“Not even singed,” Gillian bragged, hugging her father in her enthusiasm.
She smiled at Chad, noting with satisfaction the hint of triumph in his eyes. He was still not too old for such childish games. If this were to be their last shared Christmas Eve celebration, she was grateful that he could enter into the spirit of the festivities. She glanced up at her father and realized that he was aware that Chad’s departure for London would change their relationship forever. She took comfort from the compassion in his eyes and raised her chin to show that she understood. Ethan patted her shoulder then took her empty chair. Gillian remained in front of the brightly burning Yule log, ready for her part in the proceedings.
“In his youth, Papa knew a man called John Newton,” Gillian said. “He had not seen him for many years when he heard that a minister by that name was holding a lively prayer meeting in the Parish of Olney. Papa went to hear the preaching and found that it was indeed his old friend.”
Gillian turned toward Miss Pennington anxious to see her reaction to hearing this story for the first time. By the shine in her governess’s eyes it was apparent that the woman was enjoying the evening very much. Since Penny was especially fond of history, Gillian spoke directly to her.
“The minister proclaimed that he had once been an infidel and a libertine. He had gone to sea, carrying items from Liverpool to Africa. He traded his goods for slaves. One night he couldn’t sleep and went up on deck. It was Christmas Eve.”
Ethan cleared his throat and Gillian grimaced at the lowered eyebrows of her father.
“Well, we don’t know exactly what night it was,” she said in defense of her fabrication. Then lowering her voice, she said, “It makes a better story, Papa.”
“Nothing is as good as the truth, poppet,” her father said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Pennington?”
“The truth is always best, Professor Foster,” she replied formally. There was a twinkle in her eye as she noted the exasperation on her pupil’s face. “However there is such a thing as dramatic license, Gillian. Perhaps you might just say that no one knows for sure what night it was but that it might very well have been Christmas Eve.”
“Good show, Miss Pennington,” Chad said, grinning his approval.
Slightly mollified, Gillian continued with her story. “It seemed very cold on deck and John wondered if it might be Christmas Eve. It was a very dark night and below decks he could hear the groans of the slaves. Suddenly he knew that it was wrong to take away anyone’s freedom and he vowed to change his life. At journey’s end he came home to England and became a minister. When he began to preach he thought it was important for the people to understand that no life was so bad that it couldn’t be saved. He wrote songs in the vicarage, late at night, when no one else was awake.”
Hearing Chad’s snort, she quickly added, “And sometimes he wrote during the day, although he never liked that very much. Papa went to the weekly prayer meetings when he could because he liked to visit with his friend afterward but also because he liked to hear the music. Of all the songs he heard there was one that was his favorite. He thought it would make a wonderful ending to our celebrations.”
Then without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, Gillian began to sing. Her voice was a sweet childlike soprano, perhaps all the more beautiful because it was untutored. Unaccompanied, the words were clear, catching and holding the attention:
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind but now I see.”
When she finished the song, there was absolute silence. The perfection of the music had woven a spell of magic over the occupants of the room. Her father’s face was filled with pride and Gillian went to him, pressing a kiss on his cheek as he gathered her into his arms.
“Merry Christmas, Papa,” she said, snuggling close.
“And to you, daughter,” came the gruff reply.
Gillian approached her governess, sensing that the sheen of tears in Miss Pennington’s eyes was not from unhappiness but merely from the emotion of the occasion. “Greetings of the season, Penny,” she said, kissing her on the cheek.
“Your song was lovely, child.” The older woman hugged Gillian then beamed at the gentlemen. “What pleasure you have all given me tonight.”
And finally Gillian stood in front of Chad. Every year she had kissed his cheek but suddenly she was shy and the salutation did not come naturally. He was a peer of the realm and, what was almost more daunting, an adult. She could not bear the thought that he might think her actions childlike. She wanted to tell him some of this but her awkwardness was so new she could not find the words.
