Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin
NORTHLUND Merrit’s thoughts kept pace with the hoofbeats of the carriage horses as he was conveyed to his meeting with the local lord. He gazed out the window, but his concerns would not allow him to enjoy the beauty of the parkland surrounding the manor house. For all the notice he took, the stately evergreens, the pristine blanket of snow, and the graceful arc of the frozen river might as well have been painted on a backdrop. He anticipated no happy end to his journey from town; the tone of his lordship’s written summons was very much a prelude to reprimand. In his fifteen-year career as an instructor, he had become used to complaints as well as praise from the parents of his pupils, but this was the first time he had the opportunity to be upbraided for his methods by so lofty a personage. Sir Daltrey Powell was styled the Earl of Greenmarch as well as Lord Snowgate and Mr. Merrit made a mental note to ask whoever answered the door for his lordship’s preferred form of address. The teacher hoped the nobleman wasn’t the sort to insist on being called Your Lordship, but he’d heard these country aristocrats could be stiff-necked about their titles. He was newly arrived to the shire and still missed the hum and bustle of London, but it could not be helped. There were too many at his last position who had become inquisitive about his personal life, too many pointed remarks 2
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin about a man his age without a wife, or even a long-term engagement. With the familiar sad weariness that possessed him each time, he realized he must leave his beloved post at the academy, his dear students, and his comfortable bachelor quarters as he did each time the whispers grew too loud. It had been different when he was a young man and had Abigail on his arm, but as he matured, his deception of her began to disgust him. What she took as impeccably polite behavior was, in truth, his complete disinterest in her as an object of desire. He was certain he had broken her heart when he told her he would be a poor scholar all his life and would never be able to support a family. Not once in the twenty years since he’d fled had he returned to his hometown. He kept moving with guilt as his constant companion. The village of Greenholm and small but prestigious Greenmarch Academy for Young Ladies seemed a safe haven in their remoteness from London and anyone who knew Mr. Merrit. The school was one in name only, as females were not expected to be well-educated, only to be proficient in a few accomplishments. Accomplishments might include embroidery, lace-making, painting watercolors or china figurines, speaking French or Italian, and singing or the playing of the harpsichord. Mr. Merrit was gifted with an ability to play the pianoforte that was nothing short of divine and his talent for composition nearly equaled it. He would have been wildly popular had he chosen to perform, but his fear of being revealed as deviant forced him to choose a life of anonymity. Perhaps he could not say with veracity that he 3
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin led a happy existence, but he had the illusion of safety, and there were joys to be had in teaching. Though he was lonely, his pupils filled his days and he had quickly become fond of one of the young ladies at his new post. Eleven-year-old Lady Arabella Marguerite Powell-Rand, niece to the earl, was a bright girl who was curious about everything her gaze fell upon. It was not enough for her to learn the fingering for a piece of music. She wanted to know all about the composer and why he wrote the music. It was a pity that she was destined to be an ornament for some lord’s arm and castle, making no decisions weightier than the menu for dinner. Mr. Merrit did not understand why young women should not be as learned as young men and he expected that this would form the gist of his audience with Sir Daltrey. He could picture the old curmudgeon with bristling white side-whiskers and a shock of white hair, his bulbous nose rosy with gin-blossoms, chewing the stem of his pipe as he paced the Oriental carpet of his study railing against newfangled notions. It was to be hoped that the old gentleman wouldn’t pick up a fowling piece to reinforce the weight of his opinions. Mr. Merrit’s musings ended as the carriage stopped before the entrance of the well-kept fifteenth-century manor house. A footman opened the door of the landau and the teacher stepped down. As Mr. Merrit mounted the steps, one of the double doors opened and another man in dove-gray livery emerged. Gesturing with a white-gloved hand, the servant indicated that Mr. Merrit was to follow him. The 4
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin teacher quickly straightened his cravat and tugged down the front of his sober black coat. Quickly smoothing his mustache and short beard with his fingertips, he hurried after the other man.
LIONEL adjusted Sir Daltrey's cravat and pulled at the silken material of his vest, smoothing it down against the ivory linen of the freshly pressed shirt. "Will you stop fussing, Lionel? You would think you're dressing me for an evening at the opera instead of a meeting with Arabella's professor." "You represent the Powell name at all times, sir." Lionel held out the ebony waistcoat and Lord Daltrey shoved his arms through the sleeves. "Must we forever have this conversation? I know I represent the family name and I endeavor every day to remember that, really I do." "If by endeavoring you mean debauching a great many of London’s society ladies and more than a few of the handsomer men, then I would have to agree with you, sir." Lord Snowgate brushed the hand of his valet from his shoulder while attempting a look of indignation. "Can I help it if I'm unable to resist a pretty face? Besides, you go too far when you suggest a great many." "Apparently not as far you have gone, sir." 5
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin "Lionel!" "I beg your pardon, my lord." Lionel bowed and turned, hiding a smile as he made his way to the large mahogany dresser on the far wall. "How is your leg today?" Daltrey asked, noticing Lionel's limp seemed more pronounced. "You get more lame with every passing year, you old goat." Lionel handed Daltrey the silver and ivory comb, knowing his lordship's childhood aversion to anyone helping with the unruly curls. "My leg is as hale as it will ever be, thanks to the Punjab who shot me all those years ago, and it's a sight better than a piece of wood. Now do something with those curls or I shall be forced to wrestle that comb from you and tame them myself … or cut them off." Daltrey turned to the mirror and frowned at the way his hair twined about his ears. "What do you think he's like, Lionel?" "Lady Arabella's teacher? I would assume he has the requisite look of his profession. Though they have little in the way of money, I have never met a tutor that did not have that … learned look about him." Giving up on his thick uncooperative hair, Daltrey handed the comb back to his valet. "Learned look," he snorted. "That is just another way of saying old and stuffy." "Aged and distinguished, I would say." 6
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin "Please, Lionel. This Mr. Merrit teaches music; he's probably just this side of ninety and deaf to boot." Daltrey sighed, wishing the meeting was over and done with already. There was a party later in the evening and he desperately needed to rest in preparation. This season, with its rounds of parties at neighboring estates culminating in a grand celebration here at Snowgate Hall, inevitably exhausted him. Lionel was prone to pointing out that it wasn't strictly necessary to accept every single invitation, but Daltrey insisted it was only polite. "He should thank the gods if he is deaf; at least he will be spared the sound of you prattling on about your limited knowledge of the subject." Daltrey blanched. "I knowledge of music, Lionel."
have
more
than
enough
"Seducing one's music teacher when one was eighteen hardly qualifies as knowledge, sir." Turning from the mirror, Daltrey folded his arms, glaring at his valet's back as Lionel arranged clothing within the closet. "Must you goad me, Lionel?" The older man left the closet and closed the door. "I find it the only sport I can truly enjoy at my age, sir." "I should jackanapes."
