A Drakenfall Christmas: A Novel Read online

Pippa could feel herself shaking. Mr. Jamie Tovell and Lea Sinclair had some dire issues between them and she shouldn't know about any of it! She slipped soundlessly back to the kitchen, where she started toward the parlour again, this time singing “Up on the Roof Top” quite loudly.

  This go-round, she just barged right into the parlour. “Ms. Sinclair? Mr. Tovell?”

  They looked up from the sofa, where they seemed to be having a staring contest.

  “The Honeysuckle Rooms are ready,” she told them. “If you'll come with me, I'll take you so you can see them.”

  Jamie looked at Lea and shrugged as if it didn't matter a whit to him. “Why not? We're here, right?”

  “Let's go,” she agreed.

  “Stairs or lift?” Pippa asked, leading them into the large front hall. “The rooms are on the second floor.”

  “Stairs,” Lea decided. “I'll get a much more sweeping view of the place that way.”

  And so they made their way up to the Honeysuckle rooms. As instructed, Pippa went to the door closest to the corner of the hall, the one that led into what had been the sitting room. The door was ajar, so Pippa knocked to announce herself before ushering in the guests.

  Kafi stood in front of the bed and he turned at their entrance.

  “What are you doing in here?” Pippa pretty much snapped.

  “Delivering their luggage,” he tossed back.

  Pippa looked pointedly around the room. “I don't see it.”

  “It's in the hall, around the corner. I wanted them to see the rooms first, in all their glory. Without their bags spilling all over the place.”

  “Spilling all over the place? Kafi! You sound like a barbarian.”

  “A barbarian?”

  Lea shot Jamie a look and he gave a hint of a shrug.

  “Yes!” Pippa thrust her hands on her hips. “You have to be extra careful with their luggage! This is Lea Sinclair. That's a lot of precious camera equipment.”

  Kafi's eyes lit up as he looked over Pippa's head to Lea. “Oh, hey Ms. Sinclair. Are you in films?”

  Lea opened her mouth to answer but Pippa cut in. “No, she's not in films. She's Lea Sinclair, the famous fashion photographer. Her coverage of the BAFTAs last year was stunning. And she does the album covers for—”

  “I didn't bring any of my gear with me,” Lea broke in to explain. “This is a rare break for me.”

  “Wonderful,” Kafi said. “Well, Drakenfall is the place to relax, no doubt.”

  “Or do business,” Pippa chipped in.

  “Well, yeah,” Kafi agreed. “Drakenfall is brilliant for everything. But she said it was a break for her.”

  “So she can do whatever she wants.”

  “I KNOW. Isn't that what I just said?”

  “Well!” Jamie said, clapping his hands. “Right. Well.”

  “Right,” Kafi said, standing up taller and clearing his throat. “What do you think of the room?”

  Pippa stepped forward. “Kafi, that's my job.” She turned to the guests. “Well,” she asked, bubbling over with pride for the place, “what do you think of the room?”

  She stood back, as did Kafi, to let them take in the redressed sitting room. The cherry wood of the sleigh bed looked regal with the wisteria bedding. The creamy carpet and drapes set off the burnished bureau and wardrobe with undeniable elegance.

  Lea stepped forward. “It's beautiful.” She reached out and gently brushed her fingers against the petals of a white poinsettia on the table.

  “And this way...” Pippa led them through the door to the bedroom, a room slightly larger than the sitting room. It boasted a freestanding wardrobe, a dresser, a love seat, a wide closet and a canopy bed festooned in the lavish honeysuckle-print bedding.

  “You should have this room,” Jamie said to Lea. “It's bigger. Unless you want the other room. I think they're both perfect. So, I'm in if you are. I mean, if you want to stay. Whichever room you want is yours. Not to keep. I mean, obviously. I mean, while we're here.”

  But Lea was so overcome by the cozy charm of the place that she barely knew what to say. Instead, she turned and headed into the en-suite. It was a mightily capacious bathroom, with a divinely glassed-in shower, a claw foot tub, two sinks in a long marble counter, intricate tile, and no carpeting.

  “It's perfect,” she said, stepping back into the Honeysuckle Room. She turned to Pippa and Kafi. “We'll be staying. Thank you.”

