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December 14th, 1987
Rupert’s eyes tracked Taggie as she slipped from the room, a tray of empty tumblers clutched in her dainty fingers. With her figure gone through the door, he turned his attention to the rest of the group. Declan was deep in conversation with Bishop Brenton about the tree lighting in front of Cotchester Cathedral later that day. Meanwhile, Freddie and Bas seemed to have moved on to discussing the details of a polo charity match in the spring. Finding the other members of Venturer to be occupied, he decided this was his chance.
“Excuse me,” he murmured to no one in particular, feeling safe that this bunch couldn’t give a care if he disappeared for a bit. His route through the home was becoming more familiar than ever. Tracking along the halls, he was pulled in the same path that Taggie had undoubtedly walked just minutes prior. Before long, he found himself leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, taking in the sight of her as she moved about.
“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…” He announced proudly, pulling her eyes in his direction. It never escaped his notice that her attention seemed to tug his spine a bit straighter. It also didn’t skip past him that he had never cared about what people thought of him before. Not until her.
She seemed less surprised to see him by the day, which pleased him in a way he couldn’t pinpoint. It was becoming common practice, him sneaking away to visit her whenever he could. Their relationship was new, but ardent, a thriving source of joy for them both. Something intimate to indulge in whenever watchful eyes turned elsewhere.
It had been the release of his memoirs just prior to the IBA decision that had cemented things. Taggie, placing herself in his favor, daring anyone to question Rupert’s place in the Consortium after all that he had done for them all. Taggie telling him she had no care for his past. Taggie, who had put up with a summer of Cameron Cook on his arm when they both could read the farce of it all so clearly. It’d fallen together easily after that, they’d fallen together easily, no more arguments to be made.
Despite their decision to keep things to themselves for the time being, he was finding it impossible to remain far from her orbit. He liked himself best, placed firmly under her study. Fortunately, it had been his habit for a while now, so no one became particularly suspicious to spot him chatting with the red head more frequently these days. Or if they did, they made no comment. Today though, was slightly different. Today, he came with a purpose—a small box with a neat red bow appearing in his hand.
“It’s not the first day of Christmas,” Taggie mused softly, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped towards him. She was flushed from the heat of the oven, her schedule absolutely packed with seasonal events. Although they’d won the franchise bid, she had refused to slow down for the holiday like the rest of them, all of her vacant time quickly filling with catering opportunities that the wives of Rutshire were eager to supply her with.
“Sure it is, Christmas is in twelve days.” Rupert explained confidently, giving her a look over. He was madly proud of her, but he still felt that she was working too hard. He wished he could convince her to come to Penscombe for the weekend. He could seduce her into his bathtub for a soak, and then force her to keep his bed company while he brought various treats back and forth from the kitchen to fatten her up. Even his dogs preferred her presence these days, she brightened things wherever she went. It was so tempting, the idea of keeping her to himself forever.
“No,” Taggie giggled, “The first day of Christmas is Christmas. The twelfth day of Christmas is January fifth when the wise men arrived. Or something like that, I never paid much attention to my religious studies.”
“Huh,” Rupert mused, a bit grumpily. “Well, I’m certainly not going to let a nursery rhyme dictate which calendar days of the season I’m allowed to spoil you.” He nodded to the box again, prompting for her to take it.
“What is it then, the partridge or the pear tree?” Her small hand came around the box, giving a gentle shake with a teasing grin.
“I tried for the bird, but the damn thing was making a mess of my coat pocket. I hope this suffices, Angel.” He leaned back into the wall, delighted to watch the act of Taggie opening a gift. He was doubly rewarded when she released a small gasp of wonder upon recognizing the contents inside.
“The bracelet,” she marveled quietly, eyes going a bit glassy.
“Your bracelet.” Rupert corrected, reaching in to carefully pluck the item from the box. “Always has been. I’ve just been holding onto it for you.” Gently he grabbed her wrist, clasping the silver chain dotted with peridot gems in place. With each motion, he could feel her ever-watchful eyes on him, something that made him both nervous and euphoric. He was so desperate to be enough for her. Each little moment like this felt like a monumental opportunity for him to prove himself. “There,” he declared, adjusting the bracelet to rest just right. “Only took a year for me to get you to wear it, hmm?” He raised her hand, giving a kiss to her palm before resting it against his cheek.
When she beamed up at him, her thumb giving a swipe along his cheek, he couldn’t help but feel that it had all been worth every minute.
December 15th
The next morning Rupert was disappointed to find Taggie already awake and at work in the kitchen when he came wandering through the Priory. The winter sun was just cresting, the world still tinted blue. Far too early for an angel like her to be outside the warmth of her bed. He had intended to leave the gift for her, before he was off for meetings in London. The only benefit of the turn of events was getting to spend a nip of time with her before the dreadfully dull day that awaited him.
What had started with the innocent intention of Rupert fixing them each a quick cup of tea, had quickly turned into him lifting Taggie onto the counter so they could neck like teenagers. He simply couldn’t manage to resist her, hair still mussed from her sleep, feet stuffed into socks that were two sizes too big for her feet. Everything about her was utterly precious to him, drumming up the strangest mixture of lust and protectiveness, two things he had never felt at once for a woman.
“Daddy could walk in,” she panted, only half-serious as he worked little love bites along her throat.
“Your father hasn’t been up before noon in a decade,” Rupert mumbled, undeterred from his position.
“You’ll be late,” she protested, though the way her fingers were clutching at his curls told a different story.
“I’ll retire,” Rupert countered, shushing her protestations as his lips came over hers. It was the screaming of the kettle that finally pulled him away from her, albeit reluctantly. He could feel her eyes on him as she watched from her perch. Enjoying the attention, he fixed two teas—his with one scoop of sugar, hers with two and a dash of cream. Settling both at her hip, he stepped away to where his briefcase sat at the table, and returned with his purpose for stopping in—a neatly wrapped parcel tied up in ribbon.
“Are you really going to keep on like this?” Taggie wondered warily, tone edging toward complaint as she took the offering from him. Given her hesitance, you’d think the ribbon was capable of shapeshifting into a viper at any moment.
