The Captain's Christmas Family (12 page)

“For a gift. Of course.” The young man held up a book he was holding. “I highly recommend this for a father, brother or husband.
Waverley,
a historical novel set in Scotland.”

That sounded good, too, though Marian feared it might make her homesick to read about the land she
had been forced to leave so long ago. Even if she could afford to buy the novel, she had no male relative to whom she could give it. She would have liked to give a copy to Gideon Radcliffe, but that was impossible for so many reasons.

“I’m sure it’s excellent,” she replied, “but I am looking for gifts for two young girls.”

The assistant beckoned her over to the counter. “We have a fine selection of books for children, printed on Dutch paper with tinted engravings, as well as some new items that have proven very popular.”

As he brought out several of these for her inspection, Marian kept casting glances over her shoulder to make certain Cissy’s friend was keeping her well occupied.

She was just about to check again when she heard the captain’s voice behind her. “I thought we might meet up here, since it is halfway around the square from where we started.”

A sharp gasp burst from her lips as she spun around. “Captain, you startled me! Where is Dolly? I don’t want her to see what I’ve been looking at.”

He nodded toward Cissy and her friend, whom Dolly had joined. The three girls seemed to be discussing the pantomime and their Christmas celebrations. “She appears to be diverted for the moment. Do I take it you have found some suitable gifts?”

“I believe so.” Only now did Marian notice his arms were filled with a number of parcels, one quite bulky. “Though perhaps you have already found what you would like to give them.”

“These, you mean?” He rested his parcels on the edge of the counter, shielding the items she’d been look
ing over from Cissy and Dolly’s view. “No, indeed. So tell me what we have here?”

He stood close beside her, their arms touching. Was that also to prevent the girls from spying?

Whatever the reason, Marian savored his nearness, happy to see him again after even such a brief absence. “I am certain the girls will find these things both amusing and instructive. What is even better, I doubt they are aware such playthings exist. That should make their surprise all the greater.”

As the shop assistant showed them to him, Captain Radcliffe nodded. “Well done, Miss Murray. These will do very nicely.”

“Which do you wish to purchase, sir?” asked the young man.

“Why, all of them, of course.” The captain turned slightly toward Marian. “Could I trouble you to fetch the girls back to the inn so I can pay for these without fear of discovery?”

“Of course, sir.” She hastened to do his bidding, though she would rather have lingered there at his side.

The girls reluctantly bid Cissy’s friend goodbye and headed back to the inn with Marian. On the way, they traded accounts of what they had seen on their shopping excursions. When Dolly heard about the cakes in the confectioner’s window, she insisted on stopping so she could see them for herself.

They were still lingering there when the captain caught up with them. Though he was laden with even more parcels, he whisked the girls into the shop and proceeded to buy a bag of barley sweets and toffees for them to eat during the pantomime.

Marian could not imagine they would have much appetite for those treats after the excellent dinner they tucked away back at The Kingston Arms—cold meats, salads, pies and delicious cheese.

“There.” The Captain leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. “That should give us the strength to walk to the theater. It is only a little way past the other side of the square. The carriage can wait here to drive us home.”

Dolly jumped up at once. “Let’s go, then. Nell told us we want to be there early to get good seats.”

“Never fear,” he assured the child. “I have sent Wilbert ahead to reserve us a box.”

He had spared no effort or expense to make certain the girls enjoyed their excursion to Newark. Marian savored that thought like a sweet, creamy toffee that melted slowly in the mouth. Whether he realized it or not, Gideon Radcliffe had clearly become attached to his young cousins.

Later, as they watched the rollicking, riotous pantomime, Marian noted how his acquaintance with the children had done him so much good. Gone was the fiercely solitary man who had stalked into Knightley Park two months ago. In his place was one capable of laughter, thoughtful generosity and an ability to enjoy the small pleasures of life.

Newark’s playhouse was not a large one, or so Marian guessed, having never attended the theater before. The compact box she shared with the Radcliffes had an excellent view of the stage, where the company performed
The Misadventures of Robin Hood,
a very popular production in Nottinghamshire. As Robin and
his band of clownish outlaws cavorted about, playing tricks upon the foppish sheriff and his buffoon of a henchman, the crowded little theater throbbed with laughter.

Dolly fell about in fits of giggles whenever Robin stole up behind the sheriff and gave him a resounding smack on the bottom with his slapping stick.

Later, when the henchman stalked Robin and Maid Marian, Cissy got so caught up in the action she cried, “Look out behind you!”

