Third Day of Christmas #3
“Oh no, coupling up is not for me,” said Mrs. Martinez. “They are both such kind boys. I will admire them from afar.”
Kestrel had no intention of doing anything from afar. She reached for another branch. Her kissing bough would be a massive festive spiderweb to attract and entrap men.
When the ladies were finished, Mrs. Wattlesbrook directed the servants to transport two of the boughs to Windy Nook and to hang the Pembrook ladies’ creations outside their bedrooms.
“Juliette,” Kestrel called out, “if you mix them up, just remember that Miss Chen’s is a globe, Lady Heartwright’s is rightly a heart, Mrs. Martinez’s is a wreath, and mine is the one that looks like a small child’s idea of a walking nightmare.”
“Thank you, Miss Spinster,” Juliette said, struggling to fit Kestrel’s through the doorway. “I think yours is particularly unforgettable.”
Mrs. Wattlesbrook was still perfecting her delicate cross of branches. Kestrel stood near her so she could speak quietly.
“Will you hang yours outside your bedroom as well?”
Mrs. Wattlesbrook cleared her throat. “I suppose. But it is just for decoration.”
“Unless Neville the butler happens to pass beneath it at the same time as you,” Kestrel whispered, “which as far as I can tell, he would be very happy to do.”
Mrs. Wattlesbrook looked genuinely shocked, saying, “What? What?” And then followed with a mighty “WHAT?”
Kestrel caught sight of Charming in the corridor, and she excused herself, leaving Mrs. Wattlesbrook on her fourth what?
“Hey, Charming, you missed the kissing boughs,” said Kestrel.
Charming turned around, and Kestrel was shocked to see how haggard she looked. Her under eyes were visibly blue and her mouth turned down.
“Oh! Yeah! Um, I was just—”
“Just trying to sneak into the kitchen?” Bobby strolled down the red-carpeted stairs in full Regency attire, apart from his stockinged feet. “I swear, Bubba, you’re like a dog who don’t know when she’s full.”
Charming looked embarrassed and shrugged. Bobby came up behind her, his arms wrapping around her, pressing up against her breasts. He whispered, “I don’t know why I love you so damn much. Mm, you smell like cake and heaven. Head on upstairs and I’ll treat you right.”
Charming nodded and hurried up the stairs. Bobby watched her go, a smile on his lips. Kestrel watched Bobby. She wasn’t smiling.
“Poor girl was so lonely,” Bobby said with a heavy sigh. “I feel for her, I do, right down to my boots. When she left me, she felt certain she could get any man she wanted, but even richer than chocolate, she’s been alone ever since.”
“Not alone,” said Kestrel.
Bobby laughed. “Right! She paid for friends here in this spooky prehistoric cathouse. But she couldn’t find any real men to love her.
After the way she treated me, I guess I should have just let her rot here, but .
. .” Bobby sighed again. “What can I say? I missed her. Oh well. There are worse fates than falling for a box of rocks with big tits.”
He winked at Kestrel and left—not upstairs where Charming was waiting but back toward the kitchen.
Kestrel stood still, her mouth openly gaping.
Jerome and Andrews strolled past the front hall down the gallery. Kestrel hurried up behind them, taking their arms, and directed them toward the nearest open door and into the library.
“Can we talk for a sec?” She closed the library door, turned to look at them, and said, “Charming.”
Jerome nodded. Andrews sighed sadly.
“So we all agree that Bobby is toxic and will bring her nothing but pain and heartache?” she asked.
“Well,” said Jerome, uneasy, “their history is long and complex, and I think none of us are equipped to—”
As one, Andrews and Kestrel pelted him with passionate arguments.
“She has told me much about his controlling manner in the past—”
“He’s trying to guilt Charming into bringing his NASCAR-fantasy-whatever bros to stay here—”
“Jerome-pups, did you know that when they were married, he didn’t allow her to speak to other men unless he was present—”
“You’ve seen the way he brags about himself but finds little ways to put her down—”
“I believe you,” said Jerome. “And I am concerned. Still, as her friends, we should trust Charming to make the decisions best for her.”
“Here’s my worry,” said Kestrel. “Charming is loving and tender and unguarded, and she bonded with Bobby when she was still a kid. I think she’s too close to him to recognize that he’s a bulldozer heading for a tulip.”
Andrews nodded. “Ducky, I know you want to think the best of everyone. But some people are just trouble, and all we can do is avoid them ourselves and help disentangle our friends. After growing up with the father I had, well, it’s only through the grace of god, the care of my friends, and a decade of good therapy that I’m able to laugh about it now. ”
Jerome patted his arm in understanding. Kestrel lay her cheek against Andrews’s shoulder and whispered, “Solidarity.”
