Gregory, Sam and Thomas were next, their eyes travelling to the same spot, widening when they saw whatever was there.
‘What the blazes is wrong with you lot, then?’ Mrs Murray tutted, turning to witness whatever it was that had rendered them silent. ‘Oh, my...’ The rest of her words were swallowed by the shock.
Rebecca and the others on her side of the table turned, and she realised what had brought them all to silence.
It seems my little prayer has been answered...
Liam stood at the door to the servants’ hall, wringing his hands. Not even his immaculate evening dress could counter the boyishly hesitant, unsure and pleading air about him.
The men suddenly came to and scrambled to their feet, and Rebecca might have sworn Liam blushed slightly as he waved them back to their seats.
‘Please, everyone, I didn’t mean to interrupt your festivities, nor indeed to disturb you all,’ he said. ‘Quite the contrary, I only... That is...’
His words trailed off and he bowed his head, as though cursing himself.
Rebecca turned back to the others, silently pleading.
They all looked between themselves, hesitant, and wary. It was not unheard of for masters to fraternise occasionally with their staff—particularly at village fetes and the like—but here, now...for the Earl to wish for their company...
And yet, even though it meant awkwardness, and a touch of censure, none of them could refuse. For it was, after all, Christmas—somewhat—and they all held him in their hearts.
Thomas turned to Rebecca and nodded solemnly. She smiled and turned back to Liam, who had taken to raking his hair as he searched for words, unaware of the silent conversation between his employees.
‘You are more than welcome, my lord,’ she said softly. He looked up at her then, with such gratitude she felt her heart melt. ‘Gregory, a chair for His Lordship.’
‘And a drink mayhap, my lord,’ Gregory said, jumping to do as he was bid. ‘We’ve a nice sloe gin—’tis Hardy that makes it.’
‘If it is Hardy’s then I must try it,’ Liam said graciously, taking his seat. ‘Though I imagine I should be wary. I remember the last time I tried his concoctions I woke in the middle of the moors.’
Everyone laughed in unison, relaxing as they all returned to their places.
Rebecca chanced a glance at him across the table, and was rewarded with a gracious smile and a nod of thanks. The sincerity in his eyes, mingling with the extraordinary light she’d come to know too well, sent her stomach fluttering, and she quickly turned her attention back to Lizzie, who was currently trying to engage her in talk about the Hardys.
As they all settled back into their conversations, passing around the bottle of gin, helping themselves to pies and sweetmeats, Liam watched them, letting the warmth and joy of their company wash over him. He watched as they laughed and teased, talked and played, and for the first time, felt as though he was surrounded by family. He watched the woman across from him, engaged with everyone around her, tying them all together in a perfect harmony he knew had not been there before.
Liam realised then the extent to which she had managed to bring life back into the house. The extent to which she’d brought life back to him.
And though he did not realise it quite yet, in truth, it was at that very moment, when she burst out laughing at something Tim said, eyes afire in the candlelight, her auburn hair a flaming crown, that Liam fell completely in love with the housekeeper of Thornhallow Hall.
‘May I?’ Liam asked some time later, waving to the chair beside Rebecca.
Everyone had broken into little parties of conversation as they enjoyed the musical entertainment. Rebecca had been left alone—not that she minded.
‘I do not wish to intrude.’
‘Of course, my lord.’ She smiled, careful to turn her attention quickly back to Tim.
Liam sat with a weary sigh, extending his legs out before him. His eyes may also have been on Tim and Gregory, as they finished their joyful ditty, but his attention was solely on her. She felt it, as though everything in his being was reaching out to hers. A strange energy had come between them, linked them, and refused to be broken, despite her best efforts.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, then, my lord?’ she whispered, intent on refusing the lure of gazing into his eyes, or giving in to whatever folly these feelings were in any way. ‘Downstairs celebrations are more lively than those upstairs, I think.’
‘From my experience, yes, that is certainly true,’ he whispered conspiratorially. ‘But it has been many years indeed since I’ve lived the life of an upstairs gentleman. This feels much more...comfortable. Familiar. So, yes, I am enjoying myself. And you, Mrs Hardwicke?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ she breathed sadly, that name foreign and cutting now.
Fifteen years she’d borne it; it had been hers, and yet now she despised it. Despised him saying it. She longed to be called Miss Merrickson. She longed to be called Rebecca again, to hear him—
God, what is wrong with me?she chided herself abruptly, trying to focus on the music.
