A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.
*I posted a teaser on Facebook the other day, but due to time constraints (presents that need wrapping and cookies that need baking), I couldn't get to that part of the story in this chapter. We'll get there next chapter.*
Also, as I write this story set in the U.K, please know that my thoughts and prayers are with everyone. Though I write as if the world is still a normal place, I understand it's not. Please accept this silly story as a strange, little way to lend some comfort to you all (and to myself as well) in the middle of a world that's still topsy-turvy. Stay safe. 3
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.
Chapter 8 - The Girl Who Wassailed
"Here we come a-wassailing
Among the leaves so green,
Here we come a-wassailing,
So fair to be seen…"
Edward and I watch the caroling from the back of the ante-room – a space between the ballroom and the dining hall that, like the ballroom, is festively decked out for the evening. Party guests mill about, picking up empty glass mugs from servers bearing them on huge, ornate silver trays. Once they've retrieved their mugs, the guests gather around the giant Christmas tree to observe the carolers. Still, we don't manage to escape notice completely. A few pairs of curious eyes spot us, and whispering ensues.
Standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders, Edward dips his mouth close to my ear.
"Ignore the nosy bastards. They're mostly my grandmother's acquaintances anyhow."
"As well as their young, single, marrying-age daughters?"
He chuckles but makes no reply. Grinning, I face forward again. "This caroling is really cool."
"It's not quite caroling. It's wassailing, as they say in the song."
"What sailing now?" I ask.
He chuckles. "Wassailing, my American girl. It's another ancient tradition my grandmother refuses to relinquish," he mutters, "though this one I rather enjoy- for the most part. 'Wassail' comes from the Anglo-Saxon words, 'waes and hael,' which mean 'good health.'"
"I thought wassail was an apple cider-like drink?"
"Wassail is mulled apple cider, yes, but it was originally a celebration from the feudal era. On Twelfth Night, the lord of the manor would offer food and drink to the laborers in exchange for their blessing and goodwill. The laborers would in turn grant this goodwill in the form of a song."
"Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail too,
And God bless you and send you,
A happy New Year,
And God send you,
A happy new year!"
"This song?"
"Many songs, such as this next one, wishing you a Merry Christmas while demanding figgy pudding."
"Good tidings we bring to you and your kin
We wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year!
Oh, bring us some figgy pudding!
Oh, bring us some figgy pudding…"
"This is where that song comes from? From Wassailing?"
Again, Edward laughs. "Wassailing is the backbone of quite a few Christmas carols, but it wasn't
always such an innocent practice. Sometimes instead of blessings, the laborers would place curses or vandalize the manor houses if they weren't treated to proper food and drink for Christmas."
"We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
So bring it right here!"
"Then again, many of those laborers were overworked by their lords and starving, and therefore rightfully embittered and resentful." There's an edge to his voice now. "Many of the manor lords – including some of my ancestors – were right old bastards."
Again, I angle my gaze upward. "History isn't always as benign as its tellers make it out, huh?"
"There's usually another angle to history, yes."
"It's not just you Brits. In America too, we have bits of history and tradition that we're not-"
"Is the Bee once again attempting to compare the incomparable?"
Lady Charlotte pops out of nowhere and standing beside me, somehow manages to look down her nose even though I'm taller.
"I was just saying-"
"What you in America consider history is a five-minute, pot-boiler story and borrowed practices that have been twisted and corrupted."
"Grandmother, did I not ask you to-" Edward begins.
"That's not exactly correct, Lady Charlotte. America was around long before Europeans settled it, and its history is as long and rich as is that of this part of the world."
Sure enough, Lady Charlotte's green eyes grow wide. Her mouth opens as if she means to retort but then remains open as if she can't seem to find anything with which to counter.
"Well. The wassail will be served soon," she snaps. "Retrieve your mugs for the toast, and then we shall have a British Christmas dinner!"
"Shit," I hiss as she walks away. "Strike two. Or twenty. Why the hell can't I just keep my mouth shut?"
Edward merely chuckles.
"It's not funny," I smirk. "That's twice now I've contradicted her in defense of my insignificant, ankle-biting part of the world."
"Good for you and good for America. And here I was prepared to play the knight-in-shining-armor in defense of the fair maiden when it appears she's quite capable of slaying the dragon all on her own." He eyes me with open admiration. "I happen to love the fact that you can't seem to keep your mouth shut in any situation."
