Christmas Love

CHRISTMAS LOVE

CHAPTER 1

Long before her encounter, as she remembered from the blurry memories of her early life, Emma Hart had always wondered how accidents happened. She had imagined that in every such unfortunate event, there was always a perpetrator. And worse of all, she also assumed that it involved going out of ones abode.

Sometimes, she would look at herself in the mirror while the maid dressed her and her sisters up for an occasion, and she would imagine what it would be like if life wasn’t so sweet for them. If they had to go out frequently, in search of food like the miserable kids they often come across while they were driven in exotic carriages. Being in the home, in the comfort of her parents gave them that solid hope that life would always turn out well.

As Emma grew into puberty, she would sometimes take sides with the conclusion that some of those thoughts were responsible for her eventual misfortune. How else was she to explain the ordeal she later encountered, if they hadn’t anything to do with the fears she had expected?

On the cold morning that her calamities would befall her, Emma had woken to the delight of the day just like every other day. The fact the December morning was naturally cold made her an eternal hater of spring and Decembers, She had walked with an unusual urge to the grand kitchen of the house, where Mrs. Andrews made the delicacies.

“What are you doing here?” the heavyset woman had asked with unbelievable eyes, her uniform barely able to contain her size. Mrs. Andrews surprise was the very reason Emma could decide to visit the kitchen that morning. It was a delight to consistently hunger for.

“Don’t you find it sincerely discomforting that I am thirteen and have never assisted you in making the family breakfast, despite how easy it seems?” Emma had inquired, a childish sincerity blazing in her eyes.

The cook’s eyes glowered in greater surprise; it was the look of one who had seen a ghost.

“I do not mind such flimsy matters.” She blurted. “When you are of age, your papa and mama would show you the way here. Until then, you are to remain within your chambers.”

“And when would that be?” Emma said right back. Her jaw set.

Seconds passed before any of them relaxed the muscles that aided their intense glare.

Every right-thinking person knew that it was only a matter of time before Emma’s curiosity got her in trouble, what no one had expected was that the trouble would befall her early in life.

“Be gone, Emma. Or I shall have you reported to the countess this instant.” The cook threatened.

Emma stood there stiffly, as though she was awaiting the destruction that would follow. On other days, Ms. Light wore a smile on her face; it was so deceitful that one would think she was incapable of harming a child, in manners such as reporting her to her mother for a following reproach.

To Emma’s utter bemusement, Ms. Light stomped right by her and walked out to fulfil her promise to have the lass reported to her mother.

Emma scrunched her nose stubbornly and paced around the kitchen, she need to savor the environment before her mother walked in to chastise her. Not that the admonition from her mother would stop her from furthering her mischievous intentions on other days anyway.

Alone in the kitchen, Emma took the steps around. She admired the beautiful set of knives that were carefully arranged in the rack that housed several utensils. They seemed like Ms. Light, too beautiful in their positions to wreck any havoc.

Emma restricted the urge to pick one of the knives up and make a playful display. At least, she had said to herself right before the accident, no one is inside to see what I play with.

In all sincerity, Emma ignored the temptation and she turned around to find other sources of entertainment, but as soon as she turned, she slipped on an oil spill and her entire young frame struggled in the air for a few seconds.

While her limbs struggled for a grab, Emma would remember that - even at that point, it had seemed like a child’s play. She mindlessly counted the seconds of her struggle.

One…Two…Three –

But her hands found nothing to brace, and her entire frame, which was already crashing into the concrete floor made more frantic efforts. Finally, she grabbed something just before she lost it. It was the utensils’ rack and she accidentally dragged it upon herself as she fell.

Six…Seven… She was no longer counting in seconds, she was mindlessly counting at the rate of her heartbeat… twelve…fifteen…

The entire content of the rack came crumbling on her, but it was the early collision of the back of her head against the kitchen floor that rendered her unconscious and that made her numb to the pain, momentarily.

All thanks to Ms. Light and the Countess who had hurried in as soon as the last item dropped. They had appeared for a different purpose, but the intervention would be Emma’s life saver.

Weeks later, when the countess showed her the particular knife that narrowly missed her left eye but left a gashing scar across her face, Emma remembered it was the one she had attempted to pick, for the fun of it. She looked at it with a question she kept lurking around her heart. Would the outcome have been different if I had played with the knife?

Her philosophy changed after the harrowing experience; ‘Accidents were bound to happen, and it didn’t matter what was responsible for it.’ Emma trod carefully thereafter, but life could never remain the same again for her.

