IV. Christmas at Maple Row

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Aliya looked at him wryly. "You are jesting."

He did not answer immediately for he just looked at her, his hazel eyes boring into hers as though he was watching something fascinating unfold before him. She was used to being stared at, but his gaze was mixed with something akin to familiarity—as if he was reliving a memory. It took merely a moment for Aliya to get lost in those depths, feeling herself being pulled toward him, a hand poking her somewhere in her thoughts, telling her she was missing something.

And then St. Vincent did the most unexpected. He laughed. It was so loud everyone in the room had to take a pause and stare.

He slapped his palm on the bar.

Aliya did not flinch, but she found herself fascinated by this odd giant of a man who could so easily draw her attention without being the best version of himself. If circumstances were different, she would have loved to know this man. She would sit here the entire night and find out his secrets, how he became what he was—what molded him to be this loud, unrefined, diverse, and unceremoniously funny.

And if time were not pressing her, she would laugh with this man.

But he still reeked of spirits along with something naturally filthy. His hair was unthinkable and so was the state of his beard. Yes, she should definitely stay away from animate insanity.

"Do not jest about matters like that, Doctor," she said through her teeth. "And please, direct your laughter to the front, upwards, or to the other side."

His laughter slowly died down and his hazel eyes returned to hers, the mirth still there, the familiarity stayed, intriguing her. He leaned away from her. "I know about the bad relationship between Belcourt and the Royal Circus, but fret not, my lady, your secrets are safe with me." When she cocked an eyebrow, he sighed and she covered her nose with her hand. He rolled his eyes and his large hand went up to his mouth. "I am a doctor. I hear gossips as much as the next chambermaid." He paused to finish his drink and signal for another one. He gazed at her with a smile, his head hanging to the side. Covering his mouth again, he said, "By the by, who is your mission?"

Aliya threw him a look. Her hand fell on her lap. She looked around. Where was her key?

He shifted so he was peering at her. "I know you Belles have missions. Or are the gossips spreading around false?" He was mocking her now by muffling his voice with his hand.

Aliya jumped from her seat. "You truly do not sift your words, do you sir?" She walked over to the barman. "I need to be escorted to my room now, please."

The barman shouted at the top of his lungs again before he offered Aliya a mocking bow and turned away.

Aliya walked to the foot of the stairs, away from the bar and most of the patrons.

Oliver St. Vincent followed, standing close to her, shadowing her entire form with his size, blocking everyone's view of her.

"Why are you following me?" she demanded. She knew he had been following her. She could feel it.

Oh, Lord, please, do not let this man be like Willoghby, she silently prayed. She would need the entire Court of Arms to render his one unconscious. "I asked why you are following me," she repeated.

He cleared his throat and shrugged, eyes on the main entrance of the inn. "I do not know. Perhaps I like you." He stole her a glance. When her brow lifted in a sardonic look, he said, "Or perhaps I know you."

She had enough. "You must realize that your behavior is incredibly disturbing, sir."

St. Vincent ignored her and looked around the room. When his gaze returned to her, they landed on her arm. "How is your arm?" He was doing it again. One moment he was boisterous and serious the next. The tone he used just now reminded Aliya that he was a doctor.

"It is fine."

"Can you move your fingers?" he asked, making a move to touch her but stopped. Aliya did not move, her brow raised higher. She wondered why he was hesitating.

"Your fingernails do not look discolored."

"I said that my arm is fine."

"You will need to return to Sinclair. I should teach you how to exercise your arm."

From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman walking toward her with a set of keys. "You should take a bath, Doctor," Aliya could not help but say. "Else I would never allow you to offer me any services."

She heard his laughter boom behind her as she followed the woman up the stairs.

*****

Very much later, Aliya and Carrie were awakened by a commotion below stairs.

Knowing that a commotion could lead to some unwarranted accidents such as a fire, Aliya hastily grabbed her cloak with one hand and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"My lady, I do not think it is wise to be a part of it," Carrie hissed, blue eyes wide in the moonlight.

"I will be right back," she said, voice serious. "I will assess the situation. If things evolve, we must be ready to depart."

Carrie nodded and started to gather their Aliya's trunk from the foot of the bed. This had happened too many times before. They would stay in a cheap inn, save a few of their allowance, and a commotion like this would happen. They survived a fire once when they were in Parlton, but only because they were up and ready to escape.

For a long time, Aliya knew it always paid to be ready, especially at night.