“I do intend to, yes,” he admitted, not an ounce timid on the matter. She didn’t reply, only reluctantly pulled the paper away, casting it to the side.
Rupert watched the array of emotions pass across her face like colors through a kaleidoscope. First, and only for a moment, was disappointment. In her hand, a book. Heavy. Large. Hardcover. Her features quickly turned to interest though, as she worked a thumb across the whisk, a light blue icon embossed in the navy fabric of the cover.
Then, there was a pause while he waited, the quiet of the kitchen taking over in a way that would have made him anxious not long ago. Even now, he would have loved to break the silence, was tempted to rush into an explanation of the matching light blue title text. But he had just read chapter seven of Overcoming Dyslexia, so he knew now. Knew that it was best to not interrupt her process. Best to let her do the work where she could. And he knew that she could.
“Oh!” She finally gasped, a tantalizing reward that he captured in the form of a memory—her eyes sparkling when she turned her face up to him, his own crinkling in return. “Chef Dumont!”
Rupert hadn’t been able to get them a reservation at the renowned Chef’s newly opened restaurant in London until the end of January - even the Campbell-Black name couldn’t budge the holiday masses to the side in the manner he was accustomed to. Hearing as much from the front of house, the chef had called him personally to apologize. Rupert, not keen to let the opportunity pass him, had assured Chef Dumont that it was no problem, although there was something he could do to make it up to him.
He watched as Taggie fingered the small markers littered amongst a handful of the pages. “Let me guess, the tabs are things you’d like me to cook up for you?” Taggie asked him cheekily, a sly look landing on him from through her lashes, cheeks pink in a way that told him she wouldn’t mind the task at all.
“I certainly wouldn’t turn it down. But no, for those you’ll actually need this.” It was then that Rupert produced a cassette tape from his jacket pocket, settling it into her hand. He then cast a glance at his watch. “I’m sorry darling, I’ve got to be off.” With a kiss to her cheek, then another for good measure, he pulled himself from the kitchen. For the rest of the day, his mind was useless, his only thought being how many hours needed to pass before he saw her next. Perhaps that’s why he was doing this at all. Twelve little reasons to go and see Taggie O’ Hara seemed a lovely way to spend the holiday season.
—
When Taggie crawled into bed later that night with her cassette player, her eyes went wide upon hitting play. There on the tape, in a French accent, was the Chef himself. “Bonjour, Taggie. It seems you have some interest in my work, and your dear Rupert has assured me that you’ve got plenty of skill to bring it to life. Far be it from me to keep a young talent from flourishing, it sounds as if all of the Cotswolds may benefit. Shall we begin?”
For the remainder of the recording, the chef not only talked through his favorite recipes, but he shared deep insights into their origins, and his personal tips for achieving success with their execution. In a state of amazement, Taggie hit pause, and traded her cassette for the telephone.
“Hello?” The voice from across the way was brusque and unguarded.
“Did I wake you?” Taggie wondered, suddenly uncertain if she was interrupting Rupert’s evening.
“Taggie,” he let out, tone softening to something near-saccharine. “No angel, I was just settling down for the night. Though it’s much more difficult these days when you’re not here.”
Taggie wasn’t sure what to say to that. His forwardness had a tendency to catch her off guard. Of course, she felt the same way, absolutely dreaded laying down at night now that she knew the feeling of being held in his arms. Still, it felt absolutely surreal that he should reciprocate the notion.
“I just wanted to say thank you. For my gift.” She said, eyes searching through her window for the dapple of light on the midnight blue horizon that marked his bedroom.
“You know, I never listened to the recording.” Rupert told her. He sounded relaxed now, as if he was lounging about. “For all I know, Chef Dumont is playing his hand at seducing you away from me with a dirty tape.”
Taggie giggled. “Hmm, I’ll never tell.” The line went soft then, as Taggie settled down onto her pillows. It was nice, even like this when they weren’t speaking. The mere suggestion of his presence across the telephone still had the power to settle her. “I think you’d like the, the erm… bou-bouillabaisse best. We’ll try that first.”
We.
Across the valley from one another, they both fixated on the word. It was a terribly fond future to focus on—Taggie cooking in the kitchen at Penscombe, enjoying a meal together, and Rupert plying her with wine as he tidied up. She could get a bit drunk, and nothing would shatter because of it. She’d have nowhere else to be. She’d be home.
“I think that sounds marvelous, angel.”
December 16th
The next day, Rupert found himself falling into a routine: he would go about his schedule, while managing to arrange his course so that, one way or another, he had at least a few moments with Taggie. Today Declan was demanding a meeting with Freddie, and Cameron, along with himself, so they could review their goals for the New Year. Knowing that his personal goals were much different, Rupert made sure to arrive early, entering through the side of the home.
Coming through the door, Gertrude and Claudius were upon him instantly, Taggie’s mini pack just as eager for attention as his own. “Come on now, shall we go find mummy?” Rupert asked, watching two sets of furry ears perk up before the group of them made their way into the kitchen.
“Smells better than sin in here,” Rupert announced. Taggie spun from the Aga, surprise quickly softening to a look of adoration.
“Mulled wine,” she gestured to a large pot at the back of the stove. “For the event at the Arts Centre tonight.”
He hummed, coming to stand behind her, two possessive hands on her waist, head resting atop hers. “Do I get a taste?” He asked, feeling as she shook her head beneath him, patting one of his hands.
“It’s not ready yet.”
“Oh dear. A bite of the chef will have to do,” he asserted before diving down to place gentle bites to her neck, arms coming fully around her as she erupted into giggles. Finally, he had mercy on her, turning her around to lean on the counter so he could have a better look at her.
“Daddy’s in his office, I think he’s still on a call with mummy, squabbling.” She told him, reaching up to make a small tweak of his tie.
“Good thing I’m here to see you, then,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple, and then to her lips when she tilted her face up to him. Parting, he rested his forehead to hers, feeling as if he’d be content to live there sharing air with her for the rest of his life. Which today, happened to be his reason for visiting in the first place.
“A gift,” he told her, slipping a small object into her hand. Looking down, she flipped the brass item that was tied on a little ribbon twice over in her palm as if the act would reveal its purpose. “A key?”