Emma’s obsessions with inquiry into the lives of people and things had finally earned her the scar that would separate her from people. Many would not know that she had suffered the scar in her soul long before the event, but it was the incident that now made the necessary distinction. And when people avoided her now, they had a reason to.

CHAPTER 2

“It’s Christmas!” a man yelled with the thrills of celebration as he pushed by, a cart that housed his wares containing a variety of Christmas decorations. “Just half a penny and you’re transformed!”

Nicholas tsked and he drew the curtains of his carriage closer, so that any of the miscreants on Steelman Street would not break through to pick whatever possessions their hand could grab. Nicholas’ caution did not come by coincidence. Last Christmas, along the street, the same thing had happened and being then, he had ordered the coachman to stop the carriage in order to give a pursuit.

The thief vanished into the dark alley in blind speed, the coachman was panting when he returned fruitless. Nicholas vowed never to fall victim a second time. It was hard though, to ignore the amusing noise from the street. As they wheeled by, he could pick some of the interesting discussions ongoing in the lips of people on the road, many of which he wished he could just take a glimpse at the speaker, but the caution of getting items lost would not let him.

Nicholas Stewart was headed for the Coxs’ lavish mask ball. He was late already but he liked going to such events late. Naturally, he was not a huge fan of gatherings. He hated the pretense and the falsified excitements but everyone had their masks to conceal the reality of their feelings. Nicholas found that fact a good reason, he would have stayed back if it wasn’t that, and being invited by his childhood friend – Daniel Cox, Nicholas could not resist.

When the environment became quieter, Nicholas knew they had arrived at the estate of the Coxs’. He waited patiently until the coachman steadied near the entrance of the ball. He whisked the curtains aside and the delightful scene appeared before his eyes, like the sudden illumination of a spark.

Within the beautiful hall, he could see gentlemen and ladies entangled in each other’s grips. He could see the abundance of the wine and the entire luxury, and to all these, his stomach churned. Nicholas found himself immediately reluctant to proceed, but he knew that he could not back down when he had already made it this far.

Nicholas stepped out of the carriage and inhaled the cold December air. He smiled at the coachman without any particular reason, and he smiled back at him and tossed his hat forward. Nicholas could see him avert his face to conceal a sly smile that wrinkled it.

“Be gone now, and we shall meet again after the ball.”

The coachman drove away, towards other luxury carriages parked not too far away. As he walked toward the grand entrance, another event caught his attention and for a moment, Nicholas stopped in his tracks to ascertain what he was seeing.

A lady hurried out of the hall hastily and she stood perplexed, at the threshold. She took in a deep breath and stared around the lawn. All the while, her left hand was on her face. She would have seen Nicholas the very moment she walked out if she had not closed her eyes to inhale, but whether or not she saw him, she ignored his presence and looked in a different direction.

Finally sighting a tree not so far away, the lady flew toward the tree to attend to whatever it was she held close to her face. At first thought, Nicholas knew it must have been something with her mask, but he had never seen anyone guard their mask so desperately as to leave the ball for it.

What amused Nicholas was the speed of the lady’s action. She was gorgeously dressed, no doubt about that, but in the brief moment their gazes connected, she had perfectly acted indifferent to his presence only to scurry in such speed toward the tree; a suspicious move through and through.

“Are you well?” Nicholas said as he hurried after the lady. His movements were hastened by the fresh thoughts that she was probably sick, and was out to retch or vomit her disinterest.

“I’m fine!” She yelled when he came closer, waving her right palm at him to signal that she didn’t want him coming any closer to her.

“It appears you need help ma’am?” he inquired.

“I said I am fine.” She snarled, without looking back at him. Her head was arced over the soil on which the tree was planted. Her appearance was no more than a grotesque silhouette under the shade of the tree. When she realized that her speech sounded rude, she quickly spoke in a calmer voice. “You are most generous to offer help but I am completely in need of naught. Perhaps the air was all I needed to breath.”

Just the air? Nicholas found himself wondering. He had no intention to be nosy, but it was a proper thing for any gentleman to show concern when there was an avenue for such. If she wanted just the air, standing on the threshold and sniffing the cold atmosphere should have suffice. There was surely something more.

The golden mask in her hands caught a reflection from the lights of the ball, and it sparkled in his eyes. Despite the fact that she had an arm directed at him, her left hand was still determinedly clutching the mask to her face.

“I shall wait here until you are done with your business, then I shall walk you back to the ball.” He offered. “Never mind, my back shall be against you to carry on whatever business you have to do here.”

“You may be gone sir. I shall take care of myself.” She insisted.

“Oh, I see you need to ‘take care of yourself’, meaning you need care.” He observed. “Shall I get a lady from the ball?”

