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Etta stepped forward and gently touched a stunning angel decoration. ‘This is incredible...’
The balloon-shaped ornament contained a Victorian-style chromolithographic angel holding a candle. Its lavish trimmings included vintage tinsel ribbon as well as narrow chenille, antique beaded ribbon and more beautiful spun glass. Further up the tree a vintage-style Santa Claus with a frosty glittery beard hung, framed inside a gold paper medallion.
‘Forget incredible. Each one is exquisite.’ She glanced round the room. ‘You’ve outdone yourself.’
He really had. In true Victorian-style greenery abounded—spruce, cedar, ivy and holly was draped and hung and garlanded over the furniture...the walls...the banisters and chandeliers in a beautiful sweeping display. The scent of cedar infused the air and made her tingle with the spirit of Christmas. Garlands of cranberries and popcorn, tinsel and paper chains streamed over the ceilings and coloured glass lamps shone in the darkness of the early December morning.
‘The Victorians really did know how to push a whole flotilla of boats out. But I couldn’t have done all this without my staff and all the helpers.’
‘Too right, Gabe,’ came the cheerful tones of a young man who had entered, laden with a basket of logs.
‘Sam. How did the match go?’
‘We won. It was a hard game, and I got me leg bashed in when a dirty b—’ He glanced at Etta and blushed. ‘When one of the opponents took me down. But he was too late. I managed to pass the ball, just like you said, and we got the try.’
He deposited the logs by the fireplace and he and Gabe did some sort of complicated high five.
‘Oh, and Dad sends his regards and says to tell you that he’ll be here early for the fair. He’ll set up the lights and then he’ll be on standby, and Mum’s cooking up a storm.’
‘Sounds fabulous. I’ll drop in to see them later.’
‘Cheers, Gabe. Catch you later.’
It was incredible, really. There was no side at all to Gabe’s interaction with his employees—no feeling of a social or class divide other than a difference in accent and no feudal spirit, as such. And yet she sensed that his employees felt a fierce loyalty to the man who would one day be the Duke of Fairfax.
Everyone was working all-out on the fair—none more so than Gabe—and they worked with an easy camaraderie that indicated a long-term two-way friendship and respect. The kind instigated by a man with integrity and a genuine loyalty to his land—not a shallow playboy.
Gabe headed over to a corner piled with boxes. ‘I’m going to set up some tables for people to make their own wreaths and decorations. Could you help me put together some samples?’
‘Of course.’
He lifted a cardboard flap in one deft movement and looked at the contents. ‘I thought these were wreaths.’
‘What are they?’
‘Mistletoe balls.’
Etta couldn’t help herself. Despite the knowledge that it was puerile she chuckled, and in response his expression morphed and his lips quirked up into a smile.
‘Oh, Lord. I am sorry,’ Etta said. ‘I’m behaving like a schoolgirl. Please show me your mistletoe balls.’
With that his lips parted and he started to laugh, and Etta joined in. A full-blown, belly-deep laugh that only eventually subsided.
‘OK. Let’s try again,’ he said as he took various items out of the box, along with a set of instructions.
‘I’ve done this before.’ Etta pulled out a strand of wire and some string and handed it to him. ‘You need to bend the wire into a circle and then twist the string round and round in loops until it’s all covered. Then do the same again and join the two of them together to make a round shape. Twist the mistletoe around it, thread the berries and roses on and voila!’
‘You make it sound easy.’
‘It’s a little fiddly, but it’s a great idea for the fair. Kids and adults will enjoy it.’
As she twisted the wire she cast one more look around the room. ‘For a man who doesn’t like Christmas you’ve really surpassed yourself.’
‘This is nothing to do with my feelings about Christmas. This is about making the event a success.’ His tone of voice was firm as he bent his golden head to the task. ‘This is a work project, aimed at maximising publicity and making money for the manor.’
‘But it’s not only about money—it’s about the celebration of Christmas. I don’t see how you can produce this and not have a tiny tendril of Christmas spirit buried somewhere.’
‘Nope.’ The sigh he puffed out was filled with exasperation. ‘Why does it matter to you?’
