Fifth Day of Christmas
Kestrel didn’t have any of her usual nightmares. Instead, she dreamed she was dressed in a red ball gown dripping off her shoulders as she walked in the total darkness. Somehow she knew it was the hall of Pembrook Park, and when she found a rectangle of light, she slipped through it.
She was in the house’s library, the walls covered in books bound in black. The windows were dark, but lit candles made the room pulse with a golden glow.
And there was Hank, wearing an untucked white shirt open at the chest and a pair of perfectly snug breeches. While keeping his gaze on Kestrel, he reached over her shoulder to shut the door behind her. Startled, she took a step away, and her back hit up against a bookcase.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” said Hank. “God, how I’ve missed you.”
He came closer, pressing his body against hers, and kissed her bare shoulder. One sleeve of her gown slipped farther down, and his mouth followed to the exposed skin of her chest.
“Why are you here?” She exhaled the question, her breath tangled in her throat.
“Because you are,” he said.
His hand slipped under the skirt of her dress.
His mouth followed the line of her collarbone down to the hollow of her throat as his hand cupped the soft back of her knee.
Her legs shook and went weak, and his other arm wrapped around her waist to hold her up.
He slid his hand from behind her knee up the back of her thigh—
Kestrel woke instantly. Her heart was pounding as if she’d been running laps. Part of her was insulted to have had a sexy dream about Hank, and another part would rather return to it posthaste.
The dream had been just a dream. Harmless. But Hank actually was in Austenland. The rapid beating of her heart brought up an old pain, warning her that anything involving Hank wasn’t simply pretend.
Stretched out on her bed in nothing but her chemise, Kestrel thrust thoughts of Hank out of her mind and spent a few minutes enjoying being corset free. Her blurry morning vision focused on her tea tray and a new gift box.
She pinched the notecard between thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light, examining the script. On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . . Inside this morning’s box was a pair of red cashmere gloves, as soft against her skin as powdered sugar.
When Kestrel entered the morning room, Jerome and Andrews were speaking low as they drank their tea. She clapped her hands spontaneously, so happy to see them.
Jerome’s face lit up, and as it did when he was relaxed, his accent became more pronounced. “Hail up. Kes, you look like a vision in violet.”
She did a little twirl in her soft wool dress with fitted long sleeves and a V neck. Again a thrill and a pang ripped through her—the thrill at how strangely, truly Kestrel she felt here and the pang at knowing that it wouldn’t last.
“Sit and have a cuppa, darling,” said Andrews, “and tell us your dreams. I dreamt I climbed a giant marshmallow and then ate my way back down.”
“Like, you gnawed out a squishy staircase?” asked Kestrel.
Andrews looked hard at Jerome while emphatically gesturing at Kestrel, as if she’d proved his side of some argument.
“I had a sexy dream,” said Kestrel, pursing her lips to blow on her tea.
Andrews leaned forward. “Do tell.”
She was tempted to divulge the truth about Mr. Kern but quickly flicked away the idea.
Invoking his name and their past history with these gents would make the troubling situation feel even more substantial, and she needed to force the thorniness of it to dissolve inside her till it was so soft and inconsequential, it could no longer pierce her.
Instead she just said, “The whole thing looked like a romance novel cover. I was the lady, the gent was one of my exes, and he was so into me, but I woke up before the good stuff.”
“Well, you’re no fun,” Andrews said, sitting back in his chair.
“I’m not a sexy-dream kind of dreamer,” said Jerome. “In terms of enjoyment, is being woken out of it too early better or worse?”
“Worse,” Andrews and Kestrel answered at once.
“Interesting,” said Jerome. “I would have supposed the anticipation to be the greatest enticement. The initial brush of bodies, the almost-kiss, the interrupted tryst . . .”
Kestrel started to fan herself with her saucer. “You win, Jerome. It’s clearly been too long since Andrews and I have been romanced.”
“Speak for yourself, treasure,” Andrews whispered into his tea just before taking a noisy sip.
“What?” Now Kestrel was the one leaning forward. “Spill that tea!”
Andrews smiled as if he very much wanted to, but Charming entered, and Kestrel felt the electricity of attention run through all three of them.
“Good morning, Charming,” Jerome said, always the first with polite salutations.
“You’re up early, me ducky,” said Andrews.
“Yeah, well, Bobby isn’t sleeping well,” Charming said, yawning as she slumped into the remaining chair at the round breakfast table. “He told me to leave so he could sleep in alone.”
The three exchanged glances. Andrews’s chin wiggled nervously, but he nodded.
