Shining Threads (19 page)

‘I
do
know, Tessa. Now come on, lass, we don’t want Laurel to steal all the limelight. Not that she’s likely to, the minute those downstairs clap eyes on you.’

Even now it was uncertain whether the Squire would attend. He had answered Laurel’s invitation with a brief note to say he had a prior commitment on that date but if he could manage it he
and his family and Christmas guests might look in for half an hour to wish the Greenwood family seasonal greetings. It was almost in the style of a manorial lord bestowing a visit on a deserving
tenant.

Laurel was delirious with joy, almost insufferable in her pride. She was unaware that had it not been for Nicky Longworth who had reminded his father of the charm, the wit, the good looks and
good manners of the three Greenwood youngsters who were often included in the Squire’s hunt, he would have thrown the invitation to the back of the fire where it belonged.

They went downstairs together, mother and daughter. Jenny, who vowed she was far too old for dressing up, appeared serene and elegant in stark black velvet, relieved only by a magnificent
diamond choker about her smooth neck and long earrings to match. She made the perfect contrast for her exquisitely, simply dressed daughter and the two young men who watched for her at the foot of
the stairs were bound in her spell, caught in the shimmering magic of her.

‘Drew, Pearce, good evening,’ their aunt said to them, offering a cheek to each in turn, which they kissed without once taking their eyes from Tessa. ‘You both look very
dashing. And what a cold evening it is. I do believe it might snow before morning. A white Christmas would be lovely for the children.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Where are Laurel and Charlie?’

‘In the drawing-room. The first guests are due to arrive any moment.’

‘Well . . .’ She glanced from one entranced face to the other and a small pang of misgiving struck her. She had seen that look on a man’s face many, many times, directed not
only at her daughter as now, but at other women, including herself. It came in different guises from pure lust to the deep and endless love, strong, steadfast and beautiful to see, that her older
brother felt for his wife, the mother of these two young men. And if it transpired that one or the other of her brother’s boys should make up with
her
girl she would have no objection.
They were wild and reckless, hot tempered and arrogant, but good-natured withal. And her girl was strong, stronger than both of them, though that was not yet immediately apparent; she would tame
and control, shape into a steady man, the one who would be her husband. It would be a good match, but with which one, for God’s sake? They were both looking at Tessa as though she was the
Christmas fairy come to life.

Jenny shook her head, smiling at her own absurdity, for they blew hot and cold, the pair of them, changing their minds as often as they changed their splendid jackets. Tessa looked superb
tonight, older than her years and eternally feminine, and would not any man with a drop of red blood in his veins stare as these two were doing?

‘I’ll join them for a sherry, then,’ she said, wondering why she bothered, and left the three of them knowing that none had even noticed she had gone.

The young men were dressed identically in tight black riding breeches and a white frilled shirt open at the neck. Their tall boots reached their knees and they wore gold earrings looped on
thread about their ears and a red bandana most rakishly tilted over one eye. Their brown skin and white teeth added to their startlingly effective appearance, as did the mock cutlass they each wore
at their belts. Laurel had decided against masks as she wanted none of the company to be in any doubt of the identity of the peerless guests she hoped to entertain this night.

‘Pirates or gypsies?’ Tessa asked impishly.

‘He’s a pirate and I’m a gypsy.’

‘How clever.’

‘We thought so, but not half as clever as you, little cousin,’ Drew stepped away from Pearce to stand in front of her as she moved down from the bottom tread of the stairs. Pearce
frowned and fingered his cutlass, ready to plunge it into his brother’s back, but she stepped lightly between them, moving towards the towering Christmas tree which stood at the foot of the
stairs, adjusting a strand of tinsel on its bough, allowing them to study her whilst she stood gracefully on tip-toe to reach the branch.

‘You
have
grown up since we saw you an hour ago,’ Pearce murmured, his eyes narrowed, ‘and in a most delightful way. Mind you, we have noticed for the past week or two
that you have become quite the young lady, have we not, Drew?’

‘Indeed we have.’

‘And in what way is that, Pearce?’ she asked innocently, immensely pleased with her own womanhood which had come on her so suddenly and so splendidly. She smiled over her shoulder,
scarcely troubled, as she had been on the night the party had been discussed, by their speculative glances, for did she not know what scamps they were? Charming scamps who would flatter any pretty
woman, and she knew now, and was pleased with it, that she was pretty. And she was almost in her eighteenth year so why should she not try out this amusing pastime of mild flirtation, even if it
was only with her cousins? They were exceedingly handsome, both of them, and quite willing, it appeared, to go along with the game.