"Yeah, well, I'm sure her bark is worse than her bite."
"No." He shakes his head. "No, her bite can be quite rabid."
"Gee, thanks for the words of comfort."
Again, he chuckles. "Bella, don't allow my grandmother to make you uncomfortable. Not only does she thrive on it," he warns, "but you have no reason to be uneasy. As for biting you…" he whispers, his lips brushing my earlobe, "I'd like to claim that job..."
Pulling back, he holds my gaze sedately while a thrill runs up my spine. "If it's quite alright?" he hedges.
"You won't see me stopping you."
For a long moment, our eyes remain locked. When applause erupts around us, I startle until I realize they're applauding the performance and not Edward and me getting cheeky. Laughing, I turn and applaud right along with them, adding in some whistling for good measure. When I look at Edward, he's watching me with a smile.
"I enjoy watching you enjoy things."
Offering him a chuckle, I turn back to the now dispersing crowd.
That's when I spot Lady Irina and her crimson tulle all the way at the front. An older couple I assume are her parents stand with her, as does Lady Charlotte, both of their gazes trained on me.
"Bella! Edward! Over here!"
I'm silently grateful when Emmett's head sticks out from the crowd, and he waves us over.
OOOOO
We join Emmett, Rose, and the rest, and after a few minutes, about a dozen servers march into the room in a straight line. Each server carries another of those massive, ornate silver trays, but instead of empty mugs, these trays hold crystal punch bowls brimming with steaming, rich, caramel-colored wassail. Cinnamon sticks swirl within, and sliced apples float on top. In an impressively synchronized, Rockette-style move, the male servers stop all at once and face forward with stoic, blank expressions. Then, each server stands and bears the weight of his tray while the guests serve themselves.
Enjoying the performance, I clap again, but this time, when I look up at Edward, instead of smiling, his jaw is set in a tight line.
"I can't believe she's still doing this."
"Still what? Serving apple cider?"
"It's wassail," Lady Charlotte corrects, once again materializing out of nowhere.
"That's what I meant, Lady Charlotte. Wassail."
"Grandmother, more pressing than the drink's bloody name is the fact that we've spoken about this, haven't we? Yet just as with the guest list, you completely disregarded our discussion." When Edward throws up his hands in obvious exasperation, Lady Charlotte squares her ancient shoulders and lifts her wrinkled chin.
"I have no idea to what you allude."
"Allude? I'm not merely alluding. We…"
Having no clue what they're whispering heatedly about now and needing a damn drink before I say something else inappropriate, I make my way to the punch bowls, where I serve myself some cider- pardon me, wassail. When I offer the server a hasty "thanks" and receive neither a reply nor a glance in my direction, I naturally assume I spoke too low. Why else would he ignore me? And the last thing I need is to provide Edward's grandmother with yet another reason to think me savage. Therefore, wedging in closer to the server's line of vision and determined to make up for my rudeness, I shoot him a smile and reiterate my gratitude with more emphasis.
"Thanks so much!"
The next few events occur in quick succession.
The server's eyes flash to me, startled, it appears, by both my manners and my proximity.
In that split second, his right hand slips from the tray handle, the tray tilts, and I mutter a...questionable word.
"Motherfuck."
One would never guess how loud muttered curses and the screeching of crystal sliding against silver can be while in a crowded room full of nobility.
Of course, in my periphery, I vaguely note a whole lot of pairs of eyes turn in my direction. Why not, right? As the full punch bowl shifts and skates, I stand and stare before my reflexes finally kick in, and my empty hand shoots out. When I manage to grab the ladle, I smile, mentally patting myself on the back for another fraction of a second before realizing I'm standing there holding an empty ladle. Meanwhile, the full punch bowl is still skidding across the tray.
"Holy…" I breathe, cringing, and squeezing my eyes shut while I wait for the unavoidable crash.
Two seconds later, when the crash still hasn't come, I go ahead and reopen my eyes.
Rose and Alice have reached me, one standing on either side…while Edward is crouched on one knee in front of me. His palms lay flat on the tray's bottom, which he holds up like Atlas hefting the world.
"Got it, mate?" he asks the server.
The server reclaims his tight grip on both handles and hoists up the tray.
"Yes, sir. I've got it!"
When Edward gets back to his feet, I approach quickly and shoot the server an apologetic look.
"I'm so, sorry."
"It's quite alright, Miss. No harm done."
