Chapter 7
The twelve days of Christmas on the Westleigh estate was fully underway and Seraphine adored it!
Well, adore might be the wrong word. She was overwhelmed by it entirely. But she was captivated.
It was nothing like the parties that she had experienced in Europe, or even at her father’s own estate growing up. This was a madcap adventure full of loud noises and laughter and songs around every corner.
From the moment that she had woken up this morning, she had heard Laertes at his piano next door. Yes, next door!
She did not know who had done that to her, but she was rather pleased by it, even though she knew she should not be because it felt like temptation was lingering on the other side of the panel between their chambers.
It had taken all she had not to go to that door between her chamber and his and knock ever so slightly.
She’d known immediately it was him playing. The passion, the devotion to the depth of the notes, and the interpretation of the song was impossible to mistake.
Who had a piano in their room?
Apparently, Laertes.
And as she had listened, he’d played gently, quietly in the small hours of the morning, Christmas songs and carols that made her heart dance and sing as the cold, early light of dawn whispered across her floor.
She’d flung her bedclothes back and gotten dressed with surprising aplomb and little help from the maid who had been very kindly appointed to her.
A maid who did not seem to mind helping her, which she was deeply grateful for.
Barbara was an excellent young woman who had only joined the Briarwoods this winter after her father had died, and she’d become in need of employment to help feed her siblings.
According to Barbara, the Briarwoods had insisted on giving her mother a pension and then had happily given her purpose and a wonderful place. Barbara loved being a lady’s maid. She’d done quite a good job curling Seraphine’s hair and threading ribbons through the curls.
The girl had been apple-cheeked and surprisingly cheerful. It had bolstered Seraphine’s spirits to know that all who came under the purview of the Briarwoods were cared for, high or low.
Most people she knew of high station barely cared for those of the servant or working class. Her father had cared because of duty and a belief that if he did not the terror of the French Revolution would come to his lands.
The Briarwoods did it because they seemed to believe that all people, no matter their station, should be treated with respect and care.
And as she had bustled down the wide stairs, more songs greeted her ears and her smile and good feelings only grew. This was bliss! It was so strange how carefree and relaxed everyone was.
Children sang, it seemed, upon every floor of the house. And at every balustrade, there was a group of small children in Christmas finery, giggling and laughing and playing games, making merry or reciting riddles.
Balls were tossed back and forth as if they were all outside. Somehow, no porcelain or statues found their way to being crashed upon the floor.
Every instinct told her to have a word with the children.
She said nothing, though in her own house, such a thing would have been met with incredible censure. She had always been the picture of refinement, poise, and good behavior.
It struck her now that good behavior was not behaving like a child. Had she ever been allowed to behave as a child? When she looked back, she wasn’t certain.
A part of her was amazed and quite pleased by seeing the children so free and so happy. As a matter of fact, she could not ever recall seeing so many happy children and children who spoke to her too, as if they were equals and friends.
Over and over, she had heard, “Good morning, Lady Seraphine. Did you sleep well?” Or “Good morning, Lady Seraphine. Did you have a happy Christmas Day? Are you excited for what’s to come next?”
She didn’t even know what the next thing was, but she found herself wandering into the breakfast room and let out a gasp of excitement.
This was no formal Christmas, no stuffy affair, and the wonder of it caused her to tingle with anticipation.
In fact, she rather felt like a block of ice, melting in slow degrees under the Briarwood sun.
The ceiling was papered with all sorts of Christmas drawings, no doubt made by the children peopling the house.
There were gingerbread men and snowflakes and Father Christmases. There were all sorts of decorations that were made by small hands. Her favorite were paper rings that had been made from painted sheets of paper and strung from every corner of the room.
Instead of quiet whispers and measured discourse, there were people standing about, laughing, drinking hot chocolate and tea and coffee as they made their way around the table as if it was merely a central ornament to a large party.
Every seat at the table was taken, save one.
There was every good thing upon the long linen-covered table. There were kippers and rashers and eggs, toast, all sorts of breads, and there were bowls of the most beautiful grapes and oranges that she had ever seen. The grapes seemed to burst at their skin, dark and beautiful.
