Chapter 9
Dear God, she had to stay away from him, didn’t she? But she couldn’t.
She had never been so happy in her entire life, and it was terrifying. The Briarwoods were a wild, rambunctious, fun-loving group that swept anyone up that was near them in their arms.
Trying to avoid them was like trying to avoid an avalanche or a tidal wave or the moon or the sun. One could not outrun the night! One could not outrun the day! Not really, not truly. And so it was with Laertes, and she found she did not want to. She could not.
And so, instead of trying to resist after that morning playing with him in the long hall, as the Christmas tree glistened and the fire crackled and the sounds of the family filtered through the air, happier than any family she’d ever heard or known, she gave herself into it.
Seraphine played every game, she danced every dance, she sang every song, she ate every chocolate bonbon, and she played every game again and again. She ran up and down the halls with the other young female cousins, she skipped with the children, and she ice-skated for the first time in her life.
She went on a long walk in the snow, not caring that it drenched her skirt up to her knees. And my goodness, when she watched Laertes and his cousins take a plunge into the icy river adjacent to the estate, she felt her cheeks turn red, not with heat, but with shock!
How could anyone do such a thing?
But now, watching Laertes and his Scottish cousins by marriage and his cousins by family splash and step into the grey-colored, flowing water in naught but their breeches and linen shirts?
It was an astonishing thing to witness.
They were absolutely mad, the lot of them.
Somehow, that also made them beautiful beyond compare, as if all others were on the mortal plain and they? They walked like gods among mere humans.
Laertes rose from the river, his dark hair flecked with drops of icy water like a Norse god. Steam rose off his skin and his linen shirt clung to him as did his dark breeches as he crossed to the bank.
He wrapped himself in linen, pulled on his shoes, and strode towards her, the pure power of being fully alive so strong that it seemed to roll off him.
None of the men had been naked because the ladies had gone out to watch them be absolutely madcap in the water.
Even so, there was something shocking about seeing Laertes so vulnerable in the cold in naught but his breeches and linen shirt, open at his strong throat.
A scandalous thought rioted through her.
She longed to see him naked.
The truth was, and perhaps, oh dear God in heaven, if she was but bold enough, perhaps she could.
But not yet, no. That was a fantasy to only be had when she was dreaming.
As it was now, all she wanted was to make merry with him, and she did.
She let him pull her arm into the crook of his elbow and laugh with her as she teetered and stumbled against his powerful frame, her boots crunching in the snow.
Now, she wouldn’t hold back because she had no idea how long this would last. It might be stolen away from her at any moment.
Watching the happiness of her brother, Oliver, with Phoebe was beautiful and painful at once, because as she watched Phoebe delightedly cheer on Oliver as he too climbed out of the river, then wrap him up in furs and blankets and kiss his nose and toweled his hair dry, she saw how her brother had found such joy and such love, and part of her wanted that for herself. So badly.
But Oliver was a duke. Oliver was a man.
Oliver did not have to care what their mother thought.
But Seraphine did. There were proposals waiting for her.
When she’d left her mother, she’d been waiting to hear which one her mother would decide on.
She didn’t even really have a choice herself.
She would, of course, get to acknowledge how lucky she was to marry a prince or an archduke, but her mother would decide on the best marriage of all offers.
She didn’t care a whit for one of them.
All she wanted was Laertes, and much to her shock, he stole her hand in his. His hand was bright red and brutally cold, but somehow she still felt warm as she gazed up into his eyes.
“Come,” he said, “let us go back to the house.”
They walked through the snow, all of them, in a large crowd, laughing and cheering, singing silly songs from childhood, and she found that she could not stop herself from joining them.
And soon, they began to sing not just regular songs, but in choral, and as they chased each other, the words were playful games themselves.
Then there was harmonizing, the deep voices of the Briarwood men matching with the merry female ones. And once they poured into the foyer and headed towards the great fire of the long hall, hot chocolate and hot wine were waiting.
In all her life, she’d never seen so much joy. And she ached to be a part of it forever.
Monsieur Georges, the dancing master, was standing beside the fire, and he clapped his hands. “All the good things are waiting for you, my dears,” he said. “Revel!”
And she noticed that he was quite right.
The Briarwoods enjoyed good things. Tables had been set up with chocolates and sweet breads, cakes and marzipan, sandwiches with bread and meat and cheese, fruit, figs from far away, even, most miraculously, dates.
She had not seen those except for on her travels.
She wondered how the Briarwoods found such delicious things.
“Next time,” Laertes whispered in her ear, “you must go for a swim in the river.”
“Me?” she exclaimed. “Ladies do not go swimming in the river.”
“That is not true,” exclaimed Josephine, the Duchess of Rossbrea.
Josephine and her sisters, all of them adopted by Achilles Briarwood, let out squeals of pleasure. Her sisters were the ones who had married this Christmas: Anne, Emily, and Tabitha.
Tabitha tsked. “I did not go in the river, alas. I wasn’t in Scotland!”