hand
you
your
papers,
you
insolent
"And I should hobble you like a green colt to keep you at home at night and away from the ton and their less than 7
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin savory ways, but we all live with our disappointments, don't we, my lord?" Narrowing his eyes, Daltrey replied, "Remind me again why I put up with you." Lionel opened the bedroom door and stood to the side. "Because your father and I served together in India and I gave him my promise to look after you." Daltrey preceded the valet through the door as Lionel added, "And no one else would put up with your ways, sir." Daltrey moved purposely down the corridor, hoping the doddering graybeard he was meeting wouldn't insist on spending the afternoon nattering on about the great composers and how the young people these days had no appreciation for the classics. Even though he had summoned Mr. Merrit, he resented having to give up a moment of his precious time to a wheezing curmudgeon with bad breath and a body odor that would frighten horses. Daltrey stopped before the door to the study and motioned Lionel closer. "Bring us tea and then leave us for no more time than it takes to drink one cup. Then you are to interrupt and say that something requires my immediate attention." "What could possibly need your attention, sir?" "Damn it, Lionel!" Daltrey said in fierce whisper. "Make something up; something serious that will leave no doubt in the old fool's mind that the meeting is at an end." 8
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Lionel bowed, snapping his heels together as he did so. "As you wish, sir." Rolling his eyes at this mockery, Daltrey grasped the knob to the drawing room door and sighed. "Pray God this is over quickly." He swept into the room, walking briskly to the large wing chair in the corner, speaking rapidly as he passed his visitor without a glance. "I have only a few moments, Professor. The running of an estate does not leave me much idle time, so I would appreciate it if you were brief." Flipping the tails of his coat aside, the young lord took his seat and finally looked up at the man who'd risen at his entrance. "Who the devil are you?" he exclaimed. Professor Merrit glanced behind him before replying, stammering slightly in surprise at the nobleman’s eccentric outburst. "I … I am Mr. Merrit, Lord Snowgate. You summoned me, as you will no doubt recall." "You! You are…." Daltrey looked the man up and down in patent consternation. "You are Mr. Northlund Merrit? Arabella's music professor? You are he?" "I am, my lord." Daltrey thanked his lucky stars that Lionel wasn't in the room at that moment; his irreverent valet would never let him forget his excellent impression of a fish with a hook in its mouth. "It isn’t necessary to address me as Lord Snowgate after the first time. You may call me Sir Daltrey, or simply sir.” His lordship paused. “You are not at all what I expected." 9
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Professor Merrit smiled his understanding; if he weren’t so used to hiding his emotions, he might have had the same thunderstruck look upon his own face. This dashing, fine-featured dandy with a dancer’s grace was hardly what Northlund was prepared for. Before he could speak, there was a knock at the door. Lionel entered, bearing a large silver tray with the ornate tea service Daltrey's father had acquired in India. "Just set it down, Lionel,” Daltrey said. “I can manage from there." Lionel couldn't fail to notice the handsome cut of the music teacher, nor could he resist teasing a little. Curmudgeon, indeed. "Not at all, sir. It's my duty to serve you." Daltrey caught himself before he tripped over the edge of the rug in his haste to move Lionel aside. "I am quite certain I can manage, Lionel." “No, sir. I couldn’t let you serve tea with your own hands.” "Leave us!" Daltrey hissed, discreetly placing his hip against Lionel’s and giving a small shove. Lionel stepped aside, looking down to hide the smirk on his face. "Will there be anything else, sir?" "I have everything I need for now and in the very unlikely event that I want you, I will ring for you. You may go, Lionel." 10
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin "Very good, sir." Alone once again with his niece’s frightfully attractive professor, Daltrey set about the business of discovering the man’s preferences. Experiencing a rare bout of nerves, he was afraid he might drop one of the delicate, irreplaceable cups. He reined in his excitement as he moved the tray to the low table in front of his chair. "How do you take your tea, Professor?" he asked in a steady voice as he gestured to the other man to sit. Mr. Merrit met Lord Snowgate’s eyes for the first time and the nobleman was mesmerized. Daltrey felt he could spend a lifetime staring into the azure of a sky of cloudless summer days and yet be unable to capture the heavenly color in words or paint. Tearing his gaze away, he saw that the other man’s thick waving hair was touched with the gold of the summer sun. "Please, Sir Daltrey. serving me."
It is not seemly for you to be
Daltrey was dismayed by his own loss of decorum. What had come over him? He had been in the company of devastatingly handsome men before without forgetting himself. "I am your host,” he said to save face. “Of course I did not mean to tell you how to behave in your own home,” Northlund said as he took a cup. Crossing his legs, Daltrey settled back and took a sip. The warmth of the sweetened tea spread throughout his 11
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin body and calmed him, allowing him to take control of himself once more. "I have summoned you here to discuss my niece and your pupil.” Professor Merrit finished with the sugar and balanced the cup and saucer on his lap. "Pray continue, sir." "I have concerns about her progress in your class." "I assure you Lady Arabella is very talented, Sir Daltrey. In fact I would venture to say that she is the most talented pupil I have had since I began teaching." "I’ve no doubt the girl is talented. It is in her blood," Daltrey replied. "No, what concerns me is her idea of what she is to do with that talent." "A pupil with her ability? The possibilities would seem to be endless." Daltrey placed his cup on the table with a genteel rattle of bone china against polished mahogany. "You cannot be serious." "I am truthful, sir." Northlund set his cup down across from Daltrey's. "Your niece has a rare gift; it would be a sin to sacrifice that gift on the altar of propriety." "Propriety be damned, man! No woman of good breeding should consider a career, in music or any other pursuit, and if she did, it would never be allowed." "Perhaps she might be the first and set an example for others to follow." 12
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Daltrey narrowed his eyes. "You think to make my niece into a bellwether? You wish her to break this ground and destroy her chances at a good match and a place in society?" "I seek to help her fulfill her dreams, sir." "So you say." Daltrey leaned back in the chair again, appraising his guest. "You seem to move about a bit, Professor. What is the reason for that?" And so we come to it, thought Northlund. Of course Arabella’s uncle would have her teachers’ histories examined. "I have indeed moved often, and in my travels, I have seen much of England’s beauty. Teaching has allowed me to take many journeys that I could not afford as a leisure pastime such as the aristocracy enjoys." Daltrey brushed aside the obvious dig and continued. "Your desire to travel is the only reason you relocate so often?" "Say rather my desire for a new challenge, sir. Once I feel I have completed my work at a particular school, I find myself restless to move on and do the same elsewhere." Daltrey stood, feeling the need to move about so it would not be so obvious that he was staring at the professor. He went to one of the bay windows that looked out over the topiary garden and rested a knee on the bench. "Why is there no Mistress Merrit?" 13
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin "Excuse me, Lord Snowgate. I know you are within your rights to ask such a question, but what has it to do with the subject under discussion?" Wiping the smile from his lips, Daltrey turned. "Nothing at all … unless I thought that you might be looking to my niece as a way to better your lot." Northlund shot from the settee like an arrow from a tightly strung bow. "Sir! She is but a child! To suggest a thing is utterly barbaric!" Daltrey remained unaffected. "Can you tell me that it is not done?" "Not by me, sir!" Mr. Merrit had fire and did not back down from a fight; perhaps there was more to the good professor than a pleasing appearance and a scrupulously modest demeanor. "Please, take your seat. My purpose is not to insult you, only to protect my ward." Northlund sat. "My interest in your ward is strictly one of pupil to instructor, naught more." “Forgive me.” Daltrey moved smoothly to sit on the sofa beside the teacher. "I have offended you and I ask your pardon, but I would sacrifice your pride and my own to make sure Arabella is well taken care of." "As would I; which is why I believe she is destined for greater things than being placed with a good family and 14
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin shuttled off to some estate in the countryside to raise children and hone her needlepoint skills." "Well-said, Professor." Daltrey smiled at the look of genuine concern on the other man's face. “Well-said indeed. Arabella is fortunate to have you as a mentor." "Pray do not elevate me, sir. teacher."