Then I turn quickly to Edward, who takes the ladle from me.
"Good job," he grins.
"Edward, I'm so-"
"Stop. It was an accident. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, but I'm so sor-"
"You ask the Bee if she's well?" Lady Charlotte is, of course, besides me, once again. "Those punch bowls are ancient heirlooms, as are the silver trays!"
Edward's nostrils flare, and he leans in and addresses his grandmother.
"Grandmother, I've told you for years that asking people to hold those heavy trays, weighed down even further by full punch bowls, is barbaric," he hisses.
"It's tradition! It's the way our ancestors have always conducted the Wassailing ceremony in Masen Park!" she hisses right back.
"Not all traditions should continue, Grandmother," Edward seethes, raking a hand through his hair. "We are no longer the lords and ladies of the manor. Those days are gone, and this was bound to happen." Sighing, he straightens and eyes searching the room, he waves someone down. In the meantime, I try to offer Lady Charlotte my apology.
"I apologize, Lady Charlotte. It was a total accident."
She quirks a brow. "I'd venture that was not the accident here."
When Emmett, Liam, and Jasper appear, Edward addresses his grandmother again. "I'm taking Emmett, Liam, and their mate Jasper here, and we're going to go find a few fold-up tables in storage for the punch bowls-"
She jerks back, and for a second, I wonder if 'fold-up tables' is slang in this part of the world for crack/cocaine – that's how horrified Lady Charlotte appears by Edward's suggestion.
"You're going to find what? Fold-up tables? What, to bring here?" She looks around the room, bewildered.
"Grandmother-"
"This is Masen Park! We don't set up fold-up tables! And the Bee-"
"Grandmother," he repeats warningly through barely moving lips.
"-distracted the server with her ridiculous gratitude-"
"Grandmother!" Edward whisper-shouts.
For one long moment, they glare at one another, both refusing to back down. Edward is the first to break away from the visual stand-off, turning to me with a smile, but his words make it clear he's not changing his mind.
"We're going to find those tables, and we'll be right back, okay?"
"Okay."
When he walks away, I feel more than see Lady Charlotte's furious glare redirect toward me. Sure enough, when I dare meet her gaze, she looks about ready to breathe fire on me.
"Lady Charlotte, I really am-"
Sliding her eyes away from me, she walks away.
"-sorry."
OOOOO
"You should've seen your face from across the room," Rose says, sipping on her wassail. "It was priceless."
I palm my forehead, unable even to look around. Meanwhile, it's all both Rose and Alice can do to stifle their laughter. We've finally made it into the dining hall, marched in at the very end after all the important people. While we wait for the guys to reappear, we've taken our seats.
"And then you go for the damn ladle," Alice snorts.
"What was I supposed to do?" I frown darkly. "It was a split-second decision."
"Thank God for Edward's quick reflexes. He held up that tray pretty effortlessly."
"Yeah," I smile as I recall that part. "He hefted my carry-on pretty easily as well."
Rose lifts her hands in front of her as if she's holding something. "I wonder how well those arms'll work when he's holding you over his-"
"Rose," I hiss.
They both go ahead and give in to quiet peals of laughter, that is until they hear me sigh.
"B, don't worry about it anymore," Alice says softly. "Edward wasn't upset at all."
"No, he wasn't, but his grandmother was."
"It was an accident," Rose chuckles. "It could've happened to anyone."
"Not to someone who knew better than to distract a server while he's holding a super-heavy silver tray…with a super-heavy punch bowl on it."
"I guess the servers to aristocracy are like the Queen's Guards at Buckingham, huh? Eyes front and center, no matter what." Alice drops her voice to a whisper. "Get this, B; once, I flashed one of those Buckingham Palace guards my boob to see if he'd crack a smile."
"No, you didn't."
"She really did," Rose smirks, rolling her eyes.
"And guess what he did? Oh! The guys are back! We'll finish that story later; you're going to love it!"
I'm already laughing. This is why I love these girls. Back home, I would've dwelled on that scene for ages. Here, with them, it's so much easier to let it slide. Things happen, and as long as from here on in, I recall every bit of manners and social graces I've ever been taught – which aren't much, not from a happy-go-lucky mom or a reserved dad – all should be fine for the rest of the evening.
