Rupert Frederic Danvers-Black, Earl of Edrington, cut a striking image against the pure soft-fallen snow as he rode like a man possessed upon his midnight colored steed, Revenge. He could see the garish carriage pulling up before Edrington, the stately manor that lay upon the grounds of Couragefield Park, the Edrington's ancestral dwelling. His father, the Duke of Edrington would be very cross with him for he had promised the stern elder man that he would be back before the arrival of old familial friends, the Anacombes.
He could see the look of quiet anger on his father's face as he galloped up, halting Revenge and dismounting the faithful creature. "And here he is now!" he heard the shrill voice of Lady Anacombe, the Viscount Derby's third wife and the youngest of them all. She looked barely older than her own stepdaughter, Lucia, Rupert mused and then, wincing, remembered that the young Lucy would be all over him as usual which was a great deal of his own doing as he had bedded her two years ago when he had had quite too much spirits. He's learned to control his alcohol intake since then. "Speak of the Devil," said Lady Hortense Anacombe coyly. Rupert raised his eyebrows at her flirtatious tone; the slag probably fancied him, he thought with the taste of disgust filling his mouth.
"Oh, RUUUUUU-pert!" called Lucia in absolute joy, pushing past her parents to intertwine her arm with his. "I was sooooo happy when mummy and daddy told me we would be spending Christmastide with you! I was absolutely off my head, wasn't I mummy?!"
Rupert didn't hear Lady Anacombe's response for he was momentarily entranced by the appearance of another young woman. She was simply dressed; her thick, curled hair pulled back practically not ornately, her tall slender body hunched over awkwardly for her height was most unusual for a woman. Her teeth were slightly crooked which made her smile all the more enchanting and though she held none of the great beauty of Lucia, she was alluring in her own way. She held on tightly to Dickie, Lord and Lady Anacombe's youngest child's tiny hand clutched in her own. Her soft hazel-brown eyes avoided contact. Could this be another only lately discovered illegitimate of Anacombe's?
"Quite the comely little bit, isn't she?" Derby said in an undertone to Rupert, noticing the direction of his interest. "Our nursemaid, Rebecca," he informed him. "A real find. So desperate for work was she, she took salary at half of what we paid our last." This made Rupert angry but he didn't know why. "In addition, she keeps her mouth rightly shut, if you know what I mean." The large, burly yet somehow elegant man added with a sly wink of his icy blue eye. Rupert was now thoroughly sickened by the implication.
"Do come inside," Declan, the Duke of Edrington, said jovially, "No need to stand out here and frost over. Come, we've the hall all decorated!"
Indeed, the grand home was decorated in the colors of the season; the white and crimson of the holly berries and the greens of their ivy and leaves. No matter the size of the home, and it was impressive indeed for theirs was an old title, it always felt warm, comfortable, reflected Rupert. "Deeeeeeeee-lightful!" squealed Lucia, tugging on her stepmother's arm. "Isn't it, mummy?"
"Indeed!" echoed Hortense. "Simply lovely!"
"Why does your nursemaid go with your servants?" Rupert asked abruptly, noticing Rebecca retreating with the ladies' maids and the valet. "Does she not deserve the privilege of joining us in the drawing room?"
"She's deadly private," explained Lucia, still attached firmly to Rupert's arms. "Spends evenings by herself in her chamber. Honestly, Rupie," she giggled, hugging him tighter to her, "Do stop gawping after her; one might start to think something quite improper!"
Rebecca settled cozily into the surprisingly splendid closet she had been given adjoining Dickie's nursery, removing her boots and curling up upon the thick patchwork quilt of the low sleigh bed, a candle burning steadily at the bedside, embers on the hearth. She left the shutters open so she could gaze upon the moonlit, snow-blanketed fields, the frost sparkling in the twilight like diamonds. The room was private, wonderfully far from Lord Anacombe's and she doubted the old sod would risk being caught out by sneaking across the entire household. Glancing around almost guiltily, she drew one of her plain black bags onto the bed with her and removed an object careful wrapped in a cloth.
'Dearest Rebekah,' her eyes traced the well-worn lines of the note that accompanied the package. 'Let it always be a light in dark times. I am very proud of you. Mozel Tov, Mama.' It had been the last letter she had ever received from her mother, she died two months later.
Unfolding the cloth reverently, she revealed a small, well looked after brass candelabrum. She removed nine tallow candles, lighting one, the sharnash, with the room candle. Chanting softly in Hebrew, she placed the menorah upon her bedside table, placing a candle in the first of the eight branches and lighting it with the sharnash. The first night of Chanukah. Tomorrow she would send what little she could to her sisters to make the best of the festival as they could, she had been saving now for three months hoping it would be enough to cheer their spirits. She blew out the candles after only a quarter of an hour for they melted faster than real wax ones would have done and she could not afford better; the nine she had had to last her eight nights.
A small mantle clock perched upon the tiny tin fireplace struck midnight as she as she snuggled beneath the bed coverings. What a delightful place Couragefield was, she thought to herself, her head sinking into the feather pillow.
And what delightful people the Edringtons were, showing more than just courtesy to someone of her station but genuine warmth. Duke Edrington was so handsome she thought with a smile, the streaks for silver in his platinum hair accentuating the straight, elegant lines of his face. And his sons, especially the eldest, Rupert! He had gazed at her with such intensity as she had exited the barouche, allowing her to see so deeply into the almost onyx depths of his dark eyes. He had such a commanding air about him, it was no wonder he had just been promoted to major in His Britannic Majesty's service, or so she had heard Lucia boasting. She smiled, remembering a pleasant fiction she had once read of a lowly servant seduced by the Lord of the manor. Her own experience had not turned out as the story had but it made for an arousing fantasy when she thought on Rupert Edrington with his tightly restrained curls of flaxen and the thin line of his wry smile. He was slightly arrogant perhaps, spoilt, used to being in command; nothing the gentle influence of a sweet, honest woman would fail to temper. Not that he'd ever end up marrying one. No, he was far more likely to end up with someone like Lucia: pretty on the outside but not much else to recommend.
Still, it did make a nice dream. Her hand had snaked beneath the quilt and, massaging the taut shaft of her clitoris, she found bliss with the image of the handsome young Earl in her mind.
