Page 8 of Marie’s Merry Gentleman (The Bookshop Belles #2)

CHAPTER 7

Good Memories and Bad

S ebastian was in the middle of rearranging a shelf in his library to correctly incorporate some of the new acquisitions Miss Baxter had delivered for him when the first notes from the pianoforte startled him so badly that he dropped several of the books he was holding.

“Blast it!” He stooped and carefully picked up the books, checking each of them for damage. His frown deepened as the music continued, scales resolving into a tune, and then a sweet alto voice raised in song… in French.

A small smile twisted Sebastian’s mouth, in spite of the emotions roiling through him at hearing the pianoforte being played. Miss Baxter - Marie, as he was beginning to think of her all too often in the privacy of his thoughts - must have discovered the music room. His feet took him in that direction without consciously choosing to do so, but just as he arrived at the door in the parlour which led into the music room, two younger voices raised up in song.

By the time the twelve days of Christmas had been sung through, in a great muddle and a tremendous amount of laughter, Sebastian was holding in his own chortles. Marie really was quite wonderful with the boys, he thought.

And then he heard another voice. Mr Charles had joined the group, and soon all four were singing together rather beautifully.

While the sound of the pianoforte had at first brought uncomfortable memories of his late wife to mind, they were quickly banished. Marie’s voice was nothing like Francesca’s, he thought; Francesca had been well-trained by London masters and sang in an operatic style, showing off her soprano voice, whereas Marie’s was a lower alto, sweet but obviously unschooled.

Altogether, he enjoyed today’s singing far more. Perhaps especially because Francesca would never have deigned to sing something as simple as children’s songs or Christmas carols. And never in a hundred years would it have occurred to her to invite a maid to join the choir!

Unable to resist, Sebastian eased the door open the smallest amount, just a crack wide enough for him to peer through. And there was Marie, her face alight with joy as she played and sang, hazel eyes bright behind her glasses.

He’d thought she’d be wearing pink, but the rust-coloured gown she wore was surely not one of Francesca’s. It looked lovely on Marie, bringing up the deep reddish tones in her brown hair, the colour lending a warmth to her pale cheeks. With the lace collar at her throat and the grey fur-lined cloak about her shoulders, she looked every inch a fine lady.

He could just see Mr Charles, standing on the other side of the pianoforte, hands behind his back as he raised his voice in the carol. The young tutor had a very nice baritone and was keeping his eyes on Marie, a slight flush on his cheeks as he watched her and sang.

Sebastian tried not to grit his teeth. Was he actually going to have to tell Mr Charles to keep his distance? He kept watching, growing more and more annoyed as the young tutor never took his eyes off Marie.

I’m spying on them . He realised it as Marie moved, her eyes flicking briefly in his direction, and Sebastian suddenly froze. He should not be spying on them; it was quite ridiculous, he told himself sternly.

He should go in and join them, but he couldn’t move. Indeed, it was a good thing he hadn’t gone in, he thought a moment later, as he heard Richard and George excitedly talking about “a surprise Christmas concert for Father!” A wry smile crossed his lips. Bless them, they wanted so badly to please him, to make him proud of them. They were good boys, and he was trying, he really was. It was easier with Richard. If only he didn’t see Francesca every time he looked into George’s blue eyes!

I need to do better. Stepping back and closing the music room door very quietly, Sebastian looked about thoughtfully. Though tastefully decorated, the parlour was quite a dim and dull room; it could definitely do with some brightening up. Making his way back out into the hall, he found Mr Martin standing listening to the music drifting out of the music room with a smile on his face.

“Quite puts one in the Christmas spirit, doesn’t it, my lord?” Mr Martin said cheerfully as Sebastian approached.

“It does, rather,” Sebastian agreed. “And to that end, I think the castle could do with a little brightening up for the holidays.” He pointed to the stairs. “When my mother was alive, I remember that she used to tie swags of red and green ribbon up the spindles and banisters. Do you think we might still have any about somewhere?”

Mr Martin’s smile broadened. “I do believe I know the exact trunk in which that ribbon is stored, my lord. Lady Renwick, God rest her soul, did love Christmas. It’s been many a year since Alston saw such cheer as she used to bring.”

“I think it’s time to revive a few of her traditions, don’t you?” Sebastian wasn’t even sure he remembered all of them - his mother had died when he was only ten - but Mr Martin and Mrs Ellwood had been at Alston since before he was born. They’d remember what he’d forgotten.

“I think that’s a simply marvellous idea, my lord.”

“Very well.” Suddenly invigorated, Sebastian nodded. “Would you fetch my coat, Martin? I’m going to head out to the stables and fetch a couple of the grooms. We’ll see if we can find a hefty Yule log, and cut some holly and ivy for wreaths.”

“I shall return with Lady Renwick’s decorations, my lord.” Martin looked enthusiastic as well.

