Two weeks before Christmas, 1815.
Emma had thought that after Grace's birthday, she would have finally gotten through to him. Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth. Lord Jones quickly fell back into his old ways of drinking and hiding himself from Emma. And Grace. He refused any help and got angry with whoever would offer it to him.
Eventually, Emma's seemingly endless patience with him started wearing thin and whatever civility she had treated him with before completely dissolved. Mr Jones, in return, did not seem to care at all and let it wash over him, consequently, Grace became more and more convinced that her father never loved her to begin with.
Day after day Emma tried finding new ways to assure Grace of her father's love, but with every passing day, it became harder to convince her that he did.
She had just left Grace with Mr Jefferson for her daily classes, meaning to go to the kitchen, when she saw Mr Jones making way for the front door, carrying a suitcase in one hand, his coat under his other arm.
"Milord?" Emma questioned while stepping down the stairs. She could see his shoulders rise, as if he was taking a deep breath.
"What is it, Miss Emma?" He groaned as he dropped his suitcase to get a better grip on his coat while turning around to look at her with annoyance.
"You are leaving?" Emma frowned, tilting her head, walking past him and positioning herself between him and the front door.
"Truly?" He sighed, picking up his suitcase again. "That is your question? You see me holding a suitcase, what else would I be doing?"
"But you cannot leave," She protested, holding up her hand to get him to stop, but he walked straight past her like she hadn't even stood there in the first place.
"And yet, I am. Now stop delaying me, for I have no desire to miss the ship."
"Ship?"
"Miss Emma, I know you are uneducated, but surely you must know what a ship is," He smiled, reaching for the door behind her, opening it just slightly.
"I will ignore your disgusting statement," Emma growled, smacking the door closed before him, leaning her body against it. "I know what a ship is and what it means. It means you will be gone for at least a few weeks, which means you will miss Christmas."
Mr Jones chuckled dryly, "Darling, we don't celebrate Christmas in this household. Now let me pass."
She frowned up at him, he stood too close now, much closer than was appropriate. He was intimidating her and she knew, but Emma wouldn't be the one to back down; she knew that as well.
It also dawned upon her that he'd just called her darling, she would have blushed about it, it would have left her flustered, stuttering her next words until she saw herself out, if only he had not used the word like it had no value to him. Emma did not know why it irked her quite so much, but it did.
She lowered her voice, hoping that her anger would not seep through. Instead, she found herself sounding rather confused, "What – What do you mean you do not celebrate Christmas?"
"We simply don't," He opened the door with her still against it, forcing her to take steps forward. "Goodbye Miss Emma," He said sternly, making sure she knew the subject was not open for debate.
"Stubborn arse," Emma muttered under her breath as he stepped down the front stairs.
"I heard that," he yelled after her without looking back, but he was clearly smiling, perhaps he was even genuinely amused.
"Good!" She returned. This time, he did look back, flashing her a cocky grin before stepping into the carriage. Emma went back inside, closing the door behind her and leant against it, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. As she released it and opened her eyes, Ruby stood across her, staring at her with that signature wolf–like grin of hers.
"You all right?" She rose her eyebrows playfully.
"Yes," Emma answered, stepping alongside her towards the kitchen. Ruby pushed the door to the kitchen open with her shoulder. The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee, baked bread and a hint of the spices Ruby often used to season her dishes. It was always pleasantly warm due to the oven that practically worked all day, today being no different. Emma nodded at Mary Margaret with a smile, acknowledging her presence as she sat down next to her. "How did you celebrate Christmas last year?"
"Oh, we have not celebrated it since the Mrs died," Ruby answered. "Killian practically forbade it."
"Did he give Grace gifts at all?"
"No," Ruby replied. "We did give Grace gifts in secret every year," She grinned. "But specifically the last two years, she often told her father about the gifts anyway. He wasn't too happy about it."
"Can you blame her?" Mary Margaret questioned, rising up from her chair to pour three cups of coffee, "You try telling a child to be silent about something she is overjoyed about."
Ruby hummed in agreement, taking a cutting board and a knife so that she could start preparing dinner for tonight, "Quite a difficult task, indeed."
"I would like to set up a Christmas tree," Emma spoke up after a moment of silence.
Ruby looked up at her with a teasing frown, "I thought you liked your job."
Emma chuckled, "I do! I just think that Christmas is too important to simply ignore."
"All right," Ruby nodded, "And what if he sees?"
"He will not be here anyway," Emma smiled smugly. "If he disagrees with me, he should have been here to tell me."
"Oh, he will tell you, I am certain of it."
"I think it is a good idea," Mary Margaret chimed in. "Perhaps you can ask David and August to accompany you to the forest and pick out a tree?"
"Please stop giving her ideas, I like her," Ruby groaned, opening the door that led to the pantry.
