Chapter 14
The children ran about the white landscape, the great house towering in the background, merrily tossing snowballs at each other. Some built snowmen in pairs, giving instructions and choosing the best sticks and rocks. Others plunked down into the snow, making patterns.
It was the pinnacle of any sort of Christmas holiday antics, and much to Phoebe’s delight, it seemed as if the Duke of Crestfield was actually enjoying himself. He was doing as he had promised.
He was trying.
What more could she ask for than that?
He was a great man in her eyes, not because he was a duke, and not because of his fortunes or lands or power in Parliament, but because he had seen that she desired something and he was doing everything he could to give it to her, and frankly, to himself.
Because what she wanted for him, more than anything else, was a path to loving himself, accepting himself, all parts of himself, not just the parts that society admired. And he was now pursuing that.
How proud of him she was!
And as she stood with her skates on, sliding out across the frozen pond, she tucked her gloved hands into her muff, grateful for her warm Lincoln green skating costume of thick wool and fur, and beamed.
The cold was ferocious against her cheeks, but she felt happier than she had in some time. And she was quite a happy person.
For her, Christmas was working out just as she had hoped. Her dreams of love at Christmas were falling into place. It was amazing to her that she could speak out her hopes and dreams in her journal and in her thoughts, and the Duke of Crestfield had been brought to her.
It only solidified her faith that life, despite its pains, was largely loving.
Oliver gave her a quick and merry look as he put on his own skates over his polished boots. He buckled them quickly and then headed out onto the ice to join her.
Several of her cousins, aunts, and uncles were racing about the ice too, doing their best not to fall over.
Though in the case of her male cousins, Perseus and Deimos, and her brother, Laertes, they were being absolutely ridiculous with each other as they dashed about.
She often thought that men and boys were quite like goats. Always leaping about, full of energy, and getting into trouble.
But like goats, they did have their endearing traits.
Her aunts and uncles were more staid upon the pond, but not staid because they were boring. No, they were staid because, much like when they danced, they were gazing into each other’s eyes, whisking about in each other’s arms. Their love was on full display.
“Come along then,” she called. “Do you need assistance? Shall I teach you?”
He gave her a cheeky grin. “Teach me, my Lady Phoebe? It is I who shall teach you.”
“Oh?” she queried. “I should like to see that.”
He nodded at her and extended his gloved hand.
She slipped her own gloved one into his and tilted her head up to his gaze at him, admiring how beautiful he looked under the winter sun, with his long coat hugging his perfect frame.
His dark hair danced about his chiseled features and, much to her relief, his eyes glimmered with amusement.
It was still there, that ache that nobody else seemed to see but herself. She could feel it too. It emanated from his heart, but she hoped that with time, with the Briarwoods and herself, it would dim.
Wasn’t that what her family always did? Dimmed the pain of others and helped them to see how to heal? Sometimes, there was pain on the way, but there was always love and healing in the end. She clung to that.
He placed a hand at her waist, and then they began to push off together. Oliver easily whisked her about the ice.
“I say,” she exclaimed, amazed at his prowess and ice-skating capability as he guided her. “You’re actually quite good at this.”
He looked down at her and beamed. “I said I didn’t like Christmas, not that I wasn’t good at all of the things that Christmas often requires.”
“So I see now,” she exclaimed, loving the feel of his hand tucked at her waist as they sped around the ice.
“You know, I was tutored quite ferociously on the needs of Christmas from the time I was very small,” he confessed.
“Oh,” she said, “do tell me all about it.”
He paused, turning them. “I will if I must, but I’d rather glide about the ice with you in my arms.”
And for a moment, she decided that gliding about was far more important than listening to any list of Christmas accomplishments.
Legs in alignment together, they coursed across the ice, leaving whispered marks on the frozen pond. They were free and all but flying together, moving as one as intense joy bubbled up in her.
This was the life! This was what she had longed for and sought.
Oliver laughed suddenly, as if he had left all his cares behind, as he spun them and maneuvered them in ever more complex patterns.
She and her family often spent a great amount of time out ice skating whenever the pond froze, and he seemed to be as capable as any, perhaps more so, which was quite an accomplishment, given how tall he was.
She always thought how difficult it must be for someone with such incredibly long limbs to manage them, but he seemed quite good at it. And then he picked her up gently by the waist and placed her down on his other side. She gasped with delighted laughter.
“You’re also incredibly strong, Your Grace,” she enthused, loving his power and that he used it to take care of her and make her experience thrilling.
“Thank you, Phoebe,” he said. “I enjoy the admiration.”
And then they began to turn, slowly pivoting on the ice, her skirts whirling out until, at last, he clasped her and held her in his arms in a heart-expanding embrace.
They gazed down at each other. The sound of children laughing and snowballs bashing filled the air, and here, amidst so much happiness, she truly felt love. The deepest, most profound of loves.
“This,” she said, “this is what I’ve always yearned for.”
“Indeed, Lady Phoebe?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then let’s have it forever,” he exclaimed.
“What?” she whispered.
“Be mine,” he murmured. And then, as if he realized how deeply into his feelings he was sliding, he added, “You are an ideal choice.”
“Are you certain?” she asked, not caring about the last bit because she understood it was true. “I wouldn’t have you thinking that I’ve pushed you into this.”
He laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. If we had met in a regular London Season, I think I would’ve pursued you just the same.”
“So,” she tested, “you don’t think it’s the spell of a Briarwood Christmas?”
He shook his head, growing serious. “I’m falling in love with you despite the fact that it’s a Briarwood Christmas.”
She gulped. “You’re falling in love with me in but a few days? I thought you were far too practical for something like that.”
“Well, a marriage with you is extremely practical,” he pointed out. “You’re the daughter of an earl, the niece of a duke. You come from a powerful family. You’re lovely. You’ll be an excellent hostess. Your Christmases will be legendary,” he said, waggling his brows.
She stilled a little. It wasn’t really the response that she was looking for, and he drew in a breath as if he realized it.
His lips parted and his brow furrowed, as if he couldn’t quite understand his own feelings. “And of course you make me feel…”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“That moment when we first locked eyes,” he whispered, his voice a low hum of intensity. “That’s how I feel. That’s how I always feel with you.”
She smiled so brightly it almost hurt. “I’m so glad. And I must say yes,” she said.
“Wonderful!”
“Let us be married on Christmas,” she rushed. “I’m sure I could convince my uncle to get a quick license. The archbishop is often a guest. It would be quite easy.”
“No,” he said immediately.
“What?” she said, her bubbling excitement dimming ever so slightly.
His face settled into a rigid visage. “No, I don’t wish to be married on Christmas.
Let us be married in the springtime, when the trees are blooming with flowers and all is beautiful to behold, and the cold of the winter has gone away.
The darkness will have vanished, and we can celebrate our love and vows for each other surrounded by the promise of spring. ”
She blinked, her heart sinking ever so slightly. “Of course,” she said.
“You’re disappointed,” he observed.
“No, not at all,” she protested, for how could she be so silly as to cling to the wish for a Christmas wedding when she’d found the man she loved and he loved her in turn? “How could I deny such a beautiful proposition? The way you paint spring and weddings? It would be ideal.”
“But you wish for a Christmas wedding.”
She shrugged, determined not to make the matter too important. “My mother and father had a Christmas wedding, and they have always been the ideal for me in love. And so I suppose I did imagine it.”
“I am ruining your dream?” he said, his body tensing.
“No,” she insisted. “Think nothing of it. You are my dream, not a marriage on Christmas.”
He nodded, but a bit of the joy seemed to fade away from him.
“Oliver?” she said suddenly.
“Yes?” he asked as they pushed off on their skates.
“Will this always be a contention between us?”
“What?” he asked.
“Christmas.”
He stilled. “I don’t know. Do you wish to take your yes back if I say that it might be?”
“No,” she said quickly, “because there are three hundred and sixty-five days a year, and I want you for all of them. And if you do not wish to celebrate on one of them, though it will disappoint me, I, of course, cannot ask you to be different than you are. Though I wish… I wish I could take the pain that I see away.”
“Well, you can’t,” he said softly. “I know that all the Briarwoods wish that they could, but it’s a part of me. Can you accept that?” he asked.
She smiled, though she knew there was a touch of sadness in that smile, for how could she not be sad at his pain?
“Always. That’s what Briarwoods do. My mother would be appalled if I tried to take just a part of you.
And I don’t want just a part of you. I want the part that no one sees.
I want the part that everyone sees. I will take you,” she said, “for always, for every day, and Christmas too, even if it is your least favorite day of the year.”
He held her close in his arms and was about to kiss her when one of her uncles reminded, “Not here. Unmarried. In public.”
And she let out a laugh.
The Briarwoods were quite happy to cause scandal, but still, they generally put on a good audience, and with all of the young children present, perhaps kissing in public was a step too far.
“The duke has asked me to marry him,” she exclaimed.
“And,” Oliver added, clearly proud, “she has said yes.”
A cheer went up from all the Briarwoods and their guests who were skating about the pond and those standing along the edge too.
“Marvelous! The best Christmas present ever,” exclaimed Ajax as he skated towards them. He patted the duke on the shoulder. “I knew you’d come through, old boy. Is it to be a Christmas wedding?” he said.
“No,” she said, “spring, probably in London.”
Ajax nodded. “Hmm. All right. It doesn’t mean our work’s done. Christmas isn’t here yet.”
The duke eyed him carefully. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Now, come with me.” And she pulled him to the edge of the pond. “Will you help me get my skates off?”
He knelt down and began to unbuckle them. As he looked up into her eyes, she felt almost worshipped in that moment.
“You’ve given me happiness, more happiness than I’ve ever known. But I’m worried I’m going to take yours from you,” he said softly.
And then she placed her gloved hand on his beautiful face, unable to stop herself.
“No, Oliver,” she said. “I am so happy. Please do not worry.”
“Worry,” he echoed. “I’m not worried.”
“Of course not,” she said. “What a silly thing for me to say.”
And then she presented her other foot. He unbuckled it, and she stepped onto the snow. He divested himself of his skates, and they left the pond behind.
They wound their way up through the thick snow and into the house, where all of the balustrades had been decked in holly and ivy, where the children’s tree could be seen in the corner of the long hall, and music was playing.
“Shall we practice our dance?” she asked.
He looked down at her and smiled softly. “Yes,” he said, “but not here. I want you alone. We have been too much in public view, and I cannot wait to have you all to myself.”