“To Penscombe.” Rupert told her, watching her face carefully. “It’s properly ceremonial, I actually can’t remember the last time I had to let myself in.”
Her eyes studied the offering with undeterred focus. “I can’t, erm, stay with you,” she started. He noticed she evaded the words “move in”. Or perhaps her mind wouldn’t let her think them. “We haven’t even told daddy yet.” He felt a bit of relief that her father was the barrier in the way, rather than some deeper lack of interest.
“Course not!” He agreed lightheartedly. “No, that’d be terribly earnest of me to expect, a horribly inappropriate notion this early in a relationship.” The sarcasm in his tone gave him away, and she cast him a sheepish, knowing look, as if she could read every damn desire he’d ever had for their life together. “I do however think that in the coming days you may need a second space. For storage.”
“Storage,” she repeated flatly, not sure what to make of the offer.
“Sure! If you had a place you ever wanted to keep some things, yourself included, now you have one.” Her face turned quizzical, searching his for the words that would fill in the answers left by the gap in his offering. “I’m just… letting you know that the door is always open for you, Tag. Always. If you want it to be.”
She threw her arms around him, and he felt overwhelmed to know that he was now holding his whole world in the form of this young wonder of a woman. She felt fragile and infinite at once. “I do.” She promised, and he relaxed just a bit at her acceptance. “Thank you.”
They were saved by a splatter of boiling wine, forcing her back to the stovetop to adjust the heat. Not a moment later, Freddie was through the door, with Cameron on his heels. Rupert pulled away from the counter reluctantly, a physical pain to move away from Taggie’s immediate presence and back into the real world.
He kept an eye on her, watching as she quietly moved about her work while he chattered on with the newcomers. Then, things grew even more crowded when Declan ambled in, a sour look on his face that had Rupert wondering about the state of things with Maud.
“Alright, enough wasting, let’s get on with it,” He demanded sternly. “Tag, love, bring in some drinks?”
Rupert opened his mouth, about to make a remark about Declan using his own two hands for once, but then he caught Taggie give him a small shake of her head, and so he bit his tongue. He did, however, jump up when she entered Declan’s study, to grab the tray from her. If the act caused a brief pause in Declan’s speech, well, he really couldn’t be bothered to care.
December 17th
The next day, Rupert had convinced Taggie to meet him in Stroud for lunch before she was headed off to a small job in Tetbury. At a table in the back he sat kitty corner to her, feet nudging one another as they each picked off the other’s plate. Once they’d finished their meal, Rupert reached for the bag at his side, setting it in front of her. He watched as her inclination to protest rose within her before she deflated a bit in resignation.
From inside, Taggie pulled out one spice, then another. It was the kind they charged for by weight in the specialty stores she only ever viewed from the window. There was everything from whole cardamom to nutmeg, and even a twisted off bag of vanilla beans. The excitement in her eyes grew brighter with each discovery.
Pulling out the final jar, she saw it filled with bright red strands, and gave a hearty chuckle. She was so irresistible, Rupert thought, her lashes cast downward as she meaningfully studied the contents with something akin to affection.
“Saffron,” she murmured, giving a shake of her head before looking up to him in gentle regard.
It was a fond memory now, that had once been fraught with uncertainty. Them, stuffed into Hermione Hampshire’s pantry, both heartbroken and tongue tied over their overwhelming need to reassure the other, but unable to sort out how. Finally, it had been a sight over Rupert’s shoulder that had broken the tension.
“Christ!” Rupert had jumped at her exclamation that had seemed larger than the sum of her whole being.
“Are you quite alright?” Rupert had asked, confused by what had so easily distracted her from the matter at hand, and performing gymnastics in an attempt to see what had caught her attention.
“No I’m not alright, Rupert” Taggie had complained, pointing to the shelf above. “They’re hoarding about 400 pounds worth of Saffron back here!”
When Taggie had finally looked back to him, her wonder dissolved to sheepishness. Then, in an instant, they both had given into the absurdity of it all, falling easily into a joint fit of laughter.
“I see. One exotic spice and I’m no more interesting than the wallpaper, is that it?” His fondness for her had bloomed clear on his features. It had taken monumental effort at the time to settle a friendly hand on her shoulder and turn her towards the door. “Come on Angel, they’ll be looking for us.”
Sitting with her now out together for lunch, he felt his chest could tear open knowing how things had worked out. He could only hope that there was so much more with her to come.
December 18th
Taggie awoke to the reality of mid-December and looked out from the high up vantage of her bedroom, down across the valley. There was a dusting of snow on the grounds, as if the land was setting the scene for the upcoming festivities.
Studying the immovable image of Penscombe in the distance, her heart gave a squeeze that felt terribly pathetic. There was a Venturer meeting today, but she wouldn’t see Rupert. He was likely already in London, his final day of commitment to parliament before the New Year. It was overwhelming to consider how much had changed in a span of weeks. She and Rupert had come together when the scandal of his memoirs was still at its height. The flurry of distress, which Taggie was certain was more in Rupert’s mind than anything, had taken precedence over all else.
But now that things were settling, and she had half a breath to think, it was a bit maddening to consider the state of things. The past year, she had been so fixated on the fantasy of being with Rupert. Now that she was with him, the whole world felt like white noise, her future a fuzzy thing she couldn’t manage to unfold.
She knew what she wanted. She’d wanted it for a long while. But words like wife and Mrs. Campbell-Black made her feel incredibly childish. Was she foolish to believe that Rupert would want the same sort of life with her? Did he see the same future for them? She’d never even asked him if he thought about getting re-married. In most senses, he seemed to reject the institution. Anyway, the matter seemed too big to bring up, too loud of a query. She was so fearful of shattering their fragile state of peace, didn’t want to be the girl who asked for too much.
Gertrude gave a scratch at her door then, jolting her from her languish and back into the day ahead. Pulling on a jumper and a pilfered pair of wool socks, she padded through the Priory, letting both dogs out the back before she turned to get started in the kitchen.
Flicking on the light, she came to a standstill. There, arranged on the counter, was an entire display window’s worth of premium cookware and utensils, in all combinations of color. She couldn’t guess how long she stared at it, puzzling through the ungodly sum of money it must all add up to. Finally, the shriek of the telephone moved her from her stance and across the room.
