Chapter Eleven
The merry sound of mummers caroling The Wassail Song rang out through the crisp winter day.
Gwendolyn paused in her task of arranging boughs of holly and ivy along the mantelpiece and followed the children as they crowded around the door.
Mariana rushed through from the dining room where she had been decorating the seldom-used table with as much festive cheer as she could muster.
She slipped her hand into Gwendolyn’s and they stood together listening to the harmonious sounds that heralded the arrival of Christmas.
The motley group of carolers ended their song with a series of trills and Mr. Ewbanks carried out a tray of steaming cups of wassail and mince pies still warm from the oven which the singers shared with the farmer, his family and the farm workers and their families who were joining the Ewbanks to celebrate the day.
Laughter and merry talk filled the garden but Gwendolyn, her very pregnant belly making her shy, hovered just within the doorway, wanting to be part of the festivities but not wanting to dampen everyone’s joy by forcing her presence on them.
One of the carolers, a ginger-haired woman only a little older than Gwendolyn left the chatting group and came up to her, casting a wistful eye at the children who were chatting eagerly to the singers.
“Good day to ye, miss, and a merry Christmas,” she began.
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“Forgive my impertinence, miss, but I wanted to say that everything will work out well for you. I’ve been in the same position.”
Gwendolyn looked at her properly for the first time and felt a sense of kindredness with the woman that ran deeper than the casual acquaintance she had with so many young ladies in London. “Please call me Gwen.”
The young woman looked flustered at this request but said. “Thank you, miss, I mean Gwen. My name is Martha Stapleton. I stayed here when Jim Hodgson went off to Manchester, leaving me carrying his bairn.”
Gwendolyn’s eyes softened with sympathy. “You must have been devastated.”
“Yes, miss. But Mrs. Ewbanks looked after me and now my little Will lives here where I can see him from time to time, even though he will never know that I’m his ma.”
Tears filled Gwendolyn’s eyes. She hugged the young woman who, after a moment’s hesitation, hugged her back. “Thank you for sharing that. There are not many people who can understand what it is like.”
Martha nodded. “But life does go on. I married Tom Morris last summer and my baby Will is happy here.”
“Martha, love, we’re leaving,” a big farmer called.
The red-haired woman gave Gwendolyn another quick hug. “And it will all work out well for you, too,”
Gwendolyn smiled at her and then stood with the rest of the Ewbanks as they waved and called out, “Have a merry Christmas.” For the first time since she and Mariana had arrived at Low Fell Farm, Gwendolyn felt that the future could be good.
That feeling and the crisp Christmas morning gave her an enchanting glow and Lord Montgomery, riding up to the farmhouse on Queen Mab, almost stopped to fill his senses with her beauty. In time, he remembered his manners and dismounted calling out, “Merry Christmas, everyone.”
He dismounted and was as usual surrounded by the children shouting their Christmas wishes and trying to be the first to hug him. He greeted them with laughter and hugs.
Jim took Queen Mab’s reins and led her to the stable to rub her down and give her some hay while the rest of the family went inside, stamping the snow off their boots.
Roland offered Gwendolyn his arm. “The ice has made the ground very slippery. I’ve only just recovered from my fall and I don’t want to risk missing my footing.”
Gwendolyn didn’t retort that if he really needed help then the arm of a heavily pregnant woman was not the most reliable support.
She simply smiled up at him and absorbed the warmth of his touch as they walked side-by-side into the house.
She allowed herself a passing dream in which she and Roland were married and arriving here at the farmhouse together to celebrate Christmas.
Tomorrow, she would return to her usual sensible self.
Today was a day for miracles and dreams that could possibly come true.
The warm house was redolent with the aroma of roasting goose and apple sauce, a large side of roast beef was already resting on the table and potatoes were ready to be roasted. A plum pudding tied in a muslin cloth was gently simmering in a large pot to the side of the cooking range.
Once they were all safely inside, the door was closed against the coldness outside and the family and guests gathered in the living room.
Gwendolyn cleared away the debris from the arrangements she had been putting together.
Gracie and Mariana disappeared into the dining room to finish setting the table and Mr. Ewbanks handed around pewter mugs brimming with mulled ale.
