Chapter 13
Mulled wine and spiced cider and hot chocolate flowed as the children darted about the Christmas tree and the adults sat or danced or chatted.
Piece after piece of music was played, and not just by Laertes and herself. No, several of the other Briarwoods sat at the piano or played the harp.
And oh, the speeches! What glorious speeches were made.
Seraphine had never heard so many beautiful speeches in all of her life.
She had rarely been to the theater. It was not something that her mother appreciated, nor had her father.
But here, for the first time in her life, she had heard the glorious words of Shakespeare come alive.
Ajax and Hector had done scenes from Julius Caesar.
Juliet and her husband had done scenes from Much Ado About Nothing.
The younger cousins had done scenes from The Comedy of Errors.
Monologues had flowed. Sonnets had been recited, and her heart sang.
“You have already sung for your supper, my dear girl,” said the dowager duchess from her chair by the fire, holding a benevolent and magical court. “But we should indeed like to hear you read now.”
The dowager had assigned her a sonnet a few days ago, and she happily crossed to the area before the fire, standing in everyone’s view, as the children ate candied fruit and nuts, and the adults sipped on their crystal goblets filled with libations of the most delicious kind.
She did not shake. She was not worried. There was nothing in her that wracked her nerves. She stood before the crackling fire, savoring the heat, and stared out at the shining faces who were eager for her success.
Not a single face looked on her as if they were going to judge her performance.
No, they were eager for the art and excitement she could bring into the world.
She already knew that she could play the piano and sing exceptionally well, but this was something else entirely different.
She’d never done it before. So when she started speaking the words from Shakespeare’s sonnet, she half expected her palms to sweat and her voice or legs to shake, but they did not.
She half expected to forget her words or flush with concern.
But she did not.
No. She met Laertes’s gaze and, she held it as she spoke of love and how she would trade everything for love. How love would make her the most important thing in the entire world, not power.
And he held her gaze in return, and the entire room held their breath. When she reached the end, there was a long collective pause, and then the applause began and it wasn’t polite. It was thunderous, as if they all knew that she had crossed some sort of line. That she was one of them now.
And she did something absolutely wild! She didn’t think. Instead, she longed to let her heart lead.
She crossed to Laertes, knelt down before him, and said, “My lord, Viscount Hawthorn, Laertes Ripton, will you be my husband?”
Laertes blinked at her for a long moment. His lips parted in a wild smile. “Have I lost my hearing?” he said. “Or are you picking me?”
She beamed at him. “Will you make me ask twice?”
He stood then, pulled her into his arms, and stole a kiss. “Never,” he said. “You will never have to ask me anything twice. I love you, and I will happily be your husband, if you will be my wife.”
“We should have a double wedding,” Oliver declared. “January sixth. It will be the best day of the whole year!”
And she began to laugh. “I agree. Can we get a special license, Your Grace?” she asked, turning to the Duke of Westleigh.
“In this house,” the duke declared, holding his duchess in his arms, “anything can be done, and it shall be.”
The room burst into excited chatter.
One of the Scots headed to the piano and began a merry reel. They all gathered together, taking hands and circled, swiftly dancing, bouncing brightly to the song.
She did not ever want to let go of Laertes, but the song did mean that she wove through all the Briarwoods, and they wove about her.
The children clapped and watched with hearts that knew love awaited them.
The tree shook ever so slightly, and the green needles glistened in the candlelight. The fire crackled, and the air came alive with the smell of Christmas and all the spices that were associated with it.
The season would be done so soon.
It had felt like a moment and forever at once somehow, for her life had changed so entirely, and she did not think of the one person who could ruin it all.
The one person whose heart she knew she was going to break.
No, she forced that thought away from her mind, and when the song was done and she whirled in Laertes’s arms one last time, she gazed up into his face and felt completely safe, completely loved, and she knew what she wanted more than anything.
She wanted to see love. She wanted to see love that surpassed generations and time. That went through the years and hardship and never backed down, and so she turned to Laertes’s father and to his mother.
“My lord and lady,” she began, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears, “I have a boon to ask of you.”
Perdita glanced at her, her eyes merry, as if she somehow already knew.
But Gordon was curious. He tilted his head to the side. “If we can but do it, my dear girl, we shall. For you are our daughter now, and we are happy to give whatever our daughter requires.”
Her heart swirled at that because her mother had given her many, many things, but nothing like that. Never a comment like that.
“I would like you to sing for me, my lord,” she said softly. “And, my lady, I would like you to play.”
Perdita beamed at her and went to the pianoforte without a word, sweeping her ruby-colored skirts about her so that she could sit.
Gordon crossed to Seraphine and took her hand in his. “I knew you’d marry him, you know. When we sat and had breakfast, I knew you were going to be my daughter.”
“I could feel it,” she replied honestly, astonished she was saying such a thing. “When I think back, I knew it too. You were trying to tell me something and I didn’t quite understand, but now I see, and I want to feel the love that you have for your family.”
“And so you shall,” he said.
The Earl of Hythe turned to his wife, crossed to the pianoforte, and whispered in her ear.
Perdita smiled and nodded, and then her hands began to caress the keys.
The music wasn’t as technically proficient as Seraphine.
She was quite good, of course, but she wasn’t as great as she could be, simply because Perdita was much better at other things than playing the pianoforte.