Emmett, Liam, and Jasper approach, but it's when Edward enters the dining room that all two-hundred dinner guests stand around the massively long, mahogany wood dining table and applaud. In the background, the band quietly plays 'Happy Birthday.' Through it all, Edward's eyes search the room. For a second, I wonder what he's looking for until he spots me. Those eyes sparkle, and a broad grin spreads across his handsome face as his feet begin moving in my direction - stopping suddenly when Lady Charlotte calls out.
"Edward!"
The broad grin instantly dissipates, and a stony expression settles into his features as Edward turns to where Lady Charlotte now stands with a stretched out, bejeweled hand, beckoning him to the seat at the very head of the table. As the guest of honor, it's apparently been reserved for him this evening. Close to the head of the table are Edward's parents, seated across from one another. However, they're not the ones in the seats directly to the left and right of him. Lady Charlotte stands by the seat to his left. By the seat to his right stands no other than Lady Irina in her red tulle.
For a long moment, Edward simply stands there. Then, turning, he resumes his stride in my direction.
"Fuck," I mutter through barely moving lips. And though my eyes remain on Edward, in my periphery, I see Lady Charlotte and Lady Irina glaring my way while the whispers begin again. When Edward reaches me, he shakes his head.
"This is rub-"
"This is fine," I whisper. "It was all set up beforehand."
"Yes, but-"
"Edward, it's Christmas Eve Eve, and I'm here with my friends," I smile, "and you know how much that means to me."
"I do," he smiles in return.
"And you rightfully belong at the head of the table tonight," I whisper. "So, go."
He eyes me carefully while the rest of the guests remain standing, waiting to see how this will go.
"You're not going anywhere just yet, right?"
"I'm not going anywhere for a while. We'll talk in a few," I say, squeezing his hand.
He nods slowly, and a languid grin spreads across his face. "We'll talk in a few."
OOOOO
"She is gorgeous, I won't say she's not, but it's in a 'Don't you dare touch me and mess up my makeup or hair' sort of way," Rose quips, leaning into my shoulder.
"Shh!" I order.
She chuckles, and Emmett leans into her shoulder in return, volunteering, "I do believe I recall her saying those actual words to Edward once."
"Em, wasn't it more like, 'You'll wrinkle my dress, darling,'?" Liam smiles.
"That was on a different occasion."
"You're both lying," I whisper.
"We're not," Liam retorts.
"What did ye a' say? I kinna hear." Jasper whispers. "Speak up."
"Yeah, I can't hear either," Alice says.
"Will you all be quiet?"
We're all standing with our Christmas crackers in hand now. As I peek down the table, Edward is holding his as well, though, due to the traditional way of crossing one's arms and sharing one's Christmas cracker with your dinner partner, he's preparing to pull on Irina's cracker.
"Ready! Pull!" Lady Charlotte commands.
The sound of two-hundred popping crackers fills the air.
"Don't you worry, Bella, love," Emmett grins. "He may have pulled Irina's cracker, but it's you he's on the pull for."
"I'm not even sure what that means."
"It means he's no forgotten tha' cock-staun- oof!" Jasper snickers when I throw a napkin at him.
"Stop making me make more scenes! And man, you're both just as bad as your girlfriends."
They all chuckle heartily. When my eyes meet Liam's, he smiles sedately.
We spend the next hour or so enjoying roast turkey, parsnips, and Yorkshire pudding, while wearing colorful paper crowns, drinking wassail, cold champagne, playing with our cheap toys, and reading the crackers' corny jokes at one another. I'm warm and slightly drunk, but...just as I told Edward, it's all good. It's Christmas Eve Eve, and I'm with good friends, old and new.
"Who hides in the bakery at Christmas?" Emmett asks. "A mince spy. Get it?" he howls.
Rose laughs heartily. "Corny! What did Adam say the day before Christmas? It's Christmas, Eve. Get it?"
"Cornier! What do you call a polar bear who wears ear muffs?" Liam grins. "Anything you want. He can't hear you!"
"Ocht!" Jasper yells. "Thae's horrit! Wha dae sheep say to eachooter at Christmas? Merry Christmas to ewe!"
I throw back my head, each ensuing joke sounding funnier to my ears, and therefore, each ensuing bout of laughter coming out louder.
"Jasper, with your accent, that one's actually perfect for you! Okay, what do you call an obnoxious reindeer?"
"Rude-olph," someone replies for me, snatching away the tiny piece of paper with my joke. When I look over my shoulder, Edward stands behind my chair. "And with your manners, that one actually suits you well."
"Give me back my joke. I call bagsy on it!"