  Just then, Mark and Maisy swept into the Wisteria Bedroom and across to the door to the Honeysuckle Room. Maisy poked her head in. “Well?” And she smiled with gleeful anticipation as Mark wedged into the doorway beside her.

  “We would be honoured to stay here,” Lea assured her, her smile too warm to be a lie.

  “Kafi,” Pippa said. “The bags?”

  But Kafi was already coming through the door of the Honeysuckle Room with Lea's luggage. “In here, Ms. Sinclair?”

  “I think so. Yes. And Mr. Tovell in the Wisteria Room.”

  Once Jamie and Lea were settled, the staff helped move the superbly repaired Queen Anne frame and the old mattress into Mark and Maisy's attic rooms on the fourth floor. Then as everyone disappeared to address their tasks on lower floors, Mark and Maisy stretched sheets and blankets across the woebegone mattress, readying it for the night. Once they threw the duvet on, they both collapsed onto the freshly made bed.

  “I can't believe we did it,” he said, turning his head to look at Maisy across the pillow.

  She twined her fingers through his. “I can. Mark, we're just making sure everyone has a top-notch, wonderful holiday. And we all came together to pull it off.”

  “And Fletcher even donated a fat lip to the cause.”

  Maisy giggled. “He's turned into a real team player. But don't worry. I texted Glynis to make sure she takes care of him.”

  Mark thumped the mattress with his palm. “Are you sure you're going to have a top-notch holiday? On this rickety old bed?”

  “Hey,” Maisy protested, turning to him. “I've spent some of the happiest nights of my life in this bed.”

  Mark smiled back. “Me, too.”

  Maisy leaned forward and kissed him softly. He kissed her back. Softly. Then he put one hand at her hip and his other hand in her hair. She groaned deep in her throat, sliding her body flush against his.

  “Maisy,” he murmured, even as he kissed her neck and ran his hands underneath her clingy tee shirts. “We can't do this now.”

  “Mmmm,” she said, straddling him. “I am fully confident that we can.” And her hands moved to the belt buckle at his waist. “You can keep the waistcoat on if you want.”

  Chapter 5: A Card for Maisy

  Maisy, having lately hurried back into her clothes, needed to get below stairs to see to the final orders for the Ball. But taking the back stairs would have seemed too much like skulking after her midday tryst with Mark, so she took herself down the front stairs.

  That's how she happened to notice that the post had just been delivered, so she collected it on her way to the kitchen. As she shuffled through the stack, looking particularly for party invoices, she saw the red envelope of a Christmas card. She turned it over and noticed the airmail markings.

  And then she stopped in her tracks. She didn't just stop, but she felt wobbly, so much so that she fell to sitting on a step of the back stairs. Her vision seemed blurry as she tried to focus on the words on the envelope.

  An envelope that had come from America.

  Maisy swallowed and took three deep breaths to steady her nerves. She looked at the words again, but every time she did, a sickening chill snaked through her like so much poison.

  Nay Daisy May Clay.

  Four ridiculous nonsense words, yet they struck fear into the very heart of her. And just like that, she found herself engulfed by all the old feelings. Dread. Discomfort. Unhappiness. Maisy gripped the envelope tightly in her fingers and ran up the stairs, letting the rest of the post scatter heedlessly into the corridor.
>
  A few minutes later, Mark came striding through the back hallway from the kitchen, Mrs. Fox's tea on a silver tray in his hand. He saw the mail and set down the polished platter. He gathered all the scattered envelopes and scoured the floor and steps for any pieces gone astray. Once he was confident he got it all, he hurried into the kitchen and deposited the post on Glynis's desk. Then he rushed back out to take Mrs. Fox her Darjeeling and wafers.

  Chapter 6: Cake and Cocoa

  It was almost three o'clock before Mark saw Maisy since they'd made, then mussed, their bed. He had, of course, no idea how close he'd come to seeing her scatter the post all along the back corridor. She hadn't even appeared back in the kitchen for some lunch, and it was not at all like Maisy to miss a meal.

  As the clock struck the hour, she finally appeared in the main hall, ready to be bright and welcoming. She smiled at him and kissed him quickly, but she did not meet his eyes, which Mark found odd. He reached out to touch her fingers with his, but just then a not quite new estate wagon pulled up out front.

