Page 12 of Snowdrops and Winterberry
“A Christmas celebration?” she repeated, confused.
He nodded. “Apparently, he was sent away to Harrow just before Christmas.”
“Aye. ’Twas a shame, that. I did try to convince his mother to let him remain.” Robbie preferred to avoid speaking ill of the lady who now had such control over her employment, but that had been an unkind thing to do to her son.
“He spoke of it while we were on the mountain,” Lord Jonquil said. “I think he would enjoy the chance to have the Christmas he missed.”
Robbie looked to Lady Jonquil, who sat on a nearby sofa, listening intently. The lady sat with a hand laid gently on her middle, a position she assumed often. Though Robbie’d not been told as much directly, she suspected Lord and Lady Jonquil would be parents before the year’s end.
“I think it would be wonderful,” Lady Jonquil said, “but we defer to you. Adam is better known to you, as are the Christmas traditions at Falstone Castle.”
“I’m afraid there weren’t many,” Robbie said. “When the old duke was alive, he and Adam would drink wassail and exchange little gifts. The servants put up greenery on Christmas Eve. Adam and his father would sing Christmas hymns. It was a quiet evening, always only the two of them. I’d wager that’s what he misses most: being with his father.”
“Do you think having a belated Christmas here would only add to his grief?” Lord Jonquil spoke as one who knew loss and one who had walked with others through their sorrows.
Robbie pondered the question for a long moment. “Were we to have this substitute Christmas at the castle, I think it’d be a difficult thing for him. He’d be faced over and over again with his father’s absence.”
A surprisingly charitable thought entered Robbie’s mind: maybe the duchess had sent Adam away thinking it’d save him from the stark reality of Christmas at home without his father.
“Being here, where everything’s new,” Robbie added, “would lessen that association, I think. He’d nae be thinking of how he’d once done this with his father. Might be a healing thing for the wee boy.”
“And we could always choose some traditions that were different from what he’s known,” Lady Jonquil said. “Then it would feel like Christmas but not like a Christmas focused on his loss.”
“And”—Lord Jonquil’s expression turned immediately mischievous—“we should give some thought to making our celebration a highwayman’s Christmas.”
Lady Jonquil looked as confused as Robbie felt.
“While we were on the mountain,” Lord Jonquil explained, “we had such a laugh at the idea of highwaymen during the holy season. They would, we decided, spend Christmas giving people things instead of stealing from them. He thought the idea was an utter lark.”
“Did he truly laugh?” Robbie asked.
Lord Jonquil nodded, quite as if it weren’t a complete oddity. Adam never laughed. He seldom smiled. What magic were these two working on the solemn and grieving little boy?
“We should ask Mr. Simpkin if he would help us create some Christmas greenery,” Lady Jonquil said. “He has such a lovely eye for plants and such. He would do a wonderful job, I’m certain.” She looked to her husband. “He would help us, don’t you think?”
“No,” Robbie said, almost without thinking.
That brought both their eyes to her, surprise written on their faces.
“He grumped and groused about Adam being here,” Robbie said. “Warned me against the child getting in his way. Gave me a dressing down, he did, as if I were neglecting my duties.”
“That doesn’t sound like him.” Lord Jonquil looked more confused than doubtful.
“Bring up with him the matter of a little boy being on the estate,” Robbie said. “It’ll sound like him, sure enough.”
Lady Jonquil rose. “I will go speak with him.” On that declaration, she glided regally from the room.
Lord Jonquil grinned as he watched her leave. “We should likely pray for Simpkin.”
“I think your wife might be a warrior.” Robbie liked that the lady was wielding that fire on behalf of her beloved Adam.
“She loves that little duke.” Lord Jonquil turned back to Robbie. “I’m grateful to you for bringing him. I’m certain it was more of an inconvenience than you’ve let on.”
Robbie shook her head. “If you’ve lightened him enough for that heavyhearted laddie to laugh, every effort will’ve been well worth making.”
“And if Simpkin is willing to help us create this odd and magical Christmas we are plotting, would it be worth the effort of working with him?”
She held herself firmly and with determination. “I’d work with the devil himself if it brought my Adam joy. He deserves it more than any little boy I’ve known, and he’s had less of it than even you can imagine.”
