For reasons he could not explain, Adrian laughed. The sound startled him almost as much as it seemed to startle Valerie, who stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
How long has it been since I have laughed?He could not even begin the task of remembering, for there were too many years to sift through, too many bleak memories to smother the handful of good.
“It will be the evening before Christmas Eve,” he said, remembering himself. “In honor of the orphanage. There will be music and dancing and refreshments and other such things. Your attendance is requested.”
Hisspeech was not quite as friendly as Valerie’s—he lacked the charm that seemed ingrained in her—but the somewhat rude little girl appeared to appreciate his blunt delivery.
“We’ll be there,” the girl declared decisively. “Merry Christmas, Your Grace.”
He blinked, those two words like a stallion’s kick to the chest, winding him:Merry Christmas.Much like his laugh, he had notheard that greeting, that sentiment, in more years than he cared to count. But hecouldremember the last time it had been said to him.
“Merry Christmas, my sweet boy.”
He had been eighteen, just returned from university for the festive recess, and none-too-pleased about having to attend a party at Blackwall Castle instead of spending the season with Richard athisfamily’s estate. He had been sore about having to refuse the invitation after his father had forbidden it.
Seeing his mother with a bruise on her arm had soured his mood further, layered with guilt that he had wanted to be anywhere else. She had hugged him and murmured those words—“Merry Christmas, my sweet boy”—and though he had hugged her back, his bad temper had made him more reluctant than usual. Now, he wished that he had held on even longer. It was the last Christmas they ever spent together.
“Yes, well… Merry Christmas to you too,” Adrian said, more gruffly than he had intended.
With a polite dip of his head, he turned and strode away from that last house—a quaint gray stone cottage with snow on the roof and holly in the windows—and headed for the town green. His horse grazed there, searching through the blanket of white for tufts of grass.
“Adrian?” Valerie’s voice halted him.
“We ought to be returning,” he said. “I shall ride alongside.”
Her hand came to rest on his arm. “Are you well?”
“Perfectly.” He did not shake her off, but he walked away from her comforting touch and up to his horse. “Come, we should not delay. I reallydothink it is about to snow again.”
A frown furrowed her brow, and he could tell she was about to protest or make a jest, but when she turned her face up toward the sky… a plump, white flake fluttered down onto her nose. She blinked in surprise, a laugh of pure delight rippling from her lips.
“Oh… oh, goodness!” she gasped, as more flakes joined the first, falling slowly. “I do hope this will not ruin the party.”
He wanted to smile, but he could not get his mouth to cooperate. “No matter how heavily it falls, we shall be at the party.” He paused. “Even if we must load my horse with roasted geese.”
Valerie looked to him then with eyes so bright and a smile so beautiful that his breath faltered, and his heart felt strange. Not the subtle warming he had experienced while making wreaths, but an ache, like sitting before a fire after being out in the snow too long: the waking up of a body that had been entirely numb for far longer.
“Let us be on our way,” he muttered, extending his hand to help her into the carriage, for he could not forget his manners. “It will be dark soon.”
The northern winter days could be beautiful, but they were so very short. Night seemed to creep in quicker and quicker, though none were so short as that day: the winter solstice. Two days until the party, three until Christmas Eve, four until Christmas Day, and then… that would be the end of all this.
Valerie had not stated exactly when she intended to leave. It would be peculiar if she departed before Christmas Day, but after that, Adrian had no notion of how much longer he would have her near.
As such, it was better if his heart stayed frozen.
“Can it be done?” Valerie whispered in the gloom of the old ballroom, her heart jumping at every creak of wood and groan of ancient stone.
It was the one room in the castle where she could well imagine ghosts wandering—or dancing—at their leisure, casually haunting anyone who dared to set foot in their domain. But that was almost entirely the fault of the dark that had, indeed, veiled their corner of the country with urgent haste, as if the skies wished to cover something up before they were found out.
Most of the sconces in the disused ballroom had fallen into disrepair, unable to hold a candle, and the chandeliers were too high up to light. So, Valerie and her conspirators, Kate and Esther, were forced to undertake their very important task by lanternlight. Eerie enough if it had merely been dark inside the ballroom, but the bubbling, tarnished mirrors that hung all around had turned the effort into a series of startling shocks to the heart.
“The whole castle?” Kate replied, the lantern casting her face in unsettling shadows. “Not without more hands to help. But the entrance hall, the main drawing room, the library, and a few hallways—we could manage that while he is tending to his duties.”
Esther nodded. “And if the snow falls thick enough tonight, I know some of the maids have beendesperateto build snowmen, after they saw the ones in the rose garden. We could decorate the driveway with them.”
Valerie suspected that ‘some of the maids’ translated to Esther herself and smiled at the girl’s festive enthusiasm. It was precisely what the castle required, especially if they were to initiate Valerie’s surprise before tomorrow evening. Rather, her sweet revenge.
“As two ladies who know his habits far better than I do, how long do you think he will be in his study?” Valerie asked.
