By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) (8 page)

“To the west”—Marcus gestured to the rounded peaks—“it goes for four or five miles.”

“What about to the north?” Christopher asked, squinting in that direction. “Those forests to the north of the manor—are they common land, too?”

Glancing at Marcus and noting that his mouth was full, Lucilla answered, “Only a narrow strip—the highest and densest part of the forests. On that boundary, our lands go into the forests some way, almost to the ridge line, and our neighbor’s lands lie further to the north, beyond the strip of common land, which follows the ridge line.”

“So where in all these forests are we most likely to find red deer?” Michael asked.

“If I had to guess,” Marcus said, “I would say further to the north, closer to the Carrick property—they’re our northern neighbors. As with the manor’s lands, the Carricks’ western boundary lies at the lower edge of the forests, so we can ride and hunt along the ridge as far as we like.”

“Right, then.” Sebastian gathered his long legs under him and rose. He met Marcus’s eyes, then Lucilla’s as they, too, got to their feet. “I suggest we ride north along the edge of the forests”—he inclined his head to Lucilla—“as you suggested, and keep a sharp eye out for tracks.”

Marcus nodded. “We can ride into the afternoon and see what we find, but we’ll need to turn back in good time to return to the manor before full dark.”

Sebastian glanced at the others, including the five younger boys. “We’re all good enough riders that we shouldn’t have a problem riding across open land in moonlight.”

Marcus glanced at Lucilla; when she said nothing, he shrugged. “We’ll see.”

As they gathered the saddlebags and the others started climbing off the rocks and heading for the horses, Lucilla looked up at the crests to the west. This close, they blocked her view of the western sky, yet…

She grimaced and, echoing her twin, muttered to herself, “We’ll see.”

After picking up her saddlebag, she followed the others off the rocks.

* * *

“A little to the left,” Helena directed.

Claire exchanged a glance with Daniel, then obediently shifted the long branch of holly a fraction further left on the mantel of the main fireplace in the Great Hall. The cavernous room had a total of four hearths of varying sizes built into the walls. They’d already decorated two mantelpieces to the girls’—and the three older observers’—satisfaction.

Louisa, standing back with the other three girls to observe the critical placement, nodded decisively. “That’s perfect.”

Glancing at the others and seeing approval in all their faces, Claire resisted the urge to raise her eyes to the skies and instead settled the holly on the bed of fir boughs the girls had laid over the stone mantel.

“We just need a few more sprigs to finish it off.” Annabelle went to the huge log-basket they’d filled with their holly sprigs. Juliet followed and the pair began to sort and select branchlets to augment the longer branch.

“We’ll get the candles and the pinecones,” Louisa said. She and Therese headed to where those items had been stacked on one of the tables.

With Claire, Daniel glanced around the hall at the four footmen co-opted to hang branches of fir over the four archways leading into the hall. Balancing on stepladders and stools, the men were lacing string between nails that had clearly been inserted long ago for just that purpose, creating a web to hold the branches in place. Louisa and the girls had been very clear in their instructions. The green branches were to be secured above and on both sides of the archways, and then later the girls planned to insert sprigs of holly in amongst the fir.

Daniel assumed that, at some point, they also intended to hang their mistletoe under the arches. He had no idea what they’d done with the leafy stuff, but he suspected it currently resided at the bottom of the log-basket, concealed beneath the holly. Upon finishing his survey of the hall, he glanced at Claire. “I think that leaves us to arrange the fir on the last mantelpiece.”

Eyes dancing, she arched her brows. “And I suspect we should get started before Louisa or Helena think of something else for us to do.”

Daniel grinned and moved with her to the last unadorned fireplace, pausing along the way to fill his arms with a load of the feathery fir they’d left stacked in one corner of the room.

Standing at one of the long tables, helping Louisa prepare and insert candles into a set of beaten silver candleholders, Therese glanced at Daniel and Claire, then, dropping her gaze to her busy hands, leaned closer to Louisa and whispered, “What about the mistletoe?”