I am but a humble
Humble maybe, but utterly charming, thought Daltrey. Before he could further his careful pursuit of the professor, there was a knock at the door. "Enter." "I have need of you, sir,” Lionel said from the door. Daltrey had been so engrossed in the professor that he'd forgotten about his instructions to the valet. “Would you excuse me for a moment, Mr. Merrit?" Northlund Merrit watched Sir Daltrey rise from the settee and go to the drawing room doors. When the impact of the young man’s beauty faded a bit, the professor realized this was the opening he’d been hoping for, an excuse to extricate himself from the inquisition. "I can go now, Lord Snowgate. I would not wish to keep you from the running of your household." "Nonsense. I am quite certain that whatever it is will be trivial." Daltrey pushed Lionel out the door and wedged his shoulder against it to keep Lionel in the hall. "What is it, man?" 15
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Lionel pulled the pocket watch from his waistcoat and showed it to Sir Daltrey. "It is a quarter past, sir." "So I see, Lionel. Please stop waving that thing in front of my face." "You requested I interrupt you, sir." Daltrey looked over his shoulder at Northlund, who seemed preoccupied with the view of the garden. "Indeed I did and so you have; now go away!" "Would you like me to collect the tea, sir?" "No, Lionel, I would not. If I did, I would tell you so." "Very good, sir." Lionel looked over Daltrey's shoulder at the other man. "I take it the crisis has passed and I may consider you no longer in need of rescue?" Daltrey followed Lionel's gaze, hoping his guest was still sitting. "Yes, you may. Now please, do me the very great favor of taking yourself elsewhere!" Closing the door against Lionel's knowing look, Daltrey went back and sat down. Northlund had almost finished his tea and Daltrey poured more in the hopes that he could persuade the professor to stay a bit longer. "Now where were we?" Northlund added a cube of sugar to his cup and stirred. "You were telling me how shortsighted I am in regard to your niece's lot in life and I was trying to enlist your support in sending her away to study in London." 16
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin "And why, pray tell, would she need to leave the school here? It is a perfectly good institution." "In its limited capacity, yes, but for someone like Lady Arabella, so talented and willing to put in the hours to bring that talent to fruition, it is hardly better than a prison." "Really, man, you talk as if she were shackled to a desk all day. She has not said a word to me about being unhappy in her studies." Northlund placed his cup back on the table and turned to face Daltrey. "I beg your pardon, Sir Daltrey, but may I speak plainly?" "If your prior words were not plain, sir, I do not know the meaning of the word. By all means, let us not have airs and titles between us." "Arabella is not merely a good musician; she has an aptitude for composing. One with her potential needs an environment where she may concentrate on her music. The London Academy can give her that." "It will also rob her of the education she is receiving here." "Education? Have you actually been to the Academy, Sir Daltrey? Have you any notion of what they teach the girls?" Daltrey placed his arm along the back of the sofa, his grip tightening on the wood in response to his rising temper. 17
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin "Of course I have. I give them enough damn money every year and I am on the board, for pity's sake." "So you know how stifling and trivial courses such as etiquette, comportment, and embroidery would be to someone of Arabella's … affinities." "She will never be accepted in society without learning the very things you deride as trivial." "And what of her happiness?" Northlund was so engrossed in his plea that he placed his hand on Daltrey's knee without thinking. "You do not seem like one who places much store in what others think, and it is clear that your niece adores you. Will you not consider it?" Daltrey lost track of the conversation the moment Northlund's hand touched his knee. He looked into the other man’s vivid blue eyes and his wits vacated his skull. Operating on sheer emotion, he covered Northlund's hand with his own and leaned close. "Your eyes…. They are the deepest blue I have ever seen." Northlund sat up straight and tried to extricate his fingers from the nobleman’s. "Forgive me, sir. I did not mean to be forward." Daltrey inched closer, keeping hold of the professor’s hand. "There is nothing to forgive. In fact, I will make bold to say that I find your touch most pleasing, Northlund." Before Mr. Merrit could recover from the other man’s use of his Christian name, the double doors slammed open 18
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin and Arabella burst into the room, with Lionel close on her heels. Northlund and Daltrey sprang apart and moved to opposite ends of the couch. "Professor Merrit! lovely to see you!"
Lionel said you were here.
How
As Lionel collected the tray from the table, Daltrey stood and addressed his niece. "Have manners changed drastically while I was speaking with your professor? Is it now proper for a young lady to barge into a room without knocking?" "I apologize, Uncle, but Lionel said you would be expecting me to come and greet Professor Merrit. You wouldn't want him to think I was being impolite and ignoring his presence would you, Uncle?" Daltrey stared daggers at Lionel's retreating form. He could have sworn he heard the sound of laughter as Lionel reached the foyer. "No, indeed, I would not. You are nothing if not the epitome of good manners." "Will you be staying for supper, Professor? We usually have ever so much food and I am sure it would be no trouble. May he, Uncle, please?" Northlund was already standing and looking extremely uncomfortable. "Perhaps another time, Miss. I am afraid my evening is already spoken for." Frowning, Arabella nodded her understanding. "Might I at least walk you to the front door, Professor?" 19
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Daltrey nodded his assent and Northlund offered his arm to the young girl. "That would be very pleasant, Arabella. Thank you." Watching his niece talking animatedly to her mentor as they left, Daltrey felt an irrational surge of jealousy. He stroked the hand that had covered Northlund's, missing the warmth in a way that was almost uncanny. Daltrey trusted his fine-honed instincts and he had detected interest on Northlund's part that matched his own. It would fit with what he knew of the man: no wife, no betrothal, and a habit of moving every year or so. Yes, there had been more than annoyance, or panic, in the teacher’s eyes. Daltrey had seen a spark of desire and he would do what he could to fan it into flame. Northlund Merrit said good-bye to his young pupil and boarded the carriage for the ride home. The meeting had gone quite differently from what he’d expected and had held more than one shock. As he went over the conversation again, his mind returned repeatedly to the moment when His Lordship had taken his hand and spoken his name. The sound of his given name on Sir Daltrey's tongue had evoked feelings that Northlund thought he'd long since buried. The familiar dread skittered down his spine and he closed his eyes, willing it to the back of his mind. He would not run; Lady Arabella deserved his support and tutelage. Northlund must do all he could to make her uncle see reason. Only when that obligation was fulfilled could he consider moving again. For now, he must stand his ground. 20
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin “MY lord!” Northlund Merritt rose to his feet and quickly donned his jacket. have….”
