Christmas was planned as a “family” holiday. Vampire staff would be given the holiday of both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Human staff would receive Christmas Day and Boxing Day off, though they would be having their own meals and celebration at the house. Addie would be cooking and baking in the evenings.
The staff gift had been a bonus in advance of Christmas so they might buy themselves whatever they liked, since many had never had ready money of their own. Genevieve and Kendrick would exchange gifts on Christmas Eve, since Genevieve had gifts for Fletcher and Hannah and Peter. Nothing else was planned.
Except, as the carolers went door to door on the evenings before Christmas Eve and the church bells rang out in the clear night air, Genevieve kept thinking of her wedding night. Or rather, wedding morning. How she had wanted to be married in a church. And how she longed to believe that she could step freely over the threshold without fear of retribution or condemnation.
“I have found nothing to fear in a church,”Kendrick had said.
Genevieve laughed suddenly to herself, covering her face with her hand. How strange, to long for something so much yet equally shrink back from it! To wish for the comfort and familiarity of the church building yet shrink back from the holiest of days it upheld!
Goose, she castigated herself, and she went to find Kendrick.
He was in the library, rolling his eyes over another “helpful note” from one of the better-off vampire households. “One more page to add to the kindling,” he said, handing the letter to her, one written in a spidery hand full of caution and woes that may betide they who change ancient vampiric traditions.
“If the ancient vampire does not give a jot for the traditions, you’d think that would give them some pause,” Genevieve remarked.
“I’ll have you know I’m not a year past a thousand,” Kendrick said. “Maybe.”
“Still, it gives us insight into the portion of the Ossuary that is still hidebound and resistant to change.” Genevieve set the missive down on the desk. “Don’t burn it just yet.”
“I commend your forethought.” Kendrick lifted an eyebrow. “Did you need me, Genevieve?”
Staring into his gold eyes, she knew that the answer wasyes. “I think I would like to attend a Christmas Eve service,” she admitted in a small voice. “But I’m afraid.”
He didn’t ask why. He didn’t say there was nothing to be afraid of. All he said was, “Would you like me to go with you?”
She nodded.
“I believe St. Alban’s is holding one. I shall be pleased to escort you, ma’am.” He stood and bowed over her hand. “You find yourself in possession of a willing knight-errant.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Tonight, then.”
Tonight! She stared at the clock on the desk. It was past midnight. Christmas Eve had officially begun.
It pleased Kendrick to see Genevieve wearing one of her fine dresses and a matching cloak. He had told her to order a ballgown and whatever other finery she liked from the new seamstresses they had set up in the Ossuary, and this was in a lovely shade of rose. It made her glow, and the fashionable hat—carefully secured, since she did not have a pile of hair in which to anchor a formidable hat pin—was offset to give her face a bit of a gamine look. He had put aside his everyday wear and put on a suit of superfine wool. He left the sword in their bedchamber.
At the door, he donned a hat and handed her a pretty fur muff. She stared down at it and then up at him with wide eyes.
“I know you don’t need it, Jenny, but it completes your outfit nicely,” he said. He offered her his arm.
The street was dark, but the night was clear; horses’ harnesses jingled with bells and an air of festive cheer was in the air. It was a short walk to the church, and they joined the other parishioners who filed in and found places in the pews. They garnered some stares, as neighborhood churches knew most of their attendees, but Kendrick turned away the most avid looks with a quick flick of his eyes.
Genevieve paid no attention to the humans around them. Her face was entirely concerned with the threshold, as if she were on a hunter and it was a particularly tricky jump. He was unaccountably proud of her when she stepped forward into the church with only a slight hesitation.
It was not a particularly remarkable church building—rather rundown, in fact, not much noticed or attended by any of the finer inhabitants of the neighborhood. But the vicar had a good voice and stepped into the pulpit with a smile to wish his congregants a joyous yuletide. The altar boasted a wooden nativity scene, perhaps carved by one of the parishioners. As they rose to sing a hymn, Kendrick held the hymn book for Genevieve. He was not sure she heard more than one word in three that the vicar had uttered so far, but he hoped this was what she needed.
How very humbling, he thought ruefully.The man who has lived so long and done so many things has finally found one thing he cannot accomplish through persuasion or reason or sheer force of will: heal the hurts of the heart.
The church smelled of evergreens and flowers, candlewax and stone.Christmas. It had been so long.
She sat in the pew, her hands tightly clasped. The vicar’s words came to her through a roaring in her ears. Her heart did not beat, which was the only reason it was not hammering out of her chest.
Only Kendrick’s hand under her elbow helped her stand, and even then, she stared unseeing at the hymnal until the words finally penetrated her mind:
O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth.
