Page 5 of The Christmastide Secret (Mary and Bright)

December 22, 1819

Mary sat at a table in the morning room with Cassandra as anemic afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, and when it hit snowflakes stuck to the glass, the shimmer was far too distracting. The effect was magical, of course, but she felt somewhat less than that, especially since her husband was acting noticeably… different.

After the lovely coupling yesterday before dinner, she’d honestly thought they were both on the same path since they’d connected so well in the bedroom, but Gabriel had been uncharacteristically quiet during the meal. She and Henry had talked with enthusiasm about the upcoming holiday season and everything they’d hoped to accomplish while her husband hardly contributed his thoughts or opinions, which wasn’t like him at all.

Once dinner had concluded, she and Henry had gone into the drawing room as per usual, but Gabriel didn’t accompany them, at least not immediately. Instead, he’d been absent for about an hour, and when he did finally come into the room, he’d been breathless and slightly pink-cheeked as if he’d run about or sat too close to a fire. When she’d questioned him about his whereabouts, he’d deflected her with questions of his own, never answering her.

What was she supposed to think?

“Mama?”

The sound of Cassandra’s voice brought Mary unexpectedly out of her tortured thoughts, but hearing herself referred to as “mama” never failed to warm her heart.

“Yes, pet?” On the table between them were a few pairs of scissors as well as different types of paper and foils, for she and the girl had been working at making paper snowflakes.

“Why do you look so sad?”

Mary frowned. “Why do you assume that I do?” She stilled her fingers in the folding of a piece of paper.

“Your eyes don’t sparkle, and you just feel sad sitting here.” The girl rested her ice blue gaze on Mary. There was so much wisdom in her expression that an eight-year-old child should never have. “I know what that feels like, but cutting out this paper? I am not sad. Being inside, with you is better than prowling the street.” She frowned. “ Why are you sad?” A gasp escaped her. “You aren’t going to the street, are you?”

If her delivery of words was slow and precise, it was because the girl was working with a tutor to enunciate words and talk like a member of the ton instead of a street urchin.

“I am not.” Though Mary smiled, the gesture did indeed feel a bit melancholy. “I suppose I’m merely woolgathering.”

Cassandra’s frown deepened. “What is that?”

“It means I was lost in thought.”

“Did I disappoint you?”

That jolted Mary completely back into the here and now. She focused fully on her adopted daughter, who’d paused with a pair of scissors in her hand and a piece of paper folded multiple times with only a few shapes cut out of it. “Of course not. Nothing you would do could ever make me disappointed in you. Why did you think that?”

The girl’s shrug lifted her thin shoulders. With her light blonde hair tied back at her nape with a lavender ribbon and dressed in a white muslin dress with a flounce at the hem, she resembled a perfect little angel, which was a far cry from what she was when Mary and Gabriel had found her on the street during a case last April.

“You are never sad, but now you are, even when you talk to Papa.”

Her heart squeezed, for the girl calling them both mama and papa was as natural as breathing now, where even just in late autumn, it was a struggle to have her trust them. “I suppose I have much on my mind. That’s causing a distraction, and it shouldn’t. I apologize.”

Cassandra peered at her with large blue eyes. “Did Papa do something wrong?”

“I don’t think so.” At least, that was the hope. He was acting far too secretive for his own good without any sort of explanation.

“Good. I like him.” She resumed work on cutting out shapes in the folded paper. “He makes me feel safe, and he is lovely with hugs.”

“He is, and he makes me feel that way too.” Perhaps she should think about that instead of a possible worst-case scenario. “Now, let me see your snowflake.”

As the girl laid down her scissors, she shot Mary a quick glance. “This is fun. I ain’t never… er, I mean I have never made snowflakes before.” Then she unfolded the paper. Tiny bits fell down onto the tabletop, but when it was fully opened, the unique pattern was visible.

“It’s beautiful!” Mary touched the girl’s hand. “Nicely done, Cassandra. You have quite the creative eye.”

The little girl beamed. “May I put it with the others?”

“Of course.” Currently, all the snowflakes they’d made so far were lined up on Mary’s secretary desk. “Or, we can glue beads and sequins on it to make it extra sparkly.”

“Yes, I want to do that.”

For the next half hour, Mary showed Cassandra how to embellish snowflakes, and together they made more than a few that would sparkle like mad beneath candlelight. Additionally, they fashioned stars out of the gold and silver paper.

“These will look fantastic amidst the greenery you helped to gather yesterday.”

“Will we decorate with those soon?”