“I was not expecting you, or I would
Daltrey Powell glanced around the cell of an office and brought his gaze back to the object of his interest. “Pray forgive me for arriving unannounced. Thought you might like to have this back.” Daltrey dropped a glove on the desk. “Ah, I wondered where it had got to. Thank you, my lord. You needn’t have come yourself.” “I came to town on business,” Daltrey interrupted. “It was no trouble, I assure you, and quite frankly, I wished to see you again.” “Was there more you wished to say to me concerning Lady Arabella?” “Arabella?” Daltrey shook his head. “No, it has naught to do with my niece. I wish to speak privately with you concerning the feelings you wake in me.” Northlund cleared his throat. idea what you are referring to, sir.”
“I am sure I have no
“Come, man, do not be timid. I am showing you my cards first. You could ruin my name if you chose to speak of this.”
21
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin “I hardly think so, my lord. You are protected by your name and your wealth. It is I who would be ruined by any whispers.” “There will be no whispers,” Daltrey coaxed. “Indeed, there will not, sir, for there will be naught to whisper of.” “Dash it all, but you’re handsome when you’re stirred! How can I resist you?” “You must.” Northlund took a step away from the young nobleman. “I find your advances unseemly and … disgusting.” “No,” Daltrey shook his head, chestnut curls falling over his forehead. “You are not disgusted, North. You are frightened and I do not blame you, however….” “I did not give you leave to use my Christian name, sir.” “Well, I am taking leave. Whoever named you had a fine sense of the cumbersome. I will call you North and you will answer or not as it pleases you, but do not forget that your livelihood directly depends upon me.” “That is … despicable.” “No, it is a jest. Do not be so serious, North. The man that never takes a chance will never know true happiness.”
22
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin “I cannot afford to take chances. It is more than my job is worth to be seen in a compromising position with another man.” Northlund took another step back as Daltrey leaned forward. “A pity,” his lordship sighed. “I do not think I shall be able to rest until I taste your lips.” “Please! Curb your speech, sir! Anyone might pass by in the hall.” “I will lower my voice.” Daltrey moved a tiny bit closer. “No! And do not stand so near. misconstrued.”
It could be
“Is that the real reason? Or is it that your heart beats faster when I am near?” Northlund could smell the bergamot in his lordship’s aftershave and had to close his eyes for fear of what the other man would see in them. “Please,” he whispered. “Do not tempt me.” Surprising himself, rakish Sir Daltrey left the man in peace. Many another had been snared at this moment of weakness, but the earl did not press his advantage this time. For some reason unknown to him, he drew back, bade the music master a good day, and left him alone.
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Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin NORTHLUND gathered the sheet music and placed it in the drawer. It was noon and all of the students were presently in the dining hall taking their lunches before afternoon classes. There was a private room to the side of the dining hall for teachers; however, Northlund preferred supping in the quiet solitude of his classroom. Looking out across the manicured lawn and sculpted greenery, Northlund was reminded once more of his luck in securing a position in such a prestigious school. True, it was located in a rural shire but it was extremely wellfinanced and, more important to Northlund, the students were eager to learn and a joy to instruct. His thoughts lit on Arabella as they were wont to when thinking about his pupils. There had been no further word from his lordship since his disturbing visit the other day. Northlund despaired of the rogue taking the suggestion that the young lady be sent to school in London and he feared that attempting to negotiate would prove dangerous. "Lord Snowgate … Daltrey Powell." Northlund whispered the name, rolling it off his tongue as though saying it would ward him against the nobleman's charms. And he badly needed such protection. However hard he tried to deny the effect that Daltrey had on him, he knew it was merely a matter of time before his vaunted control would crumble. He was only human, after all. 24
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Rubbing his forehead, Northlund stood and went restlessly to the window. Nature had a way of calming his nerves and the professor thought he might take a long walk after classes. Brisk temperatures and a bit of exercise would help him release the tension building within him as so many times in the past. He was so deep in thought that the sound of the door closing startled him and he turned quickly, almost tripping himself in the process. "I am sorry; I didn't mean to be quite so loud." His lordship stood at the back of the classroom clutching an ivory envelope. Northlund swallowed hard as he took in the sight of the well-turned-out man in the doorway. The earl appeared to have grown even more handsome in the past week. Why had the gods conspired against him in creating such a vision of manly beauty to tempt him into corruption? "I … I was not expecting you, my lord," Northlund stammered. "Won’t you call me Daltrey, North? I hoped we were past the titles and surnames." Ignoring the nobleman’s congenial smile that hinted at more than the use of their Christian names, Northlund went back to his desk hoping to use the wooden structure as a barrier. Daltrey smirked as he came forward. North was still trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. 25
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin "What is it that I may do for you, sir?" Northlund asked bluntly, seating himself behind the desk. Leaning on the corner of the sturdy piece of furniture, Daltrey handed Northlund the envelope. "Come now; we both know what I want you to do for me. However, you need not fear any untoward behavior today. I am here for quite another purpose." Northlund opened the envelope and read the card while Daltrey took the occasion to admire the curve of the professor's shoulders and the way his fair hair fell about the collar of his shirt. The impulse to run his fingers through the golden locks was well nigh irresistible. Placing the card back in the envelope Northlund held it out. "Please accept my regrets; I will be unable to attend." "Nonsense!" Daltrey replied, refusing to take the card. "It is a tradition, sir. All of the students and staff of Greenmarch attend with their families. You will be the subject of gossip if you are not there." Northlund placed the envelope on the desk next to Lord Snowgate's thigh. It was as close as he dared to get. "That may well be, but I feel you will simply use this celebration as an excuse to continue your attempts to … seduce me." Daltrey leaned forward, placing his hand over Northlund's. "Believe me when I say that I need little impetus to continue my seduction of you, North." 26
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Pulling his hand back, Northlund rolled his eyes. "Must you turn every meeting into a battle of wills?" "Yes. I must." Daltrey stood up, fixing his flinty gaze on the mulish professor. "Until you see reason." Northlund watched as Lord Snowgate walked toward the door. The way Daltrey’s broad back, tapered waist, and long legs stretched the fitted material of his suit was a torment. "Look your fill, North. I do not mind in the least,” Daltrey drawled as he put his hand on the doorknob. He was smiling as he turned to face the other man, but his eyes glittered with longing. "Consider the invitation, won't you?" The door closed and Northlund let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It was bad enough that Daltrey propositioned him at every turn, but to be caught ogling the man like a naughty schoolboy with his hand in the cookie tin was beyond humiliating. Lord Snowgate played on Northlund’s emotions like a maestro and the professor needed to regain some semblance of self-control. Looking down at the envelope, he tossed it into the waste bin. "Invitation considered," he said. Daltrey walked toward the exit, pulling his gloves on as he went. He'd been smiling since he left the classroom, secure in the knowledge that North had been taking note of his body. "Uncle Daltrey!" 27
