gifts—a bright painting from Tess, who explained that the fat yellow blob with four pink projections, the whole surmounted with a curly black fringe, was her mama, and a linen handkerchief from Rachel, who had embroidered with rather ragged stitches a blue flower in one corner.
“I could not have done it alone, Mama,” she admitted gravely. “Nurse helped me.”
Christina hugged them both tightly. “They are the most precious gifts I have ever had,” she said. “I would not exchange them for all the gold, frankincense, and myrrh in the world.” Her children were well versed in the Christmas story.
But the hour could not be prolonged. There were other duties to be performed. Besides, the children were eager to return to the nursery to show their gifts to the other children and see what they had had.
There were the guests to greet at breakfast and then the servants to entertain in the drawing room while the earl spoke with each of them and gave each a Christmas bonus— a new experience for them. It was a vast improvement, Christina thought, on the old tradition of prayers, at which the servants had stood at silent attention while the family sat in solemn state. Gilbert’s version of piety had been so very lacking in warmth and compassion. This morning there was not a single prayer or reading from the Bible or reflection on the religious significance of the day. But if what had begun in the stable at Bethlehem had been all about love and hope and joy, then it was being continued this morning, as never before, in the drawing room at Thornwood.
