Page 20 of Undoubtedly Reckless (Rebel by Night #2)

Christmas

Verdon had been dissuaded from returning his family to London immediately. The Villiers girls handled their brother with a deftness that Roland privately admired and was utterly grateful for.

Isolde and Lenoir had pleaded very prettily with their brother to allow them to stay in Romney Marsh with the Darewoods, both for Mrs. Kembrooke’s well-being and to celebrate Christmas in the country. Roland had belatedly extended the Christmas invitation, never expecting the duke to also accept such a humble offer. They would stay until after Christmas but the duke was adamant that they be back in the city before the new year.

And then they had stood on the foyer, all of them, in complete and awkward silence. Roland was intensely reminded of the Renaissance paintings he’d seen in which everyone looked very stilted and posed.

The duke seemed immensely uncomfortable in the unfamiliar house. Roland was not personally offended, the duke seemed the type of man to be uncomfortable in any space that was not familiar. Sage, bless the girl, swept in, and smoothly removed the duke to the study with the work he had brought with him, stopping for a brief refreshment in the finest guest room Roland had not known existed in Schofield Manor.

Roland noted with approval that the duke was quite involved in the running of his vast estates. He approved even more after seeing Sage personally serve the duke tea as he set up Roland’s desk to his liking.

As lord of the manor, Roland was thrilled to give up his desk. He would give up the whole house and half his fortune as long as Sabina stayed under his roof and in his care.

Exiting his room after a thorough wash, he almost ran into his sister. He paused, wondering how he could explain going to Sabina’s room to check on her.

“Sabina’s sick,”

Aria explained.

“How bad?”

Roland demanded. Aria lifted an eyebrow at his tone.

“I don’t know how long she was in the water but she’s caught a chill and needs to rest,”

Aria said. Roland blinked at his sister’s firm tone. “I hope it is only a chill and will not grow into a fever.

“It is December, and she fell into the harbor, which is not precisely meant for swimming,”

Roland replied shortly. He saw Aria’s face and bit back his anger. He was mostly angry at himself. “I apologize for my tone with you. I am only concerned for Mrs. Kembrooke. Please do everything in your power and mine to make her comfortable. Every resource is at your disposal.”

Aria exhaled loudly. Roland finally noticed that she may be holding back her temper.

“Truly, many thanks for your permission,”

Aria said, not a hint of sarcasm on her face. “We will still have a grand Christmas feast naturally, with our guests staying for the holidays.”

“I trust this will not cause undue hardship?”

Roland asked absently, his mind already on Sabina.

“No, no trouble at all to hold Christmas festivities fit for a ducal family with two days’ notice. I will sacrifice virgins on the druid stones next to the kitchen garden to magically produce a feast, and more importantly, house staff,”

Aria said, though she may have been reciting a nursery rhyme for all the attention he gave her.

“Good, good, do as you see fit,”

Roland said. “Sister.”

And he stalked off to the kitchen to see what they were going to serve Sabina.

****

That night, Roland closed the door of Sabina’s room quietly behind him and locked it. He was still dressed for dinner, having reasoned that being caught in his nightclothes in an unwed woman’s room would have been much worse.

Roland was fully aware how wildly inappropriate his actions appeared, being the brother of an unwed woman himself. Were they to be discovered, she would be undoubtedly ruined. He was careful but he must know she was well.

Sabina turned lethargically on her pillow to look at him, her eyes bleary. Roland gazed down at the sick woman in the bed. She was adorable. He wondered if she would object to being held.

“Am I so ugly?”

she asked. Roland sat on the edge of her bed.

“Hideous,”

he whispered and bent to kiss her red nose. “Absolutely abominable. I think I might perish with horror.”

He took her limp hand and was rewarded with a squeeze.

“I am well,”

Sabina murmured.

“You do not look at all well. You look like death.”

“Thank you. You have ever been a boon to my self-esteem. I am so sorry for all of this.”

“There is absolutely nothing to apologize for. I am grateful to have you here longer, though I am not keen on the circumstances.”

“Did you see who pushed me?”

she asked. Roland stilled.

“You were pushed?”

he asked neutrally.

“Yes. I made sure to stand away from the edge but I felt hands on my back. It was a shove.”

“I did not see,”

Roland said slowly, his mind working. “I only heard the shouting and you in the water.”

“Oh crumbs, I feel like such a fool,”

Sabina groaned.

“Never you mind,”

Roland said. “You must only recover. There is to be a Christmas Eve feast for the ages in two evenings and you must be well enough to dine.”

“I don’t see how a Christmas feast could outshine the pots of chicken broth the girls have poured down my throat,”

Sabina said dryly. Roland chuckled.

“May I be of service, Sabina?”

Roland held her hand gently, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. He was alone with a sick woman and there was no other place he would rather be.

