Christmas Belles (3 page)

But when she started to back away, he cried, "No, no,
you are not disturbing me.  I only…" He raked his hand back through
his graying hair with a weary sigh. "Come in, child. Come in and warm your
feet by the fire. You have forgotten your slippers and will be chilled to the bone."

Chloe glanced down, for the first time noticing that her
feet were bare and quite cold. Yet Papa could hardly scold. It was a failing of
both of theirs, overlooking such trivialities as gloves and slippers.

Chloe approached and settled into a corner of the settee,
tucking her feet beneath her nightgown. Papa managed to summon a smile for her,
but she thought it was the saddest one she had ever seen.

"Perhaps it is just as well you have come down,"
he said. "I have a present for you. I meant to save it for the morrow, but
now ..." He struggled forward, heaving himself to his feet.

Chloe saw that several wrapped parcels had been deposited on
the parlor table. Papa fetched the smallest one for her. She accepted it with
delight. Her fingers trembled with eagerness, yet she restrained herself,
peeling the paper away slowly, savoring the suspense. The object tumbled free
of its wrapping, falling into her lap. Chloe saw that it was a quaint wooden
carving of a very venerable-looking old gentleman attired in long robes and a
flowing beard.

"I have had that tucked away for a very long
time," Papa said. "So long, I had nearly forgotten it. I picked it up
during my travels with the diplomatic corps in Spain."

"Who is it supposed to be, Papa? A wizard like
Merlin?"

"No, my dear, it is Saint Nicholas. The Spanish believe
he is the patron saint of all young, unmarried ladies."

Chloe turned the statue over in her hands, admiring the
delicate and intricate carving from all angles. She was most fascinated by the
heavy-lidded eyes, which looked so solemn, so wise.

"Thank you so much, Papa," she said. "Now I
shall have two guardians looking out for me, you and Saint Nicholas."

All traces of Papa's smile fled.  His face resumed that
expression that had haunted her all evening. He strode abruptly to stand by the
fire, his back to her. Although a dozen fears and doubts crowded to Chloe's
mind, she forced herself to remain silent, to wait patiently. At last, Papa
faced her again, resting one hand heavily along the mantel, not noticing when
he dislodged some of the holly clusters.

"Chloe,  there is something I must tell you. I
wish it did not have to be this soon. I had wanted Christmas to be over, our
revels unspoiled before I—" He broke off unhappily.

"What is it, Papa?" Chloe asked, fighting a sensation
of rising alarm.

"When I was gone so long this afternoon, I did not
spend all of my time at the vicarage. During part of it, I was preparing for a
journey."

Her heart sank. She could not remember Papa ever being gone,
not even overnight.

"What sort of journey?"

"First to London and then ..." Sir Phineas trailed
off, looking completely dispirited, but he straightened, making an effort to
rally. "Actually, it is a cause for congratulations, my dear I have
managed to obtain a post again, in the diplomatic corps. What do you think of
that?"

Chloe did not know what to think. She could only regard her
father blankly, feeling as though her entire orderly world were suddenly being
turned upside down. Of course, she had always been aware that as a young man,
Papa had once had a very promising career in government service. He had
achieved fame for uncovering a nefarious plot against King George. Some
dissenters dissatisfied with the conduct of the American War had plotted
treason, to assassinate the king. Only owing to Papa's diligence had the scheme
been uncovered. The king, in his gratitude, had made Papa a knight. But that
had all been so long ago. Papa had retired from civil service when he had
married Mama and inherited Windhaven from his uncle.

Sir Phineas fidgeted at Chloe's lengthy silence. "I
know it is sad that we have to part, but are you not pleased for me?"

Chloe forced a brittle smile to her lips. "Oh, very.
Congratulations, Papa. 'Tis only that it is all so sudden."

"Not as much for me. I fear I have been writing letters
for some time now to Captain William Trent. I obtained this post through his
influence. You remember my mentioning Captain Trent?"

