Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it
Standard disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own Cold Hearted Rake.
Late in the afternoon, Arthur left his bed, with the intention of joining the rest of the family in the dining room, for Christmas Eve tea.
He managed to dress with the help of his valet, but it took far longer than he'd anticipated.
The process first entailed, binding his midsection firmly enough, to support his cracked ribs and restrict sudden movements.
Even with Simmons' assistance, it was excruciating to slide his arms into the sleeves of his shirt.
The slightest twist of his torso, sent agony zinging through him. And before he was able to don his coat, he was obliged to take a half dose of laudanum, to dull the pain.
Eventually, Simmons tied his neck cloth in a precise knot and stood back to view him.
"How do you feel, my lord?"
"Well enough to go downstairs for a while," he said. "But I'm not what anyone would call spry. And if I sneeze, I'm fairly certain, I'll start bawling like an infant."
The valet smiled slightly.
"You'll have no shortage of people eager to help you. The footmen literally drew straws, to decide, who would have the privilege of accompanying you downstairs."
"I don't need anyone to accompany me," Arthur said, disliking the idea, of being treated like some gouty old codger. "I'll hold the railing to keep myself steady."
"I'm afraid Simon is adamant. He lectured the entire staff, about the necessity of protecting you from additional injury. Furthermore, you can't disappoint the servants by refusing their help. You've become quite a hero to them, after saving those people."
"I'm not a hero," Arthur scoffed. "Anyone would have done it."
"I don't think you understand, my lord. According to the account in the papers, the woman you rescued, is a miller's wife...she had gone to London to fetch her little nephew, after his mother had just died. And the boy and his sisters are, the children of factory workers. They were sent to live in the country with their grandparents."
Simmons paused, before saying with extra emphasis,
"Second-class passengers, all of them."
Arthur gave him a look askance.
"For you to risk your life for anyone was heroic," the valet said. "But the fact that, a man of your rank, would be willing to sacrifice everything, for those of such humble means...well, as far as everyone at Hampshire Priory is concerned...it's the same, as if you had done it for any one of them."
Simmons began to smile, as he saw Arthur's discomfited expression.
"Which is why you will be plagued with your servants' homage and adoration, for decades to come."
"Bloody hell," Arthur muttered, his face heating. "Where's the laudanum?"
The valet grinned and went to ring the servants' bell.
As soon as Arthur left his room, he was overwhelmed, by a surplus of unwanted attention.
Not one, but two footmen accompanied him down the stairs, eagerly pointing out dangers, such as, the edge of a particular step, that wasn't quite smooth, or a section of the curved balustrade, that might be slippery from a recent polishing.
After negotiating the apparent perils of the staircase, he continued through the main hall and was obliged to stop along the way, as a row of housemaids curtsied and uttered a chorus of "Happy Christmas" and "God bless you, milord," and offered abundant wishes for his good health.
Abashed by the role he seemed to have been cast in, Arthur smiled and thanked them. Then, he made his way, painstakingly to the dining room, which was filled with lavish arrangements of Christmas flowers, and hung with evergreen garlands, twined with gold ribbon.
Gwen, Will, and the twins were all seated, laughing and chatting with relaxed good humor.
"We knew you were approaching," Bia said to him, "From all the happy voices we could hear in the entrance hall."
"He's not accustomed, to people exclaiming happily when he arrives," Will said gravely. "Usually, they do it when he leaves."
Arthur sent his brother a mock-threatening glance and went to the empty place beside Gwen.
Immediately, the under-butler, who had been waiting at the side of the room, pulled back the chair and helped to seat him, with exaggerated caution.
Gwen sat quietly, the moment Arthur was beside her. And suddenly, she seemed to have difficulty meeting his gaze.
"You mustn't overdo," she said, with soft concern.
"I won't," he replied. "I'm going to have tea, and help the family greet the tenants as they arrive. After that, I expect I'll be done in." He glanced around the table. "Where's Cassandra?"
"She's keeping company with Mr. Harcourt," Athena said brightly.
How had that come about?
Arthur sent a questioning glance to Will, who hitched his shoulders in a slight shrug.
"Mr. Harcourt had a rather difficult day," Gwen explained. "He's feverish, and the laudanum makes him ill. It's against all decorum, obviously, but Cassandra asked, if she might try to help him."
"That's very kind of her," Arthur said. "And it's kind of you to allow it."
"Mrs. Winterbourne told me, that Mr. Harcourt isn't snapping and snarling anymore," Bia volunteered. "He's resting on pillows and drinking orchid tea. And Cassandra has been chattering like a magpie for hours."
Athena looked dumbfounded.
"Cassandra, chattering for hours? That doesn't seem possible."
