The Captain's Christmas Family (13 page)

“Servants?” Gideon Radcliffe sat stubbornly back in his seat, refusing to extend his hand and take the money she sought to return. “Surely you know I do not think of you as a servant!”

The fierce tone of his insistence rocked Marian back. How did he think of her then? She longed to know, but dared not ask for fear his answer might crush her foolish illusion that some degree of friendship existed between them.

“In that case,” she edged a little closer and opened her palm. “Please do not insult me by insisting I keep this money.”

“Fine.” He snatched the coins out of her hand in a swift, almost violent movement. “If that is what you wish.”

He’d told Marian Murray he did not think of her as a servant. Why had she refused to ask how he did think of her? In the final few days of Christmas leading up to Twelfth Night, Gideon could not decide whether he was sorry or grateful he’d been denied the opportunity to tell her.

Would he have been able to explain if she had asked? The privacy and darkness of the carriage box might have tempted him, but at what cost?

He admired the woman, liked her…even fancied her, heaven help him. But entertaining such feelings for her did not give him any right to reveal them or, worse yet, act upon them. He might not think of her as a servant, but she was employed in the house of which he was master. Any declaration would shatter the precious illusion of a family that he treasured more and more.

This time with Cissy and Dolly…and Marian…was only temporary. Gideon knew and accepted that. But for a short while he’d been able to experience the small
domestic joys of family life. For that gift, he would be forever grateful.

What made it all the sweeter was knowing he had been able to do something for his young cousins. He’d given them the opportunity to remain in their home and grow accustomed to the changes that would soon take place in their lives. With Marian’s help, he’d turned a Christmas that might have been shadowed with sad memories into a festive celebration of light and hope. On the most personal level, he had helped a grieving young girl understand that she was not alone.

Those accomplishments brought him a deeper sense of satisfaction than any of the battles in which he’d fought or voyages of exploration on which he’d sailed. Yet, as the last few days of the Christmas season passed, a hint of wistfulness colored the pleasure of his celebration.

On the day before Twelfth Night, they invited a number of children from the parish to a skating party. Round and round the youngsters glided on the frozen lake, laughing and calling to one another. Cissy and Dolly even persuaded Gideon to strap on skates for the first time in twenty-five years to help push a small sleigh full of younger children around the ice. Later, they gathered in the pavilion that stood on the little island in the middle of the lake. There, Marian and the kitchen staff dispensed cups of steaming cider and chocolate, baked potatoes, hot meat pies and buns, followed by gingerbread.

“I wish Christmas never had to end.” Dolly took Gideon’s hand as he and the girls stood in front of the
house waving farewell to the last of their guests. “I’d like it to go on and on.”

Her childish wish echoed his own recent thoughts so closely, it took Gideon aback.

“Now, now.” He squeezed her hand, not looking forward to the day he would bid Dolly and her sister goodbye. “Don’t let the thought of happy times coming to an end spoil your enjoyment of them. If every day were Christmas you’d soon grow tired of it. I reckon we enjoy special times all the more because they don’t last forever.”

“You sound just like Miss Marian,” the child grumbled.

Once again, Gideon could not help but laugh at the things she came out with. They were a tiny pinch of yeast that leavened his day. “Why, thank you! That is one of the nicest compliments anyone has ever paid me.”

“It wasn’t meant to be a compliment,” Dolly muttered, making him laugh again.

“Don’t look so sour.” He scooped her up and jiggled her until she began to chortle. “The best of Christmas is yet to come, remember? A fine dinner and presents and Twelfth Night cake. I have it on good authority that Mrs. Wheaton has quite outdone herself this year.”

“Presents!” Dolly threw her arms around his neck, a gesture he had grown accustomed to and come to enjoy. “What did you get me?”

“He mustn’t tell,” piped up Cissy, who’d been standing quietly beside them. “It’s meant to be a secret.”

