She pulled back the tiniest bit, looking into his face. “Do you promise?”
His lopsided smile made another appearance. “When have you ever known me to turn down a meal?”
But she wasn’t teasing in that moment. “Do you promise to come for Christmas? It’s all I want, the only gift I’m hoping for. If you promise you’ll come, I know you will. You’d never go back on your word, not to me.”
His eyes filled with sincerity. “I solemnly swear to you, I’ll be here.”
“I’ll be watching at the window.”
Sean lowered his head. Instinct told her she was about to be kissed. And kissing instincts are seldom wrong.
Their lips drew ever closer. And closer. Her pulse pounded in her ears and neck. Another inch, perhaps less, and his lips would be on hers.
A rumbling bark filled the kitchen. Maeve and Sean both froze on the spot.
“What is Rufus doing inside the house?” she asked.
“Exactly what he’s supposed to do,” Liam called from the other room.
Sean grinned. “I believe that means the time’s come for me to go.”
Disappointment swept over her, tempered only by the knowledge that he’d be back in only a few days. As she watched him disappear into the cold, dark night, she reminded herself of that. She would see him again on Christmas Day.
He’d promised.
Chapter Seven
Christmas Day is rather less than joyful when one is working for the privileged upper classes. For, no matter the promises made of half-days and minimal duties, should the family one works for decide that Christmas Day would be utterly perfect for an unplanned jaunt through the countryside, someone must remain behind to receive the return of the carriage and horses. And that someone is then forced to spend his Christmas afternoon and evening pacing the length of the stable yard, contemplating the hurt and disappointment no doubt felt by a certain Irishwoman down the road.
I promised her. I solemnly swore.And he, being a decent sort of fellow, didn’t care to be breaking a promise to any person, least of all his Maeve. But what could he do? Leaving would have cost him his job. Losing his job would have meant leaving Kilkenny and Maeve entirely.
There was no way of telling Maeve what had happened. She would think he’d broken his word.
“If you promise you’ll come, I know you will,” she’d said.
“You’d never go back on your word,” she’d said.
“I never want to see you again,” she’d say next.
He couldn’t bear the thought. But what could he do? He was every bit as stuck as he’d been the day they’d first met. He paced back to the arched entryway to the stable yard and set his eyes on the castle across the way.
How many of the Marquess’s servants were required to spend their Christmas away from loved ones? Likely quite a few. They had an advantage over him, however. He was spending his Christmas with a stable full of horses, not another person in sight. They, at least, had each other.
He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and trudged his way past a long row of horse stalls, eyes focused on the floor ahead of him. “Maeve will have my neck, assuming she agrees to see me again.”
Sean wasn’t an entirely unreasonable man, and the more logical part of him knew he was likely making more of his Christmas absence than need be. But he was also a man in love, which has a tendency to override one’s ability to think clearly. He didn’t want to disappoint Maeve, and neither did he wish to spend the holiday away from her. Indeed, he was growing ever more convinced that he never wanted to spend another day away from her.
I might even get around to telling her that, if I’m ever allowed to leave this stable. Grumbling, one must understand, is quite the most productive way to pass a disappointing evening. If nothing else, it makes a soul feel the tiniest bit better. Kicking at stray bits of straw helps as well.
Beyond the stables, voices raised in laughter and song echoed from the village. People were celebrating together, happy and contented. He alone was . . . alone.
It being Christmas and a holy day, he limited himself to only the mildest of curses, nothing that would make a priest call him in for confession, but curses just the same. Stepping back out to the stable yard, he shot a wary eye heavenward. Not a flake of snow fell, something Maeve might have blamed his absence on, offering him a respite.
She was likely sitting at the window, watching for him to come. Or had been for a time until she’d given up on him.
The bells at St. Canice’s had long since rung the call to evening Mass. The sun had set. He couldn’t help wondering if the Marquess’s family meant to return that evening. They’d set off to visit friends who had a country home near Castlecomer. ’Twas entirely possible that they’d opted to remain for the night. One benefit of being fine and fancy was the ability to cause inconvenience without consequence, at least not to one’s fine and fancy self.
And so Sean sat on a stool in the empty stable yard, a weight in his stomach and on his heart. “’Twas all she wanted for Christmas,” he informed the unhelpful heavens. “A visit, the chance to sit at each other’s side, to talk as we always do. ’Twas all she wanted, and I promised her. Ipromisedher.”
