Page 92 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

When Decius had taken his departure, and Moxton had finally left them alone in the drawing-room to finish a last drink before bed, Cowling sat down on the sofa beside her, captured her hand, then stared at her intently and, she thought, rather mournfully.

Eventually, feeling uncomfortable under such scrutiny, she said, ‘What is it? Have I done something wrong?’

He looked startled. ‘No! On the contrary, it’s me.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

‘You’re so wonderful, and I don’t deserve you.’

‘I’m not. You do,’ she protested.

‘No, I know what I am,’ he said certainly, preventing further argument. ‘But I want you to have everything. What you said about having brothers and sisters, I heard from your voice how much it meant to you. Well, it’s too late for that, but you should have lots of children. And you shall .’

He was staring past her with an introspective frown, and she wasn’t sure the last words were actually directed at her rather than to himself. But something seemed to be called for, so she said mildly, ‘That would be nice.’

‘I’ll not be beat,’ he muttered, and then, with a visible effort, roused himself to smile and speak lightly. ‘You like Decius, don’t you?’

‘Very much,’ she said.

‘Aye, he’s a grand fellow. And a great one for the amateur dramatics.

They always play charades when they get together, those Blakes, and you never saw the like!

Young Decius, well, he hardly needs a scrap of cloth or a bit of paint to his face, and there, he’s a sultan or a pirate or I don’t know what, to the life, so you entirely forget it’s not real.

He could have gone on the stage, that one!

But me, well, one time when I only had to made a speech at the Free Trade Hall, I got stage fright so bad I couldn’t say a word.

Decius had to prompt me word by word till I got going.

Then I was all right.’ He nodded, and again she felt he was no longer talking to her when he concluded, ‘Aye, I’ve got a bit of stage fright. That’s all it is.’

They played charades at the Castle, where everyone had gathered for Christmas: Linda and Cordwell and the children, Aunt Caroline, Grandmère.

Uncle Stuffy was expected on Christmas Day – he had been staying with friends at Asham Bois for the last few days and would drive over on Christmas morning.

Aunt Schofield and Sir John and Lady Bayfield were to come after Christmas to stay for a few days.

Mrs Oxlea was at her best at Christmas, with vast turkeys, geese and ribs of beef to roast – cooking she understood.

The puddings were made to an old family recipe that could not go wrong, and Mrs Webster had persuaded Mrs Oxlea to hand over all mince-pie responsibilities to the head kitchen-maid, Ida, who could make pastry that didn’t break teeth.

It was just as well, because the traditional Boxing Day hunt was to meet at the Castle, and a vast number of patties had to be made for the field, while Moss was busy looking up stirrup-cup recipes and trying them out to choose the best one.

‘It’s three years since we had the meet here,’ he said, to anyone who asked.

‘We must get it absolutely perfect for his new lordship.’

Then, of course, there would be shooting, and lots of comings and goings from other house parties in the area, and the whole season would culminate with the servants’ ball on Twelfth Night.

Kitty was glad her parents wouldn’t be staying for Twelfth Night.

She could just about see her father dancing with a housemaid, but trying to imagine Mama dancing with a footman gave her a headache.

The best moment for her came on Christmas Eve, when the carollers came up to the Castle, and were brought into the great hall to sing.

Everyone gathered to hear them, mulled wine and mince pies were served, and there was much chatter and laughter.

A big Christmas tree had been brought in that morning and set up, and the young people had dressed it, and now it stood in its glittering glory, scenting the air with pine.

Kitty remembered how Nina had said her aunt would never have a Christmas tree, and wished she could be there to see it.

She wondered what Nina was doing, and how she was enjoying married life.

They had sworn always to be friends, but she was wondering whether she would ever see her again. Their lives were so far apart now.

Then Giles was at her shoulder, and said, ‘Come outside. I’ve got something to show you.’

‘Outside?’

‘Yes. I’ve got a coat to put round you. Don’t tell anyone – I only want you.’