“O’ Hara household,” She answered, voice still low and thick from sleep.
“Good morning, Angel. Have I woken you?” Instantly, his voice put her at ease. Not in a way that she could forget her worries, or the long list of things she needed to accomplish in the chaotic final days before Christmas. But in a way that reassured her, somehow, that he would make sure everything was alright. That he believed she was capable of managing anything the world brought upon her.
“No, I’m awake, although I do quite feel like I’m dreaming.” She answered, sitting at the table so that she could once again stare down the array of gifts.
His laugh over the telephone was warm, rumbling inside of her mind all the way from London. “You’ve seen it then, I take it.”
“Rupert, I’m not sure I could miss it.” She meant to chastise him, but it fell weak as it rolled off her tongue. She wanted to be irate with him, to scold him. But what for? For spoiling her? For understanding her, like no one else had? Instead, she reached for the more logical protestation. “What on Earth am I supposed to do with all of this cookware? I haven’t got the space for it.”
“Hmm, actually, we do. At Penscombe, I mean. It’s a damn good thing you’ve got that magic little key.” He told her, his tone infuriating and lovely at once. “You can keep it there until-“ he stopped, the line quiet.
“Until?” She prompted. She wasn’t sure what she was asking, but even she could hear the tinge of hope that tilted along her pitch. Until.
“Until a bloody black hole swallows up your father and we’re no longer beholden to his staunch protest of love.“ Rupert joked, easing them both from the weight of a promise made.
In an instant Taggie was laughing. He had a fair point. Her father, who had many a time made his opinions regarding their interest in one another known, had also been made miserable over the absence of her mother. His irritation only grew as the holiday approached, infusing a choking air of resentment throughout the home. It was just one of the reasons that Taggie found herself detaching from her father, and really her parents as a whole. Their relational theatrics and volatile care for one another had surrounded her for her entire life. It had burned her brutally back in October when an attempt to appease one another had meant that they’d both forgotten her birthday. Instead, it had been Rupert who had shown up. Rupert, and the little springer spaniel in his arms. If anyone questioned her preference for the man after that, it was likely a poor and uninformed opinion that led them there.
“You deserve to have nice things, Taggie.” He said softly, the world narrowing back down to just the two of them.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be very good at accepting them,” she worried in a quiet voice.
“Well, I promise to keep working very hard at the task.” He vowed, the warmth in his tone nearly tangible in the frigid kitchen. “Are you still able to come tomorrow when I have the children?” He asked hopefully. “I know they’d love to see you before they’re off to Spain.”
“Yes,” Taggie said confidently, feeling it was just as important to her. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
December 19th
“Taggie!”
The shrieks of Rupert’s children were becoming a warm and welcome thing, far less overwhelming than that first time she’d met them over the summer. They’d all spent a handful of days together since then, although not once yet since her and Rupert had become a couple.
“Hello, darling,” Taggie said fondly, a hand coming to Tabitha’s head as the girl clung to her legs. She lowered herself to the ground, pulling a box of homemade sweets out and handing them off to Marcus. “I’ve made too many, again,” she told him. “I hope you two don’t mind taking them off my hands?”
“We don’t mind,” the young boy promised with a small grin, as he peeked inside at the confectionary contents. She knew Helen had tight control of their sugar intake, and she was pandering to their sensibilities, but she was so utterly desperate for the children to take to her. She wasn’t sure she could bear their disapproval upon learning that she was seeing their father. She knew they’d detested Cameron, and for them to feel the same way about her would break her heart.
“Taggie, you have to see what Daddy did out on the lake.” Tabitha insisted from her side, nudging for Taggie to stand.
Not having a chance to shuck her coat, she was dragged by Tabitha, Marcus following behind, and brought through the gardens to the little lake which had frozen over. At the edge, chatting with Freddie and Lizzie, was Rupert.
Just beyond, Toshi was on the ice, talking with a man who was wielding some sort of large piece of machinery that seemed to be polishing the surface, while Lizzie’s children slid about. Upon seeing her, Rupert raised his arms, shouting across the expanse. “I hope you’re in the mood for a skate!”
—
Lizzie stood with Freddie, passing a thermos of spiked hot chocolate back and forth as her children chased Rupert’s on the ice. Just beyond, was quite the sight to see.
Rupert, an athlete at his core, was skating backwards lazily and chattering on without a care. Following in his path, with her awkward limbs rigid in concentration, was Taggie. The poor girl certainly would have gone flat on her back by then was it not for the steadying hand that Rupert repeatedly raised to her waist. His affection for her was clear as day, although it was certainly cemented further when he stared down his own son with a cutting glare after the boy had edged a bit too close to his struggling counterpart.
“They’re gonna have to come out about it soon,” Freddie said. “They’re not very subtle, and it’s only a matter of time before Dec catches wind of it all. Honestly am a bit shocked he hasn’t already.”
“Well, he’s not the most mindful about his daughters. But you’re right. They’re certainly worse than we were and that’s saying something,” Lizzie murmured.
“Yeah,well, if they are anything like us, I reckon it all work out,” Freddie told her fondly, pulling her close so he could push a loving kiss to her head.
December 20th
Rupert watched the yellow mini roll up his drive. They had about an hour of daylight left, just enough time, Rupert thought. Opening the driver door, Rupert offered Taggie a hand, unfolding her from the vehicle.
“Hello darling,” he greeted her with a kiss, something that felt more natural to him than riding horseback. “Not too tired I hope?” He gave her his customary look over. Her hair was thrown up, likely redone several times throughout the course of her day, and she looked tired but promised otherwise.
“No not at all,” she enthused, eyes roving him before she leaned in for another kiss. Determined to not be distracted, Rupert resisted the urge to drag her straight up to his bedroom. That could come later. Instead, he pulled her jacket tight, making sure her scarf was tucked properly before grabbing her hand.
“Take a walk to the stables with me? I’ve been needing to check on something.”
With a nod they were off, trekking the frosted grounds to the east side of the property. Walking along, he asked her about her day catering a lunch for the WI, and helped her talk through her remaining work before the year’s end. Tucking themselves into the relative warmth of the stable, Rupert gave her shoulders a squeeze.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he promised, heading towards the back stalls. In the meantime, Taggie found a bag of sugar cubes, placing two in her palm and offering them to Rocky, who was peering over his door in interest.