“Lizzie,” he said, “I want to talk to you about Bobby.”
Charming’s posture stiffened.
Andrews cleared his throat. “I have some concerns about him, my precious, about the way he treats you—”
“Just stop right there, Andrews,” said Charming.
“I can’t, love. We’re all dreadfully worried about you. I know that—”
“You don’t know anything, so stop.” She glared at him and held a raised finger. Satisfied with his silence, Charming poured herself some orange juice.
Kestrel felt sweat prick the back of her neck. They couldn’t really stop, could they? This was an intervention. She rubbed Andrews on his shoulder blade, a touch of support and an invitation to keep going.
Andrews glanced at Kestrel, cleared his throat again, and said, “Charming, you remember your first session, when Mr. Wattlesbrook—”
Charming slapped the table. “Bobby isn’t anything like Mr. Wattlesbrook!
Besides, he wasn’t really having an affair.
I overreacted when I saw him on a mattress sample with that toothpick of a store manager.
Turns out that she attacked him and he was stuck kissing her back to be polite and .
. . and I made a mountain out of landfill .
. . and really, the way he explained it, I think it was all my fault. ”
It was clear that Charming was too close to that seasoned manipulator to have perspective. All Kestrel’s instincts warned that there was no talking Charming out of this.
“Bobby’s needs are the only ones that matter,” Andrews said calmly. “He doesn’t care about anyone beside himself unless they can give him whatever he wants. We’re asking you to take an objective gander at his behavior, because we care about you.”
“Bobby warned me you would do this,” said Charming, her eyes down as she delicately picked a crumb off her skirt. Her voice quavered, the call of a small bird. “He . . . He told me that all y’all would be jealous of him. That you want to keep my money to yourselves.”
Andrews took a deep breath. “Lizzie, can you see how Bobby is trying to separate you from your friends? It’s a tactic to make you feel insecure and only trust in him.”
Charming’s face screwed up. “Andrews, I’m your boss, not just your friend. But you leave Bobby alone or I won’t be either of those things! Not your friend because you’re mean! And not your boss because I will fire you!”
“Lizzie, please—”
She stood up and screamed in his face. “Don’t talk to me again. Ever!”
And she stomped away. The three sat in silence till Andrews, eyes sorrowful, whispered, “She meant it. She really meant it.”
Kestrel’s stomach twisted like taffy. Interpersonal conflict was the worst. She and Jerome both put hands on Andrews’s shoulders and leaned in their heads till all three touched.
“You did your best,” said Jerome. “I’ve never seen her react like that.”
“It’s hard,” said Kestrel. “Bobby’s had his hooks in her for decades, love-bombing her to reel her in and then manipulating her till his perspective is her reality.”
“But—so fast!” said Jerome.
“He’s had her brainwashed in the past,” said Kestrel, “and it’s like he walked in and rebooted the programming that makes her lose trust in other people as well as in her own gut.”
Andrews nodded and said, “I know,” but he still looked heartbroken.
“Good morning!” Gussie said cheerily as she entered.
There was a moment when all three of them scowled at the interruption. Gussie paused as if noticing the mood in the room, and then frowned and almost backed out, but Jerome and Andrews quickly recovered.
“Good, good morning, Miss Chen!” Jerome said, all smiles.
“I say, you somehow get lovelier each and every day,” said Andrews. “What’s your secret? Vegetables? Witchcraft? Magic fish wishes? Do tell.”
The gentlemen began to argue over who appreciated her more, sparring with butter knives in a mock duel, but Kestrel couldn’t pretend her way out of her concern.
Charming was in deep. They had to save her.
The urgency nipped at her heels, and her heart raced in panic.
She had to get away from the cloying despair bubbling up inside her.
Kestrel blurted, “Let’s go for a walk outside!”
Her three table-mates stared. Quite possibly it had been less of a blurt and more of a shriek.
“C-certainly, Miss Spinster,” said Andrews.
Yes, she had definitely shrieked.
Tom and Mr. Culpepper arrived, eager to join them, and all were buttoned up and about to set out when Charming peeked into the hallway.
“Charming!” said Kestrel. “I mean, Mrs. Charming. We’re going for a walk. The fresh air will be invigorating and wonderfully distracting. Please come with us.”
“Maybe I will,” said Charming. She walked past Andrews, pointedly not looking in his direction. Andrews wilted a little more.
As Kestrel followed her out the front door, she felt slapped by the cold, even dressed in walking boots with a wool pelisse and lined bonnet.
“No scarf and gloves?” asked Tom.