As if he sensed her uneasiness, Chad stood up and bowed very formally to her. He did not kiss her but instead took her hand and led her over to the two adults. While he spoke with her father, Gillian went with Miss Pennington to the kitchen to bring in the tea. The pastry tray was piled with tempting confections and Chad’s mouth stretched into a wide grin when he spotted the cherry tarts which were his special favorites. In honor of the occasion, Gillian was permitted to pour. Plates were filled as she passed around the tea.
“I fear I shall fall into a decline, when I am in London,” Chad said, licking a drop of cherry filling from the corner of his mouth. “No one makes tarts with as light a hand as you, Miss Pennington.”
“Thank you for your kind words,” the older woman replied. “Although we will miss you, I suspect your time in town will prepare you well for the rigors of the season.”
“I hope so but I wish I did not have to leave so soon. Tomorrow I will be tied up with my duties so I will have to leave shortly. I know we do not normally exchange Christmas presents but I wanted you to know how much joy I have found in this house.” He stood up, crossing to the burled wood table in the corner. He removed three packages from the lower shelf, amused at Gillian’s outraged expression. His tone was teasing as he returned to the tea table. “Admit it, Gillian. If you had known they were there, you would have badgered me all day to tell you their contents.”
“I would not,” she said, sniffing in high dudgeon, but she was much too curious and excited to resist the lure of the gaily-wrapped presents. “Hurry and open your gift, Papa” she begged.
“Even at my advanced age I must admit I enjoy a surprise,” Ethan said as he unwrapped the oddly shaped present. He sighed with appreciation as he stared down at the soapstone carving in his hand.
“You will probably recognize Guandi, the God of War. I remembered you showing me pictures of some of the figures in Sir Hans Sloane’s oriental collection. When I was in London earlier this year I found this copy and hoped you would like.”
“My boy, I could not be more delighted.” The pleasure on Ethan’s face was ample confirmation of his words. “The detailing of the carving is quite above the ordinary. Look at the precision of the miniature cuts in the battle dress. What an excellent gift. You are indeed a thoughtful young man.”
Chad’s face reddened at the compliment and to cover his awkwardness he handed Miss Pennington her package. She opened the wrappings to discover a beautifully tooled leather book.
“Perhaps a book is not an original idea, ma’am,” Chad said, “but I hope I am beforehand in giving you this autobiography. Despite the fact the man is from the Americas, I am to understand that Benjamin Franklin was a very interesting personage.”
After accepting the pleased thanks of the governess, he turned to Gillian who was trying hard to control her impatience. Chad placed a small box in her hands and watched with amusement as she tore off the paper. She opened the velvet top of the jewelry box and gasped at the necklace lying on the satin lining. Suspended from a fine gold chain was a golden apple.
“I asked your father if it would be permitted to give you such an extravagant present,” he drawled, pleased by the stunned look on Gillian’s face. “I was sorry that I was not here when Patch died but I thought this would remind you of the day we found the kitten and the great apple fight.”
“Oh, Chad, it is beautiful,” Gillian said, holding the necklace up for her father and Penny to see. She slipped it over her head, touching the pendant where it lay, warm against her skin. Looking down, she sighed in pure happiness as the golden apple caught and held the light.
“I am glad you like it,” he said. “I wish I could be here tomorrow to give you Christmas greetings but I fear I must be going.”
With little ceremony, he bade the adults a good evening. In the foyer, he accepted his hat and caped greatcoat from Gillian. His eyes were steady on her face as he wound a scarf high on his throat in preparation for the short walk to Maynard Hall. A smile touched his mouth as his gaze rose to the kissing bough.
“Don’t be sad, Gillian,” he said, hugging her with great affection. “It is not as if I will never return.”
At the reminder that he was leaving, she buried her head against his coat. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. She didn’t want him to think she was a baby but it felt as though her world was falling apart. Sniffing once she tipped her head to smile bravely up at him.
“I have already given you the apple, Gillian, now you must pay the forfeit,” Chad said.
The leather of his gloved hands was cold against her skin, as he smoothed back the curls that tumbled around her face. Her heart quickened at the gleam in his eye. He bent his head and kissed her on the mouth.
Then he was gone. Gillian stood in the open doorway, watching as he strode down the snowy lane.
