Chapter Twelve
Paul made it through the routines of the morning even though his mind was on other things. He checked the fires, made sure the drinks trays were fully restocked with liquor and glassware, straightened a pillow here and there, and wound two of the clocks.
It was busy work, requiring little focus. Which was a good thing, since most of his focus was on his future wife, and their marriage.
It would be fair to add that, being a man, his thoughts also occasionally wandered down paths leading to naked skin and creamy flesh. He couldn’t help that. In fact, he felt rather pleased by the response of his cock which showed a tendency to swell at such thoughts.
Yes, he was definitely ready to claim the new Mrs. DeVoreaux.
However, winding the clocks failed to make time move any faster, and as the morning progressed, the guests began to appear.
“How is your hand this morning, Sir Geoffrey?”
Paul made the polite enquiry from a distance he regarded as safe. If the man’s hand had recovered, he didn’t want it drifting to places it didn’t belong. Like the front of Paul’s breeches.
“’Tis better,” answered Sir Geoffrey, regarding the large bandage with a mournful expression. “But there will be a scar. I know it.”
“I understand scars can hold their own appeal, sir. Perhaps an interesting story to explain it might help. One that would attract interest rather than repulsion.”
“Oh.” Sir Geoffrey leaned back in the overstuffed chair he’d appropriated, next to the fire. “Demmed fine idea, man.” He pondered the notion.
Paul assumed it was pondering. If not, then Sir Geoffrey might have developed some sort of stomach ailment.
“I say. Christmas Eve and everything…” Sir Ambrose sailed in. “What fun have you for us today, Paul?”
I’d chain you all in the dungeon if we had one, but you’d probably enjoy it too much. The ignoble thought flashed through Paul’s mind as he bowed politely. “Well, my Lord, since it is Christmas Eve as you so rightly observed, may I suggest a short walk to gather greenery? We will be lighting the Yule log later, of course, and traditionally the afternoon is spent decorating the hall in preparation for the event.”
“Oh, but my hand,” whined Sir Geoffrey. “Dare I risk hurting it again?”
“We shall see that you are well protected, sir.” Paul attempted a soothing voice. Then instantly regretted it.
“Oh, you darling man. How kind you are to a poor wounded soldier like myself.” That was said with a blush and a subtly fluttered eyelash.
Instead of pointing out that Sir Geoffrey’s resemblance to a soldier was that of a kitten to a rampaging tiger, he merely bowed.
And left the room.
The ladies were descending the stairs as he walked through the hall, and Harriet was behind them. “Has the plan been approved, Paul?” She moved to his side. “I have asked the maids to ready coats and boots and so on.”
He shrugged. “I think the ladies will be the finishing piece of encouragement.” He smiled at Lady Aphrodite. “You are looking well this morning, if you’ll forgive the impertinence, my Lady.”
“I think a bit of fresh air will do me the world of good,” she nodded. “And thanks to Mrs. Harry here, I have passed a much better morning than usual. So I hope to continue that way.”
Sir Farren was coming down behind her. “Good to hear that, my darling. Jolly good.” He came to her side and gave her his arm for the last few steps.
The gentlemen appeared from the parlor, causing squeaks of delight to emerge from the Tisdale twins. One day Paul might be able to tell them apart without help, but until one addressed the other, he was at a loss.
“Shall we be gathering greens, dear Ambrose?”
“Indeed we shall, Hestia.”
Ah. There it is. Hestia in blue today. He could have sworn that Harriet was making the same note in her mind.
“Oh wonderful,” said Phoebe, clapping her hands together with delight.
She did that a lot. Probably practiced it in front of her mirror. Paul admonished himself for uncharitable thoughts. They were all going out and wouldn’t require more than a footman or two and a couple of maids.
“I believe the cloaks are ready, and we do have some warm wraps if you feel a little extra coverage might be needed.” Paul looked out the window. “However, the sun is beginning to shine, so maybe your cloaks will suffice. But perhaps with the addition of stout gloves. You’ll want to carry some of the lovely greenery, I’m sure.”