"I wouldn't have thought, she had that much to say either," Bia agreed.
"Perhaps, it's just that, she's never able to slide a word in edgewise," Will remarked blandly.
A few seconds later, he was pelted with a shower of sugar lumps.
"Girls!" Gwen exclaimed indignantly. "Stop that at once! Will, don't you dare encourage them by laughing!"
She sent a threatening glance at Arthur, who was desperately trying to suppress his amusement.
"Or you," she said severely.
"I won't," he promised, wincing and reflecting ruefully, that whoever said laughter was the best medicine, had never broken a rib.
Gwen thought it was a wonder, that the family had managed to adopt a reasonably dignified façade, by the time the tenants and townspeople began to arrive.
As they welcomed the procession of guests, Arthur was self-assured and gracious, without the slightest hint of arrogance.
He exerted himself to be charming, receiving praise and admiring comments, with self-deprecating wit.
Well-scrubbed children were shepherded forward, the little boys bowing, the girls curtsying, and Arthur bowed in response, showing no sign of the pain he had to be feeling.
However, after an hour and a half, Gwen noticed subtle grooves of strain, appearing on his face.
'It's time for him to stop,' she thought. 'Will and the girls, can manage the last few arrivals without him.'
Before she could draw him away, however, a couple approached, with a rosy-cheeked infant, a girl with blonde curls, tied up in a ribbon.
"Will you hold her, milord?" the young mother asked hopefully. "For luck?"
Obviously, she knew nothing about the injuries Arthur had sustained, during the train accident.
"Oh, please let me hold her," Gwen offered before he could reply. Then, reached out for the cherub, feeling a bit awkward, since she knew little about young children.
But the baby relaxed contentedly in her arms and stared up at her, with eyes as round as buttons.
Gwen smiled down at the infant, marveling at the delicacy of her skin and the perfect rosebud shape of her mouth.
Turning to Arthur, she lifted the baby and suggested,
"A kiss for luck?"
He complied without hesitation, bending to press his lips to the infant's head.
As he stood, however, his gaze traveled from the baby to Gwen's face, and for one brief moment, his eyes were the flat, frozen blue of glacier ice.
The expression was deftly concealed, but not before she had seen it.
Instinctively, she understood, that the sight of her with the baby, had opened a door on emotions he didn't want to confront.
Forcing a smile to her lips, Gwen gave the baby back to her proud mother, exclaiming,
"What a beautiful little girl. An angel!"
Fortunately, there was a lull in the line of arriving guests, and Gwen took swift advantage.
Slipping her arm through Arthur's, she said quietly,
"Let's go."
He escorted her away without a word, letting out a sigh of relief, as they walked through the entrance hall.
Gwen had intended to find a quiet place for them to sit undisturbed, but Arthur surprised her, by pulling her behind the Christmas tree.
He drew her into the space beneath the stairs, where heavy-laden evergreen branches obscured them from view.
"What are you doing?" she asked in bemusement.
Lights from hundreds of tiny candles danced in his eyes.
"I have a gift for you."
Disconcerted, Gwen said,
"Oh, but...the family will exchange presents tomorrow morning."
"Unfortunately, the presents I brought from London were lost in the accident."
Reaching into his coat pocket, he said,
"This is the one thing I managed to keep. I'd rather give it to you privately, since I have nothing for the others."
Hesitantly, Gwen took the object from Arthur's open palm.
It was a small, exquisite black cameo, rimmed with pearls...a woman on a horse.
"The woman is Athena," Arthur said. "According to myth, she invented the bridle and was the first ever to tame a horse."
Gwen looked down at the gift in wonder.
'First the shawl...now this. Personal, beautiful, thoughtful things.'
No one had ever understood her taste so acutely.
'Damn him!'
"It's lovely," she said unsteadily. "Thank you."
Through a glaze of incipient tears, she saw him grin.
Unclasping the little pin, she tried to fasten it to the center of her collar.
"Is it straight?" she asked.
"Not quite." The backs of his fingers brushed her throat, as he adjusted the cameo and pinned it. "I have yet to actually see you ride," he said. "Will claims, that you're more accomplished than anyone he's ever seen."
"An exaggeration."
"I doubt that." His fingers left her collar. "Happy Christmas," he murmured, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
As the pressure of Arthur's lips lifted, Gwen stepped back, trying to create a necessary distance between them.
Her heel brushed against some solid, living thing, and a sharply indignant squeal startled her.
"Oh!"
She leaped forward, instinctively, colliding with Arthur's front and his arms closed around her automatically, even as a pained grunt escaped him.
"Oh...I'm sorry. What in heaven's name..."
