Page 75 of Ordered Home for the Holidays
“It’s not an obligation,” he said, and then, softer, “I’m glad you’re here.”
She searched his face for sarcasm, but found only a kind of tired tenderness. For a moment, the old ache returned, the longing for something she had never dared to reach for. She thought of Percy, good, patient, safe Percy, and felt at once loyal and unfaithful. “Loneliness is a funny thing. You never feel it so much as when you are surrounded by people.”
He gave a small grunt of agreement. “And yet, we persist. There’s always another day to get through.”
She nodded, letting the silence deepen. The house settled around them, beams groaning softly as the heat of day bled away. Pearl wondered if the entire edifice—Victor included—might collapse if they simply kept silent long enough.
“I can’t imagine ever loving anyone again,” she said, before she could stop herself. It was an admission, a confession, and she half-hoped he would let it pass without comment.
Victor’s face remained composed, but his hands betrayed him. The knuckles had whitened where they gripped the arm of the chair. He didn’t reply.
Just then, the spell was broken. Footsteps sounded in the corridor—children’s, quick and chaotic—and the next moment Alice and Susie burst into the room, cheeks pink from excitement or perhaps the dash down unfamiliar stairs.
“Mama!” cried Alice. “You must come see the dollhouse! It has dolls and a kitchen, and the governess says we may play with it all afternoon!”
Susie, more reserved, but no less animated, added, “There’s a telescope on the turret, too. The governess says it’s for astronomy, but Alice is pretending to spy on the peacocks.”
Pearl rose, and both girls flew to her, arms tight around her waist. She bent to kiss their hair, drawing in the warmth and hope of their future. She glanced up at Victor, who watched the scene with an inscrutable expression. For a moment, Pearl felt something shift between them—a truce, perhaps, or the faintest possibility that there might be, after all this time, something still worth the trouble of feeling.
She straightened her shoulders. “I told them about the peacocks you had when I was here last. We are lucky to be your guests, Victor. Thank you.”
He inclined his head, eyes lingering on her just a moment longer than was strictly proper. “The house is lucky to have you.”
The girls tugged her away, pulling her toward the promise of dollhouses and laughter. Pearl allowed herself to be led, but as she passed Victor, she caught his gaze and, for a single, breathless instant, held it.
In that moment, she thought, perhaps ghosts didn’t haunt Rettendon Abbey. Perhaps they were simply waiting to be welcomed home.
Chapter Three
The sky promised a pleasant day with scattered clouds dotting the bright blue. Victor stood by the sleigh in front of the Abbey, inspecting the harness. The horses, two monstrous grays bred for both beauty and brawn, stamped and snorted impatiently, their breaths pluming in the brittle air like kettle steam.
He watched as a groom swept aside one of the furs on a seat, then signaled for the passengers. The girls came first, hurtling themselves into the vehicle. Alice’s hair was barely contained beneath her bonnet. Susie, already possessed of her mother’s caution, navigated the icy pathway with the dignity of a cathedral cat. Pearl followed behind them, her face almost unreadable in the glare off the snow, but her stride resolute.
Victor took the girls one at a time, lifting them up onto the sleigh as if they weighed nothing, then tucking them into the rear seat with practiced efficiency. Alice looked up at him, blue eyes round with delight. “Are we to go very fast, Your Grace?”
“As fast as the horses wish,” he replied, schooling his voice into gruff warmth. “But you must promise not to shriek so loud that the partridges all die of fright.”
Alice giggled, feet drumming on the boards. “I promise!” Susie, already arranging her skirts, only nodded, but there was a sparkle in her gaze that said she wasn’t above a thrill or two.
He extended a hand to Pearl. Her palm was small and surprisingly strong, the grip a little longer than necessary. He was aware, in a way that hadn’t plagued him since his twenties,of the total number of inches separating his body from hers. He helped her settle on the seat in front of her daughters, then reached for the thickest of the fur robes and arranged it over her laps, tucking the edges with deliberate care. It was nothing, a duty owed to any guest, but the intimacy of the motion made him oddly lightheaded.
Pearl’s lips curved into a smile—polite, distant, but real. “Thank you, Victor.”
He didn’t allow himself to answer, lest his voice betray the absurd jitter in his pulse. Instead, he climbed onto the seat beside her, gathered the reins in his gloved hands, and cracked them smartly.
The horses lunged forward with a joyful violence, sleigh bells bursting into a tinny, jubilant riot as the runners bit into the fresh powder. The wind snapped across Victor’s face, bracing and alive. He hunched his shoulders and looked back over his shoulder at the girls cocooned behind him. They laughed gaily, their cheeks already reddening.
They shot down the drive, flanked on either side by ancient elms whose limbs bore the snow with a weary grace. The only sounds were the metallic laughter of the bells, the wet hiss of runners, and the girls’ running commentary on every passing marvel, “Look, Mama, the rookery!”
“There’s a fox den, I’m sure of it!”
“When will we see the deer, Your Grace?”
“In the lower meadow, if we’re lucky,” Victor called back. “And only if you’re silent for a moment or two—they have a taste for solitude.”
Alice put two fingers to her lips, miming an oath of silence, and was rewarded with a lopsided grin from the duke. Victor didn’t like to smile—he considered it an undignified waste of musculature—but in the raw chill of the morning, it seemed a permissible extravagance.
They took the first turn at the end of the avenue, and the Abbey fell away behind them, its dark stone softened by the blanketing white. Here, the land rolled in gentle dips and hollows. Susie pointed at a distant stand of yews. “Did you plant those, Your Grace?”
