Christmas came with puddings and pies stuffed with roly-poly and venison, roasted goose and pork. The smell of dried fruits bubbling in a crock of mutton or pheasant filled the house for days. Their kitchen made the gloom of the gray days so much more bearable, to have the smell of damp clothes and moldy windowsills replaced with the perfume of crackling fat and apple pies. Mr. Roberts had hired musicians who brought by cart a harpsichord, two violins, a viola da gamba, and the musicians to play them. By evening, guests began arriving and brought with them even more meats and succulents. Such merriment! Jigs, tunes, and reels they played for three hours, no matter that we were too exhausted to dance, and the music went on and on.
The music struck up a chantey I remembered. These colonials knew not the words and thought it was only a jig with a smart dancing rhythm. I laughed, remembering pirates bawling it at the top of their lungs, always followed by “The Captain’s Tart.” Wallace danced with every female in the place, merrily and with good steps. He informed us that he and his family would be lodging in Lexington until after the New Year. Everyone expected him to propose to Serenity on Christmas Day and announce their engagement, but he did not. Serenity lay awake at night and consulted her sisters and me, about what might be keeping him from making a proposal.
The Roberts family kept faithful to the First Church. Near as I could tell without asking many questions, it was a Protestant version familiar to me. I listened with half an ear to the words but concentrated a great deal on how they may have shaped these people so I would not be caught in childish mistakes, singing improper songs, or behaving in any way other than they. My reputation, I vowed, I would guard as sacred. Hogmanay had given way to Mary-Mother-of-God Day, and now Epiphany. By Epiphany Wallace had made no promise to Serenity nor asked her for one.
Winter, on its dull and lead-gray path, was now brightened greatly by the presence of Wallace. He joined me on a couch in the parlor one drizzling afternoon while his and the Roberts family were engaged in games of whist. His father, Lord Spencer, had come. The man was indeed a stony relic from some past time and distant place. When the latest trump was called and everyone stood for the making of a mulled punch, Wallace leaned toward me and said, “If you would, Miss Talbot, I ask you to be the bearer of a little secret for me.”
“I should be pleased to do so,” I said, expecting it to be something about the date he had chosen for his proposal.
While everyone was engaged in noisy conversation about the game at the other end of the room, he said into my ear, “I find that I have fallen in love.”
“I should think that would surprise no one in this room, sir.”
“With you.”
I dropped the silver spoon from my saucer. The clatter it made upon the floor brought the room to silence. Both families turned to stare in our direction as I felt guilt and surprise color my cheeks. I stammered a moment, and then said, “Mr. Spencer has informed me that his winning the last hand has made him vainglorious. He wishes to be humbled by your having to, to listen to him sing.” My smile fixed, I turned to him.
He cast his eyes on mine with such fervor I lost composure, but then, smiling, he stood and clapped his hands. “Well, then, Miss Talbot, what shall I sing?”
I retrieved the spoon and went to the table of meats and puddings. “I care not, sir. Ask one of the others to choose for you.”
Betsy said, “Oh, do sing ‘Greensleeves.’ It is Serenity’s favorite.”
Though Serenity was in a near swoon, I doubt anyone could claim that Wallace’s rendition was a favorite, but at least he knew the words better than he carried the tune. Through it all he managed to keep up a merry smile and did not gaze upon me again with those eyes. Then, lacking any embarrassment whatsoever, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, one and all, I have decided to purchase an estate in Virginia. It is a plantation of some substance.”
The Robertses crowded around him then, asking a hundred small questions, which Wallace answered cheerfully though often with the words “I know not.” His parents were not surprised by the ploy, but had kept it for him to tell. I watched Lord Spencer. A more indifferent man I had never seen. I wondered why he was so often absent when Wallace and his mother visited us or we them. The word was that he had business in England. From the look on his face, I believed he was ponderously bored here.
Then Wallace said, “I will be leaving the first week of March to go south and see to the place. I expect to be gone two or three months at most.”
Wallace had just proclaimed that he loved me and he was leaving. This was March so he would return in May or June. I had meant to be in Jamaica by then, but could I wait for him? Oh, whatever would I do that long without him? I made my way to a corner of the room, bumping into a footman carrying a tray of sweetmeats for the party. I could not retire without taking leave, but I needed a moment to calm myself.
The footman asked, “Miss Talbot? Are you unwell?” The crowd turned their eyes toward me.
“I am quite well,” I said. I felt as if all eyes followed my every move. “Have I done something amiss?”
“No, no, my dear,” said Lady Spencer. “Nothing of the sort.” But her eyes went from Wallace to me and back to him.