  Maisy clapped her hands. “That must be her!” And she rushed out the front door and down the steps.

  A woman not quite forty got out of the car, and four tumultuous children piled out just after her.

  “Hello, everyone!” Maisy called, taking it all in stride. They'd been informed by the Stockletons that Mrs. Stockleton's sister, one Mrs. Collin, would be coming to pick up Cyril, but they hadn't known about all the kids.

  “C'mere, c'mere,” Maisy said to them, crouching down in order to get all conspiratorial with them. They gathered round her. “Your cousin Cyril is playing around the house in a grove of Christmas trees. Would you like to play with him for a while, then you can all come in for some cake and hot chocolate?”

  They were voicing their exuberant approval of the plan even as Phineas, so aptly heeding Mark's quick text, swept into their circle to herd them away.

  “Mrs. Collin!” Mark greeted the tired-looking woman. “Please come in. What a journey! Come right this way.”

  “Oh, such a car trip in the snow with kids on holiday,” Maisy laughed, taking Mrs. Collin's arm in hers just like they were old school chums. “You must be tired. And hungry. We'll get you all fixed up. Oh, what a Christmas Cyril will be having with his wonderful cousins!”

  “Yes,” she said, a bright smile gleaming through her careworn features. “They've been so excited. Up since dawn asking when we were going to get Cyril.”

  Mark led them all into the sitting room where he paused to take Mrs. Collin's coat. “Please, have a seat in front of the fire.” And he brought her to the most comfortable chair.

  Mrs. Collin sat down, a bit agog at all the attention. “I'm just here to collect Cyril. Cyril Stockleton,” she explained. Even though that conversational ground had been covered, Mrs. Collin worried that they somehow thought she was a paying guest.

  “Yes,” Mark agreed, poking at the fire. “Really nice of you to make the trip, especially in traffic a week before Christmas.”

  “The least we can do is get you refreshed and rebooted before you hit the road again,” Maisy added. “You've come all the way from Cambridge, I think?”

  “Yes,” she said, leaning back into the welcoming cushions. “I'm a botanist and my husband is a languages expert. We both work at the University. He's home right now constructing a sort of Christmas village for the kiddies in the back garden.”

  As she spoke, Pippa slipped into the room bearing an enormous tea tray.

  “Ah, yes. Thank you, Pippa. Just the thing.” Mark poured out the tea as he encouraged Mrs. Collin to eat up.

  Maisy did her part by tucking right in to Cook's scones and sandwiches, and Mrs. Collin followed suit and filled her plate. When she settled back after a fortifying sip of lapsang souchong and a delectable bite of a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich, she looked across the hearth at Mark. “I understand you studied at Harvard?”

  “Mmm,” affirmed Mark. “Economics. And some finance. But it's Maisy here who's the real wizard with managing resources.”

  With her mouth full, Maisy could little more than tip her head in acknowledgement and appreciation of the compliment.

  Mrs. Collin smiled. “A good match, then.”

  Mark smiled too, the light going deep into his sky blue eyes. “The best.”

  Maisy smiled, but Mark noticed that she still did not look at him.

  Mrs. Collin moved to get up. “Well, I best be finding my kids—”

  “No need, Mrs. Collin.” Maisy handed her a dainty plate with some cake. “The kids are playing in The Christmas Tree Grove. Phineas, one of our grooms, and Finola, one of our maids, are with them. In a few minutes we'll bring them in for some cake and cocoa in the dining room. So you can rest easy for a bit more.”

  “I hope they're not too much trouble?”

  “None,” Maisy assured her with a brilliant smile.

  Just then they heard a slight hubbub as the five children rushed into the dining room.

  Then they heard Kafi's booming voice. “Oy, you're all acting like you never had cake before! First one sitting up straight and quiet gets the first and biggest slice.” And the ruckus ebbed away.

  Mark, Maisy, and Mrs. Collin listened to the encroaching silence with their heads tipped, smiling at the absence of squeals.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Collin said, relief washing over her face and making her look suddenly younger.

  “Well.” Like a cricket ball through a window, Mrs. Stockleton stepped into the room, crashing apart the soft feeling of afternoon quiet. “I see you've made yourself comfortable, Muriel.”