“And when I come back, I’ll talk to Mrs Ellwood and the cook about some Christmas dishes!” Sebastian was sure they might have had some celebratory dishes planned, at least, but he wanted those he remembered from his childhood; roast goose and plum pudding, mince pies and iced gingerbread, hot cider… he grinned to himself as he shrugged into his coat and tramped out into the snow. He’d enjoyed the hot cider as a boy, and probably the twins would like it, but perhaps he might graduate to mulled wine now he was an adult.

He laughed as the snow crunched under his boots, suddenly very much looking forward to Christmas, for the first time in a very long time.

Outside it was perishing cold. The wind howled and for a moment he almost lost his nerve. Snow on the pine boughs slid off in the wind, exposing the deep green needles. They would look festive inside, and bring a welcome scent with them.

The grooms were there, and he congratulated them again on the tremendous success of the wheeled chair they’d made for Miss Baxter. “It surpassed my expectations, and I thank you once again for your speed and ingenuity,” he said.

The men beamed at his compliment and replied with eagerness that if there was anything else he needed, he only had to ask.

Which he did. “I require decorative pine branches, any holly and ivy we might find, and a Yule log.”

They both looked at him with furrowed brows, and then one of them said rather hesitantly, “Yer’ll not be thinkin’ of bringing the greenery inside yet, will yer m’lord?”

“Well, I was thinking we’d need to dry it out for a day or two first, perhaps,” Sebastian said, but the men were shaking their heads vigorously.

“No, my lord, it’s terrible bad luck to bring greenery inside ‘afore Christmas Eve!”

He hadn’t known that, but he wouldn’t for the world upset any superstitions his people might hold. “Very well, let us hold off on cutting the greenery for a few days yet. But we’ll still need to find a Yule log and get it under cover to dry out, or it’ll never burn for twelve days and nights.”

They agreed to that, and consulted quickly with each other on where they might find a good log, before setting out towards the edge of the woods. There weren’t a great many trees this high in the Pennines, but there was a small wood in a narrow valley just below the castle, and Sebastian hoped they’d find a decent specimen there.

When they realised he was following rather than returning to the castle, the grooms became confused. “Yer Lordship needn’t bother, it’s well in hand,” one said.

He grinned at their caution. “Call it temporary madness, but I’d rather like to be involved.”

They looked at each other with raised brows and then shrugged and one of them said, “Let’s get to it then.”

The axe Sebastian carried was hefty and sharp. He felt rather workmanlike as the three of them strode through the snow, searching for just the right log.

They came across a fine fallen tree at last, mostly buried in snow. It would be perfect and was large enough to burn from Christmas Eve to Twelfth Night, once it had dried out a bit.

There was no way they’d be able to get it into the house in its current state. It wouldn’t even fit through the front doors. Sebastian considered the tree, noting which branches would need to be chopped off - most of them - and stamped a bit of snow away to give himself somewhere stable to stand while he cut. The grooms gave him worried looks, that he might injure himself in the process of wielding the axe and they’d be blamed for it.

One of the grooms said, “I’m more than happy to cut the log, yer lordship.”

“All right, you can get it started,” he said, handing over the axe.

The men took turns in giving several whacks to cleave the branches from the trunk and then set to chopping a great length out. After a few whacks each, they removed their own coats as they began to perspire.

When one tired, the other took his place, puffing and huffing, cheeks turning red with effort.

“May I…?” He wanted to contribute something to the work.

“It should come clear with not too many more,” the groom said, stepping back from the endeavour. “Careful, mind. Bring it down but don’t swing too hard or ye’ll cut your awn leg awff.”

If the axe took such chunks out of hardwood, he imagined it would make short work of his limb. He followed their instructions and brought the axe down firmly, as close to their previous marks as he could manage. It made a slight indent, and he had to wriggle the axe out from its cut. A second whack, and he needed to take his coat off as well. His shoulders couldn’t move properly under the extra weight, and he was roasting hot already from the effort.

“Aye, cut your own wood and it warms ye twice!” one of the grooms said, laughing. They weren’t laughing at him, though, nodding approval of his efforts.

Sebastian shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto a branch, then dried his perspiring hands on his trouser legs. With an almighty effort, he lifted the axe and brought it down hard, again and again, until the notch deepened. The wood creaked and cracked. The grooms rocked their weight on the end of it and the huge log fell away from the trunk.

The three of them cheered with their success. The grooms had smaller hand axes with them, which they used to quickly remove the remaining side branches.

He was relieved it hadn’t taken any more whacks to separate the log. He’d put so much into that last swing he would wake up very sore tomorrow.

He couldn’t believe he was standing out in the snow with only a shirt and trews on, and still felt hot.

The heat continued in his arms and legs as the three of them tied ropes around the log and dragged it in stages, all the way up to the stables. It was only once they got there and Sebastian saw Caesar looking over the stall door at him that he laughed out loud.

“We’re fools, lads! Why didn’t we harness a horse to do all that pulling for us?”

Both grooms laughed and shrugged their shoulders. “‘Tis done now, my lord!”

“Done indeed.” They rolled the log into an empty stall, where it could dry out before they took it inside to light on Christmas Eve. Sebastian smiled with deep satisfaction, dusting off his grimy hands.