"Don't listen to her," Mary Margaret whispered while leaning closer. "Just ask David to help you, I am certain he would be more than willing to lend a hand, same goes for August."
"Did I not tell you to stop giving her ideas?" Ruby suddenly stood behind them, making them both flinch. She grinned at that as she dumped a few vegetables on the table.
Mary Margaret uttered a stubborn hum, "All I'm saying is we could use some Christmas cheer, it has been so long. And somehow, I get the impression that he might not mind so much if we say it was Emma's idea."
"He likes her, but not that much," Ruby objected.
Emma choked on her coffee, "He likes me? Ha! When has he ever given you that impression?"
"Look at her, she is so unaware, it is adorable," Ruby chuckled, handing her a tissue to wipe the coffee that spilt over her lips. "Not even I can tell him what to do the way you do. He lets you yell at him, he lets you stand up to him. He has not tucked Grace into bed in years, you got him to sober up and tuck her in, all in one night."
"I did it for Grace," Emma offered.
"We have all tried things for Grace's benefit, yet you are the only one that ever got through to him," Mary Margaret smiled.
"It did not do much good, he just left without saying goodbye, even if I confronted him about that too."
"Small steps, but things are changing, he is changing, and that's good," Ruby said.
"Is that a yes to the Christmas tree?" Mary Margaret smiled, sitting up just a bit straighter, looking at her with large expectant eyes. Emma grinned and imitated her posture. "Please?" They pouted, voices in unison.
"Fine," Ruby sighed. "Go now, before I change my mind." Mary Margaret practically giggled in excitement at that, jumping from her chair and grabbing Emma by the arm, dragging her along through the mansion in search of David.
They found him in the sunroom, watering the few plants that were still there. Emma could not help herself, but her gaze drifted to the pool behind the windows on the right side wall. Even if no one had ever taught her how to swim, she found it a shame that a beautiful room such as the pool house was left to wither away.
David greeted them with a bright smile, "What can I do for you today?"
"We need a Christmas tree," Mary Margaret said.
"All right. Shall I grow you one?" He quipped.
"Charming," Mary Margaret smiled dryly. "Do not tease us."
"I would not dare to tease Emma," David grinned. "You on the other hand."
"Right," Emma cleared her throat, waving at them sarcastically. "Still here."
David chuckled at that, "So, a Christmas tree?"
"Fetch August and accompany Emma to the forest, pick out a tree and carry it back," Mary Margaret ordered.
"As milady commands," David smiled, bowing down to her. "When shall I perform this task for you?"
"As soon as possible," Emma replied.
"All right, let me fetch my coat, I gather you will need your cloak as well, and I will meet you at the stables," David smiled, bowing briefly before leaving them alone. Mary Margaret stared after him, her eyes following him out of the room, only looking back at Emma when David had left the room. Emma met her gaze with a grin.
"Don't," Mary Margaret warned, lifting a warning finger before exiting the room as well.
"I have not said a thing," Emma protested, following her.
"But you want to."
"Of course, there are so many things to say right now," Emma teased.
"I am begging you to not say a thing," Mary Margaret bit her lip, looking around her. "We will speak of this another time –"
"Will we?"
"No. I am hoping you will forget about it," She muttered. "Go fetch your cloak, he will be waiting." Emma nodded, curtsying before leaving in the direction of her room. Emma enjoyed the walk from the sunroom to her room, as the entirety of the wall on her left were windows; windows that gave her a beautiful view over the now snow covered garden and the dormant willow by the frozen lake.
After retrieving her cloak, her new scarf, and gloves from her room, Emma met David and August at the stables. Both of them carrying axes and rope.
"Good morning, Miss Emma," August smiled, lifting his hat.
"Morning, August," Emma curtsied.
"So we are off having an adventure, then, are we?" David asked, amusement all over his features.
Emma smiled, "It would appear so."
"But if Mr Jones asks, we were not your accomplices, right?" August questioned with a low chuckle.
"Absolutely not, Mr Booth, what kind of person do you take me for," Emma lifted her hand to her chest, feigning offence. "I cut down the tree and carried it back myself, of course," She grinned. "Shall we?"
They nodded, accompanying her to the forest edge. "I know a few pine trees a couple of steps North," August spoke up just before entering the forest. "I am certain you will find a tree to your liking there."
"Very well," Emma smiled, gesturing before her. "Lead the way." The men clearly had better shoes, more equipped to walk the forest, or they were used to the uneven terrain and obstacles of the woods, at least. Emma's strolls through the trees were limited to actual paths, never diverging from them.
After a few steps Emma had already fallen behind, but it did not take them long to notice. August held out his axe for David to take and walked back towards Emma, offering his arm.
"Thank you," Emma smiled shyly, hooking her arm in his. "It would appear I am not used to the forest ground."
