A Victorian Christmas (18 page)

“I’m not much of a pianist,” she said.

“And how is your stitching coming on? Stratton has told me that you’re preparing your quilt for the charity auction. How charmingly generous of you, my dear. The party is tomorrow evening, you know. Everyone is coming. Of course, George will announce your engagement to Rupert, and the two of you must lead in a dance. Oh, good heavens—do you have waltzing in America?”

Star smiled as they walked into the parlor. “Lots of waltzing, madam. And I’m quite good at it.”

Comforted, the countess motioned for everyone to gather around the pianoforte. Rupert joined Polly and Penny Smythe on one settee. Grey found a chair beside his father’s. Star took the stool near the instrument as the earl’s wife prepared to sit.

“Bosh and horse feathers!” Hortense cried as she opened the instrument. “I’ve forgotten my sheet music.”

“I’ll fetch it, Mummy,” Rupert said, standing instantly.

“No, darling, you won’t have a clue where I’ve put it. I’ll only be a moment. Miss Ellis, why don’t you tell one of your amusing stories about America?”

Star could have crawled straight into a posthole as she watched the countess walk away. She bit her lip and looked around at the expectant faces. Any story she told would make her look all the more odd and different, and that was the last thing she needed. By this time tomorrow, she would be formally engaged to Rupert Cholmondeley, and the connection between the families would be sealed. She couldn’t endanger that.

Focusing on Grey, she realized that he, too, was trying his best to follow the plan he felt God had set before him. He had spent the holidays exclusively with his family—no roving about in London or visiting friends. He had evidenced interest in the affairs of the earldom as he sat by the fire with his father. He even had tried to urge Rupert to build a relationship with his future wife.

But Star had recognized in his tone of voice the dismay that dogged him. Thus far Grey had made no more headway in achieving his goal than she had with her vain attempts to attract her fiancé. Maybe she could help Grey walk on the path he believed God had led him to.

“In the carriage on the way to Brackenhurst,” she said, “Lord Stratton told me about a significant event that happened during his time in India. Would you be willing to share with your family what happened at the hospital in Calicut, my lord?”

Grey’s eyes deepened. “Thank you, Miss Ellis,” he said. “Yes, I should like to speak of that.”

“Not another story of a cobra slithering about, is it, Strat?” Rupert said. The Misses Smythe burst into a duet of giggles. “We’re not going to have man-eating tigers, are we?”

“On the contrary.” Grey leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and addressed his family. “This story is about me. Almost a year ago I was staying on the coast of India in a town called Calicut, and I became very ill. While in hospital, I realized I was dying.”

“Really, Stratton,” the earl intoned, “is this the sort of topic to address in the presence of delicate ladies? And at this jovial time of year?”

“I want everyone to hear my story. I want you all to know why this time of year has become most important to me. You see, while I lay near death, a group of men visited my bed. They had been students of a missionary named William Carey. I began to talk to them about my life, the way I’d wasted it.”

“Wasted
my
money,” the earl put in.

“Yes, Father, I wasted your money. I lived only for myself, only for my own pleasure, only for what I thought would make me happy. And there, in Calicut, I saw the emptiness of it.”

“Good show,” the earl piped up. “About time, what?”

“Past time. I decided that if I survived my illness, I should turn myself around and try to behave in a worthy fashion. Perhaps then I’d find happiness and meaning in my life.”

“A grand idea!” The earl motioned his wife to be seated as she returned with her sheet music. “Stratton’s just telling us he had a brush with death, Hortense. He decided to turn himself about and stop acting such a cad.”

Grey smiled at his father’s summary of the story. “Actually, the missionaries explained to me that I could never find true happiness—and certainly never even set one toe into heaven—if I tried to be worthy in my own strength. They said I couldn’t do it alone, and I knew they were right. No one can.”

“Nonsense. An English gentleman, properly brought up—”

“Will never be good enough. You see, my lord, we have all done wrong. Grave wrongs, as I did, or minor wrongs—but wrongs all the same. No human is perfect. Only God can claim that honor, and because of our faults, He has every right to chuck us all out on our ears. We deserve it. But I learned a very important word in India. The word is
grace
. Grace is the undeserved gift of God’s forgiveness and salvation. I can never be good enough, but if I accept God’s grace—the death of His Son to pay for my wrongs—then I am welcomed into His presence as a forgiven child of the king. With His power, my life has turned around. And in His joy, I have discovered a happiness I never dreamed possible.”

