A/N: For Amelia who has asked for more Avian Abbey material since she read "Did I Make The Most Of Loving You." The song for this chapter's title is by Johnny Mathis.

Given the enormity of the estate and accounting for everyone it housed, it was still fairly easy to come and go unnoticed.

Trudging across the expansive grounds, Cummings reveled in the silent peace of the snowfall around him. The estate was rarely so still and being able to hear his own thoughts was quite the novelty. The added pleasure of his ensured solitude in thanks to the still softly falling snow only further soothed his rather frayed nerves.

The Christmas season was all the more chaotic with the Mallard family inviting guests to the estate or being invited themselves to neighboring houses. The rest of the year was mad enough, to demand goodwill to men, when men did not deserve such things, was ridiculous. The season of forced cheer weighed heavily upon Cummings.

Here, however, without others crowding him and where he was free from societal morays, he felt the crushing weight lift and ascend into the chilled air surrounding him.

Reginald Bushroot, the head gardener, would have Cummings's head should he discover that 'twas the valet whom had trampled across the grounds in so haphazard a fashion, leaving trails in the snow and more than likely crushing his beloved plants underfoot. Reginald would have to catch Cummings first—

"Oh, my lady," Cummings said, abruptly halting his progress as he saw Lady Gosalyn sitting upon the very bench he had hoped to use. Naturally. He'd always had the most rotten luck.

Reaching up to pluck the cigarette from his beak, Cummings straightened his posture and tugged his coat down. "Has the evening concluded? Is his lordship awaiting me in his rooms?"

"No, no," Lady Gosalyn said, waving away Cummings's concern. "I wanted solitude. They are playing games in the drawing room." She glanced back, her beak curving upward in a gentle smile. "Though I seem to have commandeered your destination."

Like a thief in the night.

"The bench is yours, my lady. I am not so arrogant as to request you leave."

"I imagine you would not use so many words." Lady Gosalyn ticked her eyebrow up. "'Piss off' seems much more your style."

Cummings smirked. Several months ago, he would not have given her the satisfaction, but having Gosalyn visit, a version of Lady Gosalyn from another parallel world, had helped him see her humor more clearly. And her softness. Her genuine curiosity and strong spirit. He did understand the two ladies were separate, but learning about one and taught him about the other.

Unintentionally.

He had never gone so far as to consider Lady Gosalyn friendly, but now….

Now.

"I'll take my leave," Lady Gosalyn said, rising and wrapping her shawl more securely around her shoulders, "since you are too much a gentleman to demand your privacy."

"I am no gentleman, my lady," Cummings said, standing ramrod straight. "And I have no right to ask for such a thing."

"You did not. I offered." She smiled and nodded once in farewell.

"The bench is large enough for two, I should think," he heard himself say. An extended invitation while still managing to be impertinent. If ever there was a phrase to accurately describe him, it would be that.

Lady Gosalyn observed him in silence for a few nerve-wracking heartbeats — had he finally overstepped his bounds? What a dismal way in which to be sacked — before she smiled and motioned for him to be seated.

That was how the valet Cummings came to be sitting beside the lady of the house in the snowfall on Christmas night.

He moved to put out his cigarette when Lady Gosalyn said, "Oh, no, please. You halved your bench for me. I shan't ask you not to smoke."

Cummings weighed his options for all of a second before raising the cigarette up to his beak and inhaling. "You are not like the others, my lady." He blew out a puff of smoke.

"The others being my step mother and sisters?"

Cummings shook his head. "Others being everyone I have ever encountered before, my lady. You are quite unlike anyone else."

A silence descended upon them as they observed the snow covering the entire estate in a soft white blanket.

Cummings had nearly finished his cigarette by the time Lady Gosalyn spoke again. "Do you think me very foolish?" she asked softly.

"That depends on what we are discussing, my lady."

Another smile before she elaborated, "I was brought into this family, this life. It was not something I had to fight for and yet I have it. If not for Lord Mallard of St. Canard deciding to take me in, I would have been raised in the lower classes. Possibly become a maid. Kitchen maid more like. I would not have this station or this house or much of anything."

She glanced sidelong at Cummings before straightening and pulling her shawl snug around her. "So why was I chosen? Why not any of the other orphans Lord Canard encountered? And why was I given this life when it could just as easily have been you who was granted the opportunity?"

"I give entirely too much lip for his lordship to ever consider adopting me," Cummings said, stabbing the cigarette into the snow.

Lady Gosalyn laughed, which Cummings thought suited her more than the look of worry that had darkened her expression before. Sitting back against the bench, Cummings considered her query.

Because he had often wondered the same thing. How had Lady Gosalyn been able to escape the lower class when he could not? Why her? Why not him?

Ever since the other Gosalyn from the parallel world had visited, he had stopped asking those questions. But it was not until now, sitting in the snow with this girl, that he realized he had ceased obsessing.

For now he knew. There weren't questions any longer because they had been answered.

"As to your other questions," he said slowly. Carefully. He had always entertained thoughts above his station; finding the appropriate words tongue-tied him. "It hardly matters that you were chosen. You were, that's all there is to it. Your test began not when his lordship adopted you, but after. As you began to grow and everyone questioned what sort of lady you would be. And if I may say, my lady," he looked over and met her eyes. "You have done well. You carry yourself with the dignity your position requires yet with the weight of what might have come to pass. You never forget where you came from, you certainly have not forgotten us downstairs, and for that we would all follow you to the ends of the earth.

"His lordship is a good man and he treats us well, better than most. But you, my lady, have the unquestioned loyalty of us all."

Lady Gosalyn studied him for a moment before casting her gaze down to the snow, a blush creeping into her cheeks. "I was not aware sharing a bench would unleash so much."

Cummings grinned. "Blame it on the season. Emotions are much too close to the surface for my liking this time of year."

Lady Gosalyn chuckled. "So does this mean we are to be friends?"

Cummings shrugged and cast his eyes heavenward to watch the snow. "If you must give it a name."

"Then I am honored."

He glanced down at her. "You know, my lady? I believe you genuinely mean that."

Lady Gosalyn smiled sweetly and stood from the bench. "I should be returning. Papa will wonder where I am." She held out a hand. "Happy Christmas, Cummings."

Wiping his hand on his coat, Cummings lightly grasped her fingers in his. "Happy Christmas, my lady."

Even after she had left, Cummings sat on the bench, absorbing the stillness of Christmas around him. He would never be fond of the holiday, but if he was guaranteed moments such as these, he felt he might one day make peace with it.