Engaging Father Christmas (12 page)
I looked at Ian for an explanation. His face was ruddy. His grin jubilant.
“For you.” He handed me the rose. Then reaching for the latch, he said, “And also for you.”
He opened the front door of the Forgotten Rose Cottage. “Welcome home, Miranda.”
I
couldn’t move.
“Come.” Ian held out his hand to me and invited me over the threshold.
The cottage was lit by firelight and by the flickering amber hope of a dozen votives strategically placed in the sparsely furnished room.
The long stem rose in my hand shook.
“Ian, how . . . ?”
“I’ll tell you everything soon enough. Just drink in the moment, Miranda.”
In front of us, an earnest stack of logs burned golden in the hearth. The only furniture I saw was a table with four chairs inside the kitchen area and a plush leather loveseat positioned in front of the fire.
On the polished wood floor I noticed a trail of rose petals. As my eyes adjusted to the soft light, I saw that the rose petals led to a Christmas tree in the corner. Ian flipped a light switch by the door, and the tree lit up.
“Ian, it’s a Christmas tree!”
“That it is.”
“Ian, you got me a Christmas tree.”
“That I did.”
I followed the rose petal trail to the medium-sized, stout tree. It looked magical in its covering of starry lights. I imagined it had, no doubt, been hewn by Ian and carted here in his convertible. I now understood Ellie’s earlier message about Ian not being “ready.” The man had been busy today.
As I approached, I noticed something besides the tiny white lights was attached to every branch. And then I saw what it was.
Roses.
Red roses. Dozens and dozens of red rosebuds. They hung like ornaments and nestled in the branches like birds’ nests.
The sight was beautiful beyond words. I stood, stared, blinked, and cried a little as I tried to take it in.
“Did you do all this?”
“I had a little help from Katharine.”
Ian knew I never had had a Christmas tree. My mother and I never had one. Doralee didn’t believe in them. And once I was on my own in an apartment, it seemed silly to pay for a tree when I had no ornaments to decorate it. To the occasional friend or office associate who visited me at Christmastime and remarked about the absence of a tree, I always said I was doing my part to help the environment.
When Ian had found out last Christmas that I never had put up a tree, he said, “One day you’ll have your tree, and it will bloom in roses just for you.”
At the time, I had thought he was trying to unveil to me his poetic side. I had no idea this romantic man of mine was making plans. Plans that were being unfurled tonight. This was my Christmas tree, and it was covered with roses.
Ian wrapped his arms around me and kissed the side of my neck. “You are my rose, Miranda. And you are forgotten no more.”
My tears fell lightly on his arms as he held me secure.
“And this place is no longer ‘Forgotten Rose Cottage.’ We’ll give it a new name.” He kissed my shoulder and then my neck. I drew in the fragrant scent of the evergreen tree.
“Ian, I can’t believe all this.”
“Believe it.”
“How did you . . . ?”
“Come and sit.” He led me to the loveseat.
“Explain all this to me,” I said.
“The cottage is yours, Miranda.”
“How? Did you buy it?”
“No.”
“Then who? How . . . ?”
Ian got up, walked to the fire, and placed another log on the stack. Leaning against the mantel, he said, “Your father bought the cottage twelve years ago.”
“My father?”
“Yes. Sir James, I’ve been told, was as taken with the property as you were when you first saw it. He bought it without many people knowing because he wanted to use it as his painting studio. That’s his table in the kitchen, and the sofa you’re sitting on was his as well.”
My hand instantly went to the dark brown leather and smoothed over the surface.
My father sat here by this fire. This was his cottage.
“I knew how much you loved this place, so I made some inquiries last August. When I found out it belonged to Sir James, I went to Edward to see if I might either purchase the property from the estate or lease it from him. He deliberated for some time with the barristers. Last week, at Edward’s request and by his hand, the papers were drawn up to give the property to you as part of your inheritance.”
My jaw went slack.
“The cottage is yours.”
“If Edward did that, it means he had to tell the lawyers who I am.”
Ian nodded.
“Did Margaret agree to all this?”