Gwendolyn sat in a big armchair, her hand resting on her stomach. The warmth coming from the yule log that had been brought in the previous night and the coziness of the room made her sleepy. Her head dropped forward and her eyes closed.
“Gwen, Gwennie? Are you all right, sweetheart?” Roland’s gentle voice whispered in her ear and she smiled.
“Mmm-hmm, perfect.” His arm was around her shoulders and she pressed her face against his chest, breathing in the rich aroma of his presence.
A little sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips as his hand splayed out across her back.
Never had she felt so comfortable, so peaceful, so content.
Nothing mattered except holding onto this feeling forever.
Peggy dropped a tray of cutlery she was carrying from the kitchen to the dining room.
The loud clatter and clang shocked Gwendolyn awake.
She gasped and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
She was still in the armchair near the fire and Roland was deep in conversation with Mr. Ewbanks and the other men near the fireplace.
Her cheeks turned deep red and she hoped no one would suspect anything about her foolish dream.
But as Mrs. Ewbanks announced that dinner was served, Roland caught her eyes and winked as if he was well aware of the direction of her dream. He came over to her chair and offered her a hand, which she took shyly. It was becoming more and more difficult to maneuver herself.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve become somewhat awkward and clumsy.”
Roland smiled. “There is something particularly beautiful about a pregnant woman. You are nurturing the promise of life and hope for the future.”
Gwendolyn looked up at him, startled to hear such sentiments from the usually reserved baron. He held her arm firmly and matched his pace to hers as they followed the others to the dining room.
Mariana and the girls had turned the somber dining room into a festive bower of winter green.
Heaps of yew boughs framed the windows where the crimson velvet curtains added to the cheerfulness.
The walls were festooned with ivy, while holly sprigs with bright red berries were tucked into picture frames and vases.
The table itself was a feast for the eyes, let alone the body.
A crisp white damask tablecloth provided the background to large blue and white platters and bowls which contained a variety of delicious foods.
Soup tureens held fragrant giblet and carrot soup.
A large whole salmon glistened next to a jug of hollandaise sauce while a noble side of roast beef waited to be carved.
Next to it, the goose with its chestnut stuffing assailed the senses of the people taking their seats.
Bowls of roast potatoes, mashed turnips, stewed celery and green peas Mrs. Ewbanks had preserved in the summer completed the first part of the feast. A beautiful bowl of apples, pears, and oranges took pride of place on the sideboard and little bowls of dried fruits, almonds, hazelnuts, and walnuts were within easy reach of the diners.
Gwendolyn sat down in the chair Roland held out for her, but her serviette slipped off her lap. The baron picked it up and tucked it under her hand before he sat down.
Mrs. Ewbanks nodded as everyone fitted in around the large table.
“My lord, it is very good of you to join us here today rather than spending the day at High Fell Manor or elsewhere among the gentry and your sort of people.” She did not mention that much of the food at the table had been supplied from his greenhouses and kitchen.
Roland grinned. “You are my sort of people, far more than the gentry and aristocracy who are always as stiff as stuffed straw dolls. Here, I can relax and enjoy myself among such delightful people.”
His eyes drifted to Gwendolyn as he spoke about people he liked, and she quickly looked away, trying to hide her flushed cheeks. How absurd she was to imagine that Roland could be here on Christmas day because he wanted to be with her.
And yet when he sat down next to her and held the soup tureen while she ladled some into her soup plate, her fingers brushed against his and she thought she sensed a slight press from him.
All through the meal, Roland ensured she had everything she wanted, saving the best sweetmeats for her and placing the most succulent portions of meat on her plate.
When the first course was over, Mrs. Ewbanks and the girls cleared the dishes and brought out the next course of jelly and trifle, apple tarts and blancmange, and big jugs of custard and brandy sauce to provide a libation for the mince pies and Christmas pudding.
That triumph was borne into the room by a proud Mrs. Ewbanks, large and crammed with dried fruits and cherries and nuts.
The lights in the room were dimmed so the blue flames leaping up its sides from its dose of brandy brought cries of delight from all those around the table.