“Yes. In fact, the footmen will bring the evergreen limbs into the drawing soon. We’ll bring our snowflakes and stars there, and I’ll wager Cook might be convinced to make us some pastries and sweets.”

“I would like that.” When the little girl smiled, Mary stared, for the occurrence was still quite rare, but showing happiness was coming more easily to her as time went by. “What is Christmastide?”

“A time when people come together and appreciate all they have and be thankful for it. This time of year is when Jesus was born, who is said to save mankind from their sins. However, that is only but one religion in a world full of many different views.” It was quite a monumental prospect to try and explain what was essentially a complicated matter to a child who’d only seen the worst in humanity. “Mostly, Christmastide is a season that we should practice kindness, gratitude, and love toward everyone we meet.”

Slowly, Cassandra nodded. “Papa said there would be presents.”

Of course he did, because Bright had the biggest heart of any man she’d met. Mary offered a smile. “Yes, there will be presents.” Since the girl had lived in an orphanage before she’d come into Mary’s life, she wasn’t used to being pampered or cared for. There had been precious little joy or magic for her, so this time of year must feel quite awkward and strange. “When people give each other gifts, it’s a small token of their love that they wish to show.”

The girl frowned. “I don’t have gifts to give.”

“That’s all right. They aren’t expected.”

“But… how will Papa know I love him? Or you? Or Henry?”

That thoughtfulness, that worry in Cassandra’s voice had the power to lay Mary low to the point that she nearly forgot about her concern about Gabriel’s recent weird behavior. “Oh, pet, you are amazing, did you know that?” She took one of the girl’s hands and squeezed her fingers. “You and I will go shopping this afternoon so you can find some gifts. Would you enjoy that?”

“Yes.” Her lips curved into a tiny smile. “I would.” In fact, the girl liked seeing and touching pretty things.

“Good. Also, your papa talked about taking you out to the park later this week to make angels in the snow… if it does indeed snow more.”

Cassandra perked up at that. If there was one thing in life that she would always do was go on outings with Bright. “How does one make an angel in snow?”

“I guess that is something he’ll need to show you,” she said with a wink, and what a cozy scene that would be. “So let’s hope it snows brilliantly before Christmas.”

“All right.” The girl nodded. “Is Papa coming to see the snowflakes?”

“He is supposed to.” Yet Mary frowned. Gabriel should have already been there by now. He’d had an errand out of the house earlier. Did that mean he hadn’t returned? Feeling restless, she stood up from the table and drifted to the window that overlooked a side street. Lazy snowflakes drifted down, and then her heart gave a lurch when she caught sight of the inspector as his long-legged stride carried him along the pavement. She pushed the window, and it was on the tip of her tongue to call out to him, but another man sprang out from behind a shrubbery and hailed Gabriel, preventing her greeting.

“Give him back to me, Inspector, or there will be hell to pay.”

What on earth did that mean?

Gabriel whistled a jaunty tune as he approached his townhouse. He had just finished a meeting with his solicitor—a trusted man he’d met during his days working as a Bow Street principal officer—and everything was going along as it should. Charlie was now legally his son, and he’d joined Cassandra within the law as his and Mary’s children. He’d made certain that they would each receive a portion of income upon his demise. What was more, he set aside money in different accounts for when Cassandra came of age for her Come Out and dowry, for when Charlie came of age for either additional schooling or a world tour, a sum for Henry to use as a down payment on a townhouse when he married, and a portion for Mary if he was killed in the line of duty.

All that meant he needed to take on more cases in order to ensure there was enough income to maintain everything he was responsible for, but he wasn’t worried. One thing he could always count on being in London was that there was always a murder.

When a tallish man in a rather battered top hat and an equally ragged black greatcoat stepped out from behind a snow-covered shrubbery and came onto the pavement, Gabriel frowned.

“Give him back to me, Inspector, or there will be hell to pay.”

“Ah, you must be Sam Potts.” How the devil had the man found him?

“I am, and that boy belongs to me.” His eyes narrowed until the blue in the irises was almost swallowed. “You had no right to take him from me.”

“If I remember correctly, you were nowhere to be found, so what I did was remove him from the street and the risk of being taken away by a constable.” With a stare at the grubby-looking man, Gabriel glowered. “Why are you here?”

“For the boy.”

“What makes you think I have him?”

“One of my other climbing boys was there, said you took ‘im when the handcart vendor wanted to have ‘im locked away.” The man crossed his arms at his chest. “I want the boy.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’m sorry to disappoint you but that just isn’t possible. He is safe and he’s off the street with a good home. Quite frankly, I’m glad he’s away from you.” Making vague references to a home that wasn’t here was a matter of safety and security, for he certainly didn’t want this man coming back.