The poor child hid her face in shame when she realized what she’d done, but the rest of the audience roared with mirth and the actors incorporated her warning into their performance.

Though Marian laughed as much as anyone at the exaggerated falls, blows, tumbling and comical songs, a tiny part of her remained detached, observing Captain Radcliffe and the girls, taking added pleasure in
their
enjoyment. The captain’s plan to give Cissy and Dolly a merry Christmas had worked better than she could have hoped. It was quite clear that her prayers for him to care about the girls had been answered.

Now all that remained to crown her efforts was an opportunity to broach the subject of guardianship with Captain Radcliffe. Surely, when he learned what kind of woman Lady Villiers was, he would not wish to see his young cousins fall into her clutches any more than Marian did.

Glancing around at the other families who occupied surrounding boxes, she reckoned a chance observer might suppose she and the Radcliffes were also a close-knit, happy family. Spending so much time to
gether over Christmas, they had come to feel like a family, too.

Knowing how unlikely it was that she would ever have a family of her own, Marian had never permitted herself to think too much about wanting one. But now that she had tasted the joy of family unity, she was not certain she could repress that longing.

After the curtain fell to thunderous applause and the performers took their final bows, Marian and the captain helped the girls bundle up for their return to Knightley Park.

“That was the funniest thing I ever saw,” Dolly crowed. “My tummy hurts from laughing so hard.”

“I wish we could see it all over again.” Cissy pulled on her gloves. “Wasn’t it lovely how Robin and Maid Marian were able to get married at last in spite of that awful sheriff?”

“Robin Hood had a
Maid
Marian,” Dolly said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “and we have a
Miss
Marian. I think after this, I will call you Maid Marian.”

“Call me what you will.” Marian playfully batted Dolly’s nose. “But I will choose what name I answer to.”

Over the child’s head her gaze met the captain’s, and they exchanged a comradely smile.

“May I have a barley sweet, now?” Cissy asked him.

“What do you say, Miss Marian?” He pulled the bag from his pocket.

“Go ahead.” She plumped the bow of Dolly’s bonnet. “Now that the pantomime is over, I won’t be afraid of them choking when they laugh.”

Having secured her approval, Captain Radcliffe fished out sweets for the girls. “And you, Miss Marian?”

“Yes, please.” She held out her hand.

As he slipped her one of the hard-boiled sweets, she gave silent thanks for all the joys, great and small, that Gideon Radcliffe had brought into her life.

Once out on the street, they walked briskly toward The Kingston Arms and their waiting carriage. Marian wondered if the girls might fall asleep on the drive home, leaving her and the captain a chance to talk. If they did, it might be the right time to raise her doubts about Lady Villiers as a suitable guardian for the girls. But part of her shrank from spoiling this lovely outing by bringing up such an unpleasant subject.

They had nearly reached the inn when they met an elderly gentleman who doffed his hat and wished them a Happy New Year. Captain Radcliffe returned his cordial greeting.

“Have you seen the pantomime?” Dolly asked the man. “It’s very funny, especially Robin Hood’s slapping stick. I laughed and laughed!”

The old gentleman stopped in a pool of light cast by one of several street lamps scattered around the square. “Bless my soul, child, I have not seen a pantomime in years. But now that you mention it, I believe I shall go. I could do with a good laugh.”

He beamed at the girls, then smiled up at Marian and the captain. “A very handsome family you have been blessed with, sir. I trust you appreciate your good fortune.”

Marian sensed a sudden tension in the captain’s pos
ture, but he replied with only the slightest hesitation. “Thank you, sir. I do, indeed. Good evening to you.”

As they hurried on, Cissy piped up in an accusing tone, “Why did you not tell that man we aren’t your family?”

“Because you are…in a way.”

Cissy was not satisfied with that excuse. “But you know he thought Miss Marian must be your wife and Dolly and me your daughters. You should have told him the truth.”

“Perhaps,” replied the captain. “But his praise was kindly meant. It would have been more awkward to explain. Besides, I cannot deny you are handsome.”

“We
aren’t
your family,” Cissy repeated. “Not in the way he meant.”

“I sometimes wish we were,” announced Dolly, who had been unusually quiet during their exchange. “I sometimes wish Cousin Gideon was our papa and Miss Marian our mama.”

Those words brought Cissy to an abrupt halt. She let go of Marian’s hand as if it had suddenly caught fire. “Dolly Radcliffe, how could you wish such a wicked thing?”

