The Captain's Christmas Family (9 page)

As he watched her stare up at the kissing bough, he sensed the shadow of some darker emotion beneath her initial wonder. Was she perhaps as anxious as he not to be caught beneath the mistletoe?

How had that festive symbol of Christmas come to be associated with such an amorous activity? Marian surveyed their handiwork, suspended from the chandelier in the parlor. Was it the invention of some long ago gentleman who’d wanted the opportunity to kiss a number of ladies without committing himself to only one? Or perhaps a single lady who wished to enjoy a kiss or two without ruining her reputation?

Marian could not deny she’d felt more than a trifle stirred by Gideon’s nearness as they worked together to construct the kissing bough. The frequent, glancing contact of their arms and hands had made her wonder what it might be like to share a proper embrace with him.

At the same time, she knew she did not dare try to discover. Perhaps if she had not thrown herself at him that evening in the library, she could risk being caught under the mistletoe with him. But after taking such a shocking liberty, any further behavior in that vein would make it appear she was actively pursuing the master of the house. She could not afford to have him suspect any such thing, for fear it would frighten him off before he’d come to care enough about the girls.

That part of her plan was progressing too well for her to jeopardize. Watching him chase Dolly around during their morning outing, as if he were a carefree boy again, had brought her a sweet, secret pang of satisfaction. It was clear the girls’ well-being and happiness had begun to matter to him. Why else would he have taken such pains to give them a merry Christmas?
If anything more were needed to dispose Marian in his favor that would have been it.

“I’m certain it is the finest kissing bough in the neighborhood.” She caught Cissy by the hand and gave an affectionate squeeze. “But we mustn’t rest on our laurels. Or perhaps I should say,
rest on our evergreens.
There is plenty more decorating to do. The mantelpiece and windowsills are still bare and the other rooms haven’t even been touched.”

Realizing it might sound as if she were assuming the role of mistress of the house, she added, “Don’t you agree, Captain?”

He gave a decisive nod. “Indeed. This may be our masterpiece but we do not want it to be our only decoration.” He turned to Dolly. “What should we tackle next?”

“The mantelpiece.” The child grabbed a fir bough from the pile they had discarded and handed it to him. “One set this way and one the other with some holly and oranges. We spent all yesterday sticking cloves in them. Don’t they smell good?”

“Delectable.” Gideon arranged the greenery as Dolly had bidden him. “This should look very festive indeed.”

“What shall we do?” Marian asked Cissy.

The older girl glanced around the room. “Put candles in the windows with ivy and yew around them.”

In far less time than it had taken to construct the kissing bough, the whole parlor was colorfully adorned for the holidays. Then they moved on to another room and then another. On the main staircase, they twined boughs through the banisters and secured them with red ribbons. Still more boughs and holly adorned the
sideboard in the dining room as well as running up the middle of the long table.

When Marian glimpsed Gideon lifting Dolly up to add another orange to the mantelpiece decoration, she smiled to herself.

Later when he was trimming one of the family portraits with bay leaves, he beckoned Cissy over. “Do you know who the people in this painting are?”

“No. Who?”

“That is my grandmother.” He indicated a handsome young woman who sat holding an infant. “Her name was Celia, too. The baby in her arms is my father and this little boy beside her is your grandfather.”

“Who is the little girl?” asked Dolly, peering hard at the painting.

“That is their sister. Her name was Dorothy.”

“Like me.”

“Like you.” Gideon cast her a fond look. “Now since we have all worked so hard and the dining room looks suitably festive, I hope you ladies will do me the honor of joining me for dinner.”

Marian was not certain what to make of his sudden invitation. It had not been part of the Christmas plans he’d discussed with her.

But when the girls appealed to her, “Can we, please, Miss Marian?” she could not deny them. The more time they spent in the captain’s company, the better, after all.

“Very well. Since it is Christmas, I suppose it will not hurt to alter our usual nursery routine.”

“Excellent.” The captain made it sound as if she had granted him a great favor. “It would be most unfortunate if I was obliged to dine alone on Christmas Eve.”

Marian could not disagree with that.

“The invitation includes you, of course, Miss Murray,” he added.

She opened her mouth to protest that it was not her place when a particular look from the captain changed her mind. It seemed to suggest he was not yet so accustomed to the girls’ company that he would be comfortable dining with them on his own.