“I do not wish to be any trouble to you Mister. Be gone.”

“Not yet.” He replied, “And believe me, I do not, myself like to be troubled. If I by any slight means get tired of being here, I shall walk back to the ball without you.”

“Then we shall be here a long time.” She replied.

It was now clear the business was with her mask. Nicholas had never known or heard of a lady who did not want to be seen, but it would make sense that such a lady was found at a mask ball. Her insistence therefore, became the source of his, but he nursed absolutely no intentions to see her face.

There was no way his conscience would let him be if he left her behind the tree only to hear much later of a suicide he could have stopped.

“Ma’am,” He said frankly, “if the business is with your mask, you may take care and time to adjust it as you please and kindly let me have the honor of walking you back inside.”

She retrieved her right arm and spent effort trying to fit the strangely enormous mask back on her face. “It is indeed the mask.” She confessed as she dropped it on the floor and let out an exasperated breath. “It is broken.”

“A broken mask.” He restrained the urge to chuckle. Ladies were ever so dramatic, but this level of drama was completely absurd. Nicholas retrieved his from his breast pocket. It was half the size of hers but was in good shape. “You may have mine ma’am, if you do not mind.”

“How kind of you!” She said with a broad smile, and she stretched her arms without looking at him. He thrust the mask in her palm and she had it worn in an instant.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It does not cover my entire face, but thank you all the same sir.” She said as she finally turned to him. The scar on her face was still visible beneath the mask, across her nostril, but he could not see that yet because of the shade of the tree.

She ran a finger over the scar and hoped it didn’t reveal as much as she feared.

“We can walk back to the ball now?”

“Great delight!” she said, but there was still a little tone of trepidation in her voice, perhaps it was not as great a delight as she feigned it was. She still wanted her old mask which concealed her face completely.

CHAPTER 3

Emma walked stealthily back to the ball. Her hand was seized between the arms of the man that was walking by her. She did not intend to be a cause of embarrassment to her family, and she had consistently insisted on not leaving the comfort of their house. They - her family, had been the ones who encouraged her to attend balls, and since this was a mask party, she found it an opportunity to leave the house after quite a long time. She hoped that when they saw her with the man, with a fraction of her scar, everyone would act as though it didn’t matter. She madly hated to infect the gentleman with embarrassment that was purely hers, but the man had insisted.

Sometimes, Emma stared into the mirror of her room and convinced herself that the scar was not half as bad as she feared. She knew she ought to be grateful, it could have claimed her life. A dozen knives spiraled into her face, and most missed her. If all she had to bear was a scarred appearance, all her life, it was a great cause for thanksgiving.

When the grateful feeling heightened, regrets of having a scar took over her. It was blemish, and she could not do away with it, forever!

The gentleman that ushered her back into the ball seemed too confident of himself. He had detected the reason why she hid behind the tree, and had even offered her his mask, but as she stared at him from the side of her eyes, through the new mask, she noticed his indifference. How though, was he not anxious to see her face?

They walked back into the illumination and she pushed a palm to shield her scar, assuming that he would reflexively stare. He was absolutely indifferent. Emma kept the hand there anyway; he could ignore it but she wasn’t sure the other people at the ball would be equally forward thinking.

They walked past a few faces; and she could almost smell the surprise in the eyes of those who stared. Most of them had known that it could only have been her who earlier had a mask covering her entire face. Now that her face was more revealed in the new mask, everyone seemed to have guessed right.

“Yea, that’s her.” Someone whispered. Emma was close enough to hear that and the sniggering that followed. She fought not to look, because she knew she wouldn’t see the face of the speaker anyway, they were all masked.

“She probably wants a husband for a Christmas gift.” another voice said from a different direction. This was a thin familiar voice, the kind that Emma would have hoped spoke only of the good experiences they had both shared.

When she could no longer hold it, Emma turned to look at this new speaker, she would not believe her eyes; the voice she had heard and the stature of the speaker unmistakably belonged to Julie Brosnan - the same Julie who had needed Emma’s help as a budding teenager to get past several things which she was not willing to think about at the moment.

“Is that not Lord …?” The lady beside Julie – Betty Andrews, said.

“How can you tell?” a third speaker replied, both ignored the failed attempt of Julie at scorn. “Everyone is masked.”

“That surely is Lord Nicholas Stewart.” Betty insisted and the ladies immediately began to bluff and fawn around the Duke. This was what Emma noticed and it prompted her to take her first proper look at the man that was walking her in.