“It isn’t wicked!” Dolly cried.

“Please, Cissy.” Marian had been afraid the late hour and all the treats and excitement might catch up with the children. “Your sister didn’t mean—”

“Yes, she did!” Cissy backed away, glaring at all three of them. “And she had no business wishing any such thing. She should wish Mama and Papa had not died!”

With that, the child spun away and ran off across the square.

“Cissy!” Marian started after her only to feel Gideon’s restraining hand on her arm.

“Stay with Dolly,” he ordered in a tone of command the brooked no refusal. “Take her into the inn to keep warm until I fetch her sister back.”

He spoke those words as he hurried past in pursuit of the fleeing child.

Marian wanted to protest. Cissy was much more likely to listen to her. But for that to happen, she would first have to catch the child. Gideon was better suited to that task for he had longer legs which were not hampered by skirts. Besides, it might not be prudent for a woman and young girl to be out at night on their own, even in a respectable town like Newark.

As she turned back toward Dolly, Marian raised a wordless prayer that Gideon would be able to catch Cissy quickly and somehow find the words to reach her heart.

D
read clawed at Gideon as he raced across Newark’s market square, trying to keep from losing sight of the fleeing child. If he did not catch up with her soon, he feared she might duck into one of the narrow lanes around the church and lose him.

What might become of her then? It was a cold night, and he doubted Cissy knew anyone in Newark with whom she might seek shelter. Even if she repented running away and wanted to return, would she be able to find her way back through unfamiliar streets in the winter darkness? The thought of her lost, alone and perishing with cold terrified Gideon as no peril to his own life ever had. Almost as acute as his fear for her safety was the alarming realization of how much his cousin’s young daughters had come to mean to him.

Cissy had almost reached the other side of the square! How could such a slender little creature run so fast? She was like a frightened fawn fleeing for her life.

Out of his desperation, a plea rose in his thoughts. “Dear God, help me catch her before it’s too late!”

A prayer? Part of him scoffed at the futility of it. Even if the Creator of the Universe did heed the pleas of insignificant human beings, why should God deign to answer his first prayer in nearly twenty-five years? If anyone was going to reach Cissy, it would have to be him alone, by his own efforts.

That thought spurred him to a final burst of speed.

Was the child slowing down a bit? Perhaps he might catch her yet.

Then in a confused instant, his foot landed on a patch of ice and flew out from under him. Gideon flailed his arms in a futile effort to regain his balance. A cry burst from his lips as he crashed down hard on the cold cobblestones.

Stunned and in pain, he struggled to drag himself back to his feet and continue the chase. A groan collided in his throat with a sob of despair, for he knew it was too late. Cissy would have disappeared from sight, and his chances of finding her would be far too slim.

But as he tried to pull himself up, ignoring a stab of pain in his ankle, Gideon heard footsteps. They could not be the child’s, though, for the sound was coming closer rather than fading into the distance.

“Cousin Gideon?” That was Cissy’s voice. Or had the fall addled his wits enough to make him hear things?

“Are you much hurt?” She gasped for breath. “I heard you fall. It’s all my fault…if you are injured.”

Hearing him cry out, she had stopped and come back? That mishap had accomplished his goal when his own best efforts might have failed. What strange irony. Or could it be the unlikely answer to a prayer?

“Don’t fret yourself, child.” Much as pride urged
him to get back on his feet as quickly as possible and pretend nothing was wrong, he sensed that might make Cissy run off again.

A soft whisper from deep in his heart suggested that perhaps an admission of weakness might serve him better that a show of strength. “You came back. That counts for a great deal more. Can I trouble you to help me up? I fear my leg may be injured and my balance is none too steady.”

Cissy hesitated for a moment, then Gideon felt her hand on his. Leaning upon her, he struggled to his feet. “Could you assist me back across the square? I believe your Miss Marian will be worried about us, don’t you?”

“Yes,” came the forlorn answer. “Do you think she will be very angry with me for running off like that?”

“More relieved to get you back than angry, I should think.” His arm slung over the child’s shoulders, Gideon took one halting step forward, then another.

After a few more steps, he spoke again. He hoped—prayed—that what he was about to say would not make the child take flight again. “I understand why you were upset with me and with your sister.”

“You do?” Cissy sounded skeptical yet mildly curious.