“This last evening will always be in my memory,” she whispered. “Merry Christmas, friend of my heart.”
The Third Kiss
“Stop tugging at your neckline,” Miss Pennington hissed.
“Why didn’t I notice how low it was when I had my last fitting?” Gillian stared down at her bodice, appalled by the expanse of skin above the satin ruching.
“It’s not too low. Look around you, child. You are the height of fashion,” the governess replied, nudging her young charge as they approached the entrance to Squire Bassington’s ballroom.
“I’ll probably catch some dreadful inflammation of the lungs. Or I’ll lean over the buffet table and my bosom will fall out,” Gillian finished gloomily.
“A proper young lady never mentions her body,” Penny said. There was an archness to her voice that would have served as a set down if the twinkle in her eyes had not belied the words. “Besides, by plucking at your neckline you will draw attention to it which I assume is the very thing you are trying to avoid. Stand up straight and you will begin to feel more comfortable.”
“Is that like: close your eyes and think of England,” Gillian asked pertly.
Penny stopped in her tracks, torn between shock and amusement. “My stars, child! Where on earth do you pick up such phrases? One would think I haven’t spent five arduous years trying to teach you the art of ladylike behavior. After Christmas I shall have to set you to penning essays on the difference between feminine wit and coarse speech.”
“Are you coming, Gillian?” Ethan said, holding out his arm to escort her into the ballroom. As she laid her hand on the sleeve of his jacket, he looked at her over the tops of his gold-rimmed spectacles. “Ah, my dear, just yesterday you were still in the nursery. Yet tonight you appear all grown up. Perhaps that explains why Robert Worthington has spent so much time at the house. And I thought it was just to show respect to his old tutor.”
Gillian could feel the tide of color rising to coat her cheeks and prayed that she would not break out in nervous blotches. She tried to keep her voice neutral as she answered. “Mr. Worthington has always enjoyed your company.”
“Mr. Worthington, is it,” he said. “It was Robbie when you punched him in the nose.”
“I never did!” She looked around to see if anyone had overheard such a libelous statement. “Surely I could never have done such a thing.”
“To my recollection, you have always been the model of deportment,” was Penny’s acerbic comment.
All at once Gillian had a clear vision of a furious Robbie, bloodied handkerchief clutched to his nose, threatening never to play with her again. She could not recall what had caused their argument but it reminded her that her respectable behavior was of recent vintage. Until this year she had been more comfortable in the hunting field than in the drawing room. Her only interest in the young gentlemen of the neighborhood was as fishing companions.
Gillian squeezed her father’s arm and gave Penny a wistful smile. “It is very difficult being eighteen.” She grimaced at such an admission. “Some days I cannot believe how mature I have become. When I look at younger girls, I feel quite top lofty. A moment later, the rules of propriety tighten around me and I miss the freedom of being a child. I’m not sure I want to be all grown up.”
“The realization that you do not know all the answers is the beginning of wisdom.” Ethan chuckled. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet, poppet.
Hearing the pride in her father’s voice, Gillian braced her shoulders, buoyed by his approval. She touched the gold apple on the chain around her neck. Since Chad had given it to her, she had worn it as a talisman. Thus fortified, she sailed into the ballroom and greeted the squire and his wife with a confidence she had not felt earlier. Once the amenities had been satisfied, she joined the younger set, searching out her best friend Nelda Bassington, the soft-spoken daughter of the squire.
“Greetings of the Christmas season, Nelda,” she said, kissing her best friend on the cheek. “You are certainly in looks tonight.”
Although they were the same age, Gillian felt like Nelda’s big sister owing to the disparity in their heights. Gillian was tall for a woman, able to stand eye to eye with most of the men in the county. She had always felt like a veritable Amazon next to the petite, golden haired girl with the doelike eyes of blue.
Gillian had not paid much attention to the squire’s daughter in their younger days. Nelda was far more comfortable with feminine activities like needlepoint and sketching, while she preferred the rough and tumble adventures to be found in the out of doors. It was only in the last few years that they had been thrust together at neighborhood social affairs. Once they discovered a common interest in books and the theatre, they were soon nattering away like bosom bows.