Page 58 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

‘My lord,’ the latter stuttered as the two men broke apart. ‘We were … it is not …’

‘Whatever are you two fellows doing, dancing together outside in this cold?’

Mr Hornby – looking almost strangely afraid – pressed his hands together in a plea.

‘My lord,’ he said in hushed tones, ‘’tis just … that is to say we …’

Fernand’s face cleared, for then he realised what the two must be about.

‘Ah! You are teaching Moss to dance, are you not, Hornby? I wondered where you’d got to as I have not seen you since you took Miss Hart to the floor. I hope you have both eaten?’

It took a moment to receive an answer, and it was Mr Moss who managed it.

‘Thank you, my lord, yes. We ate in the servants’ hall. Found it all a little overwhelming, you see, what with—’

The viscount nodded sagely. ‘I quite understand. But I am glad you wish to participate, nonetheless. Do not worry too much of the footwork, though, Hornby – on the livelier jigs no one is paying the slightest bit of attention.’

Mr Hornby hesitated before breathing out a sigh of relief, which Fernand thought a little odd, for whatever should he be relieved about?

‘Well then,’ said he with an encouraging clap. ‘Carry on, carry on!’

And so they did.

Fernand left the men there in the shadows of the portico (what good friends they must be!) and continued down the path, flanked by his lovely yew trees, silvered with thick frost, humming a festive tune.

But he fell silent as he realised on his approach to the pond, where his poor little Edmond lay in eternal rest, that, sitting at the edge of the pond with their backs to him, were Lord Heysten and his own dear Charlotte.

‘You understand, don’t you?’ the gentleman was murmuring, the breath from his lips clouding in the cold night air. ‘I cannot have children. I am not even sure I wanted them to begin with.’

Charlotte said nothing. Oh, how her father wished to see the expression on her face!

‘But I have no objection to children as a rule. Why else would I have taken to Faith’s care?’

‘Guilt, I assume,’ came Charlotte’s wry answer, and Fernand resisted the urge to shake her. But Lord Heysten uttered a small laugh without humour, and in the moonlit dark the viscount saw his lordship nod.

‘You’re perfectly right. I do feel guilt.

I am ashamed of all my father, and his father, did over the years, of how so many people suffered because of them.

But it all ends with me, Charlotte, I promise you that.

I shall make Heysten Park prosperous again, and use it to do some good in the world.

I …’ The man paused. ‘I’d be honoured if you would help me make that possible. ’

Viscount Pépin shut his eyes, prayed that his daughter would acquiesce, and nervously waited for her reply.

‘You would have my dowry,’ said Charlotte cautiously. ‘You’d take it and smother me.’

‘Fudge. I do not give one damn about your dowry. I have plenty of money at my disposal without the need of yours. If you married me, you could do with it whatever you wish. Of course, if you wished to help financially with my endeavours that would be a grand thing, but I’ve no expectations on that score. ’

‘But—’

‘Good God, you’re an obstinate creature. Do you like me at all?’

Fernand heard his daughter’s intake of breath and then, her whispered answer:

‘I do.’

Charles Heysten hesitated. ‘And do you think that liking of me might one day grow into love? Enough that you would consider marriage?’

For endless moments Charlotte did not speak. But then, finally, she replied in the only way Viscount Pépin’s strong-willed daughter could. She said, ‘Perhaps.’

Perhaps .

Perhaps was not a yes. But it was as good as a yes, and Fernand, smiling widely, retreated as silently as his feet might carry him, thankful that the snow had been cleared from the path so he might make his escape unheard.

Up he went, through the avenue of yew trees, onto the portico where Misters Hornby and Moss danced still, and back into the gleaming warmth of the ballroom.

A country dance was in full swing, and so crowded was the room Fernand almost did not see Sergeant Harrington standing at the fireplace, where at that very moment he was shaking Phillip Denby’s hand.

When the older man released him, Bess Denby took both the sergeant’s hands and kissed them in turn.

Fernand would have endeavoured to brave the hot press of the dancing crowd in that moment to join the three of them, but the viscount felt a gentle hand on his elbow, and turned to see his darling Ambrosia, pink-faced and merry, at his side.

‘Sergeant Harrington arrived a quarter of an hour ago,’ she told him with a smile. ‘I hope you do not mind but I retrieved the character you wrote for Mr Denby and, well, you can see the result.’

‘So I can, my love, so I can. Ah, ma chérie ,’ he breathed, linking his arm about her shoulders to hold the viscountess close. ‘How well it has all turned out. What a wonderful night it is proving to be!’

‘I do agree. And see, Fernand, the Twelfth Night Cake has been brought up, a fresh wassail bowl too –’ and here Ambrosia gestured to the large console table next to the French doors, where a steaming silver punch bowl rested beside the largest fruit cake the viscount had ever beheld.

It was twice the size of last year’s, and Fernand’s mouth positively watered at the sight of its elaborately decorated ornaments of royal icing, its pink and white top near groaning under the weight of sugar figures of swans and crowns and pears.

Oh, thought Fernand, what complete and utter joy!

It was then that the dance came to an end, and feeling now in such delightfully high spirits, he called the musicians to a halt.

‘Dear friends and family,’ called Fernand, and his guests turned their attention wholly to him. ‘Our Twelfth Night festivities are almost at an end, and so I urge you all to claim a glass, and avail yourselves of this marvellous wassail bowl, so we might raise a toast.’

It was some minutes before this task could be achieved, during which Mr Hornby and Mr Moss, together with Lord Heysten and Charlotte, surreptitiously rejoined the clamouring party.

But soon Fernand held reign once more, and looking upon the smiling faces in Wakely Hall’s grand candlelit ballroom, he drew breath to speak.

‘These past few years of conflict have been a trial. We have lost many good men, and there can be no greater sorrow to be had at such an unhappy truth.’ The room grew sombre.

Nods of heads abounded. ‘But this festive season, we might find it in ourselves to look to the future – to seek happiness and peace in the years to come. That will shape itself in different ways for all of us, I realise. We stand together this evening as equals but I know that, in rank at least, we are not.’ Fernand saw the furtive looks between maids and counts, of footmen and noblewomen alike.

‘We can, however, be equal in spirit, and learn to appreciate our fellow men. We can learn to be humble, to be kind. I ask that, now we have begun a new year, we remember the joy we have each experienced by joining together this night. I ask you to recognise that each of us – no matter our station – has the capability to love and be loved, and not to forget that each of us is deserving of it.’

There were murmurs of assent, a melody of agreements. Fernand paused, looked then at his wife, his daughters, and smiled.

‘I have learnt a precious lesson this past week. I am ashamed to say that I have been guilty of blindness – I became so enthralled by the excitement of Christmastime that I forgot to pay attention to that which was under my very nose. I have realised now the error of my ways and implore you all to recognise that the greatest gift any of us can give, is the gift of your care and attention. Do not forget to whom we owe our happiness. Do not forget to honour them.’

The viscount raised his glass and caught the tantalising scent of apples, brandy and spice.

‘The only thing that remains is to thank you all for coming tonight, and say to you all, as is the custom on Twelfth Night, good health! Be well!’

‘Drink well!’ came the traditional chorused reply, at which the party drank deeply, and – feeling now overcome with perfect happiness – Viscount Pépin put his arm about Viscountess Pépin’s shoulders and raised his glass once more.

‘Merry Christmas,’ he cried. ‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, one and all!’

FINIS .