“Where is he?”

“Nowhere that I’ll tell you.” He continued to stare at the other man. “If there is nothing else? I do have matters to attend.”

The man had the audacity to close the distance between them, so close that the reek of dirty human wafted to Gabriel’s nostrils. “Listen to me, you snobbish git,” he said as he drilled a forefinger into his chest. “The boy is mine; he works for me, and without him, I’m losing coin. Either you return him by tomorrow, or I’ll take that missing money from what you hold dear.”

The threat didn’t sit well in his chest, which tightened with a trace of fear then warmed with a wall of white-hot anger. “Any person who thinks he ‘owns’ another is immediately my enemy. Children—and women for that matter—are not a commodity for furthering anyone’s will. And using children as a source of funding is horrific. And if you continue to threaten me, I will bring the full force of Whitehall down upon you.” He lowered his voice. “For if you are using children to do your bidding as well as steal from homes of wealthy people, I’m willing to wager there is a long list of other crimes you’ve got a finger in.”

For the space of a few heartbeats, Sam Potts glared at him. Finally, he pushed away from Gabriel, but there was malice in his eyes and determination in the set of his lips. “This is not over, Inspector. I want what’s mine.”

“What you are destined for is Newgate, and mark my words, I’ve never missed a chance to see a criminal sent there.” Then he dismissed the man from his mind, stepped around him on the pavement, and hurried up the short walkway to his front door. With a glance over his shoulder to make certain the man had left, he went inside and slammed the door behind him.

How dare he come to this house and threaten him to give up the child!

Without comment, he thrust his outer garments at the footman then stormed upstairs, but finding the drawing room empty, he shoved a hand through his hair. Where the devil was his family? When he heard voices coming from the corridor, he went to the morning room, which was located next to the dining room across the hall. As he stood in the doorway, the annoyance coursing through his body fled in the face of the domestic scene.

Mary and Cassandra sat at a table making what appeared to be snowflakes and angel wings from pieces of paper. Sparkly sequins and tiny beads were strewn over the tabletop while flecks of cut paper littered the floor like actual snow. And what was more, Cassandra was animated and smiling.

He put a hand to his heart, then came further into the room, pasting a grin onto his face, for it wouldn’t do to alert Mary prematurely of the child he was hiding in the kitchen. “How fortunate am I to see my two favorite ladies together and getting up to mischief?”

“Hullo, Papa.” Cassandra held up a snowflake that sparkled with beads. “I made this for you. Mama said you might like it.”

“I do, indeed.” When he reached their location, he went down on a knee beside her chair. “It is quite beautiful, and I’m so happy you remembered me.”

When she smiled wide, her ice blue eyes twinkled. “Will you help us decorate the drawing room?”

“Yes, tomorrow. I’ve set aside all day to be with you.” He met Mary’s eyes and found confusion and a trace of annoyance in those blue depths. “We shall do all sorts of fun things.”

“With Henry too?”

He nodded. “Henry will be there as well.” Standing, he patted Cassandra’s head. “Why don’t you go find Mrs. Pearson? She can help with the glue on your hands. Then we’ll order tea and I’ll tell you a story.” It was a habit they’d fallen into in recent days, and something he looked forward to each evening.

With a nod and a smile, the girl bounded out of the room, for if there was something she adored more than his stories, it was tea cakes.

Once alone, he brought Mary to her feet. “This craft is wonderful. So many snowflakes. You must have been working at this for hours.”

“Only a couple. Cassandra has natural talent for art and creation.” When she held his gaze, she frowned. “I saw you on the street just now, arguing with a strange man. What was that about?”

Dear God.

Above all costs, he needed to keep the Christmastide secret, for them all. “Oh, that was a misunderstanding. The man thought I was someone else with a young boy. I promptly told him that he was wrong and then sent him on his way.”

“Ah, I see.” But she didn’t look at him with a smile as she usually did, and the pain of it tightened his chest. “You were gone a while.”

“I met with my solicitor, for financial reasons regarding Cassandra and… er, you.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

“Well, I’m glad that task is done so you can spend time with Cassandra as you promised.” With a sigh, she turned back to the table. “While I clean this mess, why don’t you ring for tea? We wouldn’t wish to disappoint the girl, would we?”

Did that mean Mary was disappointed? Damn, it’s because of this secret.

“Right.” How long would he be able to keep up appearances before Mary openly accused him of something or he broke and blabbed about Charlie?

That remained to be seen.