“Yes, indeed.” Much as it went against his nature to speak of his past, Gideon sensed the child needed to hear about it. Besides, he now had some practice confiding in Marian Murray—enough to know that while the experience might be painful, it often brought a sense of relief. “I was around Dolly’s age when my father died. My mother lingered after him for nearly two years, but she had never been strong…?.”

“Did you miss them very much?” Cissy asked in a plaintive murmur. “Did you pray they would come back again? Did you think if you were very, very good, they might?”

The anguish in her voice revived Gideon’s deeply buried feelings of loss. Old wounds reopened, stinging and bleeding afresh. “During my mother’s final weeks, I made all manner of bargains with God for good behavior if He would spare her life.”

A long overdue realization gashed his heart. “When she died at last, I wondered if it was my fault for not behaving well enough.”

Was that why he had blamed God—because it was easier than carrying that burden of irrational guilt?

Cissy sniffled. It might be just the cold air making her nose run, but Gideon did not think so.

“Now I understand,” he continued, “that my mother’s death was not my fault…nor was it God’s.”

He wasn’t certain Cissy would be able to grasp that yet. It had taken him twenty-five years. Perhaps it would not have taken so long if he hadn’t spent so much of that time trying to bury his memories and feelings about that part of his life.

In spite of their slow progress across the square, he and Cissy were drawing near The Kingston Arms. Since it was doubtful he would have another opportunity to talk privately with the child, there was one more thing he needed to say.

“I hope you know I have no desire to take your father’s place in your life. Any kindness or affection you show me would not be disloyal to his memory. Indeed, from what I remember of him, I believe he would ap
prove. Even in death, he would not want to cause you any guilt or sorrow. More than anything, I believe he would wish for you to be happy.”

Beneath his arm, Gideon could feel the child’s slender shoulders tremble and heave.

Oh, no. His effort to comfort her had only made her weep.

His first day back at Knightley Park, when he’d seen those two beautiful children, he had been beset by the conviction that he was not equipped to provide what they might need, though he’d only had a vague suspicion of what those needs might be. In the weeks since, he had gradually gained more confidence in dealing with the girls. False confidence apparently.

Now that he understood what they needed, the knowledge made him feel more inadequate than ever. That self-doubt urged him to hurry those last few steps to the inn and shift responsibility onto the capable shoulders of Marian Murray. But some other feeling he scarcely recognized pleaded with him to try at least. He was the child’s flesh and blood after all, the closest living relative to the father she mourned so deeply.

Did he dare turn to the Lord for help again so soon, when he was not entirely convinced his first prayer had been answered? Perhaps he did not deserve the help he sought, but surely it could do no harm to ask. “Please, Lord, tell me what to say. Let me know what she needs to hear.”

But no words leapt instinctively to mind. He could not summon any powerful phrases certain to reach her. Gideon tamped down a foolish sense of disappointment. How could he have been so daft as to expect an answer?

Or could his loss for words be part of the inspiration he sought? Was it a sign that no words could provide what a confused, guilty, grieving young girl needed now?

What
did
she need then? He was in no mood to puzzle out riddles from a Higher Power…or some forgotten corner of his own mind.

Then, without conscious effort on his part, the arm he had slung over Cissy’s shoulders subtly increased its pressure, encouraging her to turn toward him. He expected her to resist, perhaps even take flight again. Instead, to his amazement, she surrendered to the gentle urging. As her weeping gained momentum, she slowly turned until her face rested against the breast of his coat.

There was only one thing to do at that point. In spite of how self-conscious it made him feel, Gideon raised his other arm to wrap the child in a comforting, protective embrace.

Perhaps he didn’t know the right things to say, but at least he had a sense of what
not
to say. He would not try to shush her and tell her not to weep. It might make
him
feel better, but that was not the point.

“Go ahead,” he murmured. “Cry as long as you like. I’m here.”

Cissy accepted his invitation, letting her tears flow freely for several minutes, gulping in air to fuel her sobs. When she began to quiet at last, he rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief and pressed it into her hand in silent sympathy.

The child wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“We should get inside,” she murmured. “It’s cold out here and Miss Marian will be worried.”

“An excellent suggestion.” Gideon loosened his hold on her, only to discover how reluctant he was to let her go.

But that was nothing to his astonishment when instead of taking the opportunity to disengage from his embrace, Cissy pressed tight against him. “Thank you, Cousin Gideon. I still don’t wish you were my papa, but I am glad you came to Knightley Park.”

His throat tightened as he bent to drop a kiss on the crown of her bonnet. “Then we are in complete agreement, my dear.”

