Page 44 of A Duke's Christmas Carol
The cook frowned. “I expect she’s missing her own family. Can’t wait to get back to them, no doubt.” She mustered a small smile. “I always spend Christmas morning at church with mine. Oh, the grandchildren will be pleased as anything to get to attend this party!”
“Yes… I was just thinking about my siblings,” Valerie half-lied, though the two things—needing to leave and wanting to stay—were entwined. “They would enjoy a party. We usually attend the church in the nearby village, and we always walk back the long way; the hills look so pretty in the winter. Afterward, we have a little feast, and then we spend the afternoon playing or reading or telling stories.”
A flicker of something like suspicion flitted briefly across Kate’s face as she eyed Valerie, but she said nothing. Instead, she nodded and gestured to the door where Esther had departed. “It has just been the two of us for years, but we have our traditions. Mostly, we’ve been here for Christmas Day. We go to church, we return, we spend most of the day in the drawing room, and eat whatever Mrs. Leggat happens to have left for the servants.”
“I never leave you all without,” Mrs. Leggat confirmed with pride in her voice. “Now, shall we divide and conquer? I ought to start making the pastry—how many sweet pies do you think? Five-hundred?”
A cough of shock knocked the rest of Valerie’s troubled reverie out of her head. “I do not think we will needquiteso many! Perhaps, a few large ones?”
“Yes, large ones…” The cook nodded thoughtfully. “Still, I’ll need pastry for the pheasant pies too.Mygrandchildren love a pheasant pie, before you say anything, and those boys ate three helpings when I made it for them.”
Laughter bubbled up in Valerie’s throat. “Well then, while you are making your delicious pastry, I shall retire to my chambers to make a list of what we shall need.” She glanced at Kate. “Might you see what decorations can be found?”
“Of course, Miss Wightman.” Kate smiled, though it did not quite reach her eyes, which gleamed with a mild sadness. “I shall put everything I find in the old ballroom. Do you know where it is?”
“I think so,” Valerie replied and moved toward the door.
This party was to be her saving grace, diverting her mind from the thrill of the carriage journey, the confusion of what it meant, and the haunting repetition of Adrian’s warning—do not ask too much, do not ask too much.
She might be leaving soon, but that did not mean she could not leave her mark upon Blackwall Castle and its offspring of a town. Indeed, she intended to soak up every bit of joy and festive merriment from this party, for it might be her last chance to simply be herself, enjoying every moment.
A shudder ran through her as she hurried out of the kitchens, her mind whispering a dreadful realization,Next year will look very different indeed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The following afternoon, contorted amongst boxes and boxes of decorations, and greenery that the gardener had cut that morning for her grand plans, Valerie wished she had accepted the driver’s invitation to travel on the bench.
Her knees were bent diagonal, the corner of a crate jabbing her in the side with every sway of the carriage. But the bruising pain stopped her mind from wandering, at least, jolting her back into the discomfort of the present instead of the pleasures of yesterday.
I wonder if Adrian means to remain in his study until the day of the party,she mused with no small amount of disappointment.
She had not seen him since he helped her down from this very carriage the day before. He had departed her side swiftly, with the excuse that he meant to meet her driver at the coach house to see what he could do to help with the carriage repairs.
A startled shriek escaped her throat as a sharptap-taphit the window.
Her head whipped toward it, her stomach lurching at the thought that a bird might have struck the small pane. Instead, a much larger shape had appeared through the glass, the steady tap coming from the knuckles of a gloved hand.
Puzzled, she leaned across the boxes and yanked down the small sash window to peer out at the rider.
“Did you not see the clouds when you departed?” Adrian’s stern voice asked, with no preamble of pleasantries. No ‘good afternoon,’ no ‘how do you do?’ or ‘may I join you?’
Valerie flashed a saccharine smile. “I am afraid not. Why, have they formed some unusual shape? A snow angel, perhaps?”
“What? No.” He shook his head as if dispelling a bee that had buzzed too close. “It looks like it may snow again.”
“I hope it does,” she replied with a sigh. “It shall feel so very festive if it snows while I am arranging the first wave of decorations.”
Adrian peered into the carriage, his eyebrow rising. “This is only the first wave?”
“It is a town hall, Your Grace,” she said. “I cannot have it looking sparse. Truly, I doubt there is a single decoration left at Blackwall Castle; I have commandeered them all.”
A funny look passed over Adrian’s face like shadows being chased by the sun over summertime hills. “I was not aware there were any left.” He cleared his throat. “I will accompany you. This is not a task that you can undertake alone.”
“The footman will help,” she countered, secretly pleased when his eyes flared.
“This is not a task for two, either,” he remarked.
His gaze moved past the clutter of crates and boxes and came to rest upon the squabs where she had cried out his name the day before. The place where she had surrendered entirely to his touch, his kiss. The spot where she had clung to him in the throes of passion and wished he would not stop.