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Daltrey turned to see Arabella heading toward him at full tilt, her auburn hair streaming behind her as it escaped its ribbons. Coming to a skidding halt in front of her uncle, she brushed a few strands from her face. "Are you here to see me?" Tapping her nose with his finger, Daltrey kissed her on the forehead. "I am afraid not, Arabella. I was dropping off the invitations to the Christmas party." "Is Lionel not well?" she asked, her eyes welling with concern. "He does not let on, of course, but his leg has been bothering him more than usual, and since it is such a ripping day, I decided to do it myself." Only half a lie, Daltrey thought. His smile grew broader as he remembered his valet’s expression when he’d wrested the invitations from Lionel's hands. "Did you invite Professor Merrit?" Daltrey opened his mouth to speak and thought better of it. Placing his arm around his niece's shoulder, he led her to the end of the hallway. "I did, poppet, but I fear Professor Merrit was not inclined to accept." Arabella reacted to the disappointed look upon her uncle's face, as he’d hoped she would. "Oh no, Uncle! He must come! It would not be a party without him." "I agree, Arabella, but we cannot force him, can we?" 28
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Wrinkling her brow, she thought for several seconds. "I know! I shall talk to him about it. I am certain that if I explain the tradition, he will attend." Daltrey leapt for joy inside, but kept his face a mask of doubt. "Perhaps. I do not know. I am certain that Professor Merrit would have a lovely time, but I hesitate to make him feel as though we are forcing him to attend." "I promise I will not overstep the bounds of good manners, dearest uncle,” Arabella coaxed. “I know Professor Merrit likes it here at Greenmarch Academy; it is only that he is shy outside of his classroom." "Well," Daltrey pretended to consider her offer. "If you feel you can convince him, then I am all for it." Arabella squealed and hugged Daltrey tightly. "Thank you, Uncle. I will not let you down." "I have every confidence in you, Arabella." Bidding her uncle good-bye, the young girl left to find Professor Merrit. "Resist that, my fine fellow," Daltrey smirked as he noted the set of Arabella's shoulders. "A Powell always wins, North, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. You will find that out soon enough."
"COME in," Professor Merrit called.
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Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Arabella opened the office door and found Professor Merrit behind his desk, sheet music spread across its surface. "May I speak with you, sir?" "Of course, Arabella. Is anything the matter?" “I saw Uncle Daltrey in the hallway and he gave me the saddest news. He told me you will not attend our Christmas party." Northlund didn't know whether to laugh or scream at the idea of Lord Snowgate sending his niece to coerce him. "It is complicated, Arabella." "Is it because you are shy, Professor?" Biting his lip to keep from chuckling at the earnest look on Arabella's face, Northlund answered her. "Somewhat, Arabella. I am not much for social occasions. I feel most at home when I am alone with my music. Do you understand?" "I think so, but how can you expect to get over your fear if you do not face it?" Northlund was amazed once more at the similarities shared by Daltrey and Arabella; both could talk circles around him until he felt his protestations to be useless. "You are quite right, Arabella, and wise beyond your years. If you feel it necessary for me to attend these revels, who am I to refuse?" "Then you will come?" 30
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin "Of course; I would consider it an honor." Looking as though she'd received the greatest gift in her young life, Arabella clapped her hands together. "Wonderful, Professor! I know Uncle Daltrey will be most happy to hear that you are coming." "I am certain you are correct," Northlund replied. "Now, is there somewhere else you should be, my dear?" "Oh, heavens!" Arabella looked at the clock. "I shall be late if I do not hurry. Thank you again, dear Professor Merrit." Northlund chuckled as he watched the young lady make a most unladylike exit. Pulling the invitation from the wastebasket, he placed it back on the desk. "Touché, Lord Snowgate."
“GOOD day, sir! I see you also enjoy the simple beauties to be found in Nature.” Northlund Merrit spun on the path to see Lord Snowgate bearing down on him at a brisk walk. The teacher thought he’d be quite alone on the muddy banks of the river, but his solitude was flown with the nobleman’s blithe greeting. Fetching a heavy sigh, Merrit made a slight bow and waited for the other man to join him. “Good day to you, my lord.”
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Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin “I feel just splendid,” Daltrey remarked, taking a deep breath of the crisp air as he fell into step. “Can you smell the evergreen, North? On my oath, it makes me feel like a lad again.” “I find that the Christmas season has that effect on many, sir.” “Indeed?” Daltrey cocked an eyebrow. “Does it affect you in that way?” “I try to maintain a proper dignity, sir.” “Dash it, North! Call me sir once and then dispense with it, at least when we are alone.” “I would rather keep our encounters formal, my lord.” “Then I am afraid you are doomed to disappointment, for I intend to make you my favorite.” Daltrey glanced aside at the other man’s handsome profile and lost his footing on a patch of ice. He would have measured his length in the muddy slush if Northlund had not caught him. His lordship clung to the teacher as he fought to regain his balance and both men were keenly aware of each other’s warmth. “My, what an adventure,” Daltrey said breathlessly, hanging on to Northlund when the other man tried to let him go. “I am still a bit dizzy.” “You seem quite recovered to me,” Northlund said. “Please unhand me before someone chances to pass by.”
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Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin “You worry overmuch about being observed. Are you so full of yourself that you imagine others are fascinated by your smallest doings?” “What cause have I given you to torment me so?” the teacher asked as he pushed the nobleman away. “You did not append my title to that inquiry,” Daltrey observed. “I am most encouraged.” “It is not my wish to encourage you in any way, sir!” “Were you aware that your eyes flash like azure lightning when you are impassioned? How I long to see them burn with desire as I show you the pleasures to be had in….” “If you continue in this vein, I shall leave.” “Wait! Please, do not go. I will be more circumspect.” Lord Snowgate kept his word until they passed from casual sight behind a hedgerow. Taking Northlund by the upper arm, Daltrey drew him into a sheltered corner and embraced him. “Only let me hold you,” he said. Northlund stood passively as his lordship hugged him warmly, ignoring the mounting feelings of lust that coursed through his body. “If you are chilled, perhaps you should be indoors.” Daltrey drew back so that he could look into the other man’s eyes. “Mr. Merrit, why can you not forget the world for a few moments?” 33
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin “I have too much to lose.” “No one is likely to come this way. The wind off the water makes most avoid this path in winter. However, if you wish, we could retire to a more private place.” “No, that is not what I wish,” Northlund lied. “I wish for you to cease importuning me.” “I cannot. You stir me as nothing else in my life. I must have you.” Northlund broke Daltrey’s hold and stepped away from him. “I will not ruin myself so that you may enjoy a night of pleasure, sir.” The earl called after the professor, but Mr. Merrit did not acknowledge him by word or gesture. The teacher kept walking at a determined pace away from the young man. Seeing that he would have to continue his suit at another time, Daltrey contented himself with the excellent view provided by the man’s retreating figure. “I very much look forward to seeing you at the manor for the Christmas party,” was his parting shot.