“As far as she needed to for Edward to make the arrangements.”
I leaned back and let the implication of this news sink in. Margaret might not approve of me, but Edward agreed to this. He acknowledged the blood relationship between us.
“Edward has papers for you to sign, of course, and there will be time for meetings with the barristers next week to settle all the fine points. The place needs fixing up, but it’s yours.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it. It’s true.”
The dancing flames in the hearth warmed the smoky, sand-colored stones of the fireplace. Above, on the thick, carved wood mantel, my eye went to a single, long-stemmed red rose that lay rested on the wood beam. Next to the rose was a box. A familiar little white box.
I tried to hide my delight, but the discovery must have shone in my eyes because Ian cleared his throat and shifted his position.
None of the clever lines that flitted through my thoughts came to rest on my lips. I wanted to tease him, but this didn’t seem the moment for that. I would wait for Ian to speak. My answer was ready, as I’m sure he already knew.
“Miranda.” Ian gathered up the box and the rose and moved closer to me.
I felt my pulse beat faster.
“You know my heart toward you. It has not wavered from the first. I have set my affections on you and you alone.”
Holding out the rose to me, Ian lowered to one knee and took my hand in his. With his soft hazel-brown eyes fixed on mine, he dipped his chin. “Miranda, will you have me for your husband?”
I heard the answer in my heart before it danced off my lips. “Yes. With all my heart, yes.”
Ian took the ring from the box and slipped it on my finger. The dainty, platinum ring bumped over my knuckle and settled in its new home. I held out my hand and blinked back the tears.
“The ring belonged to my mother,” he said.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Do you like it, then?”
“I love it.” The firelight twinkled in the simple, classic setting. “If I were to pick out a ring, this is what I would have chosen.”
Ian settled in beside me and told me how his father, as a young man, had saved his money for years before he could buy Ian’s mother this beautiful ring. “When they married she had a simple, thin band, but my dad always wanted her to have a diamond. When I was a boy, I remember him telling her that every time she looked at the ring she was to remember that she was of great value to him and deeply loved.”
I held my hand closer and admired the sparkling diamond and the simple curves of the setting.
“Before my mom died, she took off the ring and gave it to me. She told me to save it because she was sure one day I would meet the right woman. And when I did, she said this ring would whisper to that woman that she is of great value to me and that I loved her deeply.”
We drew close for a lingering kiss, and then we kissed again.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“And I love you.”
Ian drew back. “So, the next question is, when?”
“When what?”
“When will you make good on your promise to marry me?”
“Soon.”
“Yes, but when?”
“I was thinking springtime might be nice. It would be pretty here then, wouldn’t it? We could have our reception in the garden.”
“It might rain, but we know how to adapt to a little rain.”
“I would like the service to be at the old church in Carlton Heath.”
“Of course.”
“In front of the stained glass window.”
“Whatever you wish.”
“And I’d like to move to Carlton Heath before the spring. The sooner the better.”
“It’s your home.”
“It’s our home,” I said. “This will be our home.”
I had no words after that. Only a few slow tears and a full heart.
Resting my head on Ian’s shoulder, I looked at the fire and then closed my eyes. I thought I should say something. Nothing came. Only peace. A deep, abiding peace.
We kissed again, and Ian murmured in my ear, “Are you sure you want to wait all the way until spring? What if I went out and found us an agreeable minister and brought him back here this evening?”
I laughed. “On Christmas Eve?”
Before Ian could press his idea of hunting down a minister, we heard noise coming from outside. It seemed to be coming from the walkway.
“Were you expecting someone?” I asked.
“Ahh!” Ian checked his watch. “They’re early. I should have guessed they would be early.”
“Who’s early?”
Just then we heard the clear, true notes of Mark and Julia’s voices as they began singing on our doorstep.
“It’s our Christmas Eve supper via special delivery,” Ian said. “And from the sounds of it, I’m guessing it’s our evening entertainment as well.”
T
ogether Ian and I went to the front door to welcome the Whitcombe family. Ellie and Edward were each holding one of the beautifully decorated picnic hampers I had seen Ellie filling earlier in her kitchen. Julia jitter-wiggled her way right over the threshold and wrapped her arms around my middle.
