Page 141 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
"Enough. I must go." She twitched her shawl higher up on her shoulders, then picked up two wrapped packages from a table near the door.
The gift-giving was to be in the Great Hall at the base of the stairs. As Jocelyn didn't want to call immediate attention to herself by descending the main staircase, she went down the back stairs and made her way through a small antechamber to the family gathering.
Lady Mary was leaning on Lord Edward Killingham's arm. Lady Anne was dressed in red velvet and perched halfway up the stairs so she could see all that went on. The dowager marchioness sat regally in an Elizabethan chair pulled up before the base of the stairs, presents stacked all around her. Lord Tarkington was passing out the gifts one at a time. Everyone watched as each servant, in turn, opened his or her gifts.
The practical gifts were opened first, and they were, as Lady Mary had said, items like coats and boots and shawls. But the fanciful gifts sent everyone laughing, master and servant together like family. Lady Mary's abigail received paper dolls to dress and undress. A footman, receiving a pair of gloves covered with some sticky substance, was told maybe now he wouldn't drop so many things. Mrs. Penneybacker, the housekeeper, received an oversize chatelaine that the marquess dared her to try to lose.
Laughter rang throughout the Great Hall as each servant, in turn, received some silly or fanciful gift. Jocelyn laughed with them. Soon she was caught up in the fun and slowly moved closer and closer, the better to see.
Tarkington was expounding on the story behind the last present when he saw her. Without halting his humorous tale, he walked toward her. In confusion, Jocelyn stepped back and collided with a wall of servants who were now behind her. Before she could decide what to do, he snagged her arm and drew her to his side in the center of the Great Hall. When he finished the story, with his free hand, he handed the unfortunate subject his present and laughed with everyone else when it was opened. Still, he did not look at Jocelyn, though he kept her anchored at his side.
"Papa! Papa!" came Lady Anne's high-pitched voice over the general laughter. They all turned to look at her. She stood on a step, pointing one chubby finger at something above his head. "Mis'toe, Papa!"
Jocelyn glanced up, stricken to see a large clump of mistletoe hanging from a kissing bough. As she looked down, her uncertain brown eyes locked with Tarkington's very certain gray eyes.
"A kiss! A kiss!" shouted the crowd.
In embarrassed confusion, Jocelyn tried to pull away, but the marquess held her fast.
"No, you don't. Mustn't break with tradition. I claim a kiss." Tarkington lowered his head, then murmured for her ears only: "I've wanted this kiss for the past two days."
Then his lips were on hers, hard and brief, but with a burning after fire that left Jocelyn's knees weak and her color high.
Behind them, Lady Anne giggled and clapped her hands.
Tarkington let her go, then addressed his people, wishing them all a Merry Christmas and thanking them for another year of exemplary service. The servants cheered the family and moved off, clutching their presents, talking, and laughing in small clumps of friends as they returned to their stations throughout Bayneville. The nurse told Lady Anne it was time for bed, Lady Tarkington walked off with the butler instructing him on last-minute details for the ball, and Lady Mary and Lord Killingham drifted into the shadows.
Tarkington tucked Jocelyn's arm in his and led her into his library.
"Lady Mary told me of your gift-giving tradition with the servants," Jocelyn said too brightly. "I had to see it. And it was all she said. You are very good, my lord."
"It's not goodness, Miss Maybrey. Good sense. And I am merely continuing what was begun long before I inherited the responsibility."
She held out the two presents she'd wrapped for him. "Here. . . . I thought it was time you received two presents as you give to your servants."
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "One practical and one silly?"
"One more fanciful than silly, I'd say." She bit her lip. "Maybe more a fantasy than a reality," she said on a little self-deprecating laugh.
He looked at her steadily for a moment, then down at the packages he held.
She watched nervously as he unwrapped the first gift, and the squares of white linen spilled out over his hands.
"Ah, my practical gift," he said with a smile in his eyes that caught Jocelyn's breath.
She walked a few paces away from him to curl her fingers around the back of a chair and stare into the fire. Would he understand? Had she been too obscure? She waited, listening to the tissue unfold, waited for him to say something, but all she heard was silence.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut against tears, and a great roaring sound rose in her head with a thousand voices calling her a fool. She swayed slightly.
Hands gripped her shoulders and turned her around. Questioning gray eyes searched her face. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek in his palm.
"I love you, too," he said honestly. He cleared his throat. A watery sheen danced in his eyes. "You can't imagine how jealous I've been of Charles." He pulled her head against his chest and laughed brokenly. "I don't know how it happened, or even when. It was certainly not something I anticipated. I scarcely hoped that what I saw in your beautiful, expressive eyes was the answer to my heart's desire."
She raised her head and looked up at him, letting her heart and soul rest in her eyes.
He smiled, and his smile was more brilliant, more beautiful than any fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens.
He lowered his head to kiss her, and this time she stood on tiptoe to meet him. When their lips met, Jocelyn was caught in a maelstrom of sensations. Tarkington pulled her tightly against him, molding her to his lean frame. She melted into him.
Behind them on a small table was her second gift to him, as much a symbol of her love for him as was his gift for his daughter. Lit by a pool of bright candlelight stood a miniature rocking horse crafted out of paper, yarn, paint, and love.