Emily, Anne, and Josephine exchanged merry glances. “We have gone for a dip in a river. You would find it most invigorating.”
“Would I?” she exclaimed. “But surely not in December.”
Josephine winked at her. “Perhaps not in December. We can leave that ridiculous behavior to the lads. Lads are, after all, completely and totally ludicrous.”
“You like it though, don’t you?” her big Scottish duke of a husband said as he pulled her into his arms, bent her back, and kissed her passionately.
Seraphine’s cheeks blossomed with color again, and she looked away quickly.
She was not accustomed to such displays of affection, but everywhere in the Briarwood house, there were displays of affection.
She had noticed quite quickly that the older generation of the Briarwoods, the uncles and the aunts, were always sneaking into corners to hold hands, to kiss each other, and they were always cooing at each other with compliments, or giving each other backhanded insults, which were actually compliments.
The younger generation did the same with their spouses.
And she realized that this was the height of living. Not power, not gilded halls, not cardinals and bishops and princes and archdukes and gilded ceilings and painted this and that.
This right here. This was it.
She had a strong feeling that if the ducal house was torn down and the lot of them had nothing but huts and pigs and goats, they would be happy.
Perhaps she was wrong. But she really, really did think that the Briarwoods did not need all of this gilded accoutrement to make them happy. Their happiness shone from an entirely different place. It shone from within, and she did not know how to have that.
Somehow, Oliver had attained it too, and as he strode in with Phoebe swept up in his arms, he was nuzzling her cheek.
“That’s it,” Oliver declared. “It has been decided.”
Everyone turned to them.
“We already know you’re getting married,” called Lord Ajax.
“Yes, but when?” the duke returned, waggling his brows.
He let Phoebe’s feet touch the ground as if she was the richest princess in all the land, even though she had been born the daughter of an earl.
“We will be married January sixth, with the permission of all the family, of course,” Oliver said, his eyes ablaze with joy.
Permission? She was surprised that her brother felt the need to ask for permission. After all, he was the Duke of Crestfield. Dukes didn’t need permission, did they?
But she realized in that moment he cared far more about the opinions of Ajax, Hector, Zephyr, and Leander Briarwood, and their sisters, Hermia, Perdita, Juliet, than all of the dukes and princes in the world combined.
She wanted that. Dear God, how she wanted it!
And as if he could sense it, Laertes slipped his hand back around hers.
“You don’t have to keep doing what you’re doing,” he whispered against her ear.
“What?” she said.
“Pretending to be perfect.”
“I am perfect,” she teased back, even as her stomach swirled and she wanted to do as he said.
“No, you’re not, and it’s why I adore you,” he murmured. “It’s why I adore watching you do all these things as you learn how to play and have fun.”
Her jaw dropped. She was doing a great deal of that. “I know how to have fun.”
“No, you don’t,” he returned easily and without rancor. “You know how to act like you’re having fun, and that’s a very different thing indeed. But you’re learning.”
“What do you say?” Oliver called to Seraphine. “Sister, do you approve? Shall Phoebe and I marry on January sixth, the last of the twelve days of Christmas?”
She lifted her chin. “You are clearly happy, brother, and I think you must marry Phoebe as soon as possible. I’d say today if it could be done. But January sixth is a wonderful end to a wonderful season.”
Her brother beamed at her, turned to Phoebe, swept her in his arms, and kissed her.
They’d marry in a few days.
And then it would all be over, she thought to herself.
She would leave this house, she would go back to the demands of her mother, the demands of Europe, and eventually the demands of a great castle or palace that would be cold and empty but beautiful.
And she would have children that would live in a nursery, who would be raised by tutors and sent away to school, and her heart would be hacked to bits and pieces because she would have little say over it all.
It was such a calamity that women like herself had so little say.
They should have, having dowries, having been born to important families.
But they were bandied about like unimportant bits of flotsam on a cold, frothing sea, completely unlike all the Briarwood women here, who clearly were respected and loved.
Their opinions mattered, and it seemed, in many ways, that they drove the heart of the family.
The men worshiped them, taking their temperature from the women they adored.
Yes, those men seemed to feel as if they could change the entire world from the love of the women in their lives.
Oh, how she wished she could be as loved as that.
“Come,” urged Laertes, “let me get you a cup of hot chocolate.”
“Let me get you one,” she said with a wink, forcing her whirling thoughts to the back of her mind, though it was no easy thing. “You’re the one who’s freezing.”
He shook his head. “You’re mine to take care of. Or at least, I wish you to see how I long to take care of you.”
And with that, as he had before, he led her to the table, poured her out a cup of chocolate, and handed it to her.
This was all very good and well, and she wished that she could be his. As she took a sip of the hot drink and lifted her gaze to his, she wished she could give her heart to him forever.
“Don’t worry so,” he murmured as if he could see deep into her soul.
“What?” she managed, even as tears stung her eyes.
“I can see your mind churning away. I don’t want you to think about anything but right now. That’s all we have any way.”
All we have any way.
If only that was true. For she had a lifetime awaiting her that was nothing like this.