Chapter Seven
Christmas Day is rather less than joyful when one is working for the privileged upper classes.
For, no matter the promises made of half-days and minimal duties, should the family one works for decide that Christmas Day would be utterly perfect for an unplanned jaunt through the countryside, someone must remain behind to receive the return of the carriage and horses.
And that someone is then forced to spend his Christmas afternoon and evening pacing the length of the stable yard, contemplating the hurt and disappointment no doubt felt by a certain Irishwoman down the road.
I promised her. I solemnly swore. And he, being a decent sort of fellow, didn’t care to be breaking a promise to any person, least of all his Maeve. But what could he do? Leaving would have cost him his job. Losing his job would have meant leaving Kilkenny and Maeve entirely.
There was no way of telling Maeve what had happened. She would think he’d broken his word.
“If you promise you’ll come, I know you will,” she’d said.
“You’d never go back on your word,” she’d said.
“I never want to see you again,” she’d say next.
He couldn’t bear the thought. But what could he do? He was every bit as stuck as he’d been the day they’d first met. He paced back to the arched entryway to the stable yard and set his eyes on the castle across the way.
How many of the Marquess’s servants were required to spend their Christmas away from loved ones? Likely quite a few. They had an advantage over him, however. He was spending his Christmas with a stable full of horses, not another person in sight. They, at least, had each other.
He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and trudged his way past a long row of horse stalls, eyes focused on the floor ahead of him. “Maeve will have my neck, assuming she agrees to see me again.”
Sean wasn’t an entirely unreasonable man, and the more logical part of him knew he was likely making more of his Christmas absence than need be.
But he was also a man in love, which has a tendency to override one’s ability to think clearly.
He didn’t want to disappoint Maeve, and neither did he wish to spend the holiday away from her.
Indeed, he was growing ever more convinced that he never wanted to spend another day away from her.
I might even get around to telling her that, if I’m ever allowed to leave this stable. Grumbling, one must understand, is quite the most productive way to pass a disappointing evening. If nothing else, it makes a soul feel the tiniest bit better. Kicking at stray bits of straw helps as well.
Beyond the stables, voices raised in laughter and song echoed from the village. People were celebrating together, happy and contented. He alone was . . . alone.
It being Christmas and a holy day, he limited himself to only the mildest of curses, nothing that would make a priest call him in for confession, but curses just the same.
Stepping back out to the stable yard, he shot a wary eye heavenward.
Not a flake of snow fell, something Maeve might have blamed his absence on, offering him a respite.
She was likely sitting at the window, watching for him to come. Or had been for a time until she’d given up on him.
The bells at St. Canice’s had long since rung the call to evening Mass.
The sun had set. He couldn’t help wondering if the Marquess’s family meant to return that evening.
They’d set off to visit friends who had a country home near Castlecomer.
’Twas entirely possible that they’d opted to remain for the night.
One benefit of being fine and fancy was the ability to cause inconvenience without consequence, at least not to one’s fine and fancy self.
And so Sean sat on a stool in the empty stable yard, a weight in his stomach and on his heart.
“’Twas all she wanted for Christmas,” he informed the unhelpful heavens.
“A visit, the chance to sit at each other’s side, to talk as we always do.
’Twas all she wanted, and I promised her. I promised her.”
He leaned his elbows on his legs and rested his head in his hands. He’d planned to tell her that he loved her. A man doesn’t build up the courage to do so easily, which made the night’s events all the more tragic. ’Twould have been quite a perfect Christmas.
But sometimes all one needs for perfection is an added measure of patience.
A mere moment after Sean had chastised the heavens, the sound of approaching hooves pulled his head up out of his hands.
The family, it seemed, had returned. He’d be terribly late getting to the Butlers’ cottage, but he would get there just the same.
He would knock at the door for hours if necessary until Maeve allowed him to explain and apologize.
He rushed to his expected position, just inside the entry arch, and stood at respectful attention.
Into the stable yard came not a fine carriage pulled by a high-stepping team, but a humble and rickety old hay cart, pulled by two draft horses and driven by a ginger farmer, with a dark-haired beauty beside him, and a tall stick of a man behind.
’Twasn’t the Butlers of Kilkenny Castle nor the up-road Butlers, but the six-boulders family. His Butlers. And his Maeve.
Liam pulled the cart to a stop in the middle of the yard. Sean stood in shock, frozen at the unexpected sight. His Maeve.
True to the feisty colleen she’d proven herself to be, Maeve hopped from the cart without waiting for anyone’s assistance, then came directly toward him.
“I am so very sorry, Maeve. I’d not meant to—” He managed nothing beyond that.
“We’ve brought supper, Sean. Will Desmond have a tantrum if we eat it here with you, do you think?”
“Supper?” His thoughts swam too swiftly for making complete sense of her words.
“When you didn’t arrive, I assumed you’d been made to stay here rather than being given the evening to yourself as you’d been promised.”
He nodded, his worry still too great for a verbal response.
“So we brought Christmas supper to you.”
He took her hand, his own trembling with uncertainty.
Did this mean she’d not lost faith in him?
“I have to wait for the castle family to return with their carriage and team. I’m the newest hand, so the lot fell to me.
” The gloves she wore were cold. Her hand beneath must have been near to freezing.
“You shouldn’t have come so far in the cold, love. You’ll catch your death.”
She reached up and touched his face. “I’d’ve gone clear to Mayo if need be.”
“You aren’t angry with me for disappointing you?”
Hers was a soft and alluring smile. “You’ve not disappointed me.”
“Kiss the lass, already,” Kieran called from the hay cart. “We’ve a Christmas supper to eat.”
“There are empty stalls at the end of the row,” Sean said. “Your animals’ll be warm there.”
Liam smirked a bit. “Trying to shoo away your audience, are you?”
“That is precisely what I’m doing. Now off with you.”
They obliged.
Sean turned every ounce of his attention back to Maeve. He pulled her fully into his arms. “I was so afraid you’d be boilin’, love. I broke m’ word to you. You gave me your trust, and I broke it.”
“You’ve not broken my trust in you, Sean. I trust you enough to have never doubted all the day long that you’d’ve come if you could.”
He lightly brushed his lips against her forehead. “I don’t deserve you.”
“No, you don’t.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “But you come close enough that I’ll not hold it against you.”
He kissed her temple, then her cheek. Heavens, but he adored this woman.
“Maeve. Darlin’ Maeve. I’ve nothing to give you for Christmas.
I haven’t money for a fine gift, and I didn’t make it out to see you today.
” He cupped her face in his hands. “But I give you what I have, love. I give you my devotion and my caring, and I give you my love, all of it, every beat of my heart and every breath that fills my body.”
He meant to seal the promise with a fervent kiss. She, however, was swifter than he was. She rose up on her toes and kissed him, her lips to his, making a promise without words that matched his spoken vow.
A promise of days and months and Christmases yet to come. A promise of love.