Holly decorated the table and candles were lit everywhere, which she quite understood because even though the window’s thick, beautiful damask curtains were pulled back, it was full winter and the light outside was quite weak, especially with the heavy clouds in the sky.
The longest day of the year had only just occurred, and in this part of the world, it was sometimes dim in these great houses. Even during the day.
A fire crackled in the hearth, making the room as warm as it possibly could be.
And the many bodies of beautifully dressed lords and ladies did help to fill the room with a certain sort of cheer, stealing away the cold that often filled dukes’ homes.
She eyed the many merry faces, wondering who she should sit down beside.
She looked for her brother, but Oliver had not yet come downstairs, and she noticed that Phoebe hadn’t either. She wondered at that. She was an innocent herself, but she did know of the antics that occurred between couples who were intrigued by each other.
After all, bed games in the European households were legendary. And, truth be told, they were at English house parties too, once a young lady was married. Sometimes not even then. As long as she wasn’t caught.
The three brides and three grooms from yesterday’s weddings had also not come downstairs, but the room was peopled with other lords and ladies, married Briarwood couples and their younger children and cousins.
It was a hodge-podge of bright colors, banter, and she caught many Shakespeare quotes being passed back and forth, as if quoting large reams of Shakespeare’s speeches was the best way to pass a morning.
She’d never considered that before, but in the end, she rather thought it was far better than how most people spent their mornings.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a gentleman who was eyeing her.
He was older, with silver touching his hair, and he had a remarkable look of Laertes about him. “Come,” he called, his voice a deep rumble, yet it was welcoming. “Come and sit down, Lady Seraphine,” he said. “This chair is waiting just for you.”
And he held back the cherrywood-backed and burgundy-damasked seat. She beamed and rushed forward, eager to partake, yet also trying to remember her mother’s training.
She found herself quite hungry. The journey to the Westleigh estate and the excitement of Christmas Day had left her quite hungry.
She was pleased when he pushed the seat in gently for her and sat beside her. She pulled out a linen napkin, placed it in her lap, and she began serving herself.
She served herself eggs, bacon, toast, butter, jam, and then poured herself out a steaming cup of tea.
She contemplated the beverage and drew its scent into her nostrils, letting out a sigh of great pleasure.
All the while, the older fellow watched her with a sort of kind and approving observation.
“I’m glad to see you have such a hearty appetite,” the gentleman said, taking up his own painted blue porcelain cup. His signet ring winked in the morning light.
“Oh, I do,” she said. “One must be prepared for the day’s events, and I do believe today is packed full, at least so it seems in this household.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you can tell. Many who come into the Briarwood household really don’t know what to expect.”
“Oh, I still don’t know what to expect,” she returned. “So I’ve decided to expect the unexpected.”
He laughed again, a rich, kind sound. “Then you’ll fit in quite well.”
“Will I?” she asked, her brows rising with her own surprise. “Does anyone actually fit in?”
“Not everyone,” he allowed, leaning back in his seat, quite comfortable despite the antics happening about them. “But many do, and you seem to be doing it with aplomb. My son certainly enjoyed playing for you yesterday and playing with you.”
“Ah,” she said, feeling oddly nervous all of a sudden.
Did he like her? Would he approve of her?
Was she up to snuff? Of course, if she was worthy of princes, she was worthy of Viscount Hawthorn.
But that wasn’t what she meant. Somehow, she wished for him to like her in a way she’d never cared about the parents of the men she’d been introduced to before. “I did think you looked familiar.”
“Do I?” he asked.
“Mm, yes.” She patted her napkin against her mouth. “You look quite a good deal like him.”
“Most people say he looks like my wife,” he said pleasantly. “So I’ll take that compliment. I adore my son and he’s a handsome devil, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” she said, laughing. “He is. Almost all Briarwoods seem to be handsome devils.”
“As are you and your brother,” Laertes’s father quipped. “And it’s true, we are a handsome lot in this household. But more so, we are handsome of spirit.”