“So it is.” Something in the look she cast him made Gideon set Dolly on her feet and pick up her sister.
“And speaking of secrets, I’ve noticed a bit of whispering going on and conversations that mysteriously stop when I enter the room. You wouldn’t be planning some sort of trick to spring on me by any chance?”

“Not a trick,” Dolly insisted.

“Hush!” Cissy bid her sister. “You mustn’t tell.”

“Now I am intrigued,” said Gideon. “Come, don’t keep me in suspense. Surely you can tell me something.”

Cissy grinned and her eyes sparkled. “Wait and see.”

The next morning Knightley Park was abuzz with preparations. Succulent aromas of roasting meat, fresh baked bread and cooking spices wafted up from the kitchen. Eager for every opportunity to spend time with the girls, Gideon joined them for their last breakfast of frumenty.

While they were eating and talking over plans for the day, Mr. Culpepper appeared with the post. “A letter for you, Captain Radcliffe, and one for Miss Murray.”

Gideon’s stomach sank at the sight of the Admiralty seal on his letter. Stuffing it in his pocket to read later, he hoped the ever curious Dolly would not quiz him about it. Fortunately for him, Marian’s post diverted attention from his entirely.

“Oh, thank goodness.” She pressed it to her heart with a look of relief.

“Who is your letter from, Miss Marian?” demanded Dolly.

Gideon found himself quite as eager as Dolly to learn the answer to her question. Everything about
Marian Murray had become of particular interest to him.

Perhaps she sensed his curiosity, for when she replied, she looked toward him. “It is a Christmas letter from my friend Rebecca Beaton. I was beginning to worry some trouble might have befallen to prevent her from writing.”

“What does she say?” asked Dolly. “Why did her letter come late?”

“I won’t know that until I read it, will I?” Marian turned the thick packet of paper over and over in her hands. It was clear she was as curious as her young pupil to learn those things.

“Go on then,” Dolly coaxed her. Bolting her last spoonful of frumenty, the child leaned back in her chair, waiting to be informed.

“Don’t be rude,” Cissy chided her. “Letters are private, you know.”

For all that, she eyed her governess’s letter with ill-disguised interest.

“True.” Marian stared at the letter longingly. “Besides, it would not be polite to read it at breakfast in front of everyone.”

Would she have hesitated if he were not there, Gideon wondered. He did not want to stand between her and whatever news the letter might contain.

“Pray do not suppose I would object to you looking over your friend’s message,” he assured her. “At least enough to rest your mind that she is not in any difficulty.”

“Thank you, Captain. That is most considerate of you.” The gratitude in her voice made him feel a trifle
guilty, for his suggestion had not been entirely free of self-interest.

Without further ado, she broke the seal on the letter with eager, jerky movements, as if she had been itching to do that from the moment it arrived. Pulling it open, she hurriedly scanned the page.

“Oh, my.” Her eyes widened in wonder. From her tone it appeared the letter did not bear any bad news.

“Well, what does it say?” Dolly prompted Marian, ignoring a sharp look from her sister. “Why did Miss Rebecca take so long to write you?”

“She has been very busy.” Marian continued to read the letter with a look of dreamy abstraction that Gideon found far too appealing. “Rebecca is engaged to be married. To a viscount, no less. Lord Benedict.”

“What’s a viscount?” asked Dolly.

“Lord Benedict?” Gideon repeated. “During the war, he once sailed aboard the
Integrity
to Portugal to see for himself how British troops were being supplied. He struck me as a fine man.”

Clever, hardworking and passionately committed to his mission, but not necessarily cut out for marriage. Now that the war was over, perhaps Lord Benedict had decided to allow himself the luxury of a family life. Gideon wished him well. If Marian’s friend was anything like her, then his lordship was a fortunate man to have secured her affection.

R
ebecca was going to be married. Her friend’s wonderful news hovered in Marian’s thoughts as she got the girls ready for their Twelfth Night celebrations.

It appeared their teachers’ stern admonitions were wrong after all—and how very wrong. Marian could not help gloating a little over that. She wondered what they would think if they knew one of their former pupils was betrothed to a peer of the realm.