"It is fine, nothing to worry about," He assured her with a smile. As they walked, Emma noticed every once in a while that he limped just a slight bit. She thought back to if she had noticed before, but each time she saw him, he either sat or was working in the garden.
"Are you in pain, August?" Emma asked softly.
"No, why – Oh, the limp?"
"Yes," Emma admitted shyly.
"No, I have had that for nearly five years now. The horse of my former employer stepped on and crushed my foot. It healed as best as it could, but the limp will always stay."
"Your previous employer?"
"Yes," August replied. "I have only worked for Mr Jones for two years. I was lucky that he was willing to hire me still." Emma gave him a small smile and nodded. She did not want to pry and further, but he had been lucky indeed, finding a job with an injury like that was quite hard these days. It reminded Emma of how Mr Jones had hired Ella even if she had been publicly disgraced at the time.
She liked learning these little things about him. She liked learning that, even if he had only just left his daughter without saying goodbye once again, he still had some soft spots left.
"Here we are," August spoke after a short walk. They stood in the middle of a small clearance, surrounded by pine trees of varying sizes. "What are you looking for exactly?"
"A tree that will fit in the Grand Salon," Emma answered bluntly, only barely keeping herself from shrugging. While Ruby, Mary Margaret or Grace did not quite care about the mannerism, and frequently did it themselves, Emma still thought it improper to shrug in front of men. Even if she was not a proper lady.
"That ought to give us plenty of choices," David grinned. "The ceiling is quite high."
"You will have to carry it up the stairs as well, so nothing too heavy."
"Not a problem," August chuckled, crossing his arms in front of him, as if to show off strength.
"That one," Emma pointed at a tree twice her size. "That should fit."
"Very well," August agreed, taking the axe David offered. "Step aside please, would not want you to be in harm's way."
"Can I not be of any assistance?" Emma questioned, keeping her cloak close to herself, trying to keep the cold winter air out.
"Do not be silly, Miss Emma," August grunted as he drove the axe into the wood, then chuckled. "Ladies should not perform heavy tasks."
"I am not a lady," Emma muttered stubbornly.
"But you are still a woman," David offered. "We will be fine, go sit down, we will be ready in a minute."
Emma sighed, brushing the snow off a fallen tree before sitting down. She leant her elbows on her knees, her head resting on her hands. While it was true that Emma would have never been able to cut down, drag the tree home, then set it up in the grand salon on her own, she still found it quite hard to idly sit by and let everyone else do the job for her.
"So, David," Emma started, chin still leaning on her gloved hands. "How are you liking your job so far?"
"Pays a lot more coin than my last job, that's for sure," He replied, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead away with his sleeve before chopping the axe in the tree again. "And the fellow servants are more fun to be around."
"Yes, Mary Margaret is very lovely," Emma pried. August looked up at her with a grin before looking at David, whose cheeks coloured even redder now.
"I do not –"
"You do not know what she is talking about, of course you are not," August interrupted him.
"Alright, I admit, Miss Blanchard is quite wonderful."
"Wonderful is she?" August teased. "Perhaps we ought to see how Miss Blanchard –"
"No!" David quickly spoke up. "You will not speak to her of this."
"Of course not," August promised, chopping once more into the tree. Suddenly the silence of the forest was filled with the cracking of wood, the last bit of the trunk breaking, and then the tree fell down. Emma rose from the fallen log that acted as her seat, watching the men tie the rope around the tree.
"I'm afraid I will not be able to accompany you now, Miss Emma," August said as he laid the rope over his shoulder.
"I will be all right," Emma promised, following them, using the path that the tree made. As they walked David tried bringing up Mary Margaret once more, but quickly shut his mouth as August kept relentlessly teasing him about it. She wanted to tell August to stop, but it was simply too funny to see David become beet red and stammer through every single sentence he managed to utter.
They carried the tree through the garden and through the mansion, up the stairs and set it up in the Grand Salon. After which Emma patiently waited, with a book before the fire, until Grace's tutoring session was over.
Upon finally managing to calm Grace's excitement over the tree as large as the one on the town square, Emma told Grace that they needed decorations for the tree, and Grace was quick to rise from her chair saying they needed to hurry before all the shops closed.
In the shops, Grace picked out a few glass ornaments after Emma advised against putting food in the tree. While candy canes would have been an option, Emma was fairly certain that putting apples and pastries in the tree would only make Mr Jones hate the idea even more.
Grace had laughed, yet agreed and picked out as many ornaments, garlands, and glass beads as the budget Ruby had given them would allow.
After giving the two heavy bags to Thomas to carry to the carriage, Emma and Grace stopped by the tailor shop, as one of the girls had requested for Emma to bring a few yards of fabric.
It was silent in the small shop, save from a quite eccentric man behind the counter, needle and thread in his hand, fixing a tear in a woman's gown.
"Emma?" Grace whispered, keeping her voice low enough as, if not to disturb the strange silence of the shop.