“Thank you, Captain.” She curtsied to remind herself of her place in the household. Though she might care for the Radcliffe girls like a mother, she was only a hired employee. “If that is what you wish.”

“It is,” he replied, “and the girls’, as well, I’m sure. Our celebrations would not be the same without Miss Marian, would they?”

There he went again, referring to her by her Christian name, as the girls did. Was it only a slip of the tongue or did he mean something more by it?

“Of course you must eat with us.” Dolly’s brow furrowed as if she was trying to puzzle out why there should be any question. “You always do.”

“Then that is settled.” The captain seemed well satisfied with the arrangements. “Let us retire to dress for dinner and meet back here in half an hour.”

After a parting bow, he strode away before Marian could inform him that it took longer to change and groom two little girls than for him to don a fresh coat and linen.

“Come along, girls.” Marian seized them each by the hand. “We’ll have to hurry.”

Hurry they did, racing up the stairs to the nursery where they scrubbed evergreen sap off their hands, then
changed into their Sunday dresses with colorful plaid sashes and kid slippers. While Marian helped Cissy dress, Martha combed Dolly’s hair and retied her ribbons. Then they switched.

The three of them made it back to the dining room with a full minute to spare, though Marian regretted having no time to do more than quickly smooth down her hair. She told herself it did not matter. She would only be there to supervise the girls and see that they minded their manners.

Yet she could not help wishing she’d been able to make a better appearance for the occasion when the captain joined them. He was freshly combed and shaved, wearing crisp snowy linen and a smart blue coat that emphasized his fine bearing. It was all she could do to stifle a sigh of admiration.

Until that moment, she had not realized how much his rugged looks had come to appeal to her. Every other man she’d ever met now suffered by comparison. The angular features and firm mouth that had appeared so severe at their first meeting now struck her as noble and courageous. Had she once thought his gray eyes cold? Now she could see the intelligence, honesty and kindness in them, as well as the occasional glimpse of wistful longing.

If he noticed her appearance for good or ill, Gideon Radcliffe gave no indication.

“I hope all our work today has given you ladies a good appetite.” He held out the chair at one end of the table and beckoned Marian to be seated in what was traditionally the place reserved for the mother of the family.

Then he held chairs halfway down each side for Cissy and Dolly. “I believe the cook has prepared a fine meal for us tonight.”

So she had. The soup was followed by slices of savory brawn. Then the game pie was served, its flaky golden crust encasing great lashings of meat and gravy. Though Marian felt too full to eat another bite, she could not refuse the airy lemon sponge cake and fine fruit that were served for dessert.

While they ate, Dolly interrogated the captain further about his ship and his travels while Cissy quizzed her cousin about their forebearers and times past at Knightley Park. Captain Radcliffe answered all their questions patiently and in an entertaining way. He also used the opportunity to draw the girls out, asking about their favorite colors, foods and activities.

From her place at the end of the table, Marian quietly tucked into her dinner while she listened to the others converse. Now and then, she leaned over to catch a glimpse of the captain around the pyramid of fine fruit that served as an elegant centerpiece. Whenever he glanced up to catch her watching him, she ducked back out of sight like a bashful schoolgirl.

Though the steady stream of courses brought by the footmen seemed as if it might never end, eventually their delightful meal drew to a close and their whole pleasant day with it. Marian could have stayed and listened to Gideon Radcliffe for many more hours, but it was already past the girls’ bedtime. Duty won out over inclination.

“If you will excuse us, Captain.” She rose from her chair when he paused to take a drink. “I believe the
girls ought to get to bed soon, or they will be in danger of nodding off in church tomorrow.”

The captain got to his feet. “We cannot have that, can we? Thank you, ladies, for a most enjoyable evening.”

Cissy slipped out of her seat and went to join Marian, but Dolly’s bottom remained firmly on her chair. “But I’m not tired!”

Her claim might have been more persuasive if she had not broken into a wide yawn.

“Come along now,” Marian insisted. She knew it would be a grave mistake to put up with any nonsense so early in the Christmas season. “If you behave well, the captain may be more likely to include you in other holiday festivities.”

“Will you?” the child appealed to her cousin.

“Without a doubt,” he replied in a solemn tone, though Marian glimpsed a subtle twitch at one corner of his mouth.

Dolly yawned again. “All right, then.”

She scrambled out of her chair and started toward her sister and governess when something outside caught her attention. She raced past them toward the window. “Look, it’s snowing!”

