Winter is fully upon us. Snow coats the ground, creating the rare kind of silence only winter can. Fires burn in every hearth in the house. The lake near the main house has frozen over, as well as a smaller one farther in the woods, which is open to use of the village. Blankets are layered on beds, winter coats pack every closet, and thick petticoats are worn to keep warm. Winter magic has taken over the village and the house, easing tension and bringing people closer, at least in part.
Mr. Stephens and Mrs. Hobbs are affected, though only slightly, by the winter feeling. Loosening the reins ever so slightly, knowing we must all be at our best for Christmas and New Year's, and now are our last few weeks before the bustle of holidays.
It's a slow afternoon, the family out for luncheon with family friends. I'm just finishing adjusting an old warm garment of Lady Anna's for this winter when I hear animated talking from the servants' hall. I lean on the doorway, watching the conversation unfold.
"Absolutely not," Mrs. Hobbs says sharply. She's going through the food order forms for the next week, small glasses pushed to the front of her sharp nose.
The dog-like footman, Elliot, Amber and Grace sit across from her, a council trying to persuade the Queen. Their lips are all pushed out, pouting like small children.
"But the family is away, and we've finished all our work!" Elliot whines.
"Laura finished all your work," Mrs. Hobbs replies, looking at them accusingly. They have the good sense to look ashamed, but they try a new tactic.
"Either way, the work is done, and having all of us here being idle is no help to anyone." Mrs. Hobbs just sighs.
"I'm sure you can find more work to be done. Guests get here next month." Her tone seems to end any further argument, and the trio droops visibly.
"What's going on?" I finally interject, curiosity getting the better of me.
"Well—" Mrs. Hobbs starts.
"Oh, Laura! Please help us convince her! We want to take a group of the servants this afternoon to the lake at the edge of the property. It would be such good fun! We could—"
"I said no." Mrs. Hobbs cuts Grace off, tired of her interruption and rambling.
The trio droops once more, looking like sad puppies denied treats. I sigh inwardly. I have no great desire to skate, to bring up old memories. But even I have to admit they have been working hard. I remember how tedious work seemed when I was younger, how anxious I was to get out of the house.
"Well, Mrs. Hobbs, what if I agreed to go? I can make sure no one gets too out of hand." Mrs. Hobbs looks at me suspiciously.
"And of course," I continue slowly, "letting them out for the afternoon could help dispel any restless energy that might… cause problems when guests are here." I raise an eyebrow at her, as if I too am considering the benefits of the outing.
I can hear her mind working. She is staunchly against letting them off work, but what means more than anything to her is making the house look good—especially in front of guests. I've picked my words well, and I know it.
The young trio sits, holding their breath, looking rapidly between Mrs. Hobbs and I. Her face scrunches once, twice, and then crumbles in defeat.
"Fine." The word seems painful for her, and her face becomes even more disdained when the trio jumps up from their chairs. Whoops and cheers fill the air. I can't help but smile at their exuberance, my heart softening fondly.
"BUT—" Mrs. Hobbs shouts over the noise, standing. "If any of you step so much as one toe out of line when the guests are here—" But even this threat doesn't dim the joy in the room. Mrs. Hobbs sighs, defeated, and goes to leave. Though I swear right before she turns her back, I see the corner of her lip turn up ever so slightly.
—
Word spreads quickly, excitement catching like fire among the servants. By the time I reach the coat rack, the halls are filled with the sounds of bustling footsteps and cheerful voices. The air inside seems alive, buzzing with anticipation and heady with the scent of freshly packed baskets from the kitchen.
I'm grabbing mittens when I feel a familiar presence behind me. A smile involuntarily plays on my lips. A large arm leans over me, grabbing a jacket off the hook in front of me.
"So, Limonskiy, you scared?" I raise my chin high and look him right in the eyes, putting on a fake sweet smile. We're so close I could count the thick eyelashes shadowing his grey eyes. The thought makes my heart jump, but I fight the urge to look away.
"Not at all, Krasivak. You?" He lets out a booming laugh and grins.
"I have been doing this all my life."
He somehow gets even closer.
"As have I."
I retort back. His presence used to confuse me, to fill me with tension, but now him being close to me had become natural, comforting. I tell myself to ignore these moments, to keep my distance. But as his warmth surrounds me, his grin wide and mischievous, I can't help but feel all the walls I've built start to crumble.
"Well then I guess we will have to see who is better, won't we?"
"There will be no competition, you'll just fall through the ice because you're too heavy."
I smack his bicep, the familiar spark shooting up my arm at the contact.
"Ha! I look forward to seeing you finally flail." He finally draws his arm back, and the loss of his presence makes something inside me ache. It must be because I'm cold, I tell myself, he gives off almost as much heat as the stove.
"Likewise."
He goes to leave, but at the last second throws me a wicked grin over his shoulder. I expect him to keep going, but instead, he stops and leans on the door frame.
He watches me with playful eyes, and I almost blush under the attention. Even when I turn back to the shelves, I can feel his gaze. I take steadying deep breaths and gather myself.
I freeze when, instead of playfulness, his eyes now burn with intensity. My stomach flutters as I become trapped by his stare like a fly in a web.
We stay like that, just looking at each other—eyes full of emotions, until we hear the announcement that we're leaving. His gaze lingers on me a moment longer.
When he finally shoves off the door to follow the others, I have to fan my face as my suppressed blush forces its way to the surface.
Winter magic indeed.