No one forced her to play until she was perfect.
It was superior for it.
The music was passionate and full of emotion, but she had not spent hours and hours for days and weeks and years practicing like Seraphine had, but it didn’t matter. In Seraphine’s mind, the music was definitely better.
And then the earl, her soon to be father-in-law, the father she was choosing to have, gazed out over the company and began to sing.
His voice was pure magic, pure soul, and everyone in the room was held in it.
Spun into safety, spun into wonder, as the notes soared over them all, and then, much to her surprise, the earl turned to his son and sang to him.
This was what he had said, the tradition that every year he sang to his son, and somehow it caused tears to spring to her eyes. It was the most beautiful thing that she’d ever seen. She wanted this for herself.
She wanted this so badly. As if he knew it, the earl crossed to her. He took her hand in his, he took Laertes’s hand in his other, and as he continued to sing, he placed their hands together and then took them both in his embrace.
As he reached the chorus of the song, the entire room began to lift with voices, young and old, childish and mature, high and low. The room reverberated with the song of Christmas, with the song of promise and hope, with the song of all the joy that was to come.
And when the last chord was played and the earl stood there holding them in his arms, Seraphine felt more loved than she had in her entire life. Perdita stood and came to join them.
Seraphine let out a laugh. A laugh of pure joy because she had chosen herself at last, and it wasn’t a selfish thing to do at all.
It was the kindest thing she had ever done.
It was the kindest thing to Laertes too, because if she did what her mother wanted, well, then by God, she would have been denying Laertes too.
Not just herself.
She would have been denying the whole Briarwood family the joy that they could have. Breaking her heart, breaking Laertes’s heart? That would surely bring sorrow to all. She couldn’t bear that.
Oliver began to applaud. Phoebe joined him, and just as she was about to begin to applaud too, a thundering voice called, “I have come just in time, it seems.”
And she knew that voice.
She knew it in the bitter hollows of her heart.
The hollows that she thought had been filled in these last days in this wonderful place, but just the sound of the voice had dragged her back, and she felt she was but a little girl again, small, watching her brother shake in shame at their father’s castigation.
Yes, she was a little girl again, being told all the things she had to be. And in this moment, she knew that no matter the consequence, she was choosing to be none of those things.
Seraphine lifted her chin, gazed across the room, and said, “Hello, Mama.”
Her mother was beautiful; there was no questioning it. The duchess was a woman now approaching fifty, but she was regal and strong. She crossed slowly into the room, gazing about her as if she understood that she was in enemy territory.
“Oliver,” the Duchess of Crestfield said, “what are you allowing to happen here?”
Oliver stood straight and, for a single moment, he too looked like a boy.
A boy who had been called into the study to be told what a shame he was.
But then a muscle tightened in his jaw. He squared his shoulders and took his darling Phoebe’s hand in his.
“You are welcome, Mama. We are all celebrating Christmas, of course, and the New Year. And love.”
“Love?” his mother said, as if the word in such a context meant little to her. “I don’t understand.”
“I would like to invite you to meet my soon-to-be bride, Lady Phoebe Ripton, granddaughter to the Dowager Duchess of Briarwood, niece of the Duke of Westleigh, daughter of the Earl of Hythe.”
His mother did not appear particularly pleased, but nor did she look disappointed.
She took in Lady Phoebe and smiled. “Hello, my dear. If my son has chosen you, then you must be worthy to join our family. I’m sure you shall be an excellent duchess, since you come from a family of such… ” She paused. “Renown.”
The word was said in such a way that it was hard to tell if it was an insult or a compliment.
The Duchess of Crestfield waited as if she expected Lady Phoebe to curtsy or to thank her profusely for such an acknowledgement. Phoebe did not. She said instead, “We are so very glad to have Oliver in our family. He has been a joy and a great deal of fun.”
“Fun,” the duchess echoed, her gaze sliding over the Briarwood family, the Christmas tree, and the affectionate embraces around her. “I see.”
“Do you, Mama?” Seraphine called. And then her mother turned to her, where she was pressing herself into Laertes’s arms.
Her mother tensed, her eyes widening with alarm. “Do tell me what has happened, my dear.”
Now, her legs did shake, her palms did sweat, and her stomach turned so fiercely she feared she might cast up her accounts. She licked her lips and somehow managed to blurt, “I too am to be wed.”
“No,” her mother said in a tone so soft, so cold that it cut through the room and brooked no argument. “You are not. You have several other proposals and one of those—”
“No, Mama,” she said, daring to cut in for the first time in her whole life. “I will not consider any of those proposals. It is my life and my decision.”
Her mother stiffened. “You will go against me in this, even over Christmas? This is the gift you will give me?”
“Yes, Mama,” she whispered, even as tears stung her eyes at how hard it was to stand up for herself. But Laertes was with her and that helped. “It is the gift that I will give you. I will give you my freedom, and I will give you my love, but I cannot give you what you wish.”
Her mother gave a tight nod. “Then I will somehow have to bear the disappointment of my only daughter’s choice.”
And with that, her mother turned and sashayed from the room, leaving her to feel lost again, ashamed, and yet she did not because she was holding Laertes’s hand.
There, surrounded by the Briarwoods, despite her mother’s words, which had stolen through the night of celebration, she knew she would never feel lost or ashamed again.