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‘Let’s go.’
‘Good girl. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘I fall over and someone skates over my finger and—’
‘I won’t let that happen. Come on.’
* * *
They walked through the grandeur of the lobby and through the small revolving doors onto an illuminated street. The cold flakes of snow sizzled on Gabe’s upturned face and next to him Etta gasped.
Above them hung shimmering sheets of sparkling lights that twinkled and twisted and glittered in a cascade of light. The shops were lit up too, literally wrapped in Christmas lights in the shape of a bow, and bedecked with silk ribbons and pine branches. The smell of roast chestnuts mingled with the aroma of traditional glühwein—a heady mix of wine, cinnamon and cloves.
‘Incredible...’ she breathed as they mingled with the shoppers.
‘So, Christmas market first, then ice-skating—or the other way round?’ He looked down at the map.
‘Market first,’ she decided. ‘Just in case I end up in hospital.’
‘Ye of little faith. I told you I’ll keep you safe.’
‘Martial arts expertise is not going to stop me falling on my backside.’
‘Ah, but my expert intuition will. OK, we’ll do the market first. We can easily walk to the one outside the Hofburg Palace and then walk to the rink.’
‘Lead the way and I can look at all the lights. Look! Each street is different. There must be literally millions of LED lights throughout this city.’
Etta was right—the brilliantly lit streets boasted stars and garlands in a display that caught his breath. But in truth it was Etta who affected his lung capacity. Dressed in black jeans and a dark green jumper with a snowflake motif, under a brilliant red coat that emphasised her slender waist before swirling out to knee level, she looked beautiful. Back in the hotel Gabe had wanted to pick her up and kiss her senseless and he still wanted to do exactly that. But he wouldn’t because it needed to be Etta’s decision.
A ten-minute walk brought them to the immensity of the Hofburg Palace, its sandstone walls and green domed roof a mix of architectural styles—Gothic alongside Renaissance, with Baroque and Rococo thrown into the mix.
‘It’s a place full of history.’ Etta’s face lit up with enthusiasm. ‘Though it’s hard to believe that a family, even a ruling one like the Habsburgs, actually lived in something so enormous. It occupies fifty-nine acres and it’s got 2600 rooms. Sorry. I am so boring to go on holiday with. I read up on everything and spout facts and...’
‘It’s fine. I’m interested.’ His words were true, but more than that he was enjoying the way she waved her hands around to make a point, the enthusiasm on her face, her appreciation of the sights.
‘Lucky for you. Because it’s one of my hat choices. And I really want to visit the Sisi Museum—it’s all about the Empress Elizabeth... Her life was fascinating and tragic.’
‘It makes Derwent Manor look minuscule.’
Etta tipped her head to one side in consideration. ‘I know it’s very different, but have you ever considered the idea of handing the manor over to a heritage trust? You could still live in it, but the enormous upkeep costs wouldn’t be borne by your family.’
‘No!’ The idea filled his Derwent soul with repugnance. ‘Derwent Manor belongs to the Derwents. To hand it over to an institution would feel wrong—the land is our land, the rooms are ours, the history is ours.’
And yet thanks to him perhaps once he was gone the manor would be handed over, because the new Duke might not want to live in it. This Matteas Coleridge might not feel any loyalty to the property at all—why would he? No. Somehow, by hook or by crook, he’d imbue Coleridge with pride in his lineage. Bring him up to scratch.
‘Derwent Manor will remain privately held.’
Etta’s eyes scanned his face. ‘OK. I just wondered if there isn’t a part of you that resents the fact that you will have to live your life a certain way in the name of duty.’
‘Nope. Not a particle.’ It was hard to explain the deep tie he felt to his ancestral home, his abiding need to preserve it at any cost. And yet he’d let it down...
But right now he didn’t want to think about his inability, his failure to his land and home. Didn’t want to think about Matteas Coleridge—the man he was here to see. There was little he could do right now, and he wasn’t even sure what he would achieve by an observation of the man who might one day wear the Fairfax coronet. Better to focus on Etta and her glowing features as she turned towards the market.
‘I don’t even know where to begin—and apparently this is one of the smaller markets. It’s all so magically Christmassy.’ Etta pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. ‘I have to send some pictures to Cathy. Look at those Christmas decorations! They are exquisite.’
The hand-painted baubles hung in colourful array, glinting in the December sunshine. Next door to them was another pristine white stall where beautifully crafted reindeer jostled with snowflakes and the walls displayed intricately embroidered Christmas stockings. Brightly coloured shelves were decked with snowman figurines and snow globes.
‘And the candles! They smell heavenly.’ Etta darted from stall to stall, her enthusiasm evident in the way she gently touched the wares, considered her purchases. ‘I know I won’t see Cathy for Christmas, but I’ve promised her we’ll have our own Christmas once..