“So it is.” Marian and Cissy followed her to peer out the window that overlooked the garden.

Outside, in the frosty darkness of midwinter, large lacy flakes of shimmering white drifted lazily down from the sky. Whenever a breath of wind stirred, it set them dancing and swirling.

Behind her, Marian heard the captain’s footsteps ap
proach as he joined their huddle around the window. “I told you it would snow.”

“Yes, you did.” Dolly continued to stare outside. “Now everyone make a wish on the first snowflakes of the winter.”

Cissy shook her head. “It’s the evening star you’re supposed to wish on, not snowflakes.”

Dolly tilted her chin defiantly. “I think people should be able to wish on whatever they like. I’m going to wish on the first snowflakes.”

Marian had no faith in Dolly’s snowflake fancy. But a prayer directed heavenward on Christmas Eve—surely that would have a greater likelihood of being answered.

Intensely aware of Gideon hovering so close beside her, she repeated her often raised prayer that he might become Cissy and Dolly’s guardian. But this time she neglected to ask that he be returned to his ship.

W
ishing on a snowflake?

After Miss Murray took the children off to bed, Gideon lingered at the window watching the snow drift down. He shook his head and smiled to himself over Dolly’s childish fancy.

Of all the things to attach one’s hopes to—a tiny wisp of ice crystals that would melt away in an instant if it landed on his bare hand. At least a star, however impossibly distant, was constant and lasting.

Somehow that thought reminded him of what Miss Murray had said when they’d first talked about the power of prayer. She’d suggested that God could be infinitely small as well as infinitely great. The force that had created those massive, brilliant heavenly bodies and flung them across the universe had also wrought the transient delicacy of a single flake of snow. Who could say in which of those labors the Creator took greater satisfaction?

To humor his young cousin, Gideon made a wish, though he had no more expectation of it yielding what
he desired than a prayer. What had he wished for? The thing he wanted most in the world, of course. Justice for him and for poor young Watson. A return of his life to what it had been—once again in command of the
Integrity,
serving his country and watching over his crew.

Yet when he pictured himself returning to his ship and putting this interlude at Knightley Park behind him, Gideon found it difficult to put his whole heart into that wish.

He slept well that night. Was it the belly full of hearty country fare that brought him such a peaceful rest? Or was it a daft sense of hope spawned by the wish he’d made? Gideon assured himself it must be the former. Not that it made any difference. He woke on Christmas morning with a sense that he was where he belonged on that particular day. Hard as he tried during his years at sea, he had never quite managed to quench his boyhood longing for Knightley Park at Christmastime.

On his way to breakfast a while later, he caught a whiff of spices and spied one of the maids bearing a tray to the nursery. He could not keep from following that alluring aroma.

“Pardon me,” he said when Miss Murray answered his knock. The sight of her fresh-faced loveliness at this early hour felt like its own kind of Christmas present. “I thought I smelled frumenty.”

“That’s right, Captain.” She looked surprised to see him, but not displeased. “Frumenty for Christmas breakfast in the nursery is a tradition at Knightley Park, I gather. Was it when you used to come here as a child?”

Gideon nodded and inhaled a deep breath of the rich, sweet aroma. “I have not tasted frumenty since then.”

Miss Murray seemed to guess his thoughts, though it could not have been difficult. “Would you care to join us for breakfast?”

“I would not want to deprive you or the girls of your share.”

Before Miss Murray could reply, Dolly appeared at the door and practically dragged him into the nursery. “Don’t fret about that. Cook always sends up more than we can eat.”

He did not resist as the child drew him in and offered him a seat at the table.

“Why, thank you.” He sank onto the chair after the girls and Miss Murray had taken their places.

Gideon felt rather overgrown and awkward sitting at the nursery table with three diminutive females, but he forgot all about that as soon as he consumed his first spoonful of frumenty. It was just as he remembered, the wholesome goodness of wheat boiled in milk, spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, sweetened with sugar and dried fruit. One taste brought back all the happiness of his childhood Christmases.

“Did you see how much it snowed last night?” asked Dolly between heaping spoonfuls of frumenty. “I’m afraid the carriage might get stuck on the way to church.”

Gideon exchanged a significant look with Miss Murray. Was Dolly afraid or hopeful the snow might prevent them from attending the service?