‘Come over here and we will show you.’ He grinned wickedly and a small shiver of delight ran through her. His teasing eyes were so lovely and blue, so blissfully familiar, and this
nonsense made her feel so grown up.

‘My turn first, I think, brother, since I am the oldest,’ Drew said softly and there was something in his tone which was not teasing at all. He had followed her as she drifted away
from the Christmas tree, leading her resolutely in the direction of the mistletoe which hung by the drawing-room door. When his cool hand fell on her arm she turned, smiling and ready for her very
first kiss, glad that it was Drew – or was it Pearce? – then realised that it made no difference. His lips were warm as they rested on hers and she could taste his wine-scented,
cigar-scented breath and the sharp smell of his freshly shaved skin.

‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart,’ he whispered amazingly, his cheek against hers. Then before she could open her eyes which she had closed in pleasure at the loveliness of it, he kissed
her again, a delightful repetition of the first time. His hands were firm on her upper arms and she felt herself sway for an instant against him, then he was gone. She opened her eyes and knew they
were shining as she waited for Pearce to take his turn, as he surely would, wondering if his kiss would be as pleasant as Drew’s. But he was standing next to his brother, shoulder to shoulder
as they always did, grinning audaciously.

‘Well, then, little cousin, which one did you like the best?’ they teased, but in both pairs of enquiring eyes and about each smiling mouth was that strange expression she had seen a
month ago and she knew they were in deadly earnest, in deadly contention as they so often inexplicably were.

‘Which . . . but I thought . . . I did not know that you had . . .’

‘What are you trying to say, my pet?’ Pearce’s eyes wandered to her mouth and with a sense of amazement she understood that she had been kissed by
both
her cousins and,
amazingly, their kisses had been identical, so identical she could not have said which was which. Or perhaps it was that way with all men. A kiss was a kiss, no matter who gave it to you. But
Pearce was waiting for an answer and she must cover her confusion for she did not want them to think her a silly female flustered by her first encounter with a male.

‘That you are both exceedingly impertinent and I cannot for the life of me understand what all the fuss is about.’ Her voice was teasing. ‘Both were quite . . .
pleasant,’ she tossed her head to show her supposed indifference for it, ‘but that is all.’

‘So you are saying you do not care for it, then?’ Drew’s mouth opened on a shout of laughter, then he stepped forward and, as the cousin he was, kissed her soundly on both
cheeks. ‘Well, then, we shall have to wait until you are a bit older,’ he declared from the elevated position his six months’ seniority gave him, ‘shall we not,
brother?’

‘Merry Christmas, Tessa, and a happy New Year,’ Pearce offered her his arm and they were as they had always been, impertinent and infinitely dear to her, both of them.

The evening was a huge success, Laurel positively purring as she moved amongst her guests for they were all aware that the Squire had favoured her with a promise to ‘look in’ on her
small party. The house was luminous with candlelight and fragrant with blooms from the greenhouses at the back of Greenacres, hundreds of flowers lining the stairs which led up to the gallery and
salon, and in the lovely room itself great swathes of ivy, garlands of mistletoe, holly and red satin ribbon.

There was chilled punch and chilled champagne, claret, Madeira and sherry; salmon and game, lobster and pigeon pie, oyster patties, mayonnaise of trout, paté and prawns; tipsy-cake and
fruited jellies and mountains of ice-cream mixed with almonds and cherries, the laden tables decorated with a dozen epergnes burdened with fruit and edged with trailing ivy and pale pink rosebuds
from the Greenacres hothouse. Quite, quite exquisite, everyone agreed. Had not Laurel Greenwood done well? the whispers echoing about the salon hissed as she came in on the arm of the Squire, his
lady behind them with Charlie.