THE sound of Bach from the recital filtered through the halfopen door, falling poignantly on the ears of the man in selfexile. Northlund trailed his fingers along the polished mahogany of the pianoforte, its surface shining in the muted light of the full moon. His small classroom had become a second home in such a short time that Northlund had 34
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin allowed himself to believe he might stay here. However, like all of his prior positions this one was destined to end in a departure for another strange school where he must begin all over again. His heart broke at the thought of abandoning Arabella and yet he felt he could do no more in the face of her guardian’s objections. Sir Daltrey refused to countenance the idea of sending Arabella to study in London and to importune him further would be very bad manners, though, in the sanctuary of his classroom, Northlund could admit the real reason he would run. He had already tempted fate on more than one occasion when confronted with the inexorable pull of Sir Daltrey's chiseled good looks and bold advances. More than once, since meeting his lordship, Northlund had been forced to take himself in hand, as he lay in bed at night, and give his body the relief it craved. Yet, that relief was short-lived once the euphoria of his orgasm had left him and his thoughts preyed upon him once again. "Shouldn't you be in the hall listening to the program?" Northlund did not need to see Daltrey's face to know who had entered the room; he would know that voice on the darkest night. "Arabella will not be performing for some time and I thought to take one last look…." "So it is true then? Arabella said you spoke of leaving right after Christmas." "Yes." Northlund turned and found Sir Daltrey only a few feet away. "I feel it would be best for all concerned." 35
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin "All? You desert your charge, sir, and your duty. I find that very curious for a man who champions his pupils as you do." Northlund sighed, clasping his hands tightly in front of him to control his reaction to the nobleman’s nearness. Though he’d never confess it aloud, the man had haunted his dreams since their first meeting. "You will not acquiesce to plans for your niece’s betterment, nor cease your unseemly advances to me, and I find myself growing weary of it all." Daltrey moved closer and Northlund retreated, his back now against the pianoforte. "Bollocks, man! You grow weary of nothing.” Northlund looked away, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "It is true," he replied. Daltrey placed his hands on the edge of the pianoforte on either side of Northlund's hips. "It is not. The true reason you are leaving is because you can no longer continue to deny the urges and needs of your body." Northlund felt the hard column of Daltrey's aroused flesh pressing against his clasped hands. "Why do you toy with me?" "Look at me, North." Despite knowing he would be lost if he obeyed, Northlund did as he was told and Sir Daltrey continued. "I know you think I am like those of my kind with money and titles who use their supposed inferiors to 36
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin sate a fleeting desire, but I can assure you that what I feel for you is far from fleeting." "We cannot do this," Northlund protested. "Even if you do feel something for me as you say, you cannot risk your reputation, nor can I risk jeopardizing my next employment." Daltrey bent and nuzzled Northlund's neck. "Reputation be damned, North. Put your hands on me before I am driven insane with want of you." "We cannot do this—not here. Please." "Were it up to me we would be in my bed right now." Daltrey felt the hitch in Northlund's breath and the ghost of a fingertip pressing against his cock. "Would you like that, North?" Daltrey moved his hand slowly from the pianoforte and placed it at the front of Northlund's pants, rubbing small circles against the resilient flesh he found there. "Would you like to feel me moving against you, in you?" Northlund moaned, a deep needy sound that almost compelled Daltrey to lay him down on the glossy wood and propriety be damned. "Answer me," the nobleman demanded, gripping a handful of Northlund's honey-colored hair so that they were eye to eye. "Yes," Northlund choked out. "I wish for all of it—and more—but I have settled those wistful thoughts and put them away. It cannot be, and the hoping all but consumes 37
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin me until I have no choice but to deny it or go mad with want of it." The music stopped and the sound of applause echoed down the hallway. Northlund pushed away from the pianoforte and Daltrey was forced to step back as well. "It is not a dream, North. It can be a reality if only you would allow it." Northlund took Daltrey's hand and held it between his own. "I fear those sorts of happy endings only occur in fairy tales, Daltrey." Releasing Daltrey's hand, Northlund stepped around him and walked away. Daltrey closed his eyelids against the tears he felt forming. His entire world was collapsing around him and he was powerless to do anything to stop it. "Arabella will be playing very soon,” Northlund said softly. “I know she would wish for you to hear her." Daltrey listened to Northlund's footfalls, hoping the teacher might change his mind and return to the classroom. It wasn't until the next performer began to play that Lord Snowgate knew Northlund would not be back. Wiping the moisture from his eyes, Daltrey straightened his vest and cleared his throat. Powells were not quitters, he reminded himself. His father had suffered greatly in India and yet persevered to triumph in the end. The same blood ran in Daltrey’s veins. He faced a mighty challenge in Northlund Merrit but that he was up to the task he did not doubt. The professor had obligated himself to attend the Christmas Eve 38
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin revels at Snowgate Hall and the nobleman had the distinct impression that it would be his last chance to sway the modest man. Northlund Merrit would not leave Greenholm shire as he'd planned; Daltrey would make sure of it, or never know peace.
THE sweet strains of “What Child Is This?” died away to be replaced by the sounds of applause. Northlund Merrit rose from the piano bench and signaled to the choral group to take a bow. The young ladies dressed all in white looked like a troop of angels as they curtsied to the audience of friends and family. “Arabella tells me that was your own arrangement of the music,” Lord Snowgate said in Mr. Merrit’s ear as he passed him. Stopping at the end of the piano, his lordship gestured to the young singers and musicians as he raised his glass of sparkling wine. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said loudly. “My honored guests, I hope you are all having a delightful time. Before this evening’s program closes, I would like to introduce one more performer. My niece Arabella will play for you a piece of her own devising and I am very proud of her. Please join me now in toasting a young lady whose beauty, talent, and good horse sense will stand her in good stead when she goes out into the world.” Daltrey drained his glass and stepped aside so that Arabella could take her place.