“Hello handsome,” she crooned, stroking a hand along his muzzle lovingly.
Returning from the back with a lead in his hand, Rupert presented the day’s offering. “I have someone for you to meet,” he announced. Attached to the reins was a stunning mare. Her front half was a warm brown, devolving into a white hind with a vibrant spattering of auburn spots, the unique markings of her breed.
“Oh, wow,” Taggie whispered in awe, stepping up beside him and taking a closer look. “Rupert, she’s beautiful.”
“Freckled just like you,” he said, sweeping a kiss to one of the constellations of markings by Taggie’s eye, one of his favorite landing spots. “She’s an Appaloosa, I came by her in the states when I was there in the fall.” He turned, an assessing hand stroking along the creature. “She’s yours, now. Whether you’d like to ride or not, I’ve never actually asked you. Although Tabitha will promise I’m a decent enough instructor. I’ve even gotten Marcus up to a trot, despite his detestation of sport as a whole. But if you don’t care to ride, Appaloosa’s are lovely companions, very even tempered. She’d probably love to walk with you, and I bet she’d make an eager taste tester for some sweets.”
He turned to Taggie then, whose eyes had become round and nervous at some point during his rambling, fixed on the eyes of the mare that were staring back. He waited for some sort of response, but it never came.
“You’ve gone quiet. Have I overwhelmed you?” He questioned, carefully stepping back to her side, always so fearful of scaring her off. Watching her closely, he reached up and tenderly adjusted her overgrown fringe so that it was no longer falling in her eyes. The act was filled with such decency and care that Taggie had a hard time reconciling he was performing it upon her.
“You bought me a horse?” She asked, mystified and seemingly in another world entirely.
“Is that alright?” He countered back, tracking through the issues she may take up regarding the matter.
“I think… It’s just a bit difficult for me.” He could see the change. The way she suddenly couldn’t meet his eye, stubbornly fixed on the fold of his jacket’s collar.
“What is, Angel?” He did his best to meet her eye, feeling that this was important—listening to her.
“Understanding… How this works.” Her features were pulled tight, mind puzzling through a problem he couldn’t quite see. He’d give anything, to spend even a moment in Taggie O’ Hara’s mind. Anything to better understand her, to understand what she needed from him.
“Sorry, I’m-“ she let off, giving a frustrated shake of her head and looking back to spotted muzzle at his right shoulder. He wasn’t sure what battle she was fighting. Whether it was with her words or her own reasoning.
Reaching to place his hand in hers, he offered the only thing he felt might help. “It’s ok, you can take your time.”
And she did. He watched as she drew into herself, and filtered through her thoughts for a long minute before finally giving a huff. “Do you not realize how uneven it all is? You’ve bought me a horse, Rupert. And the bracelet, and the spices, and the cookware. And Christ, you even gave me Claudius! It’s too much, you’re being too generous with me.”
He let out an exhale that was half humor, half frustration. Not with her, but with her perception of things. “Tag, it’s not… it’s not generosity. It’s love. I love you.” It felt so plain to him, he wished he could have it be simple for her as well. “You deserve to have nice things, Taggie. You deserve to have whatever you want, frankly.”
“That can’t be true,” She mused. It was one thing, Rupert figured, for someone from a different lot in life to adjust to his level of wealth, and his lack of discernment with expenses. The women he had been with previously had expected gifts from him, expected access to luxury as a byproduct of putting up with him. Even Helen, who had been near wealth her whole life, took a thrill from him spoiling her, the answer to most of their arguments. It was entirely impossible, though, for Taggie. Taggie who had grown in a home that spared her no appreciation. Taggie, who had a very transactional view of love, and could only ever wonder what she owed for it.
“It’s true because I say it is.” He told her firmly, thumb and forefinger gently holding her chin to keep her eye. It somehow seemed to settle her, as if his authority on the matter quelled whatever voices were echoing in her mind. He would keep telling her as much, would commit the rest of his life to it if he had to. If she’d just let him.
December 21st
Rupert caught Taggie’s eye through the kitchen window, where she was unsurprisingly at the sink, probably doing dishes or some other chore. The lack of the mini in the drive indicated that Declan was out, but Rupert also knew that Patrick had arrived home that morning for the holiday, his motorcycle left in the drive.
Not caring to gather an audience for his next offering, he gave the window a discrete tap. Earning Taggie’s attention, and a smile that caused his heart to squeeze in on itself, he gestured for her to join him.
Not a minute later, clad in her coat and wellies and with both dogs following loyally behind her, she met him out in the drive. “Did you get a new car?” Taggie queried upon her approach, her eyes casting over the blue BMW. It wasn’t his flashiest purchase by far. Expensive, sure, but not overly ostentatious. He hoped that the more subdued appearance and practical qualities would make her more likely to accept it. With another step, however, she spotted the red bow stuck to the steering wheel through the window. Realizing at once that the gleaming vehicle in the drive was intended for her, she crossed her arms in disbelief. “No.”
“Tag-“ Rupert started, a slightly impatient tilt of his head.
“No, absolutely not.” Her tone was both disbelieving and firm as she crossed her arms, clearly determined to stand her ground. “You cannot buy me a car, Rupert, it’s too much, too in-indulgent.”
“Well I can’t expect you to ride the horse into town, now can I?”
“Rupert.”
“I haven’t bought you a car,” Rupert insisted, raising two hands in an effort to pacify. “At least not yet,” he amended, moving on quickly as she opened her mouth to protest. “I’m simply loaning you one of mine. I actually meant to give it to your father a few months ago.”
It wasn’t a fib. He had purchased the car for the O’ Haras not long after he’d witnessed a flash of yellow careening off the road and into a hedge in May. The intention had been to give it to Declan under the guise of him needing more stable transport for their pursuits with Venturer. The true goal though, of course, had been to provide Taggie with something safer than the disintegrating hunk of metal that gave him heart palpitations any time he thought about it. But then they’d had their row, and then they’d been thrown into the fight of their life for the franchise, and the matter had gotten lost. After that, Cameron had moved in, and for a period the gesture had felt inappropriate. Now however, he couldn’t give a damn about the optics of it all. In fact, he wished to make the optics very clear.
