Page 22 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

A loud wail was followed by pounding footsteps in the hall. Her door flung open.

Susannah ran into the bedroom with her doll clutched tightly to her little chest. Her light brown hair had come loose from its braids and spilled in a mess around her slender shoulders which shook with each of her tearful sobs. She never slowed down as she raced to the bed and launched herself onto the mattress with Clara, who took the upset girl immediately into her arms and cooed softly as she rocked her gently.

“Susannah, whatever is the matter?” She soothingly brushed the little girl’s hair back from her forehead.

“It’s…the…boys,” she choked out between sobs. Then, with a biting anger, spat out, “And Margaret!”

Oh my.Conflict had broken out in the dining room, apparently. As the younger sister, Clara knew well the childhood trauma of never being listened to. She reached for her handkerchief on the beside table. “What did they do?”

When she held the cloth to Susannah’s nose, the girl obediently blew into it. “They won’t let me make any of the decorations!”

“What decorations?”

“The ones we wanted to surprise Uncle Michael with.”

“I see.” Not at all, but logic didn’t matter when comforting a child.

Clara could well imagine the teasing and taunting the three older children had done to little Susannah. After all, she’d spent the last two afternoons with them, starting when their morning lessons were over, and she had learned quickly the power dynamics among the four.

First, they’d begged her to show them how to make the paper garlands and streamers she’d told them about from her youth. When she didn’t go downstairs to help, an argument broke out among the children on the best way to string the garlands, and they’d run upstairs to her room to ask her to settle it. She’d given in then and had Thomas take her down to the dining room, which the children had appropriated for making their decorations. But she’d insisted that Thomas put her down outside the room and let her hold his arm as she walked in with her cane. Amid scraps of colored papers, starch paste, and scissors littering the table, she’d spent all afternoon with the children, making long strings of paper garlands and streamers.

The next afternoon they’d insisted she help them in the kitchens. They’d wanted her to show them how to make real Scottish shortbread. By the time they had to leave so the kitchen staff could prepare dinner, she and the children had made dozens of shortbread and gingerbread biscuits and made plans for baking the little cakes given away on Twelfth Night.

The children were friendly with her and never stared at her leg anymore, never treated her as if she were less capable than anyone else. As far as they were concerned, her leg was simply a part of her and no longer anything special to be concerned about. Always, though, she was uncomfortable around them, always conscious of what she could no longer do by herself, always remembering how happy the holidays had once been for her. While the children were preparing for a wonderful holiday season, she knew her own holidays could never be that happy and carefree again.

But this afternoon, the children hadn’t asked for her help, which bothered her more than she wanted to admit. So her heart had somersaulted with excitement when she’d heard Susannah call out her name and thought they were finally coming for her.

Instead, she was mending a broken heart.

“They won’t let me help!” Susannah rubbed her cheek against Clara’s shoulder and nestled down into her arms on the bed beside her. “They said I’m not big enough.”

“Who said that, sweetling?”

“Margaret.” She scowled through her tears and angrily swiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “AndAaron and Bennie. They all said I would ruin the decorations.”

Regret panged in her chest that she hadn’t been downstairs with them to stop the argument before it began. “What kind of decorations are they making?”

“They were stringing cranberries with a needle and thread. And cutting out snowflakes.”

“Hmm.” A sharp needle piercing roly-poly berries and even sharper scissors cutting out intricate shapes… Clara wouldn’t have let Susannah help with those either. But she didn’t dare say that. Instead, she suggested, “Why don’t you and I think of other decorations we can do ourselves, hmm? We’ll surprise everyone with them.”

Watery eyes looked up at her beseechingly. “Truly?”

“Truly.” She hugged the girl closer. “Let’s see what ideas we can come up with…” She gasped with exaggerated excitement. “I know! When I was little, we took long pieces of red ribbon and turned them into big bows. Then we decorated each one with paint and lace or whatever we could find to make them pretty and hung them on the windows. Northbourne has too many windows to hang a bow in all of them, but perhaps we could decorate the conservatory.” And perhaps, if they kept the bows to just the conservatory, Michael wouldn’t be upset that she was helping the children turn the house into some kind of holiday fairytale world. “Would you like to help me make bows?”

Her tear-streaked face beamed. “Oh yes!” She threw her arms around Clara’s neck and hugged her tightly, her doll crushed between them. “Can we? Please?”

“Of course. I’ll send Mrs. Bailey for ribbon at the village mercantile.” A twinge of guilt struck her that she was adding to the woman’s errands. “We’ll ask for ribbon in red and green, maybe gold if the shop has any.”

Susannah’s tears turned into happy laughter, and she snuggled down in Clara’s arms.

Clara rested her cheek against the top of Susannah’s head. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deep the sweet scent of little girl, of rosewater and gingerbread, and in her arms, Susannah’s warmth and softness mixed with the beating of hearts.

Yet the moment was bittersweet. Clara could never have this with a child of her own—she would never have a child of her own at all. Comforting other people’s children was the most she could ever hope for now.

She simply couldn’t sum all she’d lost. If she ever did, the pain would simply end her. Especially when she thought of Michael and how much she’d wanted a family with him. Their children would have looked just like Susannah and her siblings.

“Susannah?” Margaret called out from the hall.