Grabbing a candle, she trodded through the narrow corridor and down the stairs.

She frowned when she saw Oliver St. Vincent at the foot of the stairs in his riding coat, standing before two gentlemen.

"And I said, I heard you earlier, gentlemen," he was saying. "Loud and clear."

"It was drunken talk!"

St. Vincent nodded his head. "A very graphic drunken talk, yes."

"You are bloody foxed, mon," said the other man, pushing St. Vincent's chest. He stumbled back but managed to grab the railing.

"When I am foxed, gentlemen, my brain function is reduced to a quarter."

"What?" the two men incredulously asked.

"But I can say with confidence that a quarter of my mental capacity outweighs the capacity of this entire inn combined!"

"You are insane!" the man shouted.

"What I am saying," said St. Vincent, regaining his balance and looming over the two men, "is that I heard every bloody word you said about my friend. Every graphic detail of what you will do to her if you reach the top of that stairs—" he stopped when he saw Aliya standing in the middle of the steps he was pointing at. "Well, you did not have to reach the top. She is already here," he grumbled, turning away from her. "Go back to your room, Ali."

Aliya blinked. She had not heard that name since she entered Belcourt. Shaking the feeling off, she continued down the stairs, saying, "Since I am the subject of everyone's commotion, I believe I should have a handle of this matter, my friend," she said to St. Vincent, landing beside him. "If you please," she said, squeezing between him and the wall.

With a sigh, he stepped aside and let her stand in front of him to face the two gentlemen.

"I apologize for my friend, gentlemen. He can be quite... overprotective."

"Ha!" St. Vincent scoffed the same time the two men looked at each other and did the same.

With her smile still pasted on her lips, Aliya stepped forward and leaned close, sniffing the strong smell of cheap ale. "I do not always make this fact known," she whispered under her breath as she looked at each man in the eye, making certain that St. Vincent was out of earshot, "but in situations like this where I understand that my safety is threatened, I am inclined to give the threat." The two men scowled at her. "I am the daughter of the Gambler," she whispered and waited for her words to sink in, for them to remember the name. And when they did, they paled. "If you dare do something close to careless and senseless, you know who will come for you." She stayed where she was, looking at their eyes with a small smile on her lips. "I do hope you are not too foxed to nod to indicate your understanding."

The pair nodded their head slowly.

Aliya's smile widened and she stepped away. "Very good. I would love to enjoy a good slumber before my long journey."

She stepped aside to allow the two men to climb up the stairs.

"What did you tell them?" St. Vincent asked, his eyes narrowed with curiosity.

With a graceful turn, she climbed the stairs. "A threat." She gave him a small smile. "Go home, Doctor. I will see you when I am ready to have my limb cut off because that will be the only time I will need your help."

Aliya returned to find Carrie ready to depart. "We can sleep until sunrise, Carrie," she informed the women who sighed with relief and rushed back to bed.

She, on the other hand, never had the chance to get a wink of sleep for her mind was filled with questions.

Oliver St. Vincent...

She did not take him to be the type of man to go after a woman simply because she looked desirable. So why the sudden interest in her? Had she done something in her past to warrant his protection? His attention?

Who was he, really?

*****

Oliver burst into his villa and shouted for Jason.

"I am right here, Doctor," Jason droned behind him, softly closing the door he just opened for Oliver.

"Fix me a bath, Jason," he ordered, rushing up the stairs.

"A bath? One with water?"

"Have I told you that your sarcasm mirrors that of my mother?" he asked over his shoulder. "Have the bath ready. And yes, with water—and soap!"

Nearly an hour later, he was in his tub, his head hanging behind him as he stared up the ceiling.

Then he smiled.

He was acting like a lovestruck schoolboy, but then he was once in his life. Twice now. And with the same woman.

Ah, the Circus would not like this at all if they found out of his true intentions.

They would be furious—Eaton and Lord Darcy most of all. His father might be curious if not frustrated. His mother would be scandalized for certain.

But he knew Ali.

He knew her before the Gambler happened.

She was vibrant and fearless and full of adventure.

Her laughter was the most vivid of all. Where did it go, he wondered?

It was once effortless to make her laugh, but last night he just looked like a desperate fool in front of her.

A happy fool.

Then something snapped. A memory flashed and his face hardened.

Ah, bullocks, he needed a drink.

His thoughts went back to Aliya, the Belle. Why was she not in Coulway where most Belles spent Christmas?

A good question, indeed.