“Cissy!” Marian swooped down on the child the moment she peeped into the waiting room at The Kingston Arms. “Thank God you are back!”

Noting Cissy’s red, swollen eyes and nose, she asked, “Are you all right? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

The child gnawed her lower lip as she shook her head. “Cousin Gideon was, though. He fell on some ice in the square and hurt his leg.”

Cousin Gideon?
This was the first time Marian had heard Cissy refer to him that way. An intense impulse of concern for him pushed that trifling thought out of her mind.

“Captain!” She was barely able to keep from throwing her arms around him. “Come in and sit down. Should I send for a physician?”

“Don’t fret, Miss Marian,” he bid her rather gruffly. “I’m certain nothing is broken. Only bumps and
bruises. Fortunately, Cissy was kind enough to come to my assistance.”

Seeing how he had one arm draped over Cissy’s shoulders, Marian slid in under his other arm. She chided herself for welcoming this excuse to be close to him.

As she and Cissy helped the captain to a nearby bench, a loud yawn reminded everyone of Dolly, curled up half asleep at the far end of the bench. “Aren’t you going to punish Cissy, Miss Marian? She shouted at me and ran away. It’s her fault Cousin Gideon got hurt chasing after her.”

“Not now, Dolly.” Marian fixed her younger pupil with a firm stare. “We’ll talk about all that later.”

“We’d better.” Dolly eyed her sister with a scowl. “You never wait ’til later to punish me when I’ve been naughty.”

Marian was about to scold the child for her impudence, but the captain only chuckled. “Ah, Dolly, you are practically a pantomime all on your own.”

The corners of her fierce little frown arched upward. “I wish I had a slapping stick. That would be great fun.”

“Great
havoc
you mean.” Marian gave an exaggerated shudder. “None of us would be safe.”

After the captain had taken a few minutes to rest and get warm, he refused any suggestion of seeking medical attention but said they should head back home at once. To Marian’s surprise, Cissy quietly insisted on sitting beside him in the carriage. It took some persuasion for Dolly to surrender her accustomed spot, but at last she gave in with rather ill grace and they were on their way.

“What on earth did you say to Cissy to bring about such a change in her?” Marian asked when the drone of the girls’ breathing assured her they were both asleep.

“Not a great deal,” Gideon replied. “I only told her a little about losing my parents when I was her age and how it affected me. Then I assured her I have no intention of trying to take her father’s place in her life.”

He didn’t? Not ever, under any circumstances? His words made Marian rethink her intention to raise the subject of the girls’ guardianship.

What had gone wrong? Until an hour ago, she’d been certain God was smiling upon her efforts. Could this be a test of her resolve?

“Strange that saying a thing like that should make her take such liking to you.”

“Believe me, I am quite as surprised as you. Perhaps it helped her to know I understand her feelings because I have shared them.”

Should she have told Dolly and Cissy about her experiences being orphaned at an early age? Marian wondered. She had held her tongue on the subject, fearing it might prompt prying questions about her experiences at the Pendergast School. She did not want to make them afraid of being sent to such a place. It was bad enough that she must live with that worry on their behalf.

A sudden thought drove every other from Marian’s mind.

“Dear me. How could I have forgotten?” She groped for her reticule while trying not to disturb Dolly, who had fallen asleep with her head on Marian’s lap. “That money you gave me, I only spent a wee bit of it on Cissy’s gift to Dolly.”

She fished out what was left—heavy gold guineas, silver shillings, halfpennies. “Here is the rest. I would have returned it to you sooner but with dinner and the pantomime and everything else, it slipped my mind until now.”

She hoped he wouldn’t suspect her of trying to keep his money.

“Oh, that?” Gideon sounded as if he had never given it a thought. Or was he only trying to be polite? “Do not trouble yourself over it, I beg you, Miss Murray. Please keep it, with my compliments.”

“I couldn’t do that, Captain.” The very idea made her feel ill. “It is a great deal of money…at least to someone like me.”

“Nonsense,” he replied gruffly. “You deserve every farthing and more for the way you have looked after the girls since their father died. Consider it a Christmas box.”

Though it pleased her to know he valued her efforts so highly, the notion of taking money from Gideon Radcliffe only emphasized the gulf between her position and his.

“Please, Captain, I cannot accept this.” She held out the money to him, but she could not reach any farther without the risk of waking Dolly—something she was loath to do. “It would not be fair for me to take this when the other servants work so much harder than I do at far less congenial tasks.”