"Yes, darling?" Emma answered while looking up from the piece of fabric she was holding. Grace looked through the balls of yarn, running her small fingers over the soft thread.
"Do you know how to knit?" Grace asked, holding a dark navy blue ball of yarn in her hands.
"A bit, why?"
"Do you think you can teach me? I'd like to make a scarf for father."
"Of course," Emma smiled. "How did you come up with this idea?"
"Yesterday, after ballet some girls were talking about the gifts that were underneath their Christmas trees, and one girl said she was giving her father a scarf because he likes the things she makes. She said that her father always tells her how lovely the things she makes are. I just thought that maybe father would like that too, since he does not own a scarf…"
"That is a wonderful idea, Gracie," Emma smiled. "Is that the colour you'd like to use?"
"Yes," Grace replied, the smile on her lips almost shy.
"Take five balls, that will give you room for error," Emma signalled the man behind the corner, he looked up with a bright smile and practically skipped towards them.
"How may I assist you lovely ladies today?"
"I would like seven yards of this dark green fabric," Emma answered as she pointed at it. "And then five of these," she said as she took the balls of yarn from Grace, who struggled to hold all of them in her arms.
"Naturally," The man nodded, gesturing for them to go to the counter as he measured and cut the fabric for her.
Thomas stood outside by the glass door, waiting for them. Emma often told him that she did not need a chaperone, but Thomas insisted it was improper for ladies to walk the streets alone. However many times Emma insisted she was not a lady, Thomas brushed her objections off just as many times.
Like a true gentleman, he offered to carry her things – and offer she more often than not declined – and he insisted on walking between her and the street at all times – she was guilty of accepting that offer, however.
Once back at the mansion Thomas carried the bags of yarn and fabric, as well as the Christmas ornaments up to the Grand Salon and bid them farewell, after Emma expressed her gratitude more than once. Grace's impulsivity made it so that Emma often enough needed Thomas' assistance with the carriage, and even if it was unannounced, Thomas never complained about it.
Before getting to decorating, Grace had rushed to the kitchen with the intent of having Ruby and Mary Margaret join in decorating the tree. Unfortunately, Ruby was too busy in the kitchen, so it was up to Mary Margaret, Grace and Emma to decorate.
It took Grace a moment to truly figure out how she wanted to decorate the tree, it's my first tree, I want it to be beautiful. And so, whenever either Emma or Mary Margaret placed an ornament in the wrong spot, Grace made sure to berate them for it and hung the ornament in the correct spot instead.
Eventually, Grace was left decorating the tree on her own, with a smile that never left her mouth, humming a soft tune, tilting her head to get a true artistic vision on the work she was creating.
In all honesty, it was a bit of a mess; the lower half was jam–packed while the top half barely had three decorations on them. But Emma agreed when Grace complimented herself on the work she delivered. Grace was too happy about it all to disagree with her.
Mary Margaret had long left them alone in the Grand Salon when Emma tried to teach a very impatient Grace how to knit. Naturally, Grace got angry with herself as well as the knitting tools when she could not get it to work from the first time.
Grace sat on the sofa, legs crossed improperly, looking intently as Emma showed her over and over again how it was done. It took her a while before Grace truly got the hang of it, and even then she often missed stitches, which only made her angrier.
"I do not think this is a good idea," Grace mumbled, sighing deeply as she tossed the patchwork away onto the floor. "It won't even look good and he will probably not even wear it anyway."
"Grace," Emma started, picking up the needles and yarn, pulling it all apart for her. "We still have two weeks to perfect your stitch, you just need some practice. Besides, I am certain your father will love it no matter what."
"Even if it looks bad?"
"Even so, because it is something that you spent time and effort on, so he will love it. Let's try again," Emma smiled, patiently showing Grace the stitch again.
Christmas Eve, 1815.
Emma sat at the table in the Grand Salon, bent over this morning's newspaper, it was nearly midnight when the doors opened. Mr Jones walked inside with a tired swagger, he was just about to open his mouth when he noticed the Christmas tree next to the fireplace.
"What's this?" Mr Jones grumbled, staring at it with disgust.
"It is a Christmas tree," Emma replied matter–of–factly without looking at him, instead scanning the newspaper for nothing in particular – not anymore at least. She had been scanning for news of sunken ships, like she often did when he went away and did not specify when he would be returning.
"I can see that, why?"
"Because it is Christmas," She answered with an exasperated sigh.
"We don't set up Christmas trees in this household."
"Tough luck," Emma scoffed. "You weren't around to tell me no."
"Miss Emma," He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "What have I done now?"
"Being a selfish bastard, but that is nothing new, is it?" Emma closed the newspaper and looked up at him to meet his shocked look; eyebrows raised, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, incoherent stammering tumbling over them. "What man is so selfish, so cold, so dead inside that he would take Christmas away from a child? In all honesty, Mr Jones, I had rather you would have stayed away for just a few more days. Grace is beyond excited for Christmas and I don't want you to ruin it for her with your sulking."
