Page 110 of Ordered Home for the Holidays
Madelina rose. They would be singing for a share of the wassail cup, and perhaps a sweet or fruit and nuts to go their way, a bit of coin if they were working men or beggars, and it was her duty to give it. She stilled as she only heard two voices—a small band, then.
God bless the master of this house
Likewise the mistress too
And damsels fair that prance about
In ribbons silk and blue—
“Those aren’t the words,” she said aloud, moving down the hall as the two men burst into a hearty but somewhat unsteady refrain, as if they were weary or very drunk.
Love and joy come to all
And the stranger in your hall
Bring out the wassail bowl and see—
“Blast, I can’t think of the proper words,” said a man’s voice on the doorstep. Garrick.
Her heart seized, her hand half raised to open the door.
“How we’ll surprise you all,” said another voice, pleased with himself for the rhyme.
Madelina pushed open the door. “Constantin?” she croaked.
Her brother stood on the threshold, looking as if he’d aged five years in the months he’d been gone. His hair was shaggy, his jaw showing cuts from a hasty shave. The bones of his face stood out above a neckcloth flattened and stained from travel. His suit was worn and fit him poorly, but he was here, alive, with all his limbs and faculties.
“Constantin!” she shrieked and threw her arms around him.
“’ullo, Lina.” He staggered backward under her weight, and she felt his thinness. “Steady on, old girl.”
Garrick caught them both and held her brother’s shoulders as Madelina straightened, peering into Constantin’s eyes. The haggard lines of her brother’s face eased into a smile.
“Where—when—how?” she stammered.
“Let me inside, goosecap, so I only have to say it once,” Constantin said.
Madelina pulled him indoors where he was met with a scream from Maman, who had come to the parlor door to see what the commotion was about. As everyone fell on Constantin, Madelina stood in the hallway, blocking Garrick’s path as he stepped inside and stripped off his hat.
He too looked worn and travel-stained, his neckcloth flat and limp, his coat and breeches creased, his boots dull with dirt. He hadn’t shaved as recently, and stubble shadowed his jaw. His hair was pulled back in a hasty queue, and he smelled of horse and mud and acrid smoke.
“I’m filthy,” he warned as she stepped close.
“You’re here.” She planted her palms to his cheeks and rose up on her toes to kiss him.
For one endless, agonizing moment he stood entirely still, as if he didn’t want her. Her first thought was that, if Garrick had decided he didn’t want her, she hoped lightning would strike and make her disappear.
Her second thought was that she would persuade him. She would use his own tricks on him if she must. She slid her tongue into his mouth, shamelessly, in the way he’d taught her, and that triggered him from his frozen state.
His arms swooped around her, hauling her roughly against him. She didn’t care if he were crushing the lace along the neckline or the silk petticoat of her open robe. Garrick was holding her and this, this, was all she wanted in the world. His mouth fastened to hers as if he were starving and she the feast. He clasped one hand to the small of her back, above the padded rump filling out the back of her gown, and swept the other up over her bodice to cup her neck, holding her still for his ravishment. A breathless moan escaped her, an invitation and a sigh of relief.
He broke away to take in air and leaned his forehead against hers while they both steadied their breath.
“This is the welcome I was hoping for,” he said quietly.
Madelina kissed him again. It was the only way she knew how to answer, to tell him what she now knew without a doubt, without an inkling of reservation. Knew to her bones, for now and forever. She was his.
And he was hers.