She should not let any foolish ideas get into
her
head on that account. Marian fancied she could hear the voice of their strictest teacher reproaching her. Rebecca Beaton might have been the orphaned daughter of a clergyman, like all the other girls at the Pendergast School. But on her late mother’s side, she had noble blood and aristocratic connections. Some of their teachers had treated her a little better because of her background. Others had been even harder on her, claiming a virtuous desire to help her conquer her pride.

Perhaps Viscount Benedict valued Rebecca’s good breeding in spite of her humble position as a governess.
Marian had no such advantages. She came from a respectable, educated Scottish family, but nothing compared to the Radcliffes in wealth or social standing.

Still, Gideon had said he did not think of her as a servant. And Rebecca Beaton had proved it was possible for a pupil from the Pendergast School to secure a fine husband.

Encouraged by those thoughts, in spite of her doubts, Marian took special care with her appearance for the festivities. When the time came, she ushered the girls down to the Chinese drawing room, where Gideon was waiting to give them their presents.

Outside, tiny flakes of snow swirled in a cold breeze. Gideon beckoned them from the wide seat of the great bow window. A pile of packages rested on top of a small table beside him. Marian thought it was a nice informal spot for them to gather to give the girls their gifts. Anyone looking in the window at that moment might easily mistake them for an affectionate family group—like that kind old gentleman in Newark had thought.

“May I go first?” Marian asked in a rush the moment she and the girls were seated. Her gifts were certain to be the most modest. She would rather see the girls’ pleasure mount after that humble beginning than face their disappointment if they opened her presents later.

“Certainly, if you wish,” Gideon agreed. Perhaps he guessed her reason for the request.

“There you are, Cissy, and for you Dolly.” She handed them each a small parcel, wrapped in colored paper and tied with pretty ribbons.

“Thank you, Miss Marian!” The girls opened their
gifts each in their accustomed manner. Cissy carefully untied the ribbon and pealed open the wrapping while Dolly ripped the paper off without ceremony.

“What is it?” She jiggled the small beaded bag in her hand.

“It’s a coin purse, of course.” Cissy gave the younger girl a pointed nudge with her elbow. “They’re lovely, Miss Marian. The beadwork is beautiful. Isn’t it, Dolly?”

“Oh, yes.” Dolly took the unsubtle hint. “Very beautiful. They will come in handy if we go shopping in Newark again. And if we get any money to put in them.”

“Since you mention it—” Gideon dug in his pocket and came out with several coins he divided between the girls “—I meant to give you these the other day, but since you had no purses, I was afraid they might get lost.”

Dolly looked much more pleased with her purse now that it was no longer empty. She shook it to make the coins jingle.

After a few moments of that, she thrust a rather clumsily wrapped parcel into her sister’s hands. “Now open mine.”

Cissy returned the favor with a package upon which greater pains had been taken. She winced when Dolly proceeded to rip it open, then decided to do the same with the one she’d been given.

“A muff—how pretty!” She rubbed the handsome fur hand-warmer against her cheek. “How soft it feels. Thank you, Dolly.”

Meanwhile Dolly gasped with delight when she
unwrapped the toy sailboat from her sister. “I hope the lake will thaw soon so I can sail it!”

When the girls opened their presents from Gideon a few moments later, they were equally pleased, though a little baffled at first.

“It’s a dissected puzzle,” Marian explained when Dolly’s brow furrowed. “When you put each of the countries of Europe in their proper place, the edges will fit together to make the whole map. It will be a great help to you learning geography.”

“Look at mine!” cried Cissy. “I thought it was a pretty book, but see it has a cut out figure of a girl with paper costumes to change how she is dressed through the story. Her name is Little Fanny. Isn’t that clever? Thank you, Cousin Gideon!”

“Yes, thank you!” Dolly bounded up to give him a hearty kiss on the cheek.

The child’s impulsive gesture seemed to please him. “I’m delighted you approve.”