There was a general bustle as the party prepared itself for an adventure out of doors. Paul swore he’d readied himself for a trek over the Alps in less time than it took them to dress for a winter walk. Then he realized that every moment they were gone was a moment closer to his wedding, so he should probably stop thinking sharply sarcastic thoughts about them and just get them the hell out of the house.
*~~*~~*
Harriet was as pleased as Paul to see the hall empty and hear the cheerful calls outside as they began their excursion to hunt the elusive evergreens. It gave her chance to prepare for the evening’s festivities.
Not her wedding, since there was little she could do for that, other than pray—with fingers crossed for extra emphasis—that the Vicar of Pineneedle Drift would be enjoying the Christmas spirit to the point where he’d not mind adding a marriage to the Christmas Eve order of events. Her hand drifted to her pocket where she felt the comforting shape of the special license. Everything was in order; it only remained to pass the intervening hours without letting loose the scream she felt building in her lungs every now and again.
She squared her shoulders, took a breath, and did her best to push her nerves away as she walked downstairs to the kitchen and speak with Cook.
The woman was busy cutting up squares of cake.
“Oh, these smell wonderful.” Harriet inhaled the scent of cinnamon and cloves.
“Well, if we’re goin’ ter try this here new kind of meal, Ma’am, it seems small things are goin’ ter be best.”
“Indeed they are,” agreed Harriet, smiling as she saw Paul walk in. “I was just telling Cook that her desserts are going to be perfect for our evening buffet.”
“You are absolutely correct.” He grinned and shamelessly swiped a square, popping it into his mouth and closing his eyes on a murmur of pleasure. “And I think they’ll be wasted on our party, Mrs. Chester. These would be a sensation at any evening party in London, I’m sure.”
“I still ‘as to put the icin’ on ‘em,” said Cook proudly. “Right fancy they’ll look, mark my words, wi’ a bit of green and red, not to mention a swirl of spun sugar…my Millie does that real nice.” She beamed with pride. “O’course I ain’t too sure ‘bout this whole eatin’ off yon sideboard…”
“Apparently the idea of a buffet is a bit new-fangled here in the country,” explained Harriet, shooting a pleading glance at Paul.
“We’ll be all the kick, Mrs. Chester. The buffet meal is just beginning to catch on in London salons.” He leaned a little closer. “I heard that Lady Jersey herself introduced a buffet just last season and it was such a success that at least ten titled ladies held buffets in the following two months.”
“Yer sure?” Cook cast him a somewhat incredulous look.
“Absolutely,” he affirmed. “It’s new to us here in England, but I have done some travelling abroad, and I can assure you that on the Continent, a buffet is the current rage. Something different, and you know how Society loves the new and unusual…”
He let his words trail off, and Harriet realized how cleverly he’d made them both feel as if they were part of that very Society, in spite of being in a small hunting box in the middle of nowhere in particular.
“I’m sure it’s going to be spectacular” reassured Harriet. “Now Mr. Paul and I must prepare the hall, and have the lads make sure the Yule log is ready to light.”
Cook nodded. “Yer sure we can leave after t’food’s out?”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Mrs. Chester,” said Paul. “A time for families to be together.”
“It’s ever so nice of yer,” grinned Cook. “An’ we’ll be back early tomorrer.”
“You have the kitchen key?”
“I do. Right ‘ere.” She tapped her copious apron pocket. “The local lads are comin’ wi’ us. Too long a walk back to Pineneedle Drift, and Lord knows we’ve got room for ‘em. Good to ‘ave a crowd at the table.” She chuckled as she poured a cloud of soft sugar into a bowl. “I think’s m’ youngest might be sweet on that Brian.”
“I know you’ll keep a good eye on them, then,” said Harriet. “And I’m glad they’ll have a bit of Christmas.”
“How ‘bout you two then?” She cocked an eyebrow as she added other ingredients and smoothly cracked several eggs.
“We’ll be relaxing,” laughed Harriet. “And we hope to be able to attend the Christmas service over at the Pineneedle Drift church.”
“That’s a long walk,” repeated Mrs. Chester.