“Look, you’ve needed your own car for a long time, Tag,” He told her, working hard to keep his tone reasonable. “The mini is unreliable, you’re a business owner. And you shouldn’t have to share with your father anyways. Please, I have too many cars. You’re doing me a favor, putting it to use.” Her mouth floundered like a fish, looking for some excuse to turn him down. Before she had the chance, he reached his hands out to hers and pulled her to the door, opening it. “Come on, get in. You can take me for a ride.” It was his wink that sent her into a fit of laughter, and for at least that moment, he figured she was placated.
December 22nd
Rupert was getting a bit tired of his routine—going to see Taggie in the Priory kitchen, checking the door to make sure her father wasn’t about so they could sneak a few minutes together. He would take it over nothing, of course he would. But it was hard to covet these moments over the others—the handful of times he’d had her in his bed, or even when she had been on the grounds of Penscombe with his children. He was so desperate for their lives to come together. Some would see them and think it was absurd—they’d only been together a few weeks. But Rupert had loved her for nearly a year now, and he knew for certain that his only purpose remaining was to love her for as much of his lifetime as was possible. He wished to bloody well get on with it.
“Don’t worry, Angel, today is nothing that will bite. My attempt to appeal to your horribly unattractive penchant for frugality.” He was standing in front of her, a small drawstring bag in hand.
Her smirk was hardly discernible as she took the bag, carefully dumping the contents out into her palm. There, Taggie found a pair of two-pronged objects that were far more familiar to her than they were to Rupert. They were simple, likely from a boutique in town. Nothing she would worry about losing. Sturdy, and effective.
“Hair pins?” she asked, the cadence of the question falling somewhere between confusion and wonder.
“Hmm,” He hummed a hand coming up to her neck, thumb stroking along her cheekbone to her ear, then back again. “These are the kind you like, right? The kind you twist your hair up with when you’re cooking?”
For just a moment he worried he had gotten it all wrong. He’d seen her use them a hundred times, but perhaps there was a detail he’d missed. Maybe these weren’t quite right.
“Yeah, yes. They’re perfect.” She finally reassured, her voice a bit thick with emotion. There was something devastating about the impact of the simple gesture. It drew contrast to how little others noticed in her. He wondered in her life how many times someone had truly taken the time to stop and look at her.
He cleared his throat, not wanting to become upset. “I hope they’re your taste. I had Tab help me pick them out. You’re lucky I talked her out of the ones that were covered in glitter.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Taggie promised him around a laugh. She fell into him then, arms around his neck as her soft body found its place plastered to his. Holding her close, he made a promise to always cherish her reverence for thought and care—to always notice what mattered to her most. In some ways, it was her care for the small things that made her harder to please. And yet, for that reason, to please her was all the more fulfilling.
December 23rd
The day before Christmas Eve ended up being one of Taggie’s busiest. She had opted not to take any official onsite jobs, despite the interest, but hadn’t been able to resist prepping Christmas meals for four different households, a final boost of income to help them bridge their way into the New Year. She’d spent the morning putting the final touches on the premade tins, and the whole afternoon was spent hauling them out to the homes, and talking the staff through the instructions for reheating and serving. It was on her late journey home that Taggie finally had to admit her gratitude for her new very comfortable and very smoothly operating car.
She tore back into The Priory with only thirty minutes to spare before she was due to the Venturer Christmas party. In another lifesaving gesture, it had been Rupert that had suggested they host the event at Bar Sinister, giving Taggie the night off for once. Climbing the stairs to her room, Taggie made a quick mental checklist of what she could do to make herself presentable.
Her mind scraped to a complete halt, however, as she finally made it through her bedroom door. There, hanging across the room, was a deep red dress. Velvet, gorgeous, and no doubt very expensive. Moving to examine it, Taggie spotted the note dangling from the hanger.
I think I’d like to see you in this as much as I’d love to see you out of it.
xx
Rupert Campbell-Black, MP, Minister for Sport
Instantly, Taggie’s cheeks turned as crimson as the fabric. But then she heard the grandfather clock give up a chime for the hour, and she tore the dress from the wall, not allowing herself to give it a moment of doubt.
—
Rupert had never been on such high alert. This, he figured, was what it felt like to be in love. He was standing in a room full of close friends and colleagues, and yet he felt only half of himself was there. He simply could not give a care for any of it until he had eyes on Taggie. Was she running late? Had her work kept her? Had she not liked the dress? His mind was a mess of thoughts over her, only stilling when he finally caught a glimpse of red through the door.
Dame Enid passed across his vision, and then she was there, in his full sight. Taggie, his lady in red. Immediately, he realized he’d made a catastrophic error. The following hour consisted of forced chatter with various Consortium members, while his eyes tracked Taggie through the room. Most of her time was spent with Patrick, along with Daysee and Seb who had started seeing each other in the Autumn.
Eventually she made her way over to him. Or rather, to Declan, who was standing with him at a high top, moaning on about what a waste it was to be siphoning off cash for Maud’s stay in London and wishing she’d come home already—or something to that effect, Rupert found himself rather distracted that evening.
“Mummy’s just figuring things out,” Taggie told her father, patting his hand. Meanwhile, Rupert couldn’t help staring at the contrast between rich scarlet velvet and the creamy expanse of Taggie’s collar bone. A few minutes later, Declan excused himself to the bar, leaving them blessedly alone.
“It seems I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Rupert drawled, one elbow leaning on the table as his gaze tracked down the length of her body, and back up again. Returning to her face, he watched her eyes turn nervous, as her hands clasped together at her stomach.
“Do you not like it then?” She wondered, every bit as skittish to stand in front of him in his dress as a newborn foal still finding its legs. That, he thought, was something they’d have to work on. He stepped into her space then, no longer giving a damn about propriety.
Dropping close to her ear, his head gave a shake. “Christ Tag, how could you even think…” Casting his eyes around the room over her shoulder, he gave into his desires and let his arm come fully around her waist, pulling her from the main reception. His lips descended on hers in the dark as he walked her back along the back hall. Fumbling, he found the handle to the door on the left, moving them both inside and closing it shut.