His obvious pleasure in the girls’ happiness touched Marian. He might not intend to take their late father’s place, but surely he would want what was best for Cissy and Dolly. He would never allow Lady Villiers to help herself to their inheritance or pack them off to school.

“While I was happy to make the actual purchases,” he continued, “I would never have guessed what you might like without Miss Marian to advise me. I hope you will think of these gifts as coming from both of us.”

Having said that, he leaned down and whispered something in Dolly’s ear. She nudged her sister and pointed to the one remaining parcel on the table.

Scrambling up from the window seat, the girls retrieved the package and presented it to Marian. “Merry Christmas!”

“Cousin Gideon paid for it,” Dolly confessed. “But he says it’s from us.”

“My goodness. This is quite a surprise.” Like Cissy, Marian untied the string with great care and folded back the paper. “I cannot imagine what it might…oh, my!”

It was a writing box made of fine dark wood with a sloped lid, which folded open to reveal all the supplies she would need for letter writing—paper, ink, quills, a pen knife, sealing wax and a jar of pounce for drying the ink.

“Do you like it?” asked Cissy anxiously as a fine mist rose in Marian’s eyes.

“Like it?” She swallowed the lump in her throat and sought to reassure the child with a wide smile. “I cannot imagine any gift I would like better. Thank you so much!”

She raised her gaze to meet Gideon’s, eager for him to know how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness. Not only had he shown how well he knew her by choosing such an ideal gift, he’d also found a way to give it that would not violate propriety.

More than ever, she wished she could have afforded one of those new books for him. But she would have to be content with a different kind of offering—one she hoped would please him even half as much as his gift delighted her.

“We have something for you, too, Cousin Gideon.” Cissy took the rolled paper tied with red ribbon that
Marian handed her. Turning toward the captain, she presented it to him with great ceremony.

“Really, this is not necessary.” He seemed torn between self-consciousness and curiosity as he unrolled the little scroll. “What have we here? A program of festive music and recitations in my honor? What an excellent gift and a fine way to conclude the Christmas season!”

The silvery radiance of his eyes left no doubt of his sincere gratitude and desire to hear the girls perform.

After an excellent dinner, the four of them headed to the music room where the girls took turns playing simple renditions of Christmas melodies on the pianoforte. Their duet of “The First Noel” made the captain applaud so vigorously Marian feared he might hurt his hands.

Then it was her turn to take the keyboard and accompany the girls while they sang. Again Gideon proved a very appreciative audience. His attention did not flag for the recitations either—some little rhymes about Christmas the girls had practiced every day in the nursery. They concluded their concert by taking turns reading verses from St. Matthew’s account of the wise men visiting Baby Jesus, followed by a spirited duet of “I Saw Three Ships.”

“Bravo!” cried Gideon as the girls proudly made their curtsies. “That was a splendid evening’s entertainment and without a doubt the best Christmas present I have ever received.”

By now they had digested their dinner sufficiently to do justice to Mrs. Wheaton’s Twelfth Night cake. Retiring to the dining room, they watched in amazement
as it was brought out, swathed in snow-white icing and topped with a tiny sailing ship cleverly fashioned out of marzipan.

The girls clapped excitedly when they saw the marvelous confection. “It is fancier than any in the shop-window in Newark!”

Gideon sent for the cook to receive their praise and congratulations in person. Despite their frequent insistence that the cake looked too beautiful to cut, they could not resist the temptation indefinitely. When they finally began to eat, they were delighted to discover the cake tasted as good as it looked. They ate, drank and made merry until Marian reluctantly announced that it was long past the girls’ bedtime.

Cissy and Dolly protested, but not as much as she feared they might.

As they gathered up their gifts from the drawing room, the captain picked up Marian’s writing box. “Let me carry this for you. It is not heavy, but rather cumbersome.”

Though Marian had no doubt she could have managed it on her own, she did not protest, but thanked him for his assistance. He probably wanted an excuse to be on hand in case Dolly requested another kiss good-night.

