“I think that is a splendid idea,” he said.
“And I could give Miss Angove the painting I did of you on your horse,” she said. “Is it good enough, Papa?”
“I am sure she will be pleased,” he said, hoping that his daughter would forget to identify the horseman when she presented the gift.
“But what can we give Andrew?” She was frowning.
“I’ll wager he would like that seashell we found at Brighton,” he said.
“The one you can hold to your ear to hear the tide. Can you bear to part with it?”
Dora’s face lit up again, and she darted off to find the three treasures. Bedford watched her go.
He really should not have given in on this occasion, should he? He must be the last person Lilias would want to see on this of all days. But just for half an hour. It would not quite ruin her day, surely. And it would make Dora’s day.
It was Christmas morning, too early for the carriages of those going visiting for the afternoon. The street had been silent all morning. But it was no longer silent. It was Andrew who first remarked on the sound of horses and who crossed to the window to look out. Megan joined him there when it became clear that there was also a carriage approaching.
“It is Lord Bedford’s carriage,” Andrew cried. “And it is stopping here, Lilias. Oh, ripping! He will see that I have a watch, just like a man.”
“Dora is with him,” Megan cried. “How pretty she looks. And she has a doll with her. Do come and look, Lilias.”
“I think one of us should think of opening the door,” Lilias said, getting to her feet with a smile. And she passed nervous hands over her apron, realized she was wearing it, and removed it hastily. She was pleased that she was wearing her blue silk. It was true that it was no longer fashionable, but it had been worn so sparingly in the last few years that it was barely faded and not patched at all. She was wearing the lace collar that had been Mama’s. And she had taken special care with her hair that morning because it was Christmas.
He was holding himself very straight. His expression was wooden. She would have said he was embarrassed if she had thought him capable of such feelings. But she had little time in which to stare.
“We have called for half an hour to wish you all a merry Christmas,” he said stiffly.
But Dora was jumping up and down at his side and then pushing her way through the door. “We have brought you presents,” she said in a voice that seemed designed to be heard by someone at the other end of the street. “And I have a new doll, Megan. Oh, and you do too. Ooh, she is pretty. What is her name? And see my new muff, Miss Angove? Papa bought it in London for me, though I did not know until this morning. I wanted to see the star again. Oh, it does look lovely. What smells so good?
Does it not smell delicious, Papa? And here are your gifts. Open them.
Oh, open them.”
“Quieten down, poppet,” the marquess said, bending down to remove her muff and undo her coat. He kissed her on the cheek, and Lilias felt that churning in her stomach she had felt before.
Megan and Andrew were soon exclaiming over their gifts while Dora shouted them both down, explaining that the ribbon had been meant for her but she had wanted to give it to Megan. And the shell she and Papa had found their very own selves on the beach at Brighton. And couldn’t Andrew just hear the tide at Brighton when he held it to his ear?
Lilias sat down before removing the ribbon from the paper and unrolling her painting.
“Ah,” she said. “How lovely. And you painted it yourself.”
“Yes, I did,” Dora said, climbing up onto Lilias’s lap so that she could see the picture too. “That is Papa, but he does not look very much like him, does he? Papa is more handsome, isn’t he? That is Papa’s horse. His one leg is white, you see? Really he is not quite black, but I had to paint him black because my brown paint was not dark enough. I painted a sun, see?”
“It is beautiful,” Lilias said, burying her face in the child’s ringlets for a moment. “Quite the loveliest painting I have ever owned. I shall treasure it.”
“Will you?” Dora looked up at her. “This is pretty.” She laid one small forefinger against the lace collar. “Do you like my muff?”
But she did not wait for an answer. She wriggled down to the floor again in order to exchange exclamations of delight with Megan over their dolls.
The marquess was bent over Andrew, meticulously examining his watch, for all the world as if he had never seen it before, Lilias thought.
Dora accepted a mince pie, another of the offerings from the hall; the marquess did not. Dora sat very straight on a chair close to the Nativity scene, her usual pinafore protecting her dress from crumbs, her feet dangling above the floor.
“I like Christmas in your house,” she told Lilias and Megan after telling them all about the distributing of gifts to the servants that morning. “I wish we could stay here all day.”
The marquess, Lilias could hear with some delight, was telling Andrew about Tattersall’s. He would make a friend for life. Andrew had a passion for horses.
“You can stay all day,” Megan said. “Can’t they, Lilias? Our goose is ever so big and there are enough vegetables to feed the five thousand.
Lilias said so just a short while ago. We could play house all day. I could be mother and you could be elder sister. And the two dolls can be the babies. Andrew could be the father, but I don’t suppose he will want to be. But that does not matter, does it?”
“I am sure his lordship must have other plans for the day,” Lilias said quietly to Megan, but Dora had already slipped from her chair and crossed the room to stand beside her father’s. She stood there, pulling at his sleeve.
“Papa,” she said, “Miss Angove and Megan want us to stay for the rest of the day. There is lots of food, Miss Angove says, and Megan and I are going to play house all day. May we, Papa? Please, may we?”
“Yes,” Andrew said with some enthusiasm.
Wide-open blue eyes were turned on her, Lilias saw. Accusing? Assessing?
Hostile?Incredulous? It was impossible to tell. She felt herself flushing.
“Impossible, Dora,” the marquess said, getting to his feet. “We could not so impose. You agreed to half an hour, and that must be just about up.”
There was a chorus of disappointed protests from the three children.
“You would be very welcome,” Lilias found herself saying. “There really is plenty of food, and it would be such a treat for the children to have company.”
His eyes burned into hers from across the room. And for me too, she told him silently. For suddenly there was no longer that elusive sense of something missing. There was excitement in the house and happiness.
And Christmas was somehow complete.
And he was there. And there was a chance-she clasped her hands in front of her very tightly-that he would be there for the whole day. Her memorable Christmas would be memorable indeed, for she would remember him as Stephen. No matter how much he was this withdrawn and austere and even hostile marquess, in memory she knew she would erase all facts except the essential one: He was Stephen. And she had never stopped loving him. Maybe she never would.
If he stayed, she would be able to carry him with her in memory with all the other memories of this last Christmas with her family. It would all be complete.
“This is preposterous,” he said, sitting back down again and looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Whatever will Miss Angove think of us, Dora?”
“Hurrah,” Andrew shouted out. “He is going to say yes.”
The girls squealed and jumped up and down on the spot. And when Dora climbed onto her father’s lap to hug him and kiss him, Megan climbed onto his other knee and smiled adoringly into his face.
“Thank you,” she said. “Oh, thank you, sir.”
“Your sister is going to throttle me, little imp,” he said, and to Lilias’s amazement, he hugged the child close with one arm and kissed her cheek. “I had better go outside and dismiss my coachman. He might die of boredom and cold if we leave him out there for the rest of the day.”