Could the reason be Delaney?

He shouted for Jason who entered the room rolling up his sleeves. "My back, Jason," he said, leaning forward.

Jason started scrubbing his back vigorously. "I will help you wash your hair, Doctor," the man said after Oliver's back stung, or mayhap bleeding. He did not reply and allowed Jason to pour a bucket over his head, his eyes on the wall.

"I will do it," he gruffly said when Jason started to lather soap on his hair. He scrubbed his scalp with his fingertips as hastily as he could and brushed off Jason's hand when the man attempted to rub his long strands between his hands. "Are you trying to make a fire out of my hair, Jason? I am done—" the bucket of water was poured over him before he even finished his statement. Water splashed everywhere and pooled around the tub.

Jason straightened and reached for his towel. He snatched it off the man absently, dried himself, and wrapped the towel around his waist.

"Your beard—"

"Some other time," he said, as he walked past the mirror. He stopped and went back to stand in front of it. He lifted his chin to look down at his reflection. "I do not see a problem with my abdominal area, Jason."

"If you turn sideways, you might," Jason retorted.

He did and he frowned, checking the slight curve of his abdomen. "It is just soft. Should I start measuring it?"

"If you do not wish to have your clothes altered in a year or two, perhaps you should, not just content yourself on measurements, Doctor. You might have to exercise and control the drinking."

His eyes narrowed. He faced the mirror again and tugged at the towel, spreading it behind him as he exposed himself. Jason looked away with a roll of his eyes. "You can also report to my mother that her son has grown somewhere else in—"

"I already sent your mother a report, Doctor, and the size of any part of your anatomy was not part of it."

St. Vincent laughed and secured the towel around his hips. "You never laugh, Jason, do you know that?"

"Yes."

"You are a bore."

"With the wrong company, yes."

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed Jason, intending to dress on his own.

Alone again, his amusement ebbed and his thoughts drifted back to Aliya and the Circus. And Belcourt.

Ah, it was bad fate indeed.

He should not have let his father talk him into the Circus.

It was bad enough that they were the reason she ended up in Belcourt.

*****

Christmas came fast to Aliya and the entire villa. Maya, the new cook, was a genuinely nice young woman. But she was fresh from the Manor, merely a year into the Court of Service, and she was eager to be the best.

But in Aliya's household, her presence was tolerated. She was appreciated, of course, for they knew what it was like to be out of Belcourt for the first time. But Maya was too fresh, too innocent, too eager. She would be the last person to trust and the first to be wary of. Newly courted ladies were the most loyal to Belcourt. They would jump at the chance to report anything to their Mistress. Aliya had experienced the same thing with Carrie in their first year together and they both regretted it up to this day.

They had a simple dinner together and shared stories of their experiences in the Manor. Not all Belles spent Christmas with their staff. Most of them were in Belcourt. Their staff would be, too, to enjoy their time with friends from the Village. But this year, they were amongst the few who decided not to go home to Belcourt.

Maya updated them of what was new in the Manor, of who was to be courted this month, the next and the year after. She talked endlessly about ladies they did not know, of her struggle to accept her court, of her crushed dream to be a Soldier, information that Aliya, Carrie, and Fatima found to be uninvited. If the woman wanted to be a Soldier, then she would pose as a problem indeed. Those who wanted to be courted into the Court of Arms were the most loyal.

Aliya was the first to express her desire to go to bed when the clock struck eight. Although the cook did not question her, he saw the confused look in her face.

"It is the arm," Carrie explained to Maya as Aliya exited the parlor.

She went to her bedchamber, blew off the candles, and waited.

Nearly two hours later, Fatima slipped into her room and the two of them rushed out of the villa clad in their cloaks, one black, and the other red.

Carrie was already waiting for them outside. She gave the reins to Fatima who carefully led the stagecoach with Aliya in it down the road.

Aliya looked over her shoulder and watched Carrie enter the villa.

It was only when they were out of Penrose Lane and rounded the empty park that she let out a sigh of relief.

Fatima picked up speed and they navigated the roads to Maple Row.

The moment the carriage stopped outside the apartment, Aliya jumped to the side of the road and to the back of the stagecoach to gather the large box with her good arm.

The door to the apartment opened.

Dorothy's petite form stood in the center of the doorway; her face bright with welcome.

Aliya broke into a smile when a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes slipped through Dorothy's side and rushed down the stairs in his nightdress.

"Mama!" the boy shouted with glee.

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