As they headed upstairs, Marian noticed dry evergreen needles on the floor from the decorative boughs. On closer inspection, the holly, mistletoe and ivy all looked badly wilted. It reminded her that while Twelfth Night was the culmination of the Christmas season, it was also the end of the festivities. Tomorrow, all the dried out, wilted greenery would be taken down, the
kissing bough would be dismantled, and life at Knightley Park would return to its usual safe, dull routine.

“I meant to mention,” Gideon’s resonant voice interrupted her wistful musing. “While I was purchasing the girls’ gifts at Ridges, that young clerk persuaded me to acquire a few new books for the library. One is a novel set in Scotland, which I am enjoying immensely and believe you will, too. The others are by an anonymous authoress whose work is said to be very popular.”

Words of thanks rose to her lips, but Marian suppressed them firmly. Thanking the captain would imply that he had purchased those books for her benefit—another covert gift.

“An excellent idea,” she said instead. “It is a fine collection, but it has not been added to in quite some time.”

Searching for a way to change the subject, she recalled his presence at breakfast in the nursery. “I am anxious to use my new writing box to compose a message of congratulations to my friend on her betrothal. You received a letter in the morning post, as well, Captain. I hope the news it contained was equally good.”

He hesitated a moment before replying. “It was. I am summoned to London to appear before the board of inquiry. At last I shall have the opportunity to present my case and defend my actions.”

“That
is
good news,” she replied in spite of her sinking spirits.

If the inquiry absolved him of any wrongdoing, would Gideon Radcliffe come back to Nottinghamshire, or would he return to his ship immediately?

The prospect of never seeing him again cast Marian
down lower than she had been for many years. She tried to tell herself it was on account of the girls. If he did not return to Knightley Park, there would be nothing to prevent their aunt from taking them.

Yet, deep down, she knew her feelings were more personal than that.

He was eager to get to London and face the inquiry.

Gideon told himself so repeatedly during the following week as he prepared for his journey south. He had enjoyed his Christmas interlude playing happy family with the girls and their governess. But the time had come to stop pretending and remember his obligations.

As much as he longed to redeem his reputation for his own sake, he also had a duty to the crew of the
Integrity.
What a time they must have had of it, poor devils, serving under his ruthlessly ambitious second-in-command with his pet pack of bullies to intimidate any opposition. Though it troubled him that none of his crew had come forward in his defense, Gideon understood what was at stake for them. The worst that had befallen him was exile to a quiet corner of the country to enjoy a good rest, better food and the best possible company. His crewmen had far more to lose if they fell afoul of his enemies.

Now, as he prepared to leave Knightley Park, one of Gideon’s most important tasks was deciding whether he dared leave Mr. Dutton in charge as steward during his absence. From what he could tell, the man appeared to have mended his ways. But could he be trusted to continue in that vein once his master left for London and perhaps even returned to sea?

Though Gideon was tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt, he recalled how dearly a decision like that had cost him before. And not him alone. His crew had paid a far higher price. In this case it was the tenants of Knightley Park who would suffer if the steward returned to his lax ways.

If only there was someone he could trust to oversee the overseer and report any problems directly to him. Gideon believed that was all it would take to keep Dutton from shirking his responsibilities in future. Unfortunately, the only person at Knightley Park he trusted that much would soon be leaving, too.

With that thought in mind, Gideon tried to keep busy to distract himself from the hollow ache that nagged at him. With the Christmas season over, the girls had returned to their usual nursery routine, meaning he saw much less of them…and their governess. Perhaps that was for the best, though. It would give him a chance to grow accustomed to their absence gradually before he must depart for London.

Yet he could not keep from straining his ears to catch the faintest cadence of their voices in the distance. On his way to breakfast in the mornings, he found all manner of ridiculous excuses to linger in the hallway, hoping a small human cannonball might come hurtling around the corner toward him. In the evenings he retired to the library, hoping those new books might lure Marian Murray to join him.