Page 4 of A Merry Christmas
“Matrimony is not well suited with my profession,” he argued.
“Yet I read recently of Major Stuart’s recent nuptials.”
The entire table seemed to have ceased speaking in order to listen. Merry almost felt sorry for him.
“His bride happens to be rather an exception to the traditional sort of lady.”
The table looked at him, waiting for further explanation. He did not look inclined to elaborate.
“And what sort of lady is she?” she prompted.
“A rather extraordinary one. She seems to enjoy adventure rather than embroidery and afternoon tea with other ladies. There is nothing at all wrong with either; it is just that most ladies would nottolerate the unusual lifestyle required being married to a military man.”
Merry rather thought she’d like to meet Mrs. Stuart. She was not certain she wanted to have a traditional marriage herself, when he described the alternative.
“Perhaps you will find one such as she,” his mother said with a gentle pat on his arm as if he needed to be consoled. Merry bit back a grin.
“I assure you I am quite content, Mother.”
A look crossed Mrs. Fielding’s face that spoke sympathy, perhaps even pity, as though she thought him misguided.
“Now you have bungled matters, Brother. All the ladies here will be on their mettle to prove you wrong!”
“Perhaps their attentions would be best served by aiding Merry, who actually wishes for help,” Captain Fielding suggested with a straight face.
How could he say such a thing? She stamped on his foot under the table and was sorely tempted to toss her wine in his face. She cast him a look of disapproval, which was rewarded with a devilish grin. He was enjoying this!
The others began their conversations again, thankfully, and the attention was no longer upon her.
“Am I wrong?” he asked. “You just waxed eloquently about Mr. Tremaine and his courtship.”
“Not entirely, but I do not need the help, as it were, of the collective families!” she growled. “It was ungentlemanly of you.”
“Then I beg your pardon,” he responded in a tone that belied his words.
CHAPTER 2
The next morning, Joshua woke before the rest of the household. It was a habit too firmly ingrained by years of military discipline to be easily shaken—and truthfully, it was a welcome moment of solitude before the day’s noise began. The fire in his chamber had burned low, but a faint glow of embers gave enough warmth for him to dress without haste.
He washed in cold water, shrugged into his coat, and made his way downstairs. The house was quiet but for the faint creak of timbers and the distant clatter of the kitchen. Halfway down the main staircase, a warm, rich fragrance reached him—spices, sugar, and butter: the unmistakable scent of Christmas baking.
He slowed his step, drinking it in. How many times had he woken to just such a scent in this house as a boy? In those days, the thought of currant buns fresh from the oven or mince pies cooling on wire racks had been enough to lure him into the kitchen before the cook was ready for visitors. Some things, it seemed, did not change.
The baize door to the kitchen passage was ajar. Joshua stepped through, and the warmth hit him in a wave. The great kitchen hearth roared with heat as copper pots hung gleaming from their hooks and every surface seemed laden with some stage of preparation—trays ofginger cake cut into slices; ribbons of pastry laid out for tarts; great bowls of dried fruit waiting to be stirred into the plum puddings.
And there, at the far table, stood Merry. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbow over a dark blue wool gown, and a plain white apron was tied neatly at her waist. A wisp of auburn hair had escaped its pins to curl against her cheek, and she was bent over a hamper, arranging jars and parcels in orderly layers.
Joshua paused in the doorway. For a moment, the image was so domestic—so utterly unlike the self-assured young lady sparring with him at last night’s dinner—that he found himself oddly reluctant to break it.
She glanced up and caught him hesitating. “You are abroad early, Captain. I thought soldiers relished the chance to lie abed when not on campaign.”
“Some of us are past saving,” he replied, stepping into the room. “Though I might have stayed abed if I had known the scent of your baking would reach even the top floor. What treacherous inducement is this?”
“My baking?” She laughed, shaking her head. “I am merely conscripted to help pack the Christmas hampers. The cook and kitchen maids have done all the clever work. I am the common labour.”
Joshua came closer, glancing at the contents of the nearest basket. “Common? That looks to me like the work of a quartermaster—everything fitted to the inch. Bread, cheese, jars of jam, apples…and is that a joint of beef beneath the cloth?”
“It is. One for each of our tenants, along with candles, dried beans, and some sweetmeats for the children. The Roxtons and Fieldings have been doing this together since before I was born.”