Louisa glanced up as Annabelle and Juliet, satisfied with their creation in holly, joined them. Once the other girls had started sorting the pinecones by size, Louisa quietly said, “I think we should hang the mistletoe later.” She flicked a glance over her shoulder at her grandmother and the two others in the armchairs on the dais. “I’ve always thought it’s something that works best as a surprise. We could slip down while everyone is getting ready for dinner. That’ll be the perfect time. There’s really no point in putting it up earlier—I’ve always heard that the magic of mistletoe starts at sundown on Christmas Eve.”

Annabelle nodded. “And hereabouts at least, it’s said to remain effective only until sunrise on St. Stephen’s Day.” After a moment, she added, “There’ll be about half an hour when no one will be here—not any of the staff either.”

“Can we leave the mistletoe where it is, do you think?” Therese eyed the log-basket.

“As long as we leave a nice layer of holly on top, no one will notice,” Louisa said. “We can make it look like the basket’s a part of our decorations.”

“I’ll mention that to the footmen,” Annabelle said.

Juliet glanced at the pair of footmen working at the nearest archway. “We should take note of where they store those stepladders.”

“They’ll be left somewhere nearby,” Annabelle murmured. “They’re normally kept in the storerooms near the stable, but no one will want to go out there to fetch them if something falls down, so they’ll leave them in some nook. I’ll find some reason to ask exactly where.”

“Good—so we have the when and how decided, although we’ll need to be organized and quick when we come down.” Louisa met the other girls’ eyes and smiled. “So for now, we can simply enjoy ourselves finishing these decorations.”

The others smiled back.

They fell to with a will, and the next half hour sped by.

Daniel halted beside Claire and surveyed the results of the girls’—and theirs and the footmen’s—labors. “I will own to being astounded at just how much four schoolgirls can achieve.”

“
If
they set their minds to it,” Claire returned. “In this instance, they’ve seemed well-nigh driven, and I have to admit that the result is quite amazing.”

Previously rather bare, the Great Hall now stood ready for the festivities, garlanded with holly and festooned with fir, with pinecones and candles arranged on all the mantelpieces and down the center of the long tables. The fires had been built up in all four fireplaces; warmth pervaded the room, and the dancing flames bathed the scene with a cheery glow.

Watching the four girls pirouetting in the center of the huge room, their faces alight with unabashed delight at the transformation they had wrought, Daniel murmured, “They’ve been inspired.”

He was feeling inspired, too, but by sudden, unsettling uncertainty. He looked at Claire and found her consulting the small watch pinned to her collar.

“Heavens! It’s just after midday. Where has the morning gone?” She raised her gaze and looked at the girls, not at him. “Girls! Come along—it’s time to wash and get ready for luncheon.”

Daniel hovered as, in true governessly fashion, Claire gathered the girls, had them collect their coats, hats, gloves, and scarfs, and herded them out of the Great Hall…all without looking at him.

Not once.

He’d thought they were getting along well, that her resistance, whatever it sprang from, was waning, fading, yet as soon as they’d entered the Great Hall, something had changed.

She’d pulled back, retreated, and suddenly there was a certain distance between them, one he wasn’t sure he should attempt to reach across…perhaps her sudden buttoning-up was because of the three observers on the dais.

Regardless, concern over her unexpected retreat had collided with another realization—that although their respective families were supposed to remain at the manor until the second day of the new year, he couldn’t count on either her family or his not being called away earlier. Although the dowager had made the journey north, none of the others of her generation had felt strong enough to risk it. What if one of those others—Celia or Martin Cynster, for example—were taken ill? Or what if there was some investment crisis and Rupert Cynster took his family back to London? Or if Alasdair was called to assist with some antiquity and removed his family either back to Devon or somewhere else?

Such incidents had been known to occur. Which meant Daniel could only count on him and Claire being there, together at the manor, until the day after St. Stephen’s Day. It was unlikely they would move before then, but more to the point, it was unlikely that any news from the outside world would reach their employers to summon them elsewhere before then.

