Christmas Beau

"Yes," she said, and she raised a hand to cover his.

He kissed her softly on the lips once more.

First the merest suggestion of light on the eastern horizon. Then a gradual lifting of the blackness of the world to gray. A brighter line of light turning from white to pale gold to brighter gold, to pink, to orange-gold. And then all the glory of the dawn sky before the sun came up.

Judith watched it all from the windowseat in her room, where she sat warmly wrapped in a blanket from the bed, her knees drawn up against her, her arms tight about them.

It looked as if it was going to be a glorious day. Cold but glorious. Even as she watched she saw him-Max-emerging from the stable block on horseback, a large bundle tied behind his saddle. He rode beneath her window, picking his way carefully, not pressing any speed on his horse because of the snow. Why was he up so early after such a late night?

But it was midwinter. She had no idea what time it was, but it was probably not as early as the coming of dawn made it seem. He was up for some morning fresh air and exercise. She wished she were with him.

She looked back into the room. It was a pretty and a cozy room despite the fact that the fire had died down long ago and the air was chill. It looked familiar already, even after just a few days. It looked like home.

Would it be home? she wondered. Would Denbigh Park be her home? After this afternoon she supposed she would know the answer to her question. She knew it now. But it seemed just too wonderful to be true. Could she really be finding such happiness so soon after the ending of a bad marriage, in which she had expected to be trapped for the rest of her life? And with Max of all people?

It was hard to believe in such happiness. And so, even though she was almost certain of it and would be certain before this day was over, she was anxious, too. What if she had misinterpreted all the signs?

She had expected to have her answer on Christmas Day. She had fully expected it at the ball, when he had waltzed with her, when he had danced her out into the great hall.

She had expected him to declare his love for her, to make his offer for her. It had been all there in his eyes and in his mouth when he had kissed her.

Instead, he had said something that had taken her by surprise. "There is no time for what we both wish to do, Judith," he had said.

She had been shocked. For what they both wished to do? Make love? He wanted to make love to her? But of course it was there in his face. And it was what she wanted too. It had not taken her many moments to admit that to herself.

If she had been in any doubt of his meaning, there had been his next words. He wanted her to be free for the whole of tomorrow afternoon. For the whole of this afternoon. Why? So that he might ask her to marry him? A few minutes would suffice for that. A whole afternoon?

He was going to make love to her. Her breath caught in her throat and she set her head back against the wood paneling behind her. That very day. He was going to make love to her. And she had not noticed any resistance in herself, though she had been awake for more than an hour already and had lain awake for an hour after the ball before sleeping. She was going to allow it. She was going to allow him to take a husband's privilege with her. But not as a passive experience, she knew. She was going to make love to him too. They were going to make love to each other.

"Tomorrow we will settle everything between us, Judith," he had said.

She closed her eyes. They would make love and he would ask her to marry him and she would say yes. And they would live happily ever after. Except that it would not be as simple as that, of course. She knew from experience that it would not. Every day for the rest of their lives they would have to work hard on their marriage. But it would be worth it.

Oh, it would be worth it.

Judith shivered and pulled the blanket more closely about her. Was she being a fool? Why had he not declared himself the night before? He might have done so and still asked her to be free for him this afternoon. They might have made love as a betrothed couple.

She thought for one moment of the uneasiness she had felt before coming to Denbigh Park and for a day or so after arriving. The feeling mat there was something a little frightening about him. Perhaps… but no. She had seen into his eyes. His eyes could not lie. Oh, his eyes could perhaps, but not what was behind his eyes. And she had seen what was behind them.

How many hours until the afternoon? she wondered. How many interminable hours?

Christmas was over, she realized suddenly.

The children were up early. They breakfasted as fast as they could and scurried from the room in order to cram into the morning hours a whole day's worth of entertainment. They were to return to the village after luncheon. They skated and sledded and made snowmen and chased and played with the dogs. Some of them took their new balls into the ballroom and got under the feet of the servants who were clearing up after the night's ball. A few of the younger ones went to the nursery to play with Kate and ride the rocking horse.

"You must be longing for the sanity that the next few hours are going to restore to you, Max," Mr. Cornwell said, having abandoned his charges to the care of other willing adults for half an hour. He was sitting in his friend's library, one leg hooked casually over the arm of the chair on which he sat.

The marquess handed him a glass of brandy. "It will be quiet," he said. "My guests may find it unbearably so. The children have been general favorites, I believe."

Mr. Cornwell twirled the brandy in his glass and sipped on it. “We could not quite have foreseen all this two years ago, could we?" he said. "I must confess, Max, that I really did not expect to succeed. Did you?"

The marquess slumped into the chair opposite his friend's. "Yes," he said. "I expected that we would successfully set up homes, Spence. We were both too determined to allow the scheme to fail utterly, I think. What I did wonder about was whether the homes would become almost like other foundling homes with time-impersonal places where the children's basic physical needs would be cared for but nothing else. I wondered if the life would really suit you."

"I ca

The marquess smiled. "You are like an experienced and indulgent father, Spence," he said. "You do not sometimes feel the need for a wife to make the illusion of family life more of a reality?"

His friend looked at him warily and lowered his glass. "Good Lord," he said. "What a strange question to ask, Max. I am almost forty years old."

The marquess shrugged. "I thought perhaps Miss Eas-ton…"he said.

Mr. Cornwell set his glass down and got to his feet. "Miss Easton is a lady, Max," he said.

"And you are a gentleman," Lord Denbigh said.

Mr. Cornwell scratched his head. "And father to ten lads who are anything but," he said. "Use your head, Max. I would not give up my boys, and even if I did, I would have almost nothing to offer a lady. It is true that I have enough blunt that you do not have to pay me a salary, but that is because my needs are modest. I would not drearn of inflicting my situation on Amy."

"A pity," the marquess said. "I like the lady."

"And so do I," Mr. Cornwell said fervently. "Good Lord, Max."

The marquess smiled. "Sit down and relax while you have the chance," he said. "And finish your brandy. She is going to walk back to the village with you after luncheon?"