Emma rose from her chair, pressing the newspaper into his chest, he took it with a confused scowl, still not having found his voice. "I understand that you are hurting, I truly do," She lowered her voice, speaking more calmly now. "But you will never heal the pieces of your broken heart if you keep yourself locked up, wallowing in self–pity and ruining these holidays for Grace. So maybe you can find it within yourself to at least pretend you are enjoying these days, give her a wrapped gift. Can you at least do that?"
He remained silent, a stubborn scowl plastered on his face. Emma gave him a smile, but she knew her eyes remained cold. "At least think about it. If you decide to join us," she pointed at the wrapped gifts beneath the tree. "Two of them have your name on it. Goodnight," she mumbled, leaving him behind in the Grand Salon.
Christmas, 1815.
Even though it was a Monday, Grace was allowed to sleep in late, yet she came running into the kitchen just as Emma had sat down for a cup of coffee.
"Presents! Presents! Presents!" Grace yelled excitedly, nearly crashing into Ruby, who expertly avoided a catastrophic collision by stepping aside at the right moment.
Grace hauled herself onto the high chair, laying her arms around Emma in a greeting.
"Good morning, Gracie," Emma chuckled, pulling Grace onto her lap. "Happy Christmas, darling."
"Happy Christmas, Emma," Grace smiled, wrapping her arms around Emma's neck. "When can I open my presents?"
"Patience, sweetheart, let's have breakfast first."
"No, now you're definitely overestimating Gracie's patience," Ruby grinned. "I do not think she can wait that long."
"I can!" Grace protested lifting a warning finger before turning to face Emma. "Only if you promise we will open our presents immediately after breakfast."
"Naturally," Emma replied. "Oh Ruby, I do wonder what is in Grace's presents, though," Emma teased, pursing her lips. Ruby flashed her a grin as she put a small basket of sweet treats on the table.
"Stop it, Emma!" Grace pouted, reaching over the table to grab a cinnamon roll from the basket. "You cannot tease me like this, it is unfair."
"Of course, I apologise, how rude of me," Emma chuckled, spreading a bit of marmalade on her scone. Grace gobbled her food just a bit faster than usual, leaving her with the hiccups. Yet it seemed like she was far too ecstatic about her presents to care.
"Can we go now?" Grace asked when Emma was midway her second scone and her cup of coffee still more than half full.
"I am not yet finished, Grace," Emma muttered, her mouth full of food.
"You can finish it upstairs," Grace said impatiently, hopping from her chair and dragging Emma out of the kitchen, only barely giving her time to grab her scone and cup of coffee.
They had just entered the hallway when they saw Mr Jones close the grand entrance door behind him. In his arms, he held a large square package, large enough to almost block his view, on top of that two smaller packages.
"Father?" Grace wondered, tilting her head slightly. "You are home..."
"Yes Grace," he hugged the gifts to his chest as if to shield them from Grace's view, but even hiding them behind his back would not do the trick.
"You have been home for longer," Grace frowned. "You are not carrying your suitcase."
"I got home last night," Mr Jones replied.
"You didn't come say hello," Grace pouted.
"You were asleep Gracie," he explained.
"If those gifts are for me, you are forgiven," Grace smirked, lifting her head to get a better look.
"Two of them, the other one is for Miss Emma."
Emma had just taken a sip of her coffee and his words made her nearly spit out her drink again. She coughed softly and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "What?"
He shrugged, "It's Christmas, is it not?" He walked towards her, lowering his voice to a whisper, so that Grace would not hear him. "Though while you may have been correct last night, I do not forgive you for the way you said it. I do hope that I did not have to clarify that for you."
"But you did."
"Naturally, because you do not learn quickly, I believe that clarification is the more clever option with you."
"I apologise for how I said it, not for what I said, though, as you just mentioned, I never learn quickly, so I cannot promise I will never do it again."
His hum was his only response as he handed the gifts to a passing–by servant, with instructions to place them underneath the tree. And then he left, closing the door behind him as he entered his office.
"Can I open my presents now?" Grace asked softly, looking from her father's office door to Emma.
"You may go upstairs," Emma answered, "But wait until we arrive."
"He's not coming, Emma," Grace whispered, "You should not bother." It was clear that Grace did not simply say this because she really wanted to open her presents at this very moment, but because she simply did not believe her father would join them.
"I can try, can I not? I shall meet you upstairs." Emma smiled, turning to Mr Jones' office. "Milord?" Emma asked, knocking once and then opening the door.
"It is knocking, then waiting for a response," He muttered with an annoyed sigh, though not looking up as he opened a bottle of rum and poured himself a tumbler. "Not knocking and entering."