So in the matter of his campaign to convince Claire to throw her lot in with his, he could count on having the rest of Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day and St. Stephen’s Day, but no longer.

Two days and an evening.

The driving need to ensure that she’d instituted the sudden distance between them purely for social appearances, that it was a smokescreen and nothing more, drove him to dog Claire’s heels and follow her into the manor’s front hall.

Chattering and laughing, the girls started up the curving stairs. In their wake, Claire was about to set foot on the first tread when Daniel caught her hand.

“Come out to the front porch for a moment.” Without further explanation, he drew her toward the front door. “I want to speak with you.”

Claire’s feet seemed to move of their own volition. Speak with her? Her heart started to thud. She should resist—make some glib excuse…before she had time to think of any words, Daniel had opened the door and checked outside, then he stepped back, ushered her through onto the porch—and there was no easy way to hang back as he followed and drew the door almost shut behind him.

Facing him, she clung to the mask she’d assumed as soon as they’d reached the house and she’d realized that her easiness with him—her relaxing in and enjoying his company, appreciating the dry wit of the comments with which he’d enlivened the return journey to the house—was not in keeping with the distance she was determined to maintain between them.

She could be an acquaintance and not much more, and she hadn’t been honest in adhering to that line.

For his sake, she was determined to do better from now on. Searching his eyes, she tried to read his expression; it seemed sober and rather serious. Her chest tightened; she raised her chin fractionally. “What did you wish to speak about?” Best they get this dealt with now—best she nip any aspirations he might harbor in the bud before they developed any further.

He held her gaze; he’d said he wanted to speak with her, yet he hesitated…then he cleared his throat and looked out at the landscape, brown blotches showing through the light dusting of snow. “I…”

Then his jaw firmed, and he looked back and met her eyes. “I have recently had some good news. News I wanted to tell you about, in which I hope you might have some interest.” He drew breath, then went on, “As you’ve most likely noticed, Jason is nearly twelve, and will go off to Eton next year. He’s the last of my charges, and so I was facing the possibility of having to move on, to find another post and leave Alasdair Cynster’s household, but instead, Mr. Cynster has offered me the position of amanuensis, assisting him with his collection, his library, and his interests in those spheres.”

He paused, then continued, his gaze still holding hers; she found it impossible to look away. “The position comes with an increased stipend, one sufficient to support a wife and family.”

She couldn’t suppress her reaction—the instinctive stiffening—even though she retained the presence of mind not to act on the impulse to take a definite step back. The impulse to shake her head.

This was precisely what she had feared, that he would read too much into her liking for his company, into the easy rapport that from the first they’d shared.

Into the connection that had always seemed to be there between them—gentle, understated, nascent perhaps, yet a link of sorts nonetheless.

That link made it impossible for her to pretend she didn’t comprehend his direction, that she didn’t understand the question in the depths of his eyes. That she didn’t hear the emotion underlying his words when, voice low, he said, “I wanted to ask if there was any hope. For me…for us?”

Inwardly gathering herself, holding his gaze even though that cost her dearly—she owed him that much—she opened her mouth to say what she must…only to discover that the words she’d been so sure would be there, ready to trip off her tongue, had vanished. Gone.

She stared, confounded, surprised, and suddenly lost. She knew she had to say no, that she had to let him down gently yet make it clear that such a hope on his part could never become a reality, not with her…

Seeing her confusion, he hesitated, then said, “I’m not pushing for a firm answer—I just wanted to know if…the
possibility
was there.” When she still didn’t respond, his face tightened. “If you would consider—just consider—spending the rest of your life with me.”

Her heart was suddenly in her throat, strangling her vocal cords. Again, she tried to speak. Again, the words wouldn’t come.

Epiphany struck.

And left her reeling.

She couldn’t say the words, couldn’t give voice to them…because they weren’t the words she wanted to say.

The realization rocked her. When had this happened? Surely not… How could this be?

Was she—that restless, reckless her she’d successfully suppressed for so many years—actually considering…