“You too?” he said and kissed her sympathetically on the top of her head.
She took a deep breath, soothed and encouraged by this nearness with Andrews and Jerome. But knowing that she formed attachments more quickly than most people, and not wanting to spook them, she took a quick step back and promised herself she’d be more aloof.
“So, how do we help Charming?” she asked.
Andrews frowned at Kestrel. “You are a guest, Miss Spinster. Mrs. Wattlesbrook would not like us involving you in personal affairs.”
“There are real stakes here,” said Kestrel. “Besides, what’s more Austenian than worrying about your loved ones forming unsuitable matches?”
Andrews acknowledged the truth of that with a bleak laugh.
“Do you think Charming would be open to . . . an intervention?” Jerome asked Andrews.
Andrews shook his head. “But I do think, out of anyone, I have the best shot. She trusts me. I am afraid to damage that trust by interfering, but even more, I fear what will happen to her if I don’t try.”
He looked down to fiddle with his cravat, and Kestrel could spot the nervous, hopeful little boy still inside him, trying desperately to please a father who was a loveless empty hole of demands. Her aloofness resolution was a mere sixty seconds old, but Kestrel swooped in with a spontaneous hug.
“I’ll be there to support you if you want,” she whispered into his shoulder.
Then Jerome joined in, his strong arms encircling them both. “Me too.”
“Thank you, my loves,” squeaked Andrews.
The three of them stood there for several moments, bolstering each other. And Kestrel’s heart warmed. She squeezed harder and yearned for the moment to last longer. To last forever. Words rose up in her throat. I always wished I had big brothers, and if I did, I’d want them to be exactly like you.
She kept her mouth shut. Maybe if she could tone down her bigness a bit, when Christmas and Austenland were both over, Jerome and Andrews might still want to be her friends.
Andrews pulled back to meet their eyes. “Darlings, give me a day or so to hash it out in my brain. In the meantime, I’ll keep a closer eye on the old girl.”
“Andrews, you already have enough that you are juggling,” said Jerome.
Kestrel wondered if Jerome meant planning the entertainment for the Austenland guests as well as wooing Gussie, but his voice hinted at more, some secret responsibility of Andrews’s.
Kestrel was about to inquire, when raucous laughter shot out from the drawing room.
To Kestrel’s ears, group laughter was the most exquisite symphony.
“The gents of the Windy Nook must have arrived,” said Andrews. “We should join them.”
Hoping Tom was present too, Kestrel rushed into the drawing room. “Hello all! Are you playing a game?”
She caught a glimpse of several gentlemen’s jackets, but before she could get a good enough look to see if Tom was among them, Lady Heartwright spun her around, pointing Kestrel’s back to the room, and said, “We are indeed engaged in a most entertaining game. Hoodman Blind! And, Miss Spinster, you shall play next.”
Lady Heartwright slipped a cloth blindfold over Kestrel’s eyes, covering them completely. At the sudden darkness, Kestrel’s pulse raced, but she kept still, reminding herself that it was just a game.
Andrews’s voice was clear and close: “Kestrel-love, in Hoodman Blind, the blindfolded person chases the other players, and when they catch someone, they feel their face to guess who they are.”
Lady Heartwright again: “But since we are indoors and can’t risk crashing into the furniture, we are just doing the face-feeling part.
We’ve already played several rounds, and it’s deliciously naughty.
Don’t tell Mrs. Wattlesbrook. She doesn’t approve of men and women holding hands, let alone allowing our fingers to rove over each other’s faces with abandon. ” She giggled ecstatically.
Kestrel didn’t love being blindfolded while everyone else could see. Vulnerability was awful. “But I haven’t met everyone yet.”
Lady Heartwright: “I know! Scandalous, is it not? But do not worry, presenting you with a face you do not know would be cheating. Come now, I’ll lead you through this labyrinthine drawing room.”
Kestrel took tiny shuffling steps as Lady Heartwright pulled her arm much faster than she would have liked. Soon Kestrel sensed a warm presence in front of her. There was a tittering of laughter coming from all around as Lady Heartwright laid Kestrel’s hands on a person who was taller than her.
Kestrel’s fingertips touched the warm flesh of someone’s chin and tingled as if the touch were an electric shock.
She laughed and let her fingers explore.
She rubbed her thumb against the rough grain of whisker stubble, felt finger-length hair and sideburns reaching to the bottom of earlobes.
When her fingertips traced his lips, her heart skittered.
This felt surprisingly intimate, falling somewhere between holding hands and lying naked under a shared blanket.
And it was unexpectedly tantalizing, much more so blindfolded than if she could see her game partner.