"Of course, Papa." She was not likely ever to
forget Captain Trent, although she had never met the man. Windhaven was an
entailed estate. Since Sir Phineas had had no sons, Captain Trent, although a
very distant relative, stood to inherit Windhaven. Chloe loved her home, creaky
floorboards, drafty chimneys and all. It was difficult to think that someday it
would be appropriated by a total stranger. Yet she did not dwell on that grim
prospect now, being pressed by a more immediate source of distress. "I am
sure it was very kind of Captain Trent to help you secure a post," she
said. "But, Papa, you are a knight, a landowner. Surely you have too many
duties here, are far too important a man to—"

"Ah, but it is a very important position, very grand.
Only think, my dear. I am to be part of the foreign embassy in Portugal."

"Portugal!" Chloe felt herself wax pale. "Papa,
there will be fighting on the Peninsula. Napoleon's army—"

"It is only Spain that has allied itself with France,
my dear, Portugal is still quite safe, I assure you. I will be in no
danger."

Chloe only shook her head. "Why, Papa? I don't understand
why you want to do this thing."

"Well… er." He could not seem to meet her eyes.
"You must realize that Windhaven has always been more of an encumbrance
than anything else. When a man reaches my age, he must give some thought to his
future."

"Is it your future you are thinking of, Papa, or
ours?" Chloe demanded "Mine and Emma's, Lucy's and Agnes's."

Sir Phineas flung out his hands in a helpless gesture.
"Hang it all, my dear, what is so wrong with that? When a man has four
daughters of marriageable age and no dowries, it is high time that he did think
of their futures. A girl needs a respectable portion if she is to marry well.
Indeed, marry at all."

"I don't, Papa," Chloe said desperately. "I
don't need a dowry or a husband. Marriage is not the only prospect. I could
become a governess. I have always been fond of children. That would make one
less for you to worry about and ..."

She faltered, seeing that her argument was only causing her
father to shudder, look more determined. Tears came then, falling unbidden down
her cheeks. Although her father pulled forth his pocket handkerchief to check
their flow, Chloe saw that there was no hope of her dissuading him from his
course.

"But you could be gone so long, Papa. From all of us,
from Windhaven," she whispered brokenly. "For months, perhaps
years."

"Oh, tush, child. It will never be that long. I am sure
we will have soon thrashed that rascal Napoleon, making it safe to travel on
the continent again. I will bring you and your sisters over. What a grand time
we will have. We might even go to Paris."

"Lucy would like that." Chloe sniffed.

Sir Phineas waxed eloquent with promises, wonderful visions.
Although he did not quite reconcile Chloe to the imminent separation, he
managed to coax a smile from her.

As he led her from the parlor, urging her to return to the
warmth and comfort of her bed, he wrapped his arm about her shoulders, giving
her a bracing squeeze. "After all, 'tis you I am counting upon to be the
bravest, to look after your sisters in my absence."

Her? The sorriest shatterbrain in all the world? Chloe
chuckled at such a ludicrous notion. "What about Emma? She is the
eldest."

"So she is. I have no doubt she will see you all well
fed and warmly clothed. And Lucy will be here to apprise you of the latest
fashions, stay abreast of the neighborhood gossip. Agnes will be certain to
keep all of your feet firmly planted on the ground, see that you remain
practical. But you, my dear Chloe, will have the most important task of
all."

"And what is that, Papa?"

He gave her chin a playful pinch. "You will be the
Keeper of Dreams Make sure that no one gets too sensible to indulge in a little
whimsy, to keep faith when there seems little reason to do so, to believe that
even the impossible can often be very possible."

Chloe thought he was teasing her but only partly so. The
light in his eyes was quite tender. In any case, with utmost solemnity she gave
her promise to execute his commission.

"I will, Papa," she said.

He brushed a kiss lightly upon her brow. The hall clock
chiming midnight seemed to set a seal upon her pledge.

" 'Tis Christmas Day, Papa," she said. She glanced
toward the windows, where little could be glimpsed but swirling whiteness set
against the ebony mantle of night. "Remember the legend you told me? The
one about the animals?"

"Aye. During the first hour of Christmas Day, all the
beasts are said to genuflect in honor of the Christ child."

"I should like to go out some Christmas after midnight,
to see if it is really true."