“Yes, if you don’t mind, there must still be some ginger tea in the pot on the table. Do bring me a cup?”

“Certainly,”

he said. The ginger tea was cold so he built up the fire and hung the tea kettle for hot water. Sabina watched him perform the domestic task from the bed. He helped her behind a screen so she could perform her toilette and then handed her a steaming mug once she was in bed again.

“I am quite curious how you came to be in my room.”

Sabina sipped the ginger tea.

“This is my home.”

“Yes, and your presence in my chambers is the height of impropriety.”

“Here, I shall show you impropriety…”

Roland smiled, and doffed his supper coat. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and sat next to her on top of the blankets. Her bed was so small that she ended up tucked quite snugly against him.

He put his arms around her and let her rest her head on his shoulder. She sighed and collapsed against him. He welcomed the weight of her, and all her problems. If he could, he would have taken her sickness into himself.

“You should have a big dog keeping you company,”

Roland said, his voice low.

“Exactly.”

Sabina looked quite dejected. “However, I regret to inform you, governesses don’t rate pets. I would make do with a pastry, alas, ‘tis not proper sick food.”

“You should always have a pastry. You should have all the pastries in the world and then all the ones yet to be made. You deserve everything you want and everything you don’t know you need,”

Roland said quietly, feeling her sliding away to sleep.

“I don’t wish for a pastry at the moment,”

Sabina said tiredly. “Will you read to me?”

“That is your wish? You don’t want me to rub your feet or litter your room with roses?”

“Neither of those options sound remotely appealing at, good heavens, eleven at night,”

Sabina said, having sleepily groped his pocket watch from his waistcoat to check the time. He had quite enjoyed both the touch of her fingers and the sight of her clumsy explorations. She was so dear, even while ill.

“You only say that because you’re sick,”

Roland said, reaching for the book on the nightstand. “The Vicar of Wakefield? Good God, woman.”

“It’s a favorite.”

“They’re all your favorites. I shan’t read this.”

Roland put the book away. Sabina pouted. “Cease your sulking. Close your eyes. I will read to you some other night.”

She did as she was bid, which worried Roland more than if she had protested. He stroked a hand over her dark hair and breathed in the scent of her. A long-buried memory came to him and he knew what to do.

He started singing softly to her, some half-remembered tune about the lowlands falling away and lost lovers visiting in dreams. The fire had warmed the room and someone, likely Sage, had stocked the firewood. In the flickering light of the fireplace, he lulled her to peace with songs. She ceased her shifting and soon, her breathing evened into a steady, deep rhythm.

She was asleep.

“Your servant, madame,”

Roland said, and kissed her forehead softly.

He stayed longer than he should have. When he finally tore himself away from her side, he headed straight to the kitchen, after building the fire to burn long and slow.

“Pinkie,”

Roland said. The old smuggler looked up. “Someone may have tried to kill Mrs. Kembrooke at the docks today. Please look into it.”

Pinkie’s expression did not change, but he did nod.

****

Originally, Roland had planned a quiet holiday at Darewood House. That had been the setting of all his memories, where he could best remember Arthur and Muriel Darewood.

That plan was well and truly gone now. Roland had not spent a Christmas in the country in more than ten years, and his sister seemed to take that aberration personally. Or she may have been angry at him. Some days it was difficult to tell the difference. Aria took away Roland’s checkbook first thing in the morning and he gave no argument as she doled out instructions, hired extra help from the village, and ran a most magnificent and expensive campaign.

Roland was deeply pleased with the activity and made sure to tell the ladies so. The Villiers girls had joined forces with Aria and Sage and thrown themselves into the preparations with gusto. Together, the four young ladies seemed to have purchased every piece of holly and mistletoe available in the county to bedeck Schofield Manor.

Amidst the heightened activity, Roland occasionally glimpsed the duke’s bemused face as he watched his sisters so thoroughly enjoying themselves. Lenoir and Isolde hung rosemary, bay, and laurel on every available mantelpiece and forcefully inserted themselves into any number of tasks quite unsuitable for a gently reared lady of the Ton. The man kept surprising Roland, he would have never guessed the duke to be the type to indulge his sisters.

Roland took a moment to toast a piece of bread for Pinkie to soak in beer. They hung it from a tree together in gratitude and hope for a good harvest year. Roland was not sure if he believed but his parents had done the same for as long as he remembered. He was not going to stop the tradition because they were gone.

His attempt to hide from his own sister in the kitchen ended up with recruitment into the hot manual labor of kitchen duty. No one stayed in Pinkie’s kitchen the day before Christmas without working. After peeling several dozen root vegetables and crimping a piecrust, which he did not know he could do until ordered to do so, Roland stole as many pastries as he could fit on a plate and made his escape.