The words warmed her. She slipped away with him, out of the great hall, through a side lobby where he picked up a thick coat – she had no idea whose it was – and led her outside onto the terrace.

‘It’s snowing!’ she said in delight.

‘That’s what I wanted to show you.’ He guided her to the balustrade at the front of the terrace, beyond which the ground fell away down to the valley and the river.

Already the snow was settling, turning a familiar scene unfamiliar, known shapes ghostly in the failing light.

The river ran black between whitening banks; beyond, the village was showing the first warm yellow lights.

‘It’s so pretty,’ Kitty said, entranced. ‘Like—’

‘A scene from a Christmas card,’ he anticipated. ‘All it needs is a stagecoach-and-six going over the bridge.’

‘Well, it does! Make fun of me if you like.’

‘I wasn’t making fun,’ he said, and put his arm round her.

She loved the weight of it, and the warmth of his big body close to hers.

She closed her eyes a moment in bliss, thinking how lucky she was to be married to him.

‘This time next year,’ he said, ‘our son will be here. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? ’

She assented. So much had happened in such a short time. This time last year she had been a child in school. This time next year she would be a mother.

‘I’m so grateful to you, Kitty,’ he said.

She would have preferred him to say, ‘I love you, Kitty,’ but she had to settle for what she could get. His arm was round her, and he had chosen her to see the snow with him.

‘We must go in,’ he said, brushing flakes from her hair. ‘It’s getting heavier.’

At breakfast on Christmas morning, Mr Cowling and Nina exchanged presents.

Hers to him was a pair of amber and gold cufflinks.

She was a bit ashamed that she’d had to buy his present with his own money.

She’d had to ask Decius for his advice, since she actually didn’t have any money at all.

He had been upset on his employer’s behalf, because he knew Cowling had meant to arrange an allowance for her.

‘He doesn’t want you to have to ask. But for now, you can always charge anything, you know.

Just sign the bill and it will be sent to me. ’

Cowling seemed delighted with the present, and insisted on putting them on immediately.

And then he gave Nina her present – a large box in which something shifted alarmingly as she tried to move it.

‘Just open it where it is,’ he said. So she knelt on the floor and opened it. Inside was a small white dog.

‘It’s a Jack Russell,’ he told her, searching her face for pleasure. ‘They’re very loyal, they are. And intelligent.’

She picked it up, and it squirmed and licked her face. She looked at her husband, and her heart melted at his anxious expression. ‘I’ve always wanted a dog,’ she said.

His expression relaxed. ‘I thought, as you’re on your own so much, with me being out at work, he’d be company for you. I thought of a cat at first, but you like going on those long walks, and a dog could go with you where a cat couldn’t.’

‘You’re absolutely right. It’s the perfect present. I love him already.’

‘His name’s Trump. That was the name of the very first Jack Russell, Parson Russell’s terrier, only his was a bitch. But I reckon Trump works for dog or bitch, don’t you? But you can change his name if you want,’ he added.

‘I don’t want to change it. Trump’s a good name.’

She put the dog down and it ran about, sniffing at things, while Cowling watched it proudly. Nina found she wanted to cry, and she didn’t altogether know why.

‘I like your present,’ Cowling said, pushing a sleeve back to display a link, ‘but there is one thing more you could give me, if you would.’

He said it so diffidently that her mind jumped for a moment to the bedroom – but he couldn’t mean that. There was nothing she could do about that – or was there? ‘Anything,’ she said, embarrassed.

‘I’d like you to call me Joseph. You never have.’

It was true. She had never called him anything when they were together. In her mind she always called him Mr Cowling.

The dog came back to her on its circuit, and she scooped it up.

Having licked her ear, it settled happily enough against her shoulder.

She went over to where he was sitting, bent down and kissed him softly on the lips.

‘Thank you for my present, Joseph. I love it.’ It was the first time she had kissed him, too – that is, without him kissing her first.

It was, he thought, shaping up to be a grand Christmas.