"You would not have let me in," Emma answered, stepping towards him and laying her hand on his, stopping him from bringing the glass to his lips. "Don't."
"You are bloody right I would not. Especially if you are going to deprive me of my drink," he brushed her hand away from his.
"Just, not today, or at least wait until Grace has gone to bed tonight."
"Do not tell me how to live my life, Miss Emma." Yet he sat down his tumbler on his desk and faced her, looking at her as if he was waiting for an explanation for her rude interruption.
"I would not dare to," Emma gave him a gentle smile. "Though, I may offer a little guidance. Even so, I am still here, so perhaps my presence is not that unwanted?"
"That I have accepted you here does not mean I have to like it. This also applies to you staying, in general."
"Of course," Emma curtsied mockingly. "Now come upstairs with us."
"I do not think so," he mumbled, brushing past her, but she stopped him quickly. Her hands wrapped around his arm. His muscles tensed and Emma realised that had they been in public, scandalised eyes would have glared at them. But she also realised that for Mr Jones, it had probably been the first time in a long while since someone other than Grace had touched him, and maybe that was the exact reason why he did not pull away from her.
"Just for today, spend Christmas with us. It will do you good. You can watch Grace as she happily unwraps the gifts you got her. Have dinner with us and listen to Grace babble about things of which I genuinely do not understand the meaning of. Watch her as she grows tired by the end of the day, but how she will do it with a smile on her face. It may not give you the satisfaction you seek with your drinks, but it will be better. I promise that I will let you get back to wallowing in self–pity as soon as the day is over. But know that whichever presents you got her, your presence will be the best one yet."
"You have a way with words..." He mumbled. "I am fairly certain you insulted me twice."
"Just once," she grinned, slipping her hand down his arm, hooking her arm around his. "Come." She could feel a certain unease at their touch and though he did not ease for a long while, he did not pull his arm away from hers as she guided him up the stairs.
"Father!" Grace looked up happily. She had been sitting cross-legged in front of the tree, intensely focused on the presents, like if she would stare at them long enough she might be able to see what was inside. "Will you be joining us?"
"Apparently I am," He muttered, wincing slightly as Emma dug her fingers into his arm, giving him a warning look. "Yes, darling," he said a little nicer this time while looking away from Emma to his daughter, "I will be joining you."
"Thank you! Can we open our presents now?"
Mr Jones sat down on Grace's right side, glancing at the Christmas tree while shaking his head lightly. Emma chose to ignore it as she sat down on the floor on Grace's left side, reaching underneath the tree to take one of the presents, brushing a few fallen pine needles from the top of it.
Grace opened it with childlike precision; she tried to open it carefully, then got impatient and tore off the wrapping paper, and then opening the box whilst tossing the lid somewhere behind her.
"Oh," Grace's lips parted as she realised what was inside, taking out a small outfit, staring at it as if it was made of gold. "These are for Maximus aren't they?"
"Who is Maximus?" Mr Jones frowned.
"The bear Emma got me for my birthday," Grace answered without looking up, instead looking through all the pieces of bear clothing to see which other outfits there were. "Thank you, Emma," Grace wrapped her arms around Emma's neck, the box still in her lap. "I love them – Oh! I should get Maximus and give him different clothes!"
"Open your other presents first," Emma laughed, taking another present. This one again was met with Grace's precision. A few weeks ago Grace had seen one of Emma's summer gowns, a peach coloured Empire gown, and Grace had fallen head over heels in love with it.
"Emma!" Grace smacked her hand against Emma's arm. "It is your dress!"
Emma brushed her hand over the spot where Grace had just excitedly hit her. For a seven-year-old, she had quite the force. "Actually, it is a smaller version of my dress. But it will not fit you properly yet."
"Why not?" Grace pouted disappointedly, hugging the fabric to her chest.
"Because, it is too cold for such a dress now, thus I had it made just a bit larger, so it will fit you next summer."
Grace nodded at that, "I understand. I do love it a lot, thank you so much."
"You are welcome, Gracie," Emma replied, reaching for a smaller gift underneath the tree and handing it to Mr Jones. He accepted it with a sceptical frown. "I struggled with finding you a gift, Milord," Emma started. That was putting it mildly, she had thought about it for hours, but the truth that she did not know Lord Killian Jones at all became obvious fairly quick. Eventually, she asked Ruby and Mary Margaret for help, Ruby wished her good luck with that. And when Emma asked 'What sort of things does Mr Jones like?' Ruby had bluntly replied 'Sulking and being a mess of a human being.' It did not help her very much.
Mary Margaret offered that he used to like ships, that the bottled ships in his office were put together by him – before he started drinking; these days his hands shook too much to perform the practice.
Emma had noticed it before, but now, when she had denied him his drink and the liquor had not passed his lips for more than twelve hours, it was even more evident.