Grey looked into the faces of his family one by one. His mother dabbed her eyes. “Oh, darling, what a marvelous story,” she whispered.

The earl scowled a moment and rubbed his mustache. “I say, Stratton,” he said, “you’re not thinking of entering the church? Poor as mice, most of the vicars I know.”

“No, Father, of course he isn’t,” Rupert said and gave a yawn. “He’s trying to tell you he’s come round. Planning to do his duty by the family, take responsibility for the title, all that. Right, Strat?”

“In part, but—”

“There you have it, then. Come on, Mummy, do give a song now, or I’m likely to drop straight off to sleep.”

“Hear! Hear!” the earl said. “Miss Ellis, will you sing?”

Star tore her eyes away from Grey’s and picked up the sheet music.

CHAPTER FIVE

As the first partygoers arrived on the doorstep of Brackenhurst Manor, Grey stepped into the evergreen hedge maze. The ten-foot-high concealing walls of fragrant cedar had always been his chosen retreat. He knew the maze like the back of his hand, and as a boy it had pleased him no end to guide one of his young cronies into the hedges and then vanish, losing him completely. Hours later, he would march in after the poor chap and haul him out into the open to restore his wounded spirit with hot tea and cakes.

Today, Grey hoped he could lose himself. He needed to think, to sort out the confusing swirl of demands that echoed back and forth inside him. In a few short hours, Star Ellis would be formally betrothed to Rupert Cholmondeley, a status almost as binding as marriage. Blast!

The snow crunched beneath his boots as Grey strode down one corridor after another. Could he afford to lose this woman who had touched his very soul? Ridiculous to let Rupert have her, when the young man was so oblivious to her beauty, her wit, her intelligence. Star was a glowing light, shining for all to see—and yet Rupert remained completely blind to her.

What if Grey simply eloped with the woman? If he declared his affection—his
love
, for that is what he knew he felt—she might willingly follow him away from Brackenhurst to build a new life far from the confines of English society. But could Grey show such blatant disregard of his avowed determination to do right? If he ran off with Star, everything he had told his family would be meaningless. He would estrange himself forever from his father and brother. His mother would be heartbroken. And his testimony of a changed life in Christ would be as hollow as the corridors of Brackenhurst Manor.

Blast, blast, blast! He slammed his fist against the cedar hedge. As a shower of snow tumbled to the ground, a startled gasp drifted through the maze.

“Who’s there?” a woman cried.

Grey frowned at the unexpected intrusion. “It’s Stratton.”

“Oh, thank goodness! I’ve been racing around in this maze like a hen on a hot griddle. I’ll bet I’ve been tracking my own footprints for nearly two hours, and I haven’t found the path out yet. Are you lost, too?”

His frown transforming instantly into a grin, Grey slipped his hands into his pockets. “I say, Miss Ellis, is that you?”

“Who did you think it was, buckaroo? Listen, my toes are so cold they’re about to chip off inside my boots, and I’ve got to get dressed for the party. Do you know the way out?”

“It would help to know where you are, first.”

“A pile of snow just fell on my head. Does that tell you anything?”

Grey laughed and thrust his hand through the three-foot-thick cedar. “Can you see my fingers?”

A small hand closed around his own. “Oh, Grey, I’ve felt so lost. So confused. I’m scared.”

“Don’t be frightened. The maze has a pattern. It’s very simple, really. What you need is a good guide. . . .” Grey paused and shut his eyes.
A pattern through the maze
. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d been seeking when he wandered in here? And who was the guide in whose hands he had placed his life?

Oh, God, can You help me?
he prayed as he clutched Star’s hand through the hedge.
Can You show me the way out of this maze?

“Grey?” she called softly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m here. I’m going to help you.” He straightened. “Stay where you are, and wait for me. I’ll lead you to safety.”

He drew his hand from hers and started down the familiar path. The maze was no mystery to him, nor was it frightening in the least. In fact, he often had sought the comfort of its shadows. He knew the plan.