“Rupert,” she started with a giggle, but he swallowed it whole as his lips overcame hers. In an instant, he had pressed against the desk, bunches of sinful red velvet rucked up at her hips. Thigh firmly wedged between hers, she pressed a bit closer, only spurring on his desire for her.
“To be clear,” he breathed against her neck, teeth nipping at the strap of the dress before he reached to pull it from her shoulder. “You look good enough to eat.”
“Rupert,” she breathed out, his hands climbing further up her thighs, eager to give her exactly what she needed.
“Well, this is naughty and nice.” Rupert froze, instantly making himself as large as possible to keep Taggie hidden from sight. Turning to the interruption, Rupert found Bas leaning in the doorway, looking far too much like the cat that got the cream.
“Out,” he gritted through his teeth, firmly holding Taggie to his chest.
“Better me than her father!” Bas hollered. The only thing that kept Rupert from turning to shove at his friend was the way that Taggie’s dress was pulled halfway down her breast.
Instead, he listened as the door finally closed on his friend’s receding laughter. Rupert, prepared to profusely apologize, was shocked when Taggie raised a hand to her mouth and devolved into laughter, forehead falling to his shoulder as he collapsed around her.
“I guess I have more in common with Sarah Stratton than I thought,” she teased cheekily, Rupert unable to stop the massive grin that sprouted on his features. It was amazing, the passage of a year, and the things they were able to joke about now.
After situating themselves, they rejoined the party for a mere half hour before separately making excuses and retiring to Penscombe for the remainder of the night.
Christmas Eve
Taggie had been in a flurry all day. It was always like this on a holiday, working hard to prepare something lovely for everyone, something that could settle them together, if only just for one evening. She could recall the years in Fulham, so desperate for a bit of familial peace together, working all of her anxieties into the rhythm of her knife as she diced the veg.
Lost in her world of preparations, she was shocked to hear the doorbell, checking the clock and fearful she was wrong with the time. Seeing things were on track, she wandered to the door, only slightly surprised to find Rupert there.
“You’re early,” Taggie told him, half stern but always infuriatingly grateful for his presence. It was a bit worrisome that she adored him so greatly. Would she ever be able to properly scold the man?
“Don’t worry,” He assured quickly. “I won’t get in your way, just dropping something by.” Stepping to the side, Taggie brightened instantly, all of the stress from the work of the past two weeks falling away. There, in the drive was Caitlin. Her outfit featured her overworn chunky black boots, plaid trousers, and tattered jumper, and was made complete by a monstrously large red bow tied around her head.
“Meeeerry Christmas!” She sang out as she performed a little spin. Taggie, realizing how terribly she’d missed her sister, ran to throw her arms around her.
“You’re meant to be in France!” Taggie cried out. Instead of coming home following her final exams, Caitlin had opted for an ‘educational opportunity’ which really involved sending thirty young girls with two chaperones to France for two weeks.
“I know, but my good friend Rupe here paid my ticket down for a couple of days and the headmistress signed off. Something about the importance of having the family together.”
—
Seeing his task accomplished, and wishing to give the sisters a moment together, Rupert excused himself, ambling his way through the home and back into Declan’s study.
“Rupert! Happy Christmas, mate,” Declan greeted, seeming in decent enough spirits as the two embraced.
“Happy Christmas, Declan,” Rupert reciprocated. For all of their disagreements, he did care for the man, and considered him a dear friend.
“It’s a small group this year, we’re glad you could come join,” the irishman declared, giving a firm squeeze to Rupert’s shoulder before releasing.
“Well, actually, Caitlin’s here. Just dropped her with Taggie,” Rupert informed, tucking his hands into his trousers, working hard to keep his face and tone neutral.
“Did you now?” Declan wondered, his eyes turning curious as he worked through implications of the act.
“Yeah, well it only seemed right. With Maud gone and all, you should at least have all your children here. Christ knows I’d do anything to have a Christmas with mine.”
There was a challenge somewhere in the words. An admission, too. And Rupert knew that Declan was too smart to overlook any of it. They stared at each other for a long while, both knowing that in all of their similarities, they would never fully understand the perspective of the other.
“Yer seeing her, aren’t you? Taggie?” Declan finally asked, resigned. Rupert, not surprised that the man was aware, still gaped for a moment having the truth set out between them. “Please. The way you two are with each other is telling enough. But if it weren’t, the blue bimmer in the drive certainly gave it up. She had a frightful time stumbling through that explanation.”
Rupert's fist clenched at his side, an automatic reaction to Declan's casual mention of Taggie's stammer. But in place of blows, he offers up the best defense of her behalf that he's capable of. “I love her.” It was this that brought a bit of flint to Declan’s eye, but as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, as if retiring himself from the matter altogether.
Turning to pour himself a drink, the moment between the two was broken. “It’s Christmas.” Declan cast over his shoulder. “Let’s not make a fuss about it. We’ve had a long year.”
It settled poorly in Rupert’s chest. For Taggie’s father to suddenly be so apathetic on the matter didn’t sit right. Not that he wished for the man to take another blow to him over the matter. But still. Taggie deserved for her father to give a damn—whether it be celebration or ire. But Rupert knew this wasn’t his fight to take up. Wasn’t a rift he was meant to resolve. The best he could do was to be better. To pay Taggie every inch of attention and respect that she deserved.
—
As it turned out, Caitlin was not the only surprise guest of the evening. Patrick had taken it upon himself to invite Cameron, relying on the thinly veiled excuse that no member of Venturer should be without a family to spend the holiday with. Fortunately the awkward dust of that matter never managed to settle. Just before dinner, Maud swanned in, claiming she could never have a happy Christmas without her children. Caitlin rolled her eyes.
Dinner was a tense affair. Although, with a lack of safe conversation topics, the group spent most of it passing around a great deal of praise for Taggie’s food, which Rupert would never complain about. He felt the highlight of his holiday was when she had the chance to exuberantly explain to Cameron how she managed to get the roast potatoes so crisp.
Plates scraped clean, Declan and Maud excused themselves and abandoned the party all together. Within a half hour, shouts of their lover’s spat could be heard drifting through the halls of the home whenever things grew too quiet.