A most delightful appearance was presented to her. In her entire three and twenty years, she had never felt so elated. She imagined what she would make of this small scene in the coming days; that at a mask party, a man with such masculine confidence walked her into the ball like a princess.

Lord Nicholas Stewart had a firm jaw that had sprinkles of dark beards. He wore a neat brown tailcoat and firm black boots. His hat was firmly placed atop his head, and he swaggered with the confidence of a man that was walking with his long time wife.

“I strongly appreciate your gesture, sir. I think it is best I go my way now.” Emma suggested quietly.

“Do you feel you are being cohered?” He asked, and stared at her - perhaps not his first stare - but surely the first one she’d notice.

Emma froze. She imagined a hundred things that would go on in his mind, and it killed her that the man did not spare a second focusing on her scar. His gaze simply swept over her face as though there was nothing consequential about it.

“I have followed you in here willingly.” She admitted, fighting hard to silence the apparent quickness in her breaths.

After all, his face was no longer directed toward hers.

“And you want to willingly leave me now? To make me a lonely man parading himself on this floor meant for pairs?”

“I have no such intentions Your Grace.” She said quickly.

“Then at least tell me your name and let us make sure our meeting ends amicably.” He stared at her scar very briefly and smiled. If she had no scare, she would have assumed he stared at her face. Perhaps he was staring only at her face and not her scar, she could not determine.

“I prefer to be remembered as the masked lady.” She said.

He chuckled, a gesture that emanated perhaps from the abundance of having several ladies address him with such silliness. “We all wear masks. Every day of our lives, we are who we want people to think we are. No one has a permanent face.”

She thought about her mask. It was the version of her that she could not help, and now she was using a mask to mask that up too. He was right, absolutely.

“And seeing that you already know me,” he continued, “I think I deserve to know you as well.”

By knowing her, she wondered if he also meant seeing her entire face. She didn’t care, that was her own interpretation. “Up till now Your Grace, you have not stuck me as one who will be curious to see the remaining scar on my face.” She said, breathing more quickly than ever, and the dance had not even started.

“You have a scar?”

She could not believe the question. Outside, he had seemed like a petty and insistent gentleman who was desperate to have a lady by him. Inside, he was completely different. The only similarity she could spot was perhaps, his gentle soul.

“I am impressed by Your Grace’s pun.” She chuckled.

“I do not see it.” He said.

There was something interesting about the Duke. He seemed to take no notice of the other ladies flaunting about him to earn his attention.

“I am Emma Hart, the second daughter of Mr. Hart.”

“Oh, Mr. Hart.” He nodded. “I was supposed to visit the good man as soon as we cross into the New Year. Seeing he is blessed with a beautiful daughter, I guess I might be visiting sooner than I planned.”

Emma chuckled at first, it was the first time in a long time anyone would describe her with such adjective that sounded very sincere. Only her mother and father had played that role, but the sincerity had been an issue within her; they would always say good things about her anyway.

The musicians seemed to have just noticed that it was a ball after all, and they began to play their instruments. Emma watched Lord Stewart pick two glasses from the tray of a wandering server and he offered her one.

“May I have the honor of having the first dance with you?” he asked. “After taking our drinks, that is.”

She looked stunned. If she had not held the cup firmly, it would have slipped off her hand to give her detractors more reasons to speak ill of her.

“It will be an honor, Your Grace.” she replied.

CHAPTER 4

The Harts had everything they wanted; a big house, good business and a large expanse of land.

They had everything but one thing. And that was the obvious fact that Emma Hart would never be attracted to a suitable man for marriage. The father of the home had made a good name for himself, and he was very capable of taking proper care of his family. The scar on Emma however was the only pain the family had to suffer despite the abundance of their wealth.

The scar was big at its contact point. It cut across her face, gliding carefully beneath her right eye down to the side of her nostril and then vanishing at the top of her left lip. It had raised all manner of questions as soon as it is sighted. ‘How did she survive?... Did she do this to herself?...Was she attacked?...’

Mr. Hart had explained the circumstance to people who deserved to know, and he had grown weary of explaining, it made sense then that the family would agree with Emma’s decision to always stay indoors.

The three daughters that were Mr. Hart’s were very adorable, if the scar had not damaged her face, Emma would have been the prettiest of them.

As soon as her other sisters were able to convince her to attend the holiday ball after their family had been invited, Emma consented. She never knew that she would steal the show of the entire ball.

The morning after the ball, the family sat in the drawing room while Mr. Hart remained in his study, the women took the time to discuss about Emma’s charm.

“Are you saying…” an excited Mrs. Hart looked from one to another as she attempted to repeat her question.