  Perhaps Muriel Collin was in the habit of jumping, or at least flinching, at the sound of her sister's grating unpleasantries. But not today. Not at Drakenfall on this warm and cozy afternoon in front of the fire.

  “Mmmm,” was all she said, in contented affirmation.

  “Making people comfortable is what we do at Drakenfall,” Mark said, standing as he smiled at Mrs. Stockleton. “And your sister is a delight.”

  Mr. Stockleton entered the room with precision if not grace. “Muriel.” His greeting was clipped, almost curt.

  “Join us, please,” Mark offered, gesturing to the empty love seat. “How do you take your tea?”

  Mrs. Stockleton perched on the edge of the seat. “No tea for me,” she said as she brushed at her skirt. “Where is Cyril?” She turned to her sister. “You'll be wanting to get on your way.”

  “No hurry,” Mark assured her, refilling Mrs. Collin's cup. “Cyril is in the dining room enjoying some cake and hot chocolate with the other children.”

  Mrs. Stockleton gave what would have been called a snort had one of a lower class done it. “He'll be fat as a partridge stuffed for Boxing Day by the New Year.”

  Deciding not to call attention to the remiss chronology of Mrs. Stockleton's statement, Maisy weighed in with her own take on the matter. “I doubt it. He'll be running around non-stop with his cousins. It seems to me, he has a joyous and active Christmas on his horizon.”

  And didn't Maisy bubble over with glee? An almost Herculean task in the face of two parents who were sending their son away so they could enjoy the Yuletide without him.

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Collin affirmed. “They'll scarce stand or sit still.” She took one last sip of her tea and stood. “Thank you, Lord and Lady Shiley. You are very kind and so friendly. But we'd better be heading out before nightfall sets in. Cyril's bags?”

  Mark smiled and offered his arm as they walked out of the sitting room. “All set in the hall. Our valet will stow them in the car once everyone's ready to go.”

  And in a few minutes, the overstuffed estate wagon pulled away from Drakenfall. As if bidding adieu to well-cherished cousins from New Zealand, a small collection of staff headed by Lord and Lady Shiley waved as the Collin brood plus Cyril headed back to Cambridge. Mr. and Mrs. Stockleton were not among the party of well-wishing wavers, and Maisy could not decide whether Cyril was better of
f or not.

  Chapter 7: Just a Dream

  The horse thundered with such force under me and my body shook with such vibrations that my muscles soon lost all sense. The dizzying landscape swelling up before me became regularly jarring. As I rode south, I could feel the air lose its painful bite. Whether it was because my blood was becoming heated or because the very gods were against The Baron's desperate effort to secure a wife, I could not be sure. Or could I? In my very bones, I knew the truth of the matter. The icy sting of deepest winter was abating. And so the world became ever more likely to break the ice at the port and free the ship that secured Belinda to this realm.

  The Baron had waited too long.

  Belinda would sail to the West Indies to marry the plantation owner's son if The Baron's love lorn missive didn't reach her in time. So I rode.

  Oh, why had The Baron waited so long to act? He'd let his pride of place supersede the love he claimed he felt. Indeed, Belinda lacked the connections that might justify her father refusing The Baron's initial offer the way he had. Mr. Blake had been bold beyond presumption to demand such a price for his daughter. But The Baron ... would he not have acquiesced straight away if he felt all he should for Belinda? Both to secure her hand and to whisk her away from such an unpleasant, domineering beast of a father? But his refusal to negotiate with one such as Blake had perhaps now cost him Belinda. It was up to the gods of ice and wind.

  I jammed my knees into Cannon's sides with force, and the stallion surged with admirable speed. The port came into sight as we crested the swell of hill at Hastings. Without pause, we plunged headlong down the slope toward the water. I could already see that three ships had been let loose into the frigid sea. Was one of them The Piper?

  Perhaps not.

  As I charged to the docks bustling with seamen clamouring to be gone, I took out the purse of coins that could make even the most put-upon sailor notice me and answer my questions. I saw a man in a neat coat and hat pulled low over his brow and recognized the look of the harbour master. I slid off Cannon and jerkily ran up to him, tossing him more than a few coins. “The Piper?”