Page 79 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
The gated entrance was lit by several Victorian lampposts of differing heights, each adorned with a beribboned holly wreath. Instead of taking the turn for the car park, Richard drove slowly down the long walk and turned left at the fountain. They pulled round the back of the manor and parked in the staff car park.
“Are you allowed to park here?” Kate asked.
“You are if you’re spending as much money as me,” said Richard.
Bit showy, thought Kate, but she decided to let it go since she was having a very nice time.
Richard leaned across her and pulled a torch out of the glove compartment. He grinned at her.
“Come on,” he said.
What the hell are we up to?Kate wondered.
Richard held his arm out and Kate linked her arm through his. It felt nice. Richard was confident, masterful, and Kate found herself feeling privileged to be the center of his attentions.
The dim, orangey glow from the manor’s little bistro and adjoining bar lit their way as they crunched along the well-salted gravel. They stopped by a rough path cut into the grassland, which led away from the manor and into the black wall of trees that formed the forest’s edge. Only the tips of the trees were identifiable: high above, backlit by the moon, like the spiky papercut scenery used in shadow puppetry.
Richard nodded toward the dark path.
“Shall we?” he said, and flicked on his torch.
The cutout path wasn’t wide enough for two people, so Richard took the lead and Kate fell in behind him. It was freezing and Kate was glad of her layers, but when they reached the forest, the trees sheltered them from the sharpest bite of the breeze.
Kate took one last look back before plunging into the forest. The manor looked warm and inviting; its little leaded windows smiled amber warmth, and the smoke furling up through the many chimneys whispered tempting welcomes. Kate shivered and pressed on behind Richard. She didn’t fancy being lost in the forest tonight.
Where the trees were most dense there was a mere smattering of snow on the ground, but in the clearings, the gaps in the green canopy let the snow in and the forest floor was thickly blanketed.
They tramped on along the rough frozen path, Richard’s torch cutting holes in the dark. The night beasts were awake and screeching their annoyance at the two lumbering humans on their patch; scurrying creatures flickered past, fast, at the edges of Kate’s vision.
Richard stopped abruptly and Kate, who was squinting into the trees to her left, bashed straight into his back.
“Whoops!” she said. “Sorry about that, I was trying to see what that scurrying thing was back there, could have been a fox, maybe a badger...”
Richard guided her round to his side and Kate stopped chattering and looked ahead.
Reaching up before them was an ornate stone tower, dark ivy coiled round and round, and at its top, a snowy turret, needle sharp, pierced the starry sky: the Blexford Folly.
Kate had been to the folly before but not for many years and never at night. The original lord of the manor had had it commissioned soon after the manor was built, but unlike many of its counterparts—stylish yet useless—Lord Milton Blexford had made his a functional folly. It was used as a place to entertain his hunting parties. It would have been a welcome respite for the party, with its grand fireplaces and comfortable surroundings but a nightmare for the staff, who would have had to trek the feast through the forest to the folly without being seen by or accidentally shot by the guests.
Its most recent incarnation was as a two-bedroom boutique hotel, with the ground floor serving as cozy bar and eatery. Kate hoped Richard hadn’t taken it upon himself to book them a room. She had a lot to do tomorrow before she went to the office, and she hadn’t shaved her bikini line in over a fortnight; it was less neat landing strip and more scrubby allotment.
“I promised you a hot toddy,” said Richard, and he pushed open the heavy arched oak door to the folly. “After you,” he said, and bowed slightly, which made Kate giggle like a schoolgirl.
The warmth from the giant stone fireplace enveloped Kate, and her frozen cheeks prickled as the heat hit them.
The room was circular; the flagstone floor—worn smooth and undulating slightly underfoot—was partially covered by a woven rug, so thick it could have been a blanket. And the walls were hung with lavish tapestries that picked out and complemented the deep reds, greens, and blues in the rug.
Opposite the entrance was the bar with a stone doorway on either side of it, offering glimpses of two spiral staircases disappearing off behind the wall. There were a couple of wingback chairs dotted about the room, and a luxuriant-looking sofa with a long, low coffee table made from the split trunk of a tree.
The deep stone recesses that framed the windows on either side of the door had been draped with rugs and piled with velvet and plaid cushions to make two comfortable window seats.
The one on the left was taken by a very honeymooning-looking couple, and Richard motioned that he and Kate should take the other. Aside from the four of them, there were no other customers in the bar. Choral music drifted out through hidden speakers, and the logs on the fire crackled and popped.
Kate slipped her boots off and hopped up onto the window seat, pulling her knees up to her chest and half wishing she were here with a good book. Richard climbed in opposite her; the frames were so big that even Richard was dwarfed by them.
“I feel like a kid in a giant’s house,” said Kate.
“They don’t let kids have the kinds of drinks they serve here,” said Richard with a wink.