“A very good afternoon’s work, you two. Tonight you deserve to wet your throats, I’ll let Mr Martin know you’re to have an extra pint of ale each.”

They thanked him with broad smiles, and Sebastian left them in good spirits, striding back across the stable yard.

Just as he got to the castle doors, he remembered he’d left his winter coat back on a tree branch and ran back through the snow to retrieve it. Darkness was falling, and the snow was beginning to fall again with it as he dashed back inside. Snowflakes caught in his hair.

“Have yourself a good time, my lord?” Mr Martin asked dryly, accepting the coat when Sebastian held it out.

“Do you know, I did, rather.” He pulled off his gloves and looked down at his hands. “Although I believe I might be developing a blister. Chopping wood is jolly hard work.”

“Perhaps a bath before dinner, sir?” Mr Martin suggested discreetly.

Sebastian caught a glimpse of himself in the large hall mirror hanging on the wall behind the oak settle he’d set Marie on that first day, and began to laugh. He was filthy, as grubby as either of his sons might be after they’d had a wrestle on the floor of the stables! “I think so indeed, Martin. Mr Sharpe will not be pleased with the state of my boots, either!”

His valet indeed threw up his hands in horror when Sebastian went upstairs, but soon rallied and had a hot bath ready for him to soak in while Sharpe fetched clean clothes.

There were pine needles in his hair, Sebastian discovered, and he scrubbed vigorously. What a mess he must look! He was naturally quite fastidious, preferring to be clean and tidy in his dress, even if some did think his taste in clothes quite dull, tending as he did toward more muted colours and less flamboyant styles.

“Not that black coat,” Sebastian said, watching Sharpe lay out his clothes on the bed. “Maybe… maybe the green one.” The green would look nice with Marie’s rust-coloured dress, he mused silently.

“I don’t think you’ve worn that green coat since we returned from London, my lord.” Sharpe’s surprise was evident.

“Have I grown fat since then? Do you think it won’t fit?” Sebastian teased gently.

Sharpe snorted a laugh, but he looked even more surprised. The valet had a wit as sharp as his name, and exercised it frequently at Sebastian’s expense, though he was careful to remain respectful. He wasn’t used to Sebastian being the one to make the jokes.

“I’ll get the green coat, my lord,” Sharpe said, and fetched it from the dressing-room while Sebastian finished his bath.

Soon he was making his way downstairs, trying to suppress that treacherous leap of excitement in his stomach at the thought he would soon be spending time with Marie again. Mrs Ellwood greeted him at the foot of the stairs and he paused to discuss Christmas dishes with her. The housekeeper looked delighted at the thought of engaging in Christmas festivities and promised to consult with the cook on the morrow, so that they would have plenty of time to send down to Carlisle for anything special the cook might require.

“Thank you, Mrs Ellwood. Oh, and Martin! I forgot to mention it earlier, but I promised the two grooms an extra pint of ale each tonight, for their hard work with the Yule log. Would you see to it, please?”

“Of course, my lord,” Mr Martin said cheerfully.

Sebastian entered the parlour, surprised to see it already looking a little more festive - extra candles were lit and the whole room seemed brighter. Marie was sitting in her wheeled chair by the fire, a glass of sherry on the table beside her, a book in her lap.

“Good evening, my lord,” she said, looking up with a bright smile.

“And a good evening to you too, Miss Baxter. I hope I find you well?”

“Oh, very much so.”

“And your ankle?”

She grimaced a little. “I find if I try not to think about it, it hurts a little less.”

“Mrs Ellwood does have some laudanum…”

Marie held up a hand to forestall him. “I accepted a drop on the first day, but I prefer not to use laudanum often. I find it can make me quite unwell. Rest is all I require, my lord, and your staff have been exceptionally helpful and attentive.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Dinner is ready, my lord, Miss Baxter,” Mr Martin said from the doorway.

“Thank you, Martin. May I push you in, Miss Baxter?”

She smiled and thanked him, admitting that the chair, while excellent in every way, could be just a little hard to steer unassisted.

“I shall not tell my grooms that. I praised them to the skies for making it,” Sebastian confided.

“Indeed, do not hint of the slightest flaw! I would be mortified if they thought I was critical of their skills.”

That was very kind of her, Sebastian thought. Just as it had been kind of her to invite Morag to join their little choir practice earlier. Marie didn’t seem to care about what station people occupied in life, she treated everyone with exactly the same respect. Which he very much appreciated. He’d mostly broken his staff of the habits of excessive formality his father had demanded of them. Being bowed and scraped to could get very wearisome over the years, Sebastian had found. In his own home, he preferred to be more casual.

Sebastian pushed Marie up to her place at the table, where the regular dining chair had been removed, and took his own seat beside her.

Although they began their meal in comfortable silence, as the fish was brought out it occurred to Sebastian that there was something he wanted to mention.

“I heard you playing the pianoforte earlier,” he said.

He hadn’t expected her to drop her fork, her face turning pale as she stammered out an apology.