We all laugh hard.
"You came!" I say happily.
"It's too quiet on that side of the table. This side seemed much more fun."
Edward remains with us for the next hour. The entire time, he stands behind my chair with his hands on my shoulders, softly kneading my bare skin, playing with the loose hairs at the nape of my neck. It's all very innocent, yet at the same time, unbelievably thrilling. When the party begins to wind down, and guests begin to stand to take their leave, Edward kneels beside me, and I say the first thing that pops into my head.
"You have great hands. They pick up luggage without a problem, keep trays from slipping, and offer the best massages.
Edward chuckles heartily. "Thank you. And you're beautifully tippled."
"I have no clue what that means," I chuckle, "but you still have the best hands."
He takes my hand and weaves his fingers through mine, resting both our hands on my lap. "I wish I hadn't promised my parents I'd spend the night here with them. Are you well to get home?"
"Mhm," I nod. "Emmett and Liam were the designated drivers, and they didn't drink."
"Mm. Bella, may I ask your plans for tomorrow?"
"Christmas Eve? I think we're just going to the local pub for a bit. Rose tells me the custom here is Christmas Eve with friends and Christmas Day with family? So Rose and Emmett are spending Christmas Day with his parents, and I'm third-wheeling it to Scotland with Jasper and Alice. So, we're turning in kind of early tomorrow."
"Ahh," he nods. "I was kind of hoping-"
"Why don't you come meet us at the pub?" I offer. "I mean, I know you probably have plans already-"
He grins brightly. "I would love to meet you at the pub."
"Yay!" I do a little fist pump, and he chuckles. "Okay, I'm going to the bathroom. I gotta pee before that long ride ahead."
"Do you need company," Rose asks, "so you don't end up lost again?"
"Pfft," I say, looking at Edward. "As if she could help if I got lost. She's even drunker than I am."
Edward holds my gaze. "If I have my way, you'll be giving tours around here one day."
"What?"
"Never mind," he chuckles, wrapping his hand around my head. "You're too out of it to get it. Seriously, until you are an expert, do you need help finding the loo?"
"Nope." When he helps me to my feet, and I avoid any swaying, I grin smugly – that is, until Edward takes both my hands in his and brushes his lips against my forehead.
"I like it when you do that," I sigh. "No one's ever actually done...that."
"Good," he whispers in return, wrapping me in his arms. I slide my arms around his hips because tippled or not, being held by him…is…heaven. "Because I intend to do so often."
OOOOO
Thankfully, this time, I do find my way to the 'loo' easily enough. I use the toilet and wash my hands, humming the tune to the waltz Edward and I danced together while checking my reflection in the mirror and straightening my skewed paper crown. Then, I open the door to head back to the dining room.
Irina stands there, waiting for the restroom.
Our eyes meet and hold.
"Excuse me," I say as I make to pass by.
But, apparently, the universe needs to remind me that I didn't magically transport into some fairy-tale where I'm the princess, Edward is my own Eavesdropping, chivalrous, knight-in-shining-armor, and my heels are the type that go poof at midnight.
They better not fucking go poof; these Red-Bottoms cost me a fortune.
Yes, yes, I'm tipsy; but the point is, Irina has words to say.
"Lady Charlotte hasn't made too much of a scene, but don't take that as resignation or implicit approval on her part. In our society, we simply don't make spectacles of ourselves – unlike you Americans, who go out of your way to make yourselves seen and heard."
I jerk back in bewilderment.
"Did you really just say that? There's nothing wrong with some laughter, Irina."
"Lady Charlotte told me not to bother with you-"
"You should've listened to Lady Charlotte-"
"But you've made yourself the talk of the party all evening, and I don't mean that as a compliment. So take this as a warning."
"Irina, I don't want or need a warning from you."
"You do. Lady Charlotte can be brutal when someone tries to play with her family."
"I'm not playing-"
"She's not even particularly keen on me, the old cow. Though she'd prefer me because of my lineage and my family's money, I'm well aware she'd settle for most of the young women here tonight – all highborn British women who'll keep the Masen line going strong – all except you. A loud, uncouth American who arrived first with one cousin before setting her sights on the bigger prize?"
"That's not what's happened at all. Edward and I met-"
"Consider yourself warned, Bella." Her eyes take me in from bottom to top, and she snorts. "You are quite out of your league."
And with that, she passes by me and steps into the bathroom.
A/N: Thoughts?
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