“Did you know?” Julia asked. “I tried very hard to keep the secret, but Mummy said you might have guessed.”
“No, I didn’t guess a thing about the cottage.” I looked up at Edward with an intense gaze of gratitude and said, “Thank you, Edward. Thank you so much.”
“What about the tree?” Julia asked. “Aunt Katharine told me about the tree, but she said I mustn’t tell. Do you like it?”
“Yes. Very, very much.”
“What about the proposal?” Ellie asked. Then opening her eyes wide and slapping her hand over her mouth, she said in a small voice, “He has asked you already, hasn’t he? We did give you enough time, Ian, did we not?”
“Plenty of time.” Ian took the heavy basket from Ellie. “I asked her, and she said yes. There’s not much to tell.”
I swatted playfully at his arm for the way he had so quickly downplayed the intensely emotional last thirty minutes of our lives.
“Of course she said yes.” Ellie gave me a hug and reached for my hand to see the beautiful ring.
Everyone admired it appropriately, and Ellie said, “Did you need the hanky?”
I realized everything had happened so fast that I hadn’t thought to reach for the hanky. I also realized I still had on my coat. Unfastening the clasps, I removed my coat and slipped into the role of hostess of the “No Longer Forgotten Rose Cottage.”
I said, “May I take your coats?”
“We might have hangers in the bedroom closet,” Ian said. “I haven’t checked.”
I gathered all the coats the way Ellie had in the cloakroom at Grey Hall and went to the back of the cottage to the bedroom. It was empty except for two blank canvases propped against the wall and a collapsed easel beside them.
My father’s unfinished paintings.
In a way, I was also one of his unfinished paintings. The canvas of my life and Ian’s from here on out were blank and ready to be painted. This was a place of new beginnings for us.
The closet was empty and void of hangers, so I stacked the coats on the floor and turned to join the others. However, Mark had stepped into the bedroom and was standing nearby as if he had something to say.
“I wanted you to know that I did what you said.” Mark looked solemn.
I wasn’t sure what he meant.
“I told my grandmother what I had overheard her saying to my father about you.”
“Oh. Good. That was good, Mark. What did she say?”
“She was not pleased, I will tell you that. She said I should keep the information to myself.”
I nodded my agreement.
“I thought you should know.”
“Thank you, Mark.” I smiled at him, hoping to put him more at ease. “You did the right thing.”
“You did the right thing as well.” He was sounding awfully mature. “I was glad you told me the truth. I’m not as young as they all think I am. I know much more than they think I do.”
“What about also telling your parents? I think they would like to know what you heard and what you know at this point.”
“I don’t think my parents would understand.”
“You might be surprised. Talking to them would be a good thing for all of you.”
I knew Ellie and Edward would appreciate the gift of their teenage son opening up to them. He had gone to Margaret on his own. Perhaps the rest would come without my nudging.
I put my hand on Mark’s shoulder and said in my most sincere voice, “I love you, Mark. I want you to know that.”
“I know.” He looked away.
Without prolonging the moment, I said, “Good. Now let’s go see what your mom brought in those baskets.”
Mark and I joined the others as Ellie finished laying out her abundant Christmas Eve dinner spread. She had thought of everything for our picnic by the fire. We had sliced cold ham and four different sorts of cheese with stone-ground wheat bread. The gourmet assortment of mustards, pickles, and olives gave us an exceptional variety to choose from. There also was a creamy pasta salad with peas.
I had just finished helping Ellie put out an assortment of little cakes when she instructed everyone on where to begin with all the goodies. She had spread out a blanket for the children to sit on the floor since the number of seats was limited.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mark’s disgruntled acceptance of his being one of the “children” who would have to sit on the lowly blanket.
I didn’t think it would be humanly possible to feel any happier than I did at that moment. The only person missing was Margaret. I concluded that her absence was her choice and an indication of how things would be from here on out. Some things might not be mendable. I had every piece of the family puzzle except the Margaret piece.