The pastries were delivered to Sabina, who seemed to have dodged a fever but was still weak. Roland was able to steal exactly one mug of tea before he was discovered.

Perhaps this was preferable, to be in a place that held no memories to hurt him. At Schofield Manor, he did not have to remember cozy evenings when he had no responsibilities and could be with his family.

He was given no time for contemplation. The Darewood men, which now included Ransom, were forcefully conscripted into delivering the endless heavy Christmas baskets to every single tenant on both Schofield and Darewood properties. Roland quite enjoyed the way Tristan and the blonde Villier twin sniped at each other as heavy baskets filled with hams, preserves, coffee, tea, cordials, pickles, cheese, plum bread, and nuts were loaded into the cart.

As Sage loaded the last basket and secured the lashings, he called to her impulsively.

“Sage,”

Roland said. The girl looked up, her carrot-colored hair escaping the kerchief around it. “Do you have family?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Aria throw her hands up at him in exasperation. Perhaps his words came out more bluntly than he intended.

“No, my lord,”

Sage said slowly, trying not to stare at him. She stood with dignity, and her hands were folded in front of her. That decided it for him.

“If you wish, you would be very welcome with us. If I had the consent of your legal guardian, you could become ward to the Darewood family,”

Roland said. She stared at him, speechless, and he feared ready to cry.

“My lord, I could never impose,”

Sage started and stopped. Aria marched toward them.

“Not an imposition at all. You do a good job running this household. I will settle a dowry upon you and you are welcome to stay with us until you marry,”

Roland said quickly. He nodded at her and practically sprinted to Aria, any excuse to not see Sage’s tears.

Aria face was thunderous.

“You made Sage your ward, I heard you. A little warning would not have been untoward,”

Aria said, wiping her hands on her apron. Behind her, Ransom climbed into the driver’s seat of the cart while munching on a wedge of mince pie.

“Are you displeased?”

he asked. Aria said something rude that raised his eyebrows. How on earth did she learn that term?

“Of course not! Someone needs to run the house and I am busy. I meant that you could have told her with a bit more ceremony instead of next to the mews, which smell of horse dung. I could have told you she has no legal guardian so our solicitor can draw up a simple contract. And now she’s crying. I need her today, Roland. There is so much brining left to do and we still need to hang the kissing bough,”

Aria complained.

“No kissing bough. Don’t be scandalous. Carry on, Princess Ariadne. Job well done,”

Roland said and jumped into the cart just as Ransom got the horses moving. He snatched what was left of the mince pie from the younger man and sat back to enjoy the brisk December ride.

****

The next evening, Roland sat down to a sumptuous Christmas feast with his family and guests. They had toasted the entire staff before the meal and Roland had given each person their bonus. He and Aria had argued strenuously on the matter with his sister insisting on the money in lieu of the more traditional gift, and he had ceded that debate. Roland had discreetly brought in a tailor and dressmaker to fit each person on the staff with a new set of clothes but Aria did not need to know about that.

For truly, Aria and Sage had outdone themselves. The Christmas feast was excellent and plentiful. From the chestnut soup all the way through the several courses on the way to the roasted duck, every person was happy. The laughter and merry clinking of glasses pleased Roland, or perhaps it was watching Sabina dining at his table in her new clothes. She still tired quickly but had recovered enough to attend. Of course she had tried to beg off, saying a servant should not eat at the main table but he had insisted.

Roland had even managed to seat Sabina next to him. He applauded his own ingenuity in managing that feat, to Sabina’s scandalized face.

“You are going to get me sacked,”

Sabina murmured, her wineglass shielding her mouth. Aria very pointedly ignored them both as she and Ransom seemed to be challenging each other to a brandied carrot-building contest. Aria’s creation resembled a treehouse.

“I see no issue with that scenario,”

Roland replied discreetly. “I am in need of a governess, you see.”

“Yes, I see very clearly,”

Sabina replied dryly. She smiled at the Christmas pudding that appeared in front of her. “Thank you for not setting the pudding on fire.”

“I never thought it improved the taste.”

“And then you must wait to eat it. A pudding should not tease you,”

Sabina said. She glanced at Roland then quickly looked away. He was not pleased with that at all. She should not be acting the servant here. “Stop,”

she warned softly, and Roland focused on his pudding.

“I could show you how one should be teased by food,”

he said for her ears only.

“Not with the duke in residence,”

Sabina murmured back. “We leave for London in the morn.”

“Then I shall see you in London,”

Roland swore. He refused to believe he would never hold her again. This was not the end for them.

“In London,”

Sabina said. She glanced at him quickly and turned to seemingly check on the Villiers girls. “All right.”

As Roland led his family and guests to a final dinner Christmas toast, he hid his unease about her response. There was still so much left unsaid. They needed more time.