Master. Servant. Two separate worlds.
Thus resolved, Liam returned to his work, which was more than sufficient to keep him occupied, distracted and far from temptation. He had returned to set things to rights, not to worsen the situation and that of those who depended on him. He’d returned to free himself and so he would. Of everything.
Including her.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Iwill take up His Lordship’s tray,’ Rebecca said, before anyone else could claim the task.
Nothing else fuelled her but the need to ensure he was well. Despite whatever else had happened between them in that study—again—he’d held true to his word and given the staff half the day today, Twelfth Night, as well as Epiphany, ordering them to‘pretend it is Christmas’. She felt keenly the fact that he would spend the time alone, whilst below stairs such merriment would be had.
‘I’ll only be a moment, so everyone can get settled.’
‘All right, then,’ Mrs Murray said, sliding the tray over. ‘Mind you, be sharpish—won’t have dinner getting cold. Thank the master for us.’
Rebecca nodded, and was unceremoniously shooed from the kitchens.
As she made her way upstairs, surrounded by the taunting smells of turkey, pies, roast vegetables, cinnamon and spice, she could hear a flurry of activity behind her. Delighted shouts and laughs as everyone readied themselves for dinner.
Picturing them all, dressed in their Sunday best as they were—even Sam had asked Gregory to assist with the tying of his fresh white cravat—scurrying about like excited children, Rebecca smiled to herself. She hadn’t been able tostopsmiling recently.
Earlier, as she’d donned the elegant wine-coloured silk confection one of her previous employers had gifted her, worn and out of fashion though it may be, as she’d woven the gold ribbon—the only adornment she possessed—into her braids and fashioned them into a crown, she’d caught herself smiling into the mirror like a fool.
Making her way to the library, where Liam had asked for his meal to be brought, Rebecca found her smile fading, and concern for him growing. He, too, had missed out on Christmas, and when they’d spoken of the arrangements, what seemed a lifetime ago now, he’d seemed almost...excited. But since her illness, something had changed;hehad changed. And though he would’ve spent Christmas on his own in any case, for him to be alone tonight... It somehow feltwrong.
Grabbing a sprig of holly from one of the arrangements, she set it on the otherwise sad-looking tray, and knocked on the library door.
‘Come in,’ Liam called. ‘Ah, Miss Merrickson.’
‘I come bearing your dinner, my lord,’ she said, setting it down on the small table by the chair he was currently slouched in, nursing a whisky. She tried not to notice how very dashing he looked in his fine evening dress, nor how very sad it was that he’d donned it. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘No, that’s all I need, thank you,’ he said, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe, making her feel as though the silk was utterly transparent.
Appreciation and a wistful sort of longing mingled in his eyes, as though he’d never known her till now, nor ever would again.
‘The colour suits you,’ he said finally, turning his attention back to the flames, which seemed to always possess the answers to his unasked questions. ‘I’m sure everyone is waiting for you. Enjoy the celebration, Miss Merrickson. A belated Happy Christmas to you all.’
‘Thank you, my lord. Happy Christmas to you,’ she said, wishing yet again that she had it in her power to make this day a happy one for him, in some small way at least.
But you cannot.
‘Someone will collect the tray later. There shouldn’t be any wassailers. I’ve been advised there haven’t been these past years.’
‘No, there wouldn’t be,’ Liam said as she made for the door with a curtsey. ‘And I will see to the tray. You should all enjoy yourselves.’
‘As you wish, my lord.’
With one last glance at the melancholy figure of the Earl of Thornhallow, Rebecca made her way back downstairs to the others.
This is how it must be. This is how the world is. Nothing to be done. Though if I had one wish for today, Lord, it would be that there be no sadness in this house. If only for a little while...
If Rebecca had thought Mrs Murray an exceptional cook before, she was astounded to find that the woman had quite outdone herself with the feast she’d prepared tonight. Every single detail had been seen to with care, and every dish was more delectable than the last, worthy of a king’s table. By the time they arrived at dessert, everyone was already moaning, having eaten far too much.
Whilst they indulged in pudding, gin and pies—with Tim being made King when he found the pea in the Twelfth Cake, whilst Betsy became his queen—they all exchanged the small trifles they had got for each other weeks ago.
Rebecca received some paper flowers, a new knitted scarf, some ribbons, and a little tin thistle brooch from Mr Brown. Then, they moved on to the games—charades, Up Jenkins and Throwing the Smile—whilst they all continued to pick at the food and drink which seemed enough to feed an army.
Before long Tim took out his fiddle, and they alternately sang carols and folk songs, increasingly bawdy as they went. It was during one such vivacious rendition of a local tune that Tim stopped abruptly, his eyes widening like saucers.