As he turned left, then right, then right again, he spotted Star standing alone, her hands clenched tightly as she peered through the high green hedges for some sign of rescue. The hem of her dark coat carried a crust of snow, and a sugaring of flakes dusted her shoulders. Her cheeks glowed bright pink, and her green eyes shone as if with an inner light.

Star of Bethlehem,
he thought.

“Grey!” Seeing him, she threw open her arms and ran down the pathway. “Oh, Grey, thank God!”

He caught her up and held her tightly. “It’s all right now. I’ve got you.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever find my way out. I came in here to escape all the fuss over the Christmas fandango—Massey squeaking around in those confounded shoes, Rupert and the Smythe gals chasing each other through the drawing rooms, Betsy and Nell scurrying around like a pair of hornets in a summer bonnet. I wanted some time to myself, time to sort everything out, and then—”

“You’re very cold.”

“I’m half-frozen.”

He cupped her gloved hands inside his and warmed them with his breath. “Star, I need to talk to you—”

“Don’t talk, Grey.” Her green eyes clouded with sudden tears. “There’s nothing to say. I’ve had a good two hours out here to pray, and every time I’ve said
amen
, I realize I’ve come up with the same two-word answer to all my troubles.”

“And what words are those?”

“
Follow Me
. Just follow the Lord. That’s all I know to do, Grey. I have to trust Him with my life. Every time I’ve chosen my own path, I’ve tripped right over my two big feet. Oh, the good Lord picks me up and dusts me off. He makes the best of my mistakes. But I don’t want to make any more mistakes, Grey. I can’t understand why God would yoke me up to an unbeliever. After listening to Rupert scoff the other night when you talked of surrendering to Christ, I was filled with doubts about the state of his soul. But it’s not my place to judge—just follow. And the only way I know to do that is to complete the mission I was sent here on. I’ve got to honor my daddy’s promise—and marry Rupert.”

As tears trickled down her cheeks, Grey pulled the woman to his chest and held her as firmly as if she were a part of him. He’d done all he could to keep from loving Star, but he’d failed. He did love her, and if he chose to forge his own way in this world, he would sweep her up and carry her off in his arms.

“I could speak to my father,” he began. “I could tell him—”

“He would never trust you again. If you ruined his plans for Rupert, he would disown you. Your mother was watching me quilt yesterday, and she said the earl has chosen a young woman for you. She’s very well off, a London beauty. She’s coming to the party tonight, and—”

“No. I won’t go that far.” Breathing hard, he drew her closer. “If I can’t have you, I’ll leave this place. To live here at Brackenhurst with another woman while you and Rupert . . .” He clenched his jaw. “No, I’ll go back to India. Right now. That’s where I’m meant to be, anyway. I’ve known that much all along. The tea estate is the answer to the earldom’s financial difficulties, and I’m the man to run it. I’ve done all I came to do here—I’ve told my family about the change in my life, and I’ve made peace with my father. But I won’t stay here and watch the woman I love . . .”

“I love you, too,” Star whispered, her words muffled by the wool fabric of his greatcoat as she pressed her face against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to love you, and I’ve done all I could to keep from it. But somehow you and I match . . . we fit together like a pair of patches in a quilt, seam for seam and point for point. Knowing that you love me fills my heart to the brim. And at the same time, it’s killing me.”

“I won’t cause you pain, Star.”

“Then you’d better go, and don’t ever come back. Because every time I see you . . . every time I hear your voice . . .”

Grey could hardly contain the urge to lift this woman into his arms and claim her as his own. All that was in him demanded it. And yet he had already made his decision—made it in a hospital bed in India.

He took her arms, set her away from him, and looked into her eyes. “What I love most about you, Star, is the shining light of faith in your life. Don’t lose that. Don’t let me dim your brilliance. You
are
the Star of Bethlehem, and I want you to go on shining. Shine for my father and my mother. Shine for Rupert, blast him. Shine for Betsy and Nell and everyone in the village. And follow the Truth, who holds you in His hands.”

As she wept, he turned her around. “Walk straight to the end of this corridor,” he said. “Turn left, and you’ll see the opening in the maze. Go forward, Star Ellis. Shine.”