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Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin “Are you really proud, my lord?” Northlund asked quietly as Daltrey stood next to him. “Shhh,” Daltrey put a finger to his lips as the first notes of Arabella’s first sonata floated forth. Mr. Merrit nodded stiffly and faded back around the edge of the crowd until he reached the hallway that led to the kitchen. Lionel exited the pantry as Northlund hurried by and the valet turned to watch the professor’s route. Thus it was that Lionel was able to point out to his young master exactly which direction Mr. Merrit had taken. “Good luck, sir, and if I may be so bold…,” Lionel began. “If you have advice, give it to me quickly.” “Just like your father, though he was partial to a wellturned ankle. Relentless in pursuit, the both of you. I would caution you to keep a tight rein lest you spook the quarry.” “That has been your advice from the beginning.” “Did you heed me? Of course, you did not. I’ll wager you leapt at the poor man like an ill-mannered hound, pawing and drooling. Where has it gotten you?” Daltrey sulked a little, his full lower lip protruding in a fetching pout. “Nowhere, sergeant major, sir.” “None of your sauce, my lad. You have tried it your way, charging at Mr. Merrit full tilt, no doubt thinking to 40
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin bowl him over and have your way with him while his head was still spinning. That method has served you well in the past, with your handsome face and your winning charm, but this man is different. Your wooing must be gentle.” “I had come to that conclusion, Mr. Stirling.” “Save your cheek, boy, and listen well. I have kept a sharp eye and a sharp ear on you these last weeks and I have allowed myself to hope that you have found a true companion.” Daltrey sighed. “You are not wrong. I have tried to deny that what I feel is anything more than lust for a handsome face and form, but…. Oh, Lionel, I have been unmerciful. I pursued North. I tricked him. I used my own niece to coerce him into attending this party. I never gave the man a moment’s peace. What if I have ruined any chance of winning his regard?” “The game is not over yet, sir.” The young nobleman looked up and took heart from his valet’s smile. “What would you recommend I do, Sergeant Major Stirling?” “You remind me powerfully of your father just now,” Lionel said softly. “He was headstrong too, but he knew when to listen. If you wish to know what I would do in your place, then go to Mr. Merrit and speak to him, one man to another. State your case with honesty and passion and then have the respect to allow him to make up his mind. If he 41
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin refuses you, you must have the grace to accept his decision. Can you do this?” “I … am not sure.” “But you are honest.” Lionel put a hand on the back of the young man’s neck and squeezed briefly. “I’ve no doubt that you could overwhelm Mr. Merrit and win him over with the sheer force of your personality, but is that what you want?” Daltrey shook his head. “No. I want him to come to me of his own accord.” “And that, my lad, is one of the differences between lust and love.” “Yes, I was actually aware of that, you know.” “Were you, sir? Then pray forgive my redundancy.” Lionel glanced down the hall toward the lights and noise of the party. “Shall I see if your guests require anything?” “Is that all you have to say to me?” Lionel grinned and pointed at the mudroom door. “Mr. Merrit went that way, sir.”
DALTREY slowed his steps, giving himself time to think, as he crossed the small room hung with cloaks, shawls, and coats. As much as it frightened him, he would have to allow North to see the real Daltrey and not some smug and 42
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin cocksure lord with more money than substance. Having made his decision, he opened the door of the tradesman’s parlor and saw his heart’s desire. Northlund stood on the far side of the room with his back to the door, hands clasped behind him as he gazed out at the freshly fallen snow in the topiary garden. The room had been decorated by Arabella and there were chains of festive crepe paper and hand-colored drawings hung around the ice-frosted windows. "It seems Arabella's talent isn't limited to the pianoforte." Northlund chose a neutral subject. Daltrey chuckled as he closed the door behind him. "She uses this room for her more artistic pursuits. I find that setting aside a room expressly for the purpose reduces the number of paint stains the staff has to lift from the upholstery." "I will miss her enthusiasm." This statement spurred Daltrey to action. "North, I have something to say to you and I respectfully request your indulgence. If, after listening to me, you still feel that your only option is to leave Greenmarch, I will not stop you, though it tears my heart in half." Northlund turned, confident he would see the usual audacious smirk on Daltrey's face that would be the harbinger of yet another round of bickering between them. Instead, to his surprise, the young lord looked every bit as desperate as he sounded. 43
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin "Please?" Daltrey asked, motioning to the settee in the corner. "Sit with me and hear me out." Northlund waited for Daltrey to sit first and then took the opposite end of the small sofa. "Though it is against my better judgment, I will listen out of affection for Arabella." Daltrey smiled, thanking the gods for a second chance. "But I warn you, sir…." "There is no need for warnings, North. Let me begin by apologizing for my less than exemplary treatment of you these past few weeks. I can offer no excuse for my behavior other than falling prey to my own ego … and your not inconsiderable appeal." Taken aback, Northlund hesitated, unsure of the sudden transformation in a man he thought incapable of sincerity. "Go on." Daltrey clasped his hands in his lap to keep from reaching across the slight distance and taking Northlund's hand in his own. So much would be lost if he could not undo the damage he'd already done. "You have accused me of simply toying with you and your emotions and I must confess you had me dead to rights. I have behaved in a manner that was nothing short of shameful, sordid, wicked, vile…." "So you admit that what you feel for me is naught but lust?" Northlund interrupted.