Seeking refuge, Rupert and Cameron found themselves settled in the TV room with the O’ Hara children. Paper crown never leaving his head, Rupert led the charge, initiating a raucous game of charades. Even Gertrude and Claudius were a captive audience, sat in attention over whoever stood up front. Eventually, the laughter was so uproarious that no one could bother to mind about the elder O’ Hara’s, wherever they’d gone.
Two hours later, Rupert and Taggie stood hip to hip at the counter, eating her Christmas trifle straight from the bowl. Watching her take a final bite, he pulled her into him, lips to her temple and then her ear. “Come home with me tonight,” he pleaded. “Please.”
Taggie took one moment to look around. Somewhere upstairs, her parents were likely halfway between screaming and fucking, or maybe doing a bit of both. Patrick was in front of the fire with Cameron, heads bent together over two glasses of whiskey, and Caitlin was asleep on the kitchen bench, with Claudius in her lap and Gertrude at her feet. The kitchen, meanwhile, was a disaster. Dishes piled in the sink that no one had offered to touch, and the gravy left congealing in a pot on the stove.
She turned back to him, wide eyes looking into his, and in an instant finding what she needed. With a single nod of her head, they were off.
Christmas Day
Taggie woke up on Christmas morning buried to her chin beneath a heavy duvet. With the way the sun was peeking through the curtains, warming her face, she was certain Rupert had allowed her a lie in. Eyes roaming, she took in the room that she was slowly becoming familiar. On the nightstand, sitting atop a book that bore the title of her childhood shame was a pair of reading glasses that she had learned Rupert wore at night. In the corner chair, were her jeans and vest from the night before neatly folded. There were two dog beds near the door to the en suite, and on the dresser, sat Marcus and Tab’s school photos.
She gave a stretch, feeling utterly pacified. It was so quiet here, a thing she was beginning to deem as lovely. Her mind was utterly still in a way it hadn’t been since her youth in Ireland. She was fearful of becoming addicted to it. Minutes later, the silence was broken, but the ruckus was welcome, the incoming noise causing a tug in her chest.
“Calm down now, I know. We’ve got to check on our lady but we have to be gentlemen about it.” Rupert’s warning went unheeded. Through the door stormed four members of his pack, led by Beaver who leapt atop the bed. Following behind, was the master himself with a tray in hand. Seeing her awake, he softened instantly.
“Merry Christmas, Angel. We’ve brought you breakfast.”
He came to sit on the bed beside her. Sitting up, she studied his presentation. On the tray was a teapot, a bit of toast and jam, and in the middle, sitting in an egg cup, something she had instant recognition of. The object in front of her had a twin sitting across the valley on her dresser at the Priory. While that one was a brilliant blue, this one was a festive red, both bejeweled and glinting in a way that she now knew held no artifice.
“Absolutely not.” Taggie argued, head shaking in disbelief as she cast a look of accusation in his direction. “Patrick told me! Months ago, he told me how much that cost. You cannot possibly be giving me another one.”
Rupert only smiled softly, unbothered by her protests.
“I know, I’m a terrible spendthrift, a squanderer of my means.” He said, plucking up the egg and offering it to her. “It’s a significant defect that I’ll certainly work to rehabilitate. But, in the meantime, I do hope you’ll tolerate me. And besides, they hold completely different purposes. The first one was a gift of woo. This one is a question.”
“What do you mean?” She wondered, now curious as she gently took the small treasure from his hand.
“Open it,” Rupert prompted with a nod.
Handling the egg with far more care than she had the first, she turned it in her hand and lifted the top half on its hinge. It spoke volumes that the sight in front of her didn’t deter her. It was overwhelming, of course. But in many ways, not unexpected. As if a part of her knew that this was coming, as if her life had been fated for this to happen all along.
Gently taking the ring from its resting place, Rupert held it up between them. Eyes sternly set to hers, not wavering, he made his declaration. “I’d like to marry you, Agatha O’ Hara. I’d like for you to live here. I’d like for you to know my children, for them to know you and love you the way that I do. More than anything, I’d like to try my best to make you happy, any day that you’ll allow it.” She could feel the unbidden prick of tears in her eyes. None of it felt entirely possible, and yet, he was holding the option in front of her. She simply had to make the choice to take it. “The thing is,” Rupert went on, bending his head a bit nearer to hers. “I’m very clear on what I want, always have been—But now I’d like to know what you want, Tag. Are you able to tell me that?”
There, in his room at Penscombe, with four dogs draped about and Christmas Day ahead of them, she wasn’t sure her mind had ever been so at ease. Coming up on her knees she threw her arms around him, letting him pull her into his lap.
“You. Just you, forever and ever. It’s all I’ve dreamed of,” she said into his neck, feeling she couldn’t manage to hold him tight enough, be near enough to him for her devotion to be clear.
Tilting her back, his hand found hers. With care, he slipped the gleaming ring onto her finger, the diamond a jarring sight that would take a while for her to get used to. Tears tracked quietly down her cheeks as Rupert pressed his lips to hers. When he pulled away, Beaver took over, licking at the wet streams and sending them both into a joyous fit.
“I love you,” Rupert told her, eyes searching hers as she went quiet, a nervous look on her face.
“I haven’t gotten you anything,” Taggie finally admitted in a rush, face crumpling in upset over the matter. “I’ve tried, but nothing has felt g-grand enough.”
He studied her with a devotion he never believed he’d come to know in his lifetime. “Darling, it would have been a waste,” He promised. Holding her close, he raised her left hand, placing a kiss on her palm near where his family ring now sat. “You’ve already given me my gift.”
Forever
Ultimately, it turned out that neither one of them was willing to wait. In their mind, forever could not come quick enough. It was with the aid of the Campbell-Black name, and some cheques containing numbers Taggie wanted nothing to do with, that they stood at the altar of Cotchester cathedral on January 5th. With just two little words, they committed themselves to one another in front of their dearest family and friends. It was the easiest decision either one of them had ever made.
On their anniversary, Taggie liked to remind Rupert that her true gift really did end up arriving on the twelfth day of Christmas.
Rupert liked to remind Taggie that marrying her made him the wisest man of them all.