“In that case, perhaps we should travel by sleigh,”
Gideon suggested. “We wouldn’t want to miss church on Christmas Day, after all.”

“A sleigh ride!” Dolly clapped her hands, and even her more reticent sister looked pleased at the prospect.

Once he had eaten as much breakfast as he could hold, Gideon excused himself and headed off to bid the stable men to harness the sleigh instead of the carriage.

A while later, with the girls wedged between him and their governess, they prepared for the drive to church with hot bricks at their feet and thick robes over their legs. As the sleigh skimmed over the snow-covered road, the girls squealed and giggled, and the cold air nipped their faces. Though Gideon had not had much practice handling horses, the team seemed familiar with the way and got them to church swiftly and safely.

That morning, as he sang the familiar carols and listened to readings of the Christmas story, Gideon could not help thinking what a special gift a child was. A God who could bestow such a blessing must care deeply for the people He had created, in spite of their weaknesses. A God who bestowed such a blessing might well heed and answer prayers.

Celebrating Christmas at Knightley Park with his young cousins had clearly brought the captain many happy memories.

During the Christmas service, Marian stole frequent glances at him, pleased to note how much more relaxed and at peace he appeared. Could it be that he was getting more out of his attendance at church than simply setting a good example for the girls? For his sake, she
hoped so. Anyone who had been so unappreciated and badly betrayed surely needed the consolation of God’s love.

After the service, she noticed him slip a large contribution into the poor box when he thought no one was watching. His actions did not surprise her. He had proven himself a charitable man who cared about those in need of his help. Yet his reserved nature clearly made him shrink from being publicly acknowledged for his generosity.

Though she admired such behavior, in contrast to some of the self-righteous but mean-spirited patrons of the Pendergast School, she wondered if the captain’s reticence would make it difficult for him to present an effective defense at the inquiry. Marian reminded herself that she wanted him to stay on at Knightley Park with the girls. Yet it offended her sense of justice to think of his reputation being permanently tarnished.

As they left the church, a number of parishioners offered Captain Radcliffe the compliments of the season, including one or two who had been rather cool to him when he’d first begun attending services. It heartened Marian to realize that their neighbors appeared willing to make up their own minds about the man in spite of whatever gossip might spread from London. Even if the inquiry did not find in the captain’s favor, she assured her conscience the decision would not affect local opinion of him.

When they reached the sleigh, Squire Bellamy was waiting to greet the captain. Marian liked the squire, a jovial sportsman who had been a particular friend of Cissy and Dolly’s late father.

He and the captain exchanged seasonal good wishes, then the squire asked, “I wonder if you might do me the honor of attending a ball I am hosting on New Year’s Eve for some of the neighbors? It would be a welcome opportunity for you to become better acquainted with the local families.”

Captain Radcliffe seemed taken aback by the invitation. “I…er…that is very kind of you but—”

“No
buts.
” The squire waved away any objections with one beefy hand. “My wife is determined you shall attend. She says it will put her numbers at table out if you do not. Surely you would not wish to be the cause of ill-feeling between a man and his wife on Christmas Day.”

Mrs. Bellamy had a reputation in the parish as an irrepressible matchmaker. No doubt she had a lady all picked out for the captain. As Marian got the girls settled into the sleigh, she strove to quell a stab of irritation. She had no right in the world to feel possessive of Captain Radcliffe, after all.

“Since you put it that way,” the captain replied, “I most certainly would not wish to cause dissention in your house. Tell your wife I appreciate the invitation and mean to accept.”

“Capital!” The squire beamed. “We shall look forward to seeing you on the thirty-first, then.”

“New Year’s Eve?” Dolly whispered. “But that was when we were going to—”

“Hush.” Marian twitched the sleigh robes over their legs. “There will be plenty of other opportunities.”

“Opportunities for what?” The captain suddenly turned back toward them.

“Opportunities…to celebrate the season with you.” She recovered awkwardly. “The girls must not monopolize your company. I’m sure you would enjoy spending time with other adults.”

“Not particularly.” He climbed in beside Dolly and picked up the reins. “My dancing skills are almost as lamentable as my polite conversation.”

“What’s wrong with your conversation?” demanded Dolly. “You have heaps more interesting things to talk about than most grown-up people.”

“Except Miss Marian,” Cissy chimed in loyally.