‘Dear God, there’ll be no holding her now,’ Pearce drawled as he lounged indolently on one side of Tessa against the tall windows looking out on to the icy winter garden. Drew,
from her other side, sipped his champagne and agreed lazily, his eyes not on his sister as she was led out on to the floor by the man she obviously considered her own personal endorsement of having
‘arrived’, but on his cousin. They had taken it in turns to dance with her though they had been forced, when it could not possibly be avoided without a scene, to allow Nicky Longworth
and one or two others to take a turn round the floor with her. They had vied with one another to make her laugh out loud, causing heads to turn to see what Jenny Harrison’s undisciplined
daughter was up to now. And that ‘get-up’ she had on was scarcely decent. Her ankles were on display for all to gawk at and it was obvious to anyone with eyes in their heads that she
wore no petticoats beneath that shockingly diaphanous gown. It was well known that Jenny Harrison was an unorthodox woman, capricious in her own youth, it was said. Well, weren’t they all?
Kit Greenwood had been a law unto herself from the day they killed her father and it seemed her sons and their headstrong cousin were to be the same.

And yet when the Squire favoured her with a dance, taking her in a graceful dip and sway about the room, evidently as intrigued with her as her madcap cousins appeared to be, she was as demure
and modest as any sixteen-year-old should be, smiling innocently, speaking, one supposed, when spoken to, her eyes, on a level with his, cast down quite shyly. He was so delighted with her,
remembering her skill and bravery on his own hunting field, that he took her round again, returning her to her mother most reluctantly. He had a word and a smile for Drew and Pearce who sprang to
attention respectfully as he approached, his own son with them, and though Laurel was none too pleased at the amount of time, almost twenty minutes, he then spent chatting with them, it really was
a triumph for the family.

The Squire and his lady had been driven away in their carriage when Pearce took Tessa’s arm and drew her to one side.

‘Meet us at the bottom of the stairs in ten minutes,’ he whispered.

‘What for?’ she whispered back.

‘Never you mind. It’s a surprise. Just be there.’

They were there waiting for her. They led her along the back passage to the side entrance of the house, one carrying her warm, fur-lined cape, the other a stout pair of boots, and when she was
snugly bundled up they opened the door with a flourish.

‘Just for you, little cousin, and a very happy Christmas from us both,’ Pearce said softly, revealing the magical garden beyond. It had been snowing for more than an hour. At first
small, frozen pellets had stuck fast to the lawns and paths, turning within half an hour to huge, soft flakes which had laid themselves, like the swansdown which lined the edge of her hood, three
inches deep in a smooth and silent layer across the estate and the moorland beyond, transforming it into a world of such perfect, unspoiled beauty she drew in her breath with delight. It was eerily
quiet. The lamplight stretched out in a pale yellow path across the glistening snow, gold and silver shimmering where the light reflected from it. The sky was a deep, mysterious purple and from it
tumbled and whirled enormous fat snowflakes. Trees and bushes were captured in their dazzle, stretching out graceful arms to take on the shape of smooth, white, diamond-studded statues. It was all
glitter and dazzle and when she stepped out in it, a hand in each of her cousins’, it closed in around her, caressing her with the infinite tenderness of a lover.

They were quiet at first, almost reverent, stepping softly across the wide lawn beneath the salon window, looking back at the three sets of footprints they had made, those in the middle blurred
by the dragging of her cloak.

But the peace did not last. How could it? They were young and in love with life and enjoyment and their own immortality, and when Pearce picked up a handful of snow and moulded it into a hard,
round ball, warning his brother to beware, it did not take long for the other two to respond. Their shrieks of joyous laughter were heard even above the sound of the orchestra, drawing an amused
crowd to the window. Within five minutes Laurel Greenwood’s salon was emptied of every gentleman under the age of sixty, her own husband included, and even a dozen of the most daring young
ladies, those who could escape or ignore their mamas’ eagle eye.

It was said by many of the young guests to be the best party the valley had ever known, with the snowfight allowing those young ladies who had the inclination for it, more freedom than their
mamas – or husbands – would have thought decent. More than a few lovely gowns were ruined and satin dancing slippers in tatters. Cheeks were rosy and warm despite the snow which danced
against them and the laughter and shouts of triumph rose as snowballs found their mark. When it was done and a smilingly frozen-faced Laurel, who had declined to go outdoors and make a fool of
herself, served hot coffee and mulled wine to those gentlemen who remained, Tessa curled herself up under her quilt, the firelight picking out the snowflakes which still floated against the window,
and tried blissfully to decide which of her cousin’s warm, Christmas kisses had pleased her the most.