She twisted to see behind her and broke off at the sight of Hamlet, who had come to root beneath the Christmas tree, for stray sweets, that had fallen from paper cones, as they'd been removed from the branches.
The pig snuffled among the folds of the tree skirt and the scattered presents wrapped in colored paper.
Finding a tidbit to consume, he oinked in satisfaction.
Gwen shook her head and clung to Arthur, as laughter trembled through both of them.
"Did I hurt you?" she asked, her hand resting lightly at the side of his waistcoat.
His smiling lips grazed her temple.
"Of course not, you little makeweight."
They stayed together in that delicious moment, of scattered light and fragrant spruce and irresistible attraction.
Both noticed the entrance hall was quiet now. The guests had probably proceeded en masse to the drawing room.
At that moment, Arthur's head lowered, and he kissed the side of her throat.
"I want you in my bed again," he whispered.
Working his way along her neck, he found a sensitive place, that made her shiver and arch, the tip of his tongue stroking a soft pulse.
It seemed as if her body had become attuned to his, excitement leaping instantly at his nearness, delight pooling hotly in her stomach.
How easy it would be, to let him have whatever he wanted of her. To yield to the pleasure he could give her, and think only of the present moment.
And then someday...it would all fall apart, and she would be devastated.
Forcing herself to pull away from him, Gwen stared at him with equal parts misery and resolve.
"I can't have an affair with you."
Arthur's expression was instantly remote.
"You want more than that?"
"No," she said feelingly. "I can't conceive of any kind of relationship with you, that would end in anything, other than misery."
That seemed to pierce through his detachment, like a steel-tipped arrow.
"Would you like references?" he asked, his tone edged with coolness. "Attesting to my satisfactory performance in the bedroom?"
"Of course not," she said shortly. "Don't be snide."
His gaze shot to hers, a smolder awakening in the depths of blue.
"Then, why refuse me? And why deny yourself something you want? You've been married...no one would expect virginity of you. It would harm no one, if you and I took pleasure in each other's company."
"It would harm me, eventually."
He stared at her with baffled anger.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because, I know myself," she said. "And I know you well enough, to be certain, that you would never intentionally hurt any woman. But you're dangerous to me. And the more you try to convince me otherwise, the more obvious it becomes."
Cassandra spent three days in Mr. Harcourt's room, babbling incessantly, while he lay there feverish and mostly silent.
Then, she became heartily tired of the sound of her own voice, and said something to that effect, near the end of the second day.
"I'm not," he said shortly. "Keep talking."
The combination of his broken leg, the fever, and the enforced bed rest, had made him surly and ill tempered.
It seemed that whenever she wasn't there to entertain him, he vented his frustration on everyone within reach, even snapping at the poor housemaid, who came in the morning to clean and light the grate.
After having run through childhood anecdotes, detailed histories of the Pendragon family, and descriptions of all her tutors, favorite pets, and the most picturesque walks around Hampshire, she went in search of reading material.
"I'm amazed, that you're willing to read to him at all," Gwen said, when Cassandra told her about it later. "If it were me, I wouldn't bother."
Cassandra glanced at her with mild surprise.
They were in the orchid house, where Gwen was helping her, with the painstaking task of hand pollinating vanilla blossoms.
"You sound as if you don't like Mr. Harcourt."
"He's terrified the housemaids, cursed Mrs. Winterbourne, insulted Simon, and was rather short-tempered with me," Gwen said. "I'm beginning to think, the only member of the household he hasn't offended is the pig, and that's only because, Hamlet hasn't gone into his room yet."
"He's had a fever," Cassandra said.
"You must at least concede, that he's grumpy and demanding."
Cassandra's lips tightened against a smile, as she admitted,
"Perhaps, a little demanding."
Gwen laughed.
"I've never been more impressed with your ability to manage difficult people."
Cassandra pried a pale yellow flower open, to find the pollen-tipped rod within.
"If living in a house of Pendragons, hasn't been adequate preparation, I can't fathom what would be."
Using a toothpick, she collected grains of pollen and applied them to the nectar, which was hidden beneath a tiny flap in the stigma.
Her hands were adept from years of practice.
After finishing a flower, Gwen gave her sister-in-law a puzzled glance.
"I've always wondered, why you're the only one, who doesn't have a temper. I've never seen you in a rage."
"I'm quite capable of anger," Cassandra assured her wryly.
"Anger, yes. But not the kind of fury, in which you shout and throw things, and make nasty remarks you'll later regret."
Cassandra worked diligently on the vanilla vine, as she replied.
"Perhaps, I'm a late bloomer. I could develop a temper later."
