Page 58 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
“Emma!” he shouted, but it was too late. She couldn’t hear him over the pounding of the surf, and all he could think as he stood there watching her go was that he had never felt more miserable than he did at the moment.
He had little notion how long he remained at the cliffs, staring down at the tumbling surf. It rolled in violently, covering the beach below, pummeling the cliffside relentlessly.
When at last he made his way back to the manor, he cut through the rose garden on his way to the stables, thinking to rally his driver and go. To his misfortune, he found them—every last one—being led into the garden by an exhilarated Jonathon. Lucien’s heart tripped as he watched them.
He stood back, watching, hoping they wouldn’t notice him, because in that instant he couldn’t have moved to save his life.
It occurred to him after a befuddled instant that they were all staring up at the sky, and much too preoccupied to notice him. Curiously, he peered up to see what had captured their attention, and the sight he beheld stole his breath away: The heavens were painted with violet clouds and streaks of mauve and plum. Spearing through them in the dusky sky was the most incredible shaft of light he had ever beheld, so bright and luminous that it filled him with awe. It was spectacular…
“See, I told you!” young Jonathon was shouting. “Aunt Em! It’s Heaven’s gate! You were right! We’re all going to get wonderful presents now!”
“It must be!” Lettie agreed enthusiastically.
Emma’s laughter drifted to him suddenly, the sound wholly genuine. If she was angry with him, it didn’t show in her mood toward the children. She gazed up at the sky with wonder, hands outstretched and laughed in delight and then she sat upon a bench … the same bench he recalled from the photo he’d commissioned of her father. He’d had one created for himself as well … a memento … and suddenly, everything seemed to make sense.
If he was wicked, she was his salvation.
If he was unwhole, she would fulfill him.
Maybe her father had realized as well?
Her love was a gift … a promise of better things to come. Regardless that he’d managed to convince himself he would be better off without her, he knew deep down it wasn’t true.
That’s why he couldn’t go.
He wanted her in his life, he realized with sudden certainty. And feeling more joyful than he had in years, he retreated from the garden lest she spy him. He knew exactly who to turn to for a hand in mischief and a little help to win back the woman he loved. And if all went well, it would be a very merry Christmas, indeed.
CHAPTER8
On the night before Christmas the weather turned foul, dumping more snow in a single day than Newgale had seen most of the winter. Those lavender clouds, lovely as they had been earlier in the day had been harbingers of a coming storm. While fat snow flakes, bigger than a sovereign fell from swollen clouds outside, inside the candles were all lit and twinkling merrily, the fire in the hearth was ablaze, and the house was toasty and gay. But Emma’s Christmas spirit had fled entirely.
How could she celebrate anything untilhewas gone?
This morning had been the greatest of disappointments. She had spied only confusion in Lucien’s eyes, and then she had been so very certain he would speak those awful words again that she had flown from his presence like a frightened child. She was embarrassed now, and worse, it was precisely as she feared, for although he remained in residence, he had yet to even speak to her.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t spied a hair on his too-handsome head all day, despite that they were trapped indoors. After all the fuss about returning his carriage wheels, the vehicle had been rendered completely useless by the weather. It was a conspiracy, she was quite certain—one in which God seemed to be complicit now.
In fact, now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen or heard her brother or the children either.
Frowning, she wondered where they could all be… together somewhere no doubt.
She wandered into the kitchen where Cecile was busy preparing for Christmas supper. The house smelled of the most delightful treats and the servants all were busy under Cecile’s watchful eye. On this day of all days, Cecile took a greater part in the preparations—not that she needed to, but she had to.
“Have you seen the children?” Emma asked.
“No dear. Not since this morning in the garden.”
Cecile smiled, though if Emma didn’t know better, it seemed more of a smirk than a smile. A bit of mischief danced in her sister-in-law’s eyes. Her brother’s influence, she feared.
“Do you need help perchance?”
“Not a bit,” Cecile replied gaily. “The table has been set and Cook is finishing the last of it, and with that, she sent Emma on her way.
The scent of mincemeat pie followed her down the hall as she continued searching for the children, wandering from room to room.
They had made it a relatively new tradition to exchange gifts on Christmas morning instead of New Year’s. Emma had hers wrapped already, but she enjoyed building the children’s anticipation, and loved Boxing Day as well. In many ways, she and Andrew had never outgrown their childhood.
“Where are the children?” she asked Andrew when she found him seated upon his knees in the drawing room laboring over some strange device. With help from Giles, their manservant, he was fashioning some sort of contraption near the hearth. Emma inspected it, wondering what it could be.