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Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Daltrey could see the surprise and hurt in the other man's cerulean eyes and he quickly continued. "No, not at all. Well, perhaps at the very first, but when I came to know you a little…." Sliding closer, Daltrey continued, "My feelings for you are the most unique I have ever felt, North. Never have I been so desperate to win the heart of another and for many more reasons than a quick dalliance. And therein lies the reason for my failure." "I am not sure I understand what you're saying, Daltrey." "The manner in which I pursued you did not differ from my previous conquests, North, and that was a fatal error on my part. What I should have done was treat you with the care and respect you deserved." Northlund tried to remain unaffected by Daltrey's confession thinking it might be another ploy to win him over. But the sight of a single tear trailing down Daltrey's cheek made him think otherwise. "I … I love you, North. I have since the first time I laid eyes on you and I would be honored if you would consent to remain in Greenholm. Give me an opportunity to court you properly and prove the worth of my love for you." Taking Daltrey's hand in his own, Northlund held it tightly while Daltrey composed himself. Northlund could feel his steely resolve melting at the sight of the young lord reduced to tears, but what future could there be for them? "I believe you to be sincere and I accept your apology, Daltrey. 45
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin But I find it hard to see a future for us even if I should agree to stay." Daltrey kissed their clasped hands. "You have only to tell me of your true feelings on this, North. Society and my good name be damned if you do love me, for I shall suffer any and all of arrows to spend my remaining days by your side." Northlund wiped the moisture from Daltrey's cheek and knew he was lost. He could not think of a single reason to continue to deny his feelings, especially in favor of a loveless existence that promised more of the same lonely nomadic life. Northlund truly felt at home in the little shire and he believed with all of his heart that Daltrey had changed. "You truly mean it, don't you?" "With all of my heart." "But what of my job? I know the school has already advertised; I have moved out of my room and have nowhere to live." "You can stay here. We have more than enough room and I feel Arabella would welcome the sole attention of a master such as yourself." Northlund chuckled at enthusiasm on Daltrey's face. everything, have you?" 46
the look of unbridled "So you have thought of
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Daltrey went to his knee in front of Northlund. "I have thought of nothing but making things right between us. You hold my heart in your hand, North. Give me your answer, please." Perhaps it was the Christmas spirit that lifted the veil of self-denial from Northlund’s heart, but he found he felt freer than he had in years. All that remained was for him to put voice to his feelings. "I do love you, Daltrey. Now kiss me before I change my mind." Daltrey closed the distance between them and cupped the back of Northlund's head. "All the days we have together will be an affirmation of our love. On that you have my promise." Lionel passed the closed door to the merchants’ parlor and stopped. The majority of the guests had been shown the door and Arabella was presently entertaining the few parents and teachers who remained with a rousing rendition of Chopin's “Mazurka in C.” It would be a few minutes before he would be needed again. Turning about, he moved stealthily to the door and listened. The lack of noise coming from the room concerned him; how could he live with himself if he simply passed by and didn't make the effort to check on Daltrey? At least that would be his excuse should he interrupt his charge and the professor in a less than decent state. The knob turned easily and Lionel opened the door just wide enough to give him a view of the room. Daltrey was on his knees in front of 47
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin Professor Merrit and the two were oblivious to all the world, lost in a kiss that confirmed Lionel's words of wisdom had been heeded. A smile of genuine elation lit the valet’s face as he closed the door on the pair. Now for the final touch to his turn as matchmaker. Removing the verdant sprig of Christmas joy from the mirror in the foyer, Lionel hung it on a golden ribbon just above the door to the mudroom. Neither man would be able to miss it. Whistling to himself, Lionel went to the kitchen. Perhaps a spot of brandy to celebrate, and a discreet word to the staff to prepare the bedroom next to Daltrey’s for an addition to the household. Lionel expected the professor would want his own room for a while, at least as long as it would take Daltrey to demonstrate his sincerity. Yes, there would be much to celebrate this Christmas. Northlund pulled back, wanting the kisses to go on but knowing one of them had to be the stronger. "We should return to the party; you will be missed." "A sweet sip of your lips and you push me away? I see I shall have to work harder for your affections." "If you work any harder you will leave your guests departing with naught but Arabella and Lionel seeing them off." Daltrey thought to press his advantage before he reminded himself of the boon he'd already been given. He promised to court North and he would keep to that promise. "You are the more level-headed of the two of us. I will defer 48
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin to your judgment." He got to his feet and began to lead Northlund to the door. "Come, my love. Let us empty the house and get Arabella to bed. We have much to discuss and I want no obligations to distract us." Laughing, Northlund allowed himself to be led by the hand. Daltrey opened the door and ran directly into a hanging ribbon. "What the devil?" "Don't you recognize it, Daltrey? It's mistletoe." Northlund took the ribbon from Daltrey and held the bit of greenery overhead. "Merry Christmas, Daltrey." Daltrey brought his lips close to the other man’s. "The first of many, North. On that you have my word,” he whispered, before he brought their mouths together in sweet kiss that seemed to have no end.
AND there for modesty’s sake we will leave them. Thus ends the tale of how my fondest Christmas wish came true. My beloved uncle and adored music teacher found abiding love and companionship for all their lives and enriched mine one hundredfold. Northlund, my dear Mr. Merrit, was successful in persuading Uncle Daltrey to let me enroll in the Royal Conservatory in London. There was a quite a bit of bother over the fact that a female sought entrance to the hallowed halls, but in the end, my family’s money prevailed over narrow-mindedness. With my mentor and my guardian 49
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin flanking me, I felt invincible and was rarely intimidated by the biases of others. We divided our time between the London townhouse and the country manor and I was blessed with a wonderful childhood despite the oddness of having two fathers instead of the usual complement of one father and one mother. In fact, I would venture to say that it broadened me, to use a vulgar term. Under Northlund’s gentle tutelage, my uncle soon rid himself of the prejudices he’d absorbed in childhood and became known in society as an eccentric. Among his more shocking peculiarities was the habit of asserting that women were every bit as capable as men were. Fortunately, his wealth and position were great enough that he was not ostracized and was referred to as an original, rather than a lunatic. With my two fathers beside me, encouraging me in every endeavor, I became a virtuoso player of the pianoforte, and indeed any instrument with keys. Moreover, I developed my penchant for composing tunes until the proud day that I finished writing my first symphony. It was not the last, or the best, but it is the one I remember most fondly, now that I am come to the winter of my life. I called it the “Greenmarch Symphony” and it was inspired by the love I saw daily between my uncle and North. I strove mightily to capture their moods, their emotions, their very persons in bits of music that I wove together in a naïve attempt to immortalize something that I could not touch, but could sense with my soul. If I could have translated what was in their hearts into 50
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin notes on a staff, I would be hailed as the most sublime composer of all time for bringing harmony to all the world. But alas, there will always be those with ears that will not hear the glad tidings that love is love and sacred in all its guises. None could ever convince me that there was any evil in what Northlund and my uncle felt for each other. It is odd to be back at Snowgate Hall for the holidays. It seems so empty without the noise of Uncle Daltrey’s quick boot steps on the flagstones of the entry or the plangent sounds of Northlund’s dear hands upon the keys. In the years after my marriage, Christmases were spent at my husband’s estate, becoming increasingly high-spirited affairs as the children came: Richard named for my husband, Daltrey for my uncle, Susannah after my mother, Westley, the twins Isabella and Christopher, and little Freddie, who is twenty this year. So many grand holidays filled with music and good food shared with the family and of course the staff and students of Greenmarch Academy. That tradition never flagged. Each year, my uncle and his loyal valet reveled in the preparations for the event of the year at Snowgate Hall. Headmaster Merrit’s part was to rehearse the pupils for the Christmas concert, a program he and I had composed especially for the occasion. I can close my eyes and imagine myself there: the Yule log ablaze in the huge hearth, the fresh scent of the evergreen boughs that garlanded the hall, the clear voices raised in a carol, the buttery squares of light on the snow under the window, the way my uncle smiled 51
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin when his eyes met Northlund’s across the room, and the mistletoe. I smile to think that such an unprepossessing sprig of vegetation should have been the key to unlocking such great and lasting joy. The love that bloomed between my guardian and my mentor never flagged either, but remained an unwavering flame until the end of their days. I will not tell which passed away first, or relate the quiet suffering endured by the survivor, for that is not my tale. Christmas is a celebration of birth and I have told you of the love that was born between two good men and that did not falter despite the obstacles that fate and society set in their path. What they felt in their hearts and souls was stronger than any outside force and, together, they were brave enough to face anything. That is how I will always remember them. God rest ye merry, my sweet and gentle men.
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Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen Connie Bailey & J.M. McLaughlin
©Copyright Connie Bailey & J.M. Laughlin, 2008 Published by Dreamspinner Press 4760 Preston Road Suite 244-149 Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Art by Dan Skinner/Cerberus Inc.
[email protected] Cover Design by Mara McKennen This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America December, 2008
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