"It is not much," Emma mumbled, watching him carefully tear the paper off the gift. "But I still hope you like it, though." He almost cracked a smile, looking at the book about ships Emma had purchased for him.
"I do," he answered, looking up at her to give her a small nod. It was as much of a thank you as he was going to give her, but it was more of a thank you than he'd ever given her before. "I uh –" He cleared his throat as he reached out for a small package, about the size of a book, and handed it to her.
"Thank you," Emma said, untying the paper string that kept the wrapping paper in place.
"I am sorry, Miss Emma, I did not know what to get you. But I know you like books and this one has your name on it, quite literally," he smiled a little. "It was in the aisle with all the new books, so I do not think you've read this one before."
"I have not. It is perfect, thank you, Milord," Emma smiled, keeping the book on her lap, her hands folded over it.
"What of me, father?" Grace asked sweetly. Lord Jones gave his daughter the most genuine smile Emma had seen from him and reached for the largest package out of the two remaining ones.
Emma rose to her feet, announcing she would fetch the three of them something to drink, as Grace unwrapped her next gifts. It was a tactical choice, and the look Mr Jones gave her betrayed that he saw right through her.
Emma could have waited until Grace's presents were unwrapped, but that would have given him a window to leave. A window Emma wanted to keep firmly shut. This way, he nearly had no other choice than to stay as Grace unwrapped her gifts, and to share tea with them – and Emma would find other reasons for him to stay; they both knew that.
Upon returning with two cups of tea and a cup of hot chocolate, Mr Jones sat with Grace on the carpet, almost hidden from Emma's view by a large dollhouse.
"Emma! Look what father gave me!" She snatched a doll Mr Jones was holding away from him in an attempt to show Emma all six dolls and a horse at once, as well as the dollhouse itself. Even if it was kind of hard to miss the giant dollhouse in the middle of the room.
The dollhouse shaped like a townhouse had five floors, including an attic and a basement, as well as stables in the back. The exterior was cream coloured, but every room had a theme colour, with matching chairs, sofas, or beds – though Grace had already put the blue bed in the pink room and the pink bed in what seemed, to Emma, to be the dining room.
"It's beautiful," Emma replied, handing her the cup of hot chocolate and giving Mr Jones a cup of tea. He accepted it, though to Emma's surprise, he was no longer scowling. He smiled at Grace as she continued to babble on about the dolls and even helped trying to figure out names for them.
Emma grabbed the book Mr Jones had gifted her and sat down on the sofa. After Grace had finally named all six dolls and the horse, Lord Jones stood up, took his book and sat down on the other sofa.
Grace gave him a wide smile at that and shared a look of gratitude with Emma before devoting her full attention to the dollhouse.
The hours of the day seemed to pass by rather quickly, Emma lost in the book that shared her name, Grace playing with her dolls – during a bathroom break, she had retrieved Maximus from her room and dressed him in one of the new outfits; a sailor this time, and sat him down next to her – and Mr Jones trying his hardest to focus on his book. In the rare times that Emma looked up from her book, she often saw him re–reading an entire page, but he remained in his seat even if it was a clear struggle.
As the evening fell, Emma watched Mr Jones as he rose from the sofa, and stepped towards the fireplace. Grace looked up briefly from her dollhouse, but realised quickly that her father was not leaving and returned to playing with her dolls once more.
Mr Jones took the fire striker from atop the fireplace and knelt down to get the fire going. He sat in silence as he then poked the fire for just a little longer than necessary. The flames quickly growing.
"Milord?" Emma whispered. He sighed and nodded, rising to his feet and taking back his position on the couch. His face was pale, his eyes dull, but the way he kept them firmly fixed onto the pages of his book made Emma hopeful that he might make it through the day without drinking.
Emma averted her eyes back to her own book and started reading once again.
It was quite a serene moment; the soft crackling of the fire, the pages of Mr Jones' book being turned, the pages of her own book, Grace's soft murmuring as she gave her dolls voices. A moment that was interrupted too soon, as Ruby announced dinner was ready to be served in the dining room.
There was a hint of panic in Lord Jones' eyes as he met Emma's eyes, but she gave him an encouraging nod, following Grace with her eyes as the girl rose to her feet and grabbed hold of her father's hand. "Will you sit next to me?"
"Of course, darling," he replied, the panic already buried, squeezing his daughter's hand just slightly as they walked together to the dining room. The table was set for three people and before Emma could even begin to object, Grace had already convinced her to dine with them.
"I cannot remember the name of the blonde doll," Grace muttered as dinner was just served, poking into the meat on her plate. "She is very pretty, but I always forget what I named her."
"If she is so pretty, maybe you should name her Emma," Mr Jones retorted, looking at Emma with an empty smile, his head slightly tilted. Emma coughed harshly as she choked on her potato, dropping her cutlery in the process as well. She frowned at him, the empty smile made it quite hard to figure out if he was mocking her or if there was a genuine compliment in there.
