Page 18 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
"Who is Gideon?" Tia said, raising her head in confusion.
"Viscount Somers," Sheldon clarified, apparently very amused by her wince of embarrassment. “The man whose home we’re enjoying?”
"Oh. I have never had occasion to use his Christian name," she huffed, handing the bag back to him. "Naturally."
"Yes, of course, of course," Sheldon agreed through his chuckling. He held the open end of the bag toward her and motioned that she must reach in and take one of the stars. "Come now, everyone will get one, even that surly-looking footman. Yes, you," the Lord Moorvale said a bit louder to a startled-looking servant standing nearby. "Come on, lad, take one. Let's not dawdle."
The footman stood next to Tia as Sheldon began to go 'round the room, passing stars to everyone gathered, and sending for the housekeeper and butler besides. Both she and the footman spent this time alternating between considering the strange ornament in the palms of their hands and watching to see how the others would react to their own. They exchanged a glance, and Tia's shrug of confused acceptance did win a weak smile of solidarity from the young footman.
Tia leaned against the brick border of the fireplace, allowing herself to watch the strange and enchanting marquis until such a time as all the stars were distributed, some received uncertainly, and others grasped with excitement.
Lord Moorvale shoved the velvet bag back into his pocket without ceremony, glancing around the room to make sure all was as he wished, and then clapped his large hands together with a resounding boom, which drew the attention of those in the room to him in a sudden wave of anticipatory silence.
"I'm sure some of you are in a state of befuddlement," he began, "but I can also see a few of you recognize what's afoot here." He pointed out the smiling faces of the housekeeper, the dowager, and the Somers men. "It's just a bit of cheerful nostalgia, now that the wee ones are old enough to play. Many years ago, a much younger Lord Somers and I devised a Christmas game, though back then, we only had one star between us."
"A star since lost," put in Lord Somers, with a faint upturn to his usually stern lips. "Perhaps we'll find that one too."
Alex Somers scoffed. "If it could be found, it would have been found by now."
"Hush, hush," tutted Lord Moorvale. "These new stars will do just fine. What we do want, though, in this new era of our game is for each piece to be unique. Now, it is up to you all how this will be achieved. Feel free to paint or etch or alter it however you see fit, just so long as we know it's yours.”
The little girl, Callie, nodded as though he were speaking only to her, and immediately pulled the ribbon from her hair and set to winding it around the star in her little hands, between each ray of iron light. She did this quickly and concisely, knotting it securely into a neat bow, and returning her rapt attention to Sheldon Bywater.
"In a few nights' time," Sheldon continued, "we shall record each person's star and a unique reward for whoever finds it, a gift determined by the owner of the star. Then we will set about individually to hide our stars, which may be put anywhere in Somerton proper."
"What if a star stays hidden the whole time?" Alex wondered, twisting his own game piece through his fingers like a large coin. "Does the owner get to keep their own prize?"
"No, you wee scoundrel," Sheldon said with a frown. "We want a joyous game, not a round of backstabber's chess. As soon as any player finds a star, they must either hide it again or accept its prize and withdraw from the game, which will be played until Christmas Eve."
"I suggest you all look discreetly and quickly for good hiding places, worthy of a cleverly written clue," said Lord Somers. "The hunt is, of course, the best part of the game."
“And do be thoughtful with your designated gift,” Rose added brightly. “It need not be grand, but rather personal instead.”
"Oh, Rosie, might I borrow your paints?" Glory asked excitedly, clutching her star to her chest. "I've just the idea for my star!"
"Me too, me too," put in little Reggie Somers, rushing to his mother's skirts as though he could claim them first. “I adore paints!”
Soon the room had engulfed itself in excited chatter, with offers and requests of various means to mark the stars as one's own.
Tia held hers tight and watched the merriment with a dazed sort of wonder. She hadn't felt this kind of spark in the air, this particular feeling of magic, in many years. For this one moment, gone was her worry and fear for the future, and in its place, she was five years old again, on the floor of her Nana's cottage, dreaming of the Christmas to come.
Chapter 10
It had been a good long while since Sheldon Bywater, Marquis of Moorvale and thrice-decorated Brigadier General of the Royal Arms, had tried his hand at creating art. He was not very good at it.
"Oh, but that one is quite good," said Rose Somers over his shoulder, in the same voice she used to encourage the children. She gently touched his several drafts of the Moorvale bat on a sheet of parchment, stroking the lines of the one she thought was the most acceptable. "Why not use your dagger as a reference point? I rarely draw without a reference point."
Much of the household, servant and noble alike, were seated around a cobbling of tables and chairs that had been dragged into the sitting room. Rose had brought out her sketch pads, her paints, her chalks, an assortment of glue, and a few other odds and ends to make the decorating of the stars into an event. The kitchen staff had also provided food dyes, crushed eggshells, dry beans, and such with gusto and enthusiasm for the games to come.
It had resulted in a very brief breakfast, as everyone was brimming with anticipation to make their ideas into a reality. So, an assortment of small bites had been transferred to the sitting room so that anyone involved might snack at their leisure on breads and fruits to fuel their creative spirit.
The light at this time of morning was perfect, streaming in from those oversized windows and casting prisms into the corners of the room where it hit the thickets of snow that had begun to build in the corners of the glass panes.
The stars for the service staff had been split into groups, determined by function. The kitchens, the footmen and maids, the stables and gardens, the butler, and the housekeeper, respectively, had one star apiece, and the former three groups had decided upon the most competent artist among them to decorate their star.
Indeed, Sheldon had been eyeballing the young footman's work two chairs to his left with open envy. The lad had damn near surgical control over a paintbrush and was executing a series of thin, brightly colored whorls that were beautiful enough to be offensive to the less talented peasants sat around him, at least by Sheldon's estimation.
"Mama is the best drawer," Reggie announced, chewing a scone that had recently entered his mouth. "Thebethst!"