“Yes, mama. Lord Stewart was candidly smitten by Emma’s charms.” Lucy the first of the girls said.

“He could not keep his gaze off her all through the night.” Diana agreed.

“And he had two dances with Diana, right in the presence of everyone.” Lucy said.

“Two dances? Was he not aware of the norm? Why should he put himself under such scrutiny by people in this town?” Mrs. Hart was bewildered. Emma already had the scar; she didn’t want any reason why she would be victimized again by the ladies who wanted him for themselves.

“I told him about that, and he said he did not care about what anyone said.”

“This is not for his sake. It is yours.” Mrs. Hart said. “I do not want you in any trouble.”

The words of her mother brought an entirely different matter to mind. All through the night, she had thought about it. Why would Lord Stewart not insist on seeing my face? She pondered fearfully. He used adjectives such as beautiful and adorable, but he did not give credence to seeing her full face.

Emma would have taken it against him in her heart if, as he commended her, he stared admiringly at the other ladies on the floor, he was absolutely indifferent. Clearly, Lord Stewart was not one who held common assessment in the same regard.

“A man should not ask for two sets in the same evening, not unless he has intentions to propose.” Mrs. Hart said markedly, as though the ladies did not know.

“And who says he does not nurse intentions to propose marriage to Emma?” Diana asked as she arced her brows.

“Oh no.” Mrs. Hart seemed shocked. “I understand how good a feeling this must be for you Emma, but you should not raise your hopes. He is a man of very high social standing, and he might have communicated the wrong intentions, you will do yourself a lot good if you do not make high expectations of his careless gesture.”

“I do not expect anything from him, mama.” Emma replied.

***

Lord Stewart visited the Harts three remarkable times before the New Year. Each time, he developed greater feeling for the lady who he still saw as the most beautiful of the Harts’. His visit on the first occasion was to see Mr. Hart and discuss their business prospect, but even then, he politely requested to discuss with Emma.

The Harts’ were surprised. They had met at an evening ball, it was possible to assume he hadn’t seen her face properly through the mask and the dimness of the night, but seeing her during the bright day, he didn’t seem bothered in the least bit.

Subsequent visits attracted gossips. He was a remarkable man in town, every marriageable lady eyes the chance of becoming the Duchess with him, but he found love in the eyes of Emma Hart.

On the day after Christmas, he sent several boxes of gifts to every member of the family. With his gifts and frequent visitations, it was not hard to tell the direction of his intentions with the lass.

Mrs. Hart took time to explain things to her daughter. “The fact that you have a scarred face does not make you any less a lady.” She had said, and those were the same words Emma herself told the Duke when he proposed to her one balmy January afternoon.

They were sitting in a swing at Handel Park, looking at the happy families afar. They had driven to the fun part of town in order to be entertained. She stared at the kids playing around, not one stared at her face in the same disturbing manner people used to in the past.

It was clear that finding love made her more beautiful and acceptable. Even she learnt to respect herself better. He had the right words to motivate her; “Your scar makes your face even more beautiful. I know that probably sounds ridiculous, but it is the very true.”

It was the same thing she had secretly considered when she stared at herself, but no one had been bold enough to tell her that. The scar could not be cleaned off, and even if she couldn’t get used to it, then she would only live in eternal jeopardy.

“Will you be my wife and the mother of my children yet unborn?” He had said at the park, igniting a deep smile in their faces.

“Nicholas.” Emma sighed, “I do not wish to be married out of pity -”

“Who said I am proposing because I pity you?” he was startled, “You are no less a woman than any other woman. As a matter of fact, you are, to me, more beautiful than any other woman in the world. I adore you. You are intelligent and think twice faster than any other woman in this city.”

She smiled, “Thank you.”

“There you go again. Respectful. And I like your face.”

“I like your face too.” she replied and smiled.

“So, what do you say to my proposal?”

“Yes, Nicholas, I will marry you.”

They sat there staring into each other’s faces for some minutes. No one would have thought that despite the several strives by many ladies in the town; a scarred face girl would eventually be the Duchess of Compton.

A month and half later, the future Duchess of Compton walked the aisle of their simple marriage venues. Her face, scared as it still was, but the least talked about matter of the day. Emma seemed like a shining star among everyone present and her husband had the determination in his eyes to be the husband she wanted him to be.

Merely looking at the couple, the Harts’ felt at ease with the kind of man their daughter was getting married too. Who knew she would be the first of the family to be married to a member of the ton? Who knew she would be the only?

The couple left the wedding venue in their grand style, off to Scotland where Nicholas wanted them to spend the weeks of their honey moon.