"Ah, but remember the rest of the legend, my dear.
Anyone who catches the animals thus is said to be doomed to perish within the
year."

"Then I shall wait until I am an old woman and don't
care about living anymore."

"I hope you never grow to be that wearied of life, my
dear."

Sir Phineas stood watching as Chloe headed up the curve of
the stairs, her honey brown hair shimmering in the candlelight. So many times
had this scene been played out between them, him shooing the child back to bed
long after she should have been asleep. Child? Nay, no longer. Had he been so
fond and foolish not to see it happening? The inches adding slowly to her
height, the womanly figure starting to blossom. He seemed to have glanced away
but a moment and Chloe had grown up. All his daughters had.

Sir Phineas maintained his smiling posture until Chloe was
swallowed by the darkness at the top of the stairs. Only then did he allow the
weight of years to settle back upon him, bowing his shoulders down. He returned
to the drawing room to make sure fire was banked upon the hearth, all secure.

He had always reveled in the festival of Christmas as
innocently as his daughter had. It was a warm time of year, a time of memories,
some bittersweet, but never any just bitter. At least not until this year.

Perhaps that was because this was the first year he had
taken a long look at his life and seen what a failure it had been. He could not
say what had sparked off this realization, perhaps suddenly noticing his
daughters were all grown up and no provision made for them as he ought to have
done.

He had never done anything right, at least not from a
worldly point of view. When he had been placed in the way of a promising
government career, he had been rather hopeless, even in the role of an under
secretary. Poor Chloe! Always fancying her father had been some great hero. He
had uncovered the assassination plot by purest chance. It had been more his
clerk's doing than his own. But the king could hardly be expected to knight
some fellow of obscure parentage, whose ancestors most likely hailed from the
fishmongers at Billingsgate. No, the honors had to go to Phineas, whose one
virtue was that he could at least lay claim to being a gentleman.

 Phineas frowned into the fire at the memory. If he had
been wise, he would have used his newly acquired title and his position in
society to make a wealthy marriage. But at that thought, his lips curved into a
soft smile. How could any man who had ever glimpsed the beauty of gentle Maria
Longley ever have remained wise? A vicar's daughter, she had been as poor as
he, but that hadn't mattered then, that first springtime of being in love.

The heavens bless her, it still didn't matter. His marriage
to Maria was the one part of his life Sir Phineas refused to count as a
failure. He had inherited Windhaven shortly after the wedding, the estate
already something of a ruin, the holdings burdened by his late uncle's debts.
But he and Maria had retired to their new home in Norfolk to raise their brood
of bright and beautiful little girls. Despite pinched purse strings, they had
been foolishly, deliriously happy.

That, perhaps, had been his greatest mistake. He should
never have retired from government service. He should have sought out some fat
sinecure of a position as other ambitious men did. But he had never been able
tear himself away from his wife and daughters, from the warmth that was their
home. Even after Maria's death, he had convinced himself it was best not to
leave, to seek his fortune in the city. The girls had needed him.

But on this bitter-cold Christmas Eve, he had his doubts. He
could not congratulate himself that he had been a wonderful father. What good
had he ever done for his daughters? He had seen that Emma was falling in love
with a poverty-stricken clergyman and done nothing to stop it.  Mr. Henry
was such a worthy young man, and Phineas genuinely liked the vicar. But so
poor! There could scarce be a poorer living in all of England than that of St.
Andrew's.

Then there was Lucy—so beautiful, so taking with her
charming ways. He had indulged her too much, encouraged her small vanities
until she had become discontent and restless. And Agnes—he had so delighted in
her scholarly turn of mind, just what he would have wished for in a son. So he
had taught her Greek and Latin, turned her into a proper little bluestocking,
which would only make it more difficult for the poor child to ever acquire a
husband.

But Chloe—what he had done to his little Chloe was the worst
of all. So lovely, so sweet, so much the image of his departed wife, it oft
brought an ache to his heart. He had stuffed Chloe's head full of fantasy and
legends. Even on the verge of leaving her, when he should have admonished her
to be more sensible, what must he do but encourage her to keep on dreaming?