"The doll has got blue eyes, father," Grace explained with her you silly goose voice. "Emma has green eyes."
"Yes," Mr Jones answered, the smile slowly fading. "Of course, darling," he spoke softly, never taking his eyes away from Emma. It became clear to her that he was indeed mocking her; payback for taking away his liquor and forcing him to spend an entire day with them.
Emma stood up without another word, picking new cutlery from the cabinet, and sitting down on her chair again. Mr Jones had looked away from her by now; finishing his dinner quietly. Again, she noticed the shaking in his hands as he handled his knife; his knuckles whitened due to his firm grip on the handle, but he could not stop the shaking, no matter how hard he tried.
Emma knew what caused the shaking and there was a good chance he knew as well.
Ruby had filled up their glasses with red wine, but taken the bottle with her downstairs again to keep it cooled. His glass now stood empty and it had been for a while. She wished she could do something for him, but the only thing she could think of was offering him her glass – and for having the thought alone, she berated herself.
They had finished their dinner in silence – even Grace was silent; a clear sign that she was tired. Lord Jones had whispered a silent good night, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, when Grace bid him goodnight.
When Emma returned, he still sat in his chair in the dining hall, absent-mindedly ticking his ticking against the stem of his empty wine glass. None of the plates had been touched, if Ruby had come to check up on them at all, she had either been sent away or left by her own choice.
"Milord?" Emma whispered, breaking the silence that he'd sat in since Emma left to put Grace to bed.
"I cannot do it," he mumbled, standing up from his chair, clenching his shaking hands next to his body. "You said until Grace went to bed, may I go?"
"I will not stop you," Emma answered, taking a step aside. He walked past her in a slow, unsteady pace. "She told me she was grateful for me," Emma spoke up before he could open the door. He did not turn around to look at her, but his hand on the doorknob, yet leaving the door closed, indicated he was listening. "She was grateful that I was able to convince you to stay with us, to have dinner with us. She is grateful that even though you only barely tolerate my presence, you do listen to me."
"She said that?"
"Not with those exact words," Emma chuckled softly. "But she was rather happy that you were able to spend time with her."
"Yes," he mumbled, swallowing thickly. "Anything else?"
Emma hesitated, biting her lip before shaking her head. "No, good night, Milord."
He hummed in response, opening the door and closing it behind him with a soft thud. Emma sighed deeply, laying her hand on her stomach. Her heart raced in her chest, she knew exactly where he would go now, and it hurt her that not even using his daughter would stop him now.
She could feel the unrest all day, surely Grace must have felt it as well, children tend to have a sixth sense for those things. But she happily ignored it, for her father finally spent time with her.
His unrest was visible in his mannerisms as well, getting up just a few too many times to get a glass of water, stared blankly at his page for a bit too long. His hands that shook with every action.
While there was an obvious change in his behaviour, compared to a month ago, he had still not quite yet reached a turning point.
Emma could only hope he would get there fast, for when Grace explained her reasoning for not giving her father the scarf, her heart shattered. But Grace made Emma promise not to tell, and so she wouldn't.
"Gracie?" Emma questioned, tucking Grace in. "Why have you not given your father the scarf you made?'
"I do not think father will like it very much," she admitted.
"Surely you must know that is not true."
"I don't, Emma," Grace said firmly, her voice breaking just a bit. "I am truly scared he will throw it away because it's not good enough. Just, don't tell him about the scarf, all right?"
"All right," Emma promised, kissing her forehead softly. "I won't."
Notes:
I have a few notes for you;
1) I am very sorry for the delay in this chapter, I was supposed to publish this after I got back from Versailles, but unfortunately my brother stole my usb stick that contained all of my writing. And by that I mean everything I every wrote. It was a pretty harsh setback, and so I did not want to write. But I think I made up for this by giving you an extra long chapter, and I hope you will forgive me for the wait.
2) I was not going to publish this chapter until tomorrow, but I received an extremely negative review that pointed out all the flaws in this story, how historically inaccurate this is, that Killian would never let Emma talk to him like that in that time period, etc etc etc. While they were sort of correct, in a way, this is indeed an incredibly historically inaccurate fic, it was the way they decided to inform me of the flaws in this fic that really irked me, and the reason I am already posting this is very simple: spite.
I understand that I cannot please everyone, and not everyone will enjoy this sort of fics, but to come to my askbox and anonymously tell me how much my fic sucks, is really not the way to go, to be honest.
3) I am extremely grateful for everyone who is willing to overlook those little facts, and enjoy my fic nevertheless, as well as give me positive reviews.
4) If you did like this chapter, consider leaving a review?
5) If you didn't; I am open for constructive criticism. (Just don't blatantly tell me that my fic is a joke.)