Under the sleigh robe, Marian reached for the child’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

Meanwhile the captain responded to Dolly’s compliment with a wry chuckle as he jogged the reins, and the sleigh started back toward Knightley Park. “I’m afraid most ladies of mature years are not excessively interested in all the details of life at sea.”

“I don’t know why not.” Dolly changed tack. “If you need to learn how to dance, Cissy can show you. She’s teaching me.”

“Don’t be silly,” her sister protested. “I don’t know that much about it. I only had a few lessons with the dancing master.”

“That is more instruction than I can boast.” A hint of desperation tightened the captain’s voice. “I would be grateful, Cousin Celia, for whatever help you can provide.”

“Very well.” The child looked secretly pleased with the idea, and Marian welcomed the opportunity for Cissy and the captain to become closer. At times she
seemed to warm to him, then something would make her grow cool again.

“Can we play out in the snow, Miss Marian?” asked Dolly as the sleigh neared Knightley Park.

“I suppose…” It would do the girls good to have an outlet for some of their energy. “But you will have to change clothes and back before Christmas dinner.”

They agreed readily and scampered off toward the nursery the moment they reached the house. Marian followed, as did the captain. She assumed he must be on his way to his rooms to change clothes or rest before dinner.

“Pardon my curiosity, Miss Murray, but are you quite well?” he asked. “You seem rather subdued on such a festive occasion. Are you missing your family in Scotland?”

His question caught her off guard. It was kind of him to notice her demeanor and care about her well-being. “I am not ill, Captain, nor am I pining for distant family. My parents and brother are all long dead and this day stirs no particular memories of them. Where I come from, we made more celebration of the New Year than Christmas.”

“I should have known. I have served with a number of Scottish officers over the years. As for your family, forgive me for reminding you of your loss.”

“You could not have known, sir.”

They walked a few steps in silence before he spoke again. “May I ask what age you were?”

It had been so long since anyone cared to inquire about her background. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Radcliffe had ever asked about her family. Though Marian was
reluctant to disclose too many details about herself, she could not forget all that the captain had told her about his past. How could she refuse to return a confidence?

“I was nine when my father died. My mother passed away when I was much younger.”

“Nine,” he repeated, his voice suffused with a world of sympathy. “Who took care of you after that?”

She was even less inclined to talk about her years at school than about the loss of her family. Fortunately, they had reached the spot where they must part ways, he going off to his quarters and her to the nursery.

“If you will excuse me, Captain, I must go see to the girls.”

“Is it such a long story?” A look of puzzlement and tender concern made his features more attractive than ever.

Marian shook her head. “I had no family but a widowed aunt who was hard-pressed to care for her own fatherless brood. So it was decided I should be sent to a charity school in England for orphaned daughters of the clergy.”

Hard as she tried, she could not keep her face impassive when she spoke of that wretched institution—any more than if she’d bitten into a lemon.

The captain was too perceptive a man not to notice. “Were you ill-treated there?”

He fairly radiated fierce indignation at the mere possibility. Such sentiment proved impossible for Marian to resist. “Very ill indeed.”

Bitter memories rose to torment her. If she stayed there, she feared she might lose control of her emotions.
She could not afford to let that happen again. Spinning away from Gideon Radcliffe, she fled down the passage to the nursery.

No wonder the poor lady had not been able to fully embrace the joyous spirit of Christmas.

As the patter of Miss Murray’s footsteps retreated into the distance, Gideon stood frozen in the grip of pity and anger far too powerful for his comfort. He had experienced something similar when Harry Watson confessed to the bullying he’d endured. But those feelings had been tempered by the belief that he had the power to remedy the situation. He’d turned out to be wrong, but he hadn’t known that then. In this case, he knew very well there was no assistance he could render Marian Murray.

Whatever she’d suffered as a child at that charity school was over and done. But he sensed it had left wounds that might never fully heal, like the old injury to his hand that made it ache in certain types of weather. The scars on her spirit must trouble her more at Christmas, when the pervading happiness of the season created such a severe contrast to her childhood memories.

A potent conviction welled up in Gideon as he recalled the anguish in her eyes. He must do everything in his power to make
this
Christmas one on which she could look back fondly in future years. He must also encourage Miss Murray to confide in him about her experiences. After all, he felt much more at peace since he’d told her the truth of what had happened aboard the
Integrity.
The least he could do was offer a sympathetic
shoulder on which to unburden her troubles. Knowing what she did of his past, surely she would realize he was better capable of understanding than most people.