Page 5 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
Cosgrove squinted at him in confusion as they reached the doors to the old stables, already propped open, with the carriage on display in the front center of the space. "You don't want any compensation for it?" he asked skeptically.
"I want it gone, to be honest," Sheldon said on a sigh. "It was a folly of a purchase to begin with, and it was never mine."
"Ah," Cosgrove said, though it was clear he still didn't understand. "What is it you're wanting off the old girl, then?"
"These," Sheldon replied, stepping forward and gesturing at the wrought-iron stars that lined the curving design leading from the wheels to the driver's seat. "Just snap a few off, a dozen or so, and the rest is yours to do with as you please."
He couldn't help but chuckle at the growing confusion on the other man's face. He proffered a velvet pouch at the man to hold the stars. "They are for the children," he explained. "We will use them to make a Yuletide game at Somerton this year. I've a game in mind to amuse the little ones."
"A game, you say?" Cosgrove replied with a hint of interest. "I've got six of the little demons back home myself. What is this game?"
Sheldon gave a wide grin and took a seat on an old crate, kicking away a tuft of petrified hay to make room for Echo, who settled at his feet. "There's already one missing, you'll notice, on the other side. It came away in my hand on the first day we had it, which infuriated Da. I'm sure the craftsman was made to suffer for the defect. However, no one ever asked for it back, so I kept it. That year, I had my first Christmas with the Somers family down in Yorkshire, and we made a game of hiding it in return for whatever small favor met our whimsy—sweets, a particularly shiny rock, and so on."
Cosgrove gave a mild chuckle, already set to work with his tools, carefully prying the stars from their welding.
"It became a sort of tradition, I suppose," Sheldon continued, memories of both hunting and hiding flickering behind the wall of winter frost in his memory. "I couldn't tell you what became of the thing, though. We must have simply lost interest somewhere along the way. I thought Lord Somers might wish to revive the game now that he's got little ones of his own."
"If you hide them well enough, that could keep the wee ones occupied for hours," Cosgrove said wistfully, jingling the bag of stars he had liberated and extending the pouch toward Sheldon. "It is a good idea, My Lord. I may have to employ it myself."
"It would please me if you did," Sheldon replied brightly. He glanced at the carriage, which had begun to resemble an old man, losing his teeth, without its stars. "Will you require any aid to transport the old girl?"
Cosgrove insisted that he did not, though he had gotten a faraway look on his face that made Sheldon wonder if he was more preoccupied now with where to hide metal stars than how to use the scrap from the carriage.
He hitched the old carriage to his own and vanished down the pathway to the bottom of the hills, off to his own Christmastime adventures, whatever they may be. Sheldon stayed for a bit, considering the empty space in this old barn, where the last vestiges of his father's reign had just been carted off to be reborn.
Even in here, where the straw had been blanched white and brittle from countless seasons of abandonment, the absence of Ian Bywater, old and surly and a terrible father, if not an effective marquis, still seemed to linger strongly. Perhaps his ghost had been pacing this place, this last untouched remnant of his rule, while all living eyes had been turned toward the castle proper for its great rebuilding.
"What should I do with this barn, Da?" Sheldon said to the empty room, Echo stirring between his feet in her quickly obtained daytime slumber. "Should we fix it or tear it down, do you think?"
There was, of course, no answer. Ian Bywater had not been a man of many words in life, so there was no reason to think he ought to be in death either. There wasn't even much wind today to bat about the rafters and creak ominously, and at least allow Sheldon the illusion of a communing ghost.
Perhaps that was the most authentic communique from his father after all: a deprivation of any fun or silliness.
"Well, if you haven't any suggestions, I will do as I please, then," Sheldon quipped, pushing to his feet and swinging the velvet pouch at his side as he went back into the open air, listening to the clank of iron stars as they crashed into one another inside the bag.
Echo trotted along next to him, panting softly and nosing at the pouch with curiosity. From here, it would only be a short walk back to the castle, and there would be a hot luncheon and a warm fire awaiting them, just close enough to see the fringes of that final scaffolding.
Sheldon felt comforted by the old carriage house. It was something he could continue to work on after the builders left Hawk Hill, yet another project to stave off the dreaded unknown of simply being finished with it all. He sighed, drawing in a bracing, deep breath of early winter air, and put the idea from his mind.
He would stow his worry until after Christmas, like any decent man ought to do. For the next month, at least, he was allowed carefree joy.
Chapter 3
Tatiana did not know how one approached a great estate. She had never arrived at a manor house alone, let alone in the dead of night. She had first planned on riding only to the township, and staying at the inn until morning. However, she had realized shortly before reaching her destination that she was nearly out of silver, and had very little to barter with besides.
Had it been stupid or wise to leave on this mad caper without more wealth? She had been posing as a traveling governess, dressed plain and riding a mount more frequently used for kitchen errands than noble transportation. Even if she had brought jewels, or more coin than she'd counted out on that fateful morning, she feared she would have put herself in more danger on the road, where the eyes of strangers were always glinting with one hunger or another.
She shivered, drawing the combed wool of her hood closer to her cheeks. She imagined that she could smell the bergamot of her Nana's perfume, still lingering on her things. Of course, one could not smell anything at all in such deep cold. She urged her mount forward, seeing no path forward other than simply presenting herself at the front door.
Somerton looked more foreboding in the winter chill than she remembered it, sprawling out before her and the others in that bygone autumn, when the wind was still warm and the golden-red foliage added a glow of promised warmth to the grounds. Tonight it was illuminated only by the dull glow of a cloud-covered moon, and the drive was barren, winding in stark cobbles to the door.
She wrapped her gloved hand around the door knocker and used it with as much force as she could muster, cringing at the harsh, metallic clangs as they fell. For a moment, she thought no one had heard. For one fleeting moment, her mind went wild with fear that perhaps no one was in the estate at all. She thought that she would have to spend the night out here, in the cold.
She was so entranced by these horrifying possibilities that she did not at first notice when the door did open, spilling soft, golden light around her.
"Who is there?" called a woman from somewhere farther inside, snapping Tia's attention back to the present and the surprised face of the Somerton butler, who was gaping at her there in the night.
From behind him came the Viscountess Somers, wrapped in a dressing gown with her heavy blonde curls loose around her shoulders. "Miss Everstead? What on earth?"