"Heavens! I hope not. If you do, we'll have no kind, calm person, to soothe savage beasts, such as Mr. Harcourt."
Cassandra sent her a quick sidelong smile.
"He's not savage. He's accustomed to being the center of much activity. It's difficult for a man with a forceful nature, to be idle and ill."
"He is better today, however?"
"Decidedly. And the ophthalmologist arrives today, to examine his vision."
Cassandra paused, opening another flower.
"I expect that Mr. Harcourt's disposition will improve a hundredfold, when he's able to see again."
"What if he can't?"
"I pray that he will."
Considering the question, the girl looked troubled.
"I think...he wouldn't be able to bear anything, that he thought of, as a weakness in himself."
Gwen regarded her with wry sadness.
"There are times in life, when all of us have to bear the unbearable."
After the last of the vanilla blossoms had been pollinated, Cassandra and Gwen returned to the house and discovered, that the ophthalmologist, Dr. Sims, had already arrived.
He was in the process of examining Harcourt's eyes, while Dr. Gaius and Arthur stayed in the room with them.
Despite a few shameless attempts at eavesdropping, no one had been able to hear anything through the closed door.
"The number of ocular specialists in England, at Sim's level of expertise," Will started, as he and the rest of the family waited in the private upstairs parlor, "Can be counted on the fingers of one hand. He's been trained to use an ophthalmoscope...a device that reflects light, to allow him to look directly into the living eye."
"Into the pupil?" Athena asked, looking amazed. "What can be seen in there?"
"Nerves and blood vessels, I imagine."
Bia, who had left the parlor a few minutes earlier, rushed to the threshold and announced dramatically,
"Mr. Harcourt can see!"
Cassandra drew in a quick breath, her heart clattering.
"How do you know, dear?" she asked calmly.
"I overheard him reading letters from an eye chart."
Gwen gave Bia a chiding glance.
"I asked you not to listen at the door, Bia Pendragon!"
"I didn't." Bia held up an empty glass. "I went into the adjoining room and put this against the wall. When you bring your ear close enough, you can make out what they're saying."
"I want to try!" Athena exclaimed.
"You will do no such thing," Gwen told her, motioning for Bia to come into the parlor and sit. "Mr. Harcourt is entitled to his privacy. We'll learn soon enough, if his vision is intact."
"It is," Bia said smugly.
"Are you certain?" Cassandra asked. She couldn't restrain herself from asking.
Bia gave her an emphatic nod.
Cassandra retained her ladylike posture, but on the inside, she wilted with relief, and prayed silently in gratitude.
"Thank God," she heard Will...who was lounging beside her on the settee...say quietly.
And while the others in the room continued their conversation, she asked him,
"Were you not optimistic about Mr. Harcourt's vision?"
"I expected it would turn out well enough, but there was still a chance, that something might have gone wrong. I would hate for that to happen to him. He's not one to suffer hard knocks, with forbearance and grace."
Cassandra gathered, that not all of Harcourt's impatience, was a result of being confined to a sickroom.
"I had imagined, that a man who owned a department store, would be very charming and put people at ease."
Will grinned at that.
"He can be. But those moments, when he's charming and putting people at ease, are when he's most dangerous. Never trust him when he's nice."
Her eyes rounded with surprise.
"I thought he was your friend."
"Oh, he is. But have no illusions about Harcourt. He's not like any man you've ever known, nor is he someone, your parents would have allowed you to meet in society."
"My parents," Cassandra said, "Had no intention of allowing me to meet anyone in society."
Staring at her keenly, Will asked,
"Why is that, I wonder?"
Cassandra was silent, regretting her comment.
"I've always thought it odd," Will remarked, "That you've been obliged to live like a nun in a cloister. Why didn't your brother take you to London for the season, when he was courting Gwen?"
Cassandra met his gaze directly.
"Town held no interest for me. I was happier staying here."
Will's hand slid over hers and squeezed briefly.
"Little friend...let me give you some advice, that may prove helpful in the future, when you're in society. When you lie, don't fidget with your hands. Keep them still and relaxed in your lap."
"I wasn't..." Cassandra broke off abruptly. And after a slow breath, she spoke calmly. "I wanted to go, but Liam didn't think I was ready."
"Better." He grinned at her. "Still a lie...but better."
Cassandra was spared the necessity of replying, just as Arthur came to the doorway.
Smiling, he spoke to the room in general.
"According to Dr. Sims, Harcourt's eyes have healed well, and his vision is exceptional."
He paused, as glad exclamations rippled through the group.
"Mr. Harcourt is tired after the examination. Later we can visit him at intervals, rather than go all at once and gape, as if he were a gibbon at the Bristol Zoo."
Stay safe!