She swiped her cheek of a tear and nodded before turning to his nurse, Hannah, and presenting her with a gift also.
Marmaduke cuddled and cosseted the kitten who purred and kneaded the blanket on his lap with her paws, marking time. A time that he now knew never moved constant and true. It wound and weaved, sometimes ending up right back where you started.
“Hmm,” he said as the kitten clawed her way up his scarf to sniff his cheek. “If you had a collar like in India, you wouldn’t get lost again. And I have one…somewhere…” With one hand, he felt around in his jacket pockets and at last found the pouch that had been there for so long.
Waiting for Martha.
The kitten sniffed at it while Marmaduke’s fumbling thumbs loosened the ribbon bow and upended the pouch.
A collar tumbled out, a plethora of sparkles set within the leather shimmering in the firelight.
“Well, damn me,” he muttered. “That’s where I put those blasted diamonds.”
He peered over his shoulder to tell Charlotte about them but she was now sat upon the sofa, softly smiling at that thoughtful duke from next door, their hands gripped tight together.
Marmaduke didn’t think she’d have much need of them now.
So with a frown, he swivelled.
Mrs Munro was admiring her gift of a new woollen cloak. His nurse was such a cheerful woman who’d only ever treated him kindly. She worked all hours without complaint and hadn’t minded that the roof leaked in her bedchamber.
“Mrs Munro?” he enquired. “Have I ever asked you if you like cats?”
“I adore them, Mr Wainwright.” Her rotund face lit with a smile. “I have one named Boots, and since I lost my Mr Munro, he keeps me such company.”
“Well, I think Puss in Boots deserves a little present too, do you not think?” And he placed the diamond-studded collar into her lap. “Merry Christmas, Mrs Munro.”
She gasped and stuttered but Marmaduke winked at her and then returned his gaze to the fire, waggled his toes and reached for a glass of the young duke’s exceedingly fine claret.
He snuggled Martha in his scarf and within the flames watched time itself leap and curl. Past Christmases melded and scattered as memories rearranged themselves, but in their midst, some of life’s finest moments held fast and forever…
A couple in love, whispering to one another.
A young vibrant girl with dreams and life ahead of her.
A cheerful woman with naught but kindness in her heart.
An infant kitten mewling in wonder at the world.
He raised his glass.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispered, “to one and all.”
EPILOGUE
“Adieu. Be good, be lovely on earth.”
PRIVATEEDUCATION:APRACTICALPLAN FOR THESTUDIES OFYOUNGLADIES.
ELIZABETHAPPLETON. 1815.
Some said that winter was a harsh season of barren skies, bare fields and eerie stillness but Charlotte could not agree.
All was merely at rest.
Watchful rooks perched peacefully on the devoid branches and the far fields merely slumbered beneath their blanket of white.
The view from this bench tucked into the fellside was endless: of mountains weaving in slopes and slumps, the lakes stamped with the reflected clouds, Ambleside nestled below, and to the fore, the ducal manor house with its stern slate roof and gardens painted in festive snow.
