She sat down on the sled toward the front and patted the seat behind her. Feeling rather hotter than before, Trevor sat down behind her. Mary took each of his hands and placed them on her waist. He no longer breathed. His front was pressed against her back, and it was the most intimate position they had ever been in together. Before he fainted from lack of air, Mary gave the snow a large kick and they began to slide down the hill. The cold air whipped at his cheeks, and he could feel a tendril of Mary’s light brown hair brushing his forehead.
They hit a rock and the sled turned briefly to the side, and he feared that they were going to topple over. Mary leaned sharply to the other side, and they were able to stay on the sled for a few moments longer before they rolled down to the bottom the hill together. Trevor landed with a thump onto his back and Mary fell onto his chest. Her nose was red from the cold, but she was smiling at him.
She brushed her lips against his. “Last one to the top of the hill has to drag the sled home!”
Pushing against his chest, she got to her feet and began running up the hill, leaving him with the sled.
“Go, Miss Perkins!” her charges called. “You can beat him!”
Trevor rolled to his feet, grabbed the rope of the sled, and ran as if his life depended upon it. He caught up with Mary as they crested the top of the hill. Clutching his side, he breathed heavily. Mary had both of her hands on her narrow waist and she was laughing. And if it were possible, he fell a little bit more in love with her at that moment. Her light brown hair was wet and rather a mess. Her clothes were rumpled and covered in snow, and she looked even more beautiful than she had in the silk dress the night before. She sat down on the sled and he did not hesitate to encase her body in his arms. He loved the feeling of being near her.
They sled down the hill together several more times and raced the Stringham sisters. Mary had been right, of course, Lady Helen always won. The last time, they made it down the hill last and were met by a barrage of snowballs. Trevor could definitely testify that young ladies threw snowballs just as hard as boys and with great accuracy. A snowball cuffed him on the left ear, and the snow slid down between his neck and his scarf.
Mary stood and chucked a snowball that hit Lady Helen square in the chest. “Come, Trevor, we need to find some cover.”
They abandoned their sled. He followed her into a grove of trees as they were hit repeatedly from behind. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her around the back of a large oak tree so that they could catchtheir breath, which was white from the cold.
Trevor tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “You are a wonder, Mary. So fun and jolly. I do not deserve the gift that is you.”
The corners of her lips curled up. She seemed to smile so much more than before. “Oh, Trevor, that is what Christmas is all about.”
He blinked rapidly, not sure that he understood what she was referring to. “Do you mean that as sinners we do not deserve the gift of the Savior?”
She shook her head and snowflakes fell off her hair. “No. Christmas is the ultimate celebration of love, and love is never deserved or earned. It is simply given.”
Trevor felt stunned by her words and the snowball that hit him square in the forehead. Mary ducked behind him and scooped up a snowball to throw. Trevor made his own snowballs and they tried to hold out: two against three. He and Mary lost thoroughly, and he was beginning to lose the feeling at the tips of his fingers, so they pulled their sleds back to the castle.
It was not until he had taken off his wet things and had pulled on a warm banyan to sit by the fire that he gave Mary’s words greater consideration.“Love is never deserved or earned. It is simply given.”Trevor thought of his own father, who had never given him love. He had been a cold, distant man who viewed his life as a failure and, by extension, his son as a disappointment. Trevor did not remember his mother at all. She died when he was born. He did not know if she had ever loved him.
After his father’s death, he had been sent to his uncle’s home, and he was not given affection there either. Trevor never felt as if he belonged there on the few weeks during the summer holidays he was invited to stay between terms. No matter how hard he tried to please his aunt, she always complained about how he held a fork at dinner or slurped his soup. She even blamed him for the cowlick at the back of his hair that refused to stay down. Aunt Wallace cut the cowlick so short once that he had a bald spot. He could never earn his uncle or aunt’s love, and he always thought that he had not deserved it. He was a rather average student and sportsman. Trevor never excelled at anything. Even as a curate his actions had been small acts of kindness, like lifting the bedridden Mr. Thackeray in and out of bed, writing Mr. Phelps’s letters, helping Farmer Trask clear his fields, andhiring Mrs. Stonehocker to do his washing so that she would be able to feed her children.
Nothing great or worthy of note.
Yet he did not expect his parishioners to earn his love. Nor did he follow Reverend Stone’s direction to only give church assistance to the righteous. Trevor did not think that it was his right, or his duty, to decide which of God’s children were deserving of help. He gave to all who asked.
Deserving.
That word again.
Rubbing his hands by the fire, Trevor realized that he had not felt as if he deserved the livings from his uncle. Despite living a virtuous life and being a diligent curate to learn his trade. Things that his cousin had not and would not do.
What more could he do to be deserving?
Chapter 6
Mary prepared for another boring Sunday service. Sighing, she missed both her father and his sermons. Papa’s words were elegant, understandable, and thoughtful; they filled her soul with an eager desire to do better. Revered Turpin’s did not. She only felt dread when she heard the low, growly timbre of his voice. His complicated theology and extended historical theories were convoluted and dull. Not that she would ever say as much to her charges.
Putting on her bonnet, Mary tied the ribbon underneath her chin. A person did not need to leave the inside of the castle to enter the chapel, but Mary still wished to show the Lord her best efforts. She pulled her mother’s cashmere shawl over her shoulders. It felt like a warm hug. How she wished that she could be spending the holiday with her family this year, but she had chosen to take time at Easter instead. She would not repine now. The Stringhams felt like her second family and they treated her as such. Many governesses were not accepted by their employers or by the servants. Mary was lucky enough to consider herself a friend to both.
She waved to Miss Wade, who was dressed in a severely cut black pelisse. “Is Lady Frederica ready?”
The stern woman snorted. “She is dressed if that is what you mean. I cannot be sure that she will attend Sunday service. Her ladyshipcomplained of the ailment she often feels only on Sabbath mornings.”
The Stringhams called it the Sunday sickness,and it was coined by Lady Hampford in reference to her husband, who missed his fair share of services and snored through the rest. Mary thanked Wade and circled back to her charges’ rooms and insisted that all three girls come with her to the chapel. They had invited Trevor to stay and therefore they must come with him to church. He was already seated when they arrived, and he stood up like the thoughtful gentleman he was.
Despite the dull sermons, Mary loved the castle’s chapel. It was old and beautiful, dark and mysterious, and the sun shone through the colorful stained-glass window of Michael battling the armies of Satan. The girls all plopped down on the pew, leaving her little space to sit by Trevor. She was certain that they did it on purpose and she could not be angry, for it felt thrilling to have her entire leg touching Trevor’s. A warm heat centered in her belly, and she wondered if such pleasure was a sin.
The side door of the chapel that led to the chaplain’s rooms burst open and Reverend Turpin’s housekeeper rushed out. Her usually tidy hair was coming out of her cap, and she still wore an apron over her dress.