Part Two

Christmas day had ended with another unexpected gift for Adam: his family had retreated early, much earlier than usual, all proclaiming the festivities had worn them out completely and they really, really needed to fall asleep soon and not get up until the morning. They had bid Adam and Juliet good night and all but fled the great room, leaving the couple space and time to be alone. Surely not something of that Miss Westlake, Juliet's governess of gone-by days at Barnstoke Hall, would approve; but the strict Miss was far away in England and had lost influence on her reluctant charge long ago anyway.

And nothing in Juliet's behaviour showed that she was bothered much about the inappropriateness of the situation. In fact, she nearly looked like an excited puppy—something Adam found both unexpected and endearing—as she settled on the settee looking at him expectantly, slid out of her elegant slippers and pulled her feet up and under the skirt of her elaborate dressing gown. The scarlet silk robe with embroidered silver and white snowflakes at the sleeve hems and lower part of the skirt must have cost Juliet a fortune, but the dark red complimented her so much—now, in the warm light of the fireplace and the oil lamps, even more than earlier that morning. Her face was slightly flushed, if still from the cold at the lake, from the warmth of the fire, or from…anticipation, Adam didn't know, but he surely hoped for the last.

Juliet tapped on the seat next to her. "Won't you…?"

"In a moment. I have to…" Adam turned and rummaged under the lowest branches of the Christmas tree, retrieving a small flat parcel and a burlap bag.

Bringing his findings, he joined Juliet on the settee. "I haven't given you your presents yet, Mylady."

"But I thought…"

"Those books were from my family, not from me."

She looked at him lifting an incredulous eyebrow. "You want to tell me you had nothing to do with that pretty collection of Shakespeare's most famous works? Shakespeare?"

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, I might have been asked for advice."

"And you couldn't resist, naturally." She shook her head, then raised her eyebrow even higher and pursed her lips. "It's a very handsome edition. Real jewels. Mr. Marlowe would be delighted."

Adam grinned, taking his new copy of Dr. Faustus and wagging the book under Juliet's nose before he put it back on the table. "Me thinks we're even, my scheming lady. Don't think I didn't recognise your signature."

"Indeed, we are." This time Juliet chuckled. She reached out and squeezed Adam's arm. "May I have my presents now, Father Christmas?"

"I'm not sure. Have you been a good girl, all this year?"

"Of course! I've been perfectly good." She even managed innocent big round child's eyes.

"Really?" Adam brought down his voice to a growling bass.

She lowered her head and then peered up from under her eyelashes. "Why, yes! Certainly."

"I don't know," Adam said, barely holding back a smirk. "I do seem to recall that only last week you—"

"Adam!"

"Well, you were, weren't you? I don't think that—"

"Adam!"

"Father Christmas, please."

She leaned back and crossed her arms, considering him through narrowed eyes. "Well, Father Christmas, if I recall correctly, you were there last week, too, being…not good."

Now he did smirk. "Oh, you recall correctly: I was there. But, come to think of it, we weren't bad. Not at all. In fact," he leaned over and brushed a butterfly kiss on her cheek, "it was delightfully good. You were delightfully good."

She turned and nibbled at his earlobe, kissed that tender spot below his ear. "Was I?" she whispered, and then breathed, "Now give me my presents already."

Silently laughing, he gave her the burlap bag first. She untied the ribbon at the top and reached in, stopped when she touched the contents looking at him in surprise, and then carefully pulled out some dry stems with soilless roots.

"Roses?" she queried.

"Well, I thought you'll surely want to plant some around the ranch house when you'll be living here."

She nodded silently, then studied the bare-rooted plants, tracing the short stems with her fingers in a tenderly fashion. Eventually she took the attached paper label and read the clumsy script.

She closed her eyes heaving a deep breath, and when she opened them again, they seemed to glisten. Her voice was hoarse when she said, "Queen de Bourbon, Adam? Where…?"

"They are from Barnstoke. I asked Poole to send them. He says to give you his regards."

She breathed heavily. Once, twice, three times. And then she gave up and let the tears spill.

Adam pulled her into his arms. "Hey, shh. I didn't want to make you sad. I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"No." It was choked and muffled, and he felt her warm breath through his shirt. "I'm not sad. I'm…" She pressed her face into his chest, drying up her tears on his shirt, then wriggled out of his embrace. "I'm not sad. You didn't make me sad. You made me—" She stopped to brush away new tears escaping her eyes. "Look at me: I'm maudlin." She laughed under the tears. "You've made me maudlin, Adam."

He dried up her tears with his handkerchief and wiped the last drops away with his thumb; and she kissed him. Seizing his face with both hands, pressing her lips on his with vigour, she kissed him.

"And happy. Content," she said, snuggling up against him. She laid her head on his shoulder, arranging herself in that already so familiar way, and whispered, "Thank you."

He folded his arms around her, held her tight until her breath evened out and he felt her body relaxing fully. Only then he took up the other present and slid it between them.

"There's something else, Mylady."

She took the parcel, looking at him timidly.

He nudged her nose. "Come on, open it. It's safe."

And it was safe. It was a book, but it wasn't a book. It was a journal, much like the old, nearly full black notebook Juliet used to collect what she wrote other than her newspaper articles: poems, short stories, ideas, fragments of that novel she planned to complete one day. It was bound in dark green silk, fashionably decorated with Chinese embroidery in bold but pleasant colours, showing a serpent.

"It's beautiful, Adam." Juliet ran her hands over the smooth material, tracing the meandering body of the snake.

"It seemed to be made for you," Adam replied. "Hop Sing told me you were born under the Chinese zodiac of the serpent."

"A serpent? Like…sin? Good gracious."

"No. Like wisdom."

"Ah. That's better." She smiled sweetly. "And what's your zodiac? A mule?"

Adam grinned and pulled on a stray strand of golden hair. "Nope. I'm a tiger."

She snorted. "You're making that up."

He shook his head. "No."

She looked down at the journal, traced the serpent's tail one more time, then glanced at Adam's waiting face and spoke low and with a small smile, "It does suit you, though. Very much so, actually. A tiger…."

She opened the journal and found his inscription on the first page. He had taken great care to make his script neat and decorative, had adorned the first letter of each stanza with garlands and flowers.

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

"Marlowe." It was only one word, only a name, and some people might have thought Juliet was stating the obvious, but Adam heard the contentment, the wonder, and the gratitude that showed him she'd understood the message. Well, all the messages.

"I'm not a shepherd, Mylady, but I do want to make thee a bed of roses," he said anyway—just to make it even more distinct.

She closed the book, laid it delicately on the table. "Adam," she smiled turning back to him. "You've made me a bed of roses already."

"Have I?" He pulled her back to his chest and moved around so that they came to lie together on the settee, Juliet slightly atop of him, secured from slipping down by his arms enfolding her.

"You have. And more than once," she sighed into his chest.

It was uncomfortable, the settee clearly too narrow for two; it was awkward and they didn't know where to rest their legs and arms; they couldn't see each other's face without some artistic wrenching, they got constantly entangled in the sumptuous skirt of Juliet's dressing gown, but it was warm, and it was soft, and they were as close as they could be and completely at home, and it was wonderful.

They just lay there, listening to the crackling of the fire and to each other's heartbeat; and before the warmth and the quiet lulled him into sleep, Adam kissed Juliet's forehead and whispered, "Merry Christmas, Mylady," and Juliet seemed to melt even more into him murmuring sleepily, "Merry Christmas, Adam."

*** fin ***


A wise lover values not so much the gift of the lover
as the love of the giver. ~ Thomas á Kempis