“We’ll ride, or borrow a carriage,” said Paul. “One of the advantages of being a butler.” He held his hand up to his mouth, grinning as he whispered. “What the guests don’t know about, won’t worry them.”
“Good fer you,” Cook whispered back.
“Time to go,” said Harriet, touching Paul lightly on the arm. “We have work to do.”
Together they left the kitchen, and Harriet sighed. “That’s settled, at least. It’ll be a quiet Christmas Eve once everyone’s retired.”
They reached the hall and looked around, eyeing the open area with gazes that evaluated, measured and assessed.
“The large sideboard here, d’you think?” Harriet walked to one side and gestured to the wall beneath a rather ugly tapestry.
Paul nodded. “If we do that, then a table can go here…” He walked to the corner, “which will give everyone room to move. And we’ll put the drinks trays on the other side away from the fireplace.”
“Excellent.” Harriet pointed to various spots. “Chairs, here…here…and here…” She marked it out in her mind. “Side tables, and still space to enjoy the fire.”
Paul stared at the enormous chunk of wood that filled the hearth. “Are you sure we’re not going to burn the place down?”
“I sincerely hope not,” she answered, hands on hips and head tilted to one side. “I think it might be able to move back a bit…”
Together they moved toward the fireplace and taking a stand on either side, manhandled the wood a little further into the fireplace.
Their movements were greeted with a howl of displeasure.
“Belle?” Harriet squeezed around a root and stared down. “What do you have there?”
Another meow answered her question.
“Oh Paul.”
He sighed. “What now?”
She wriggled her way behind the log and bent down—to retrieve four tiny kittens. “We have new additions to our family.”
Emerging into the hall, with Belle at her side, she grinned at Paul over an armful of squirming babies. “What a clever girl our Belle is.”
He walked over and shook his head. “I can’t believe it, but I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Belle meowed and attempted to climb Harriet’s skirts. “Yes, darling. You shall have a nice warm box for your kittens…”
As she was about to carry the little family away, the front door opened and the returning hunters burst in with massive armfuls of greenery.
Phoebe and Hestia Tisdale promptly dropped theirs when they saw the kittens.
“Oh…oooh…look…”
“Oh…kittens…how too darling for words…”
Noting that they were, in spite of their dramatic enthusiasm, very gentle, Harriet made a snap decision. “They’re newborns, Miss Tisdale,” she said to Phoebe, the one in the dark pink. “I was about to find a warm place and a box for them…”
“Oh, may we please?” Phoebe looked at her with pleading eyes. “Hestia and I had several litters of kittens when we were younger. We love them so.”
A muffled snort from Paul indicated that he had heard that artless and confusing comment.
“If you’re sure they’ll be no trouble…”
“Not at all, here. Let me take them.” Hestia had unfolded her shawl from around her neck and held it out across her arms. “They’ll be warm and cozy here.” She glanced down. “And mama too.”
“Her name is Belle,” said Harriet. “Perhaps if you take the little ones with you, she will follow. They’ll be nursing for a little while yet.”
“We know. Several weeks at least,” nodded Phoebe. “We’ll take good care of them while we’re here, Mrs. Harry.”
“Very well.” Harriet gently deposited the little creatures in the soft shawl, and watched as Belle meowed her way around the Tisdales, following them upstairs.
“How many litters of kittens did they say they had?” A low voice whispered in her ear.
“Hush.” She didn’t look at him for fear she’d burst out laughing. “You know what she meant.”
“Yes, but even so…” He coughed back a laugh.
“I say, I think we got enough greenery to decorate St. James’s Palace,” laughed Ambrose, cheeks ruddy from the cold. “Did I see the girls going upstairs?”
“Congratulations, Sir Ambrose,” said Harriet, dropping him a small curtsey. “Yes, the Tisdale ladies have taken to a new family of kittens and promised to see them well-housed.”
He sighed. “Ah well. You know…” he glanced around then moved closer to Harriet. “I wouldn’t be averse to them staying up there for a bit. A man can get exhausted by their company now and again.”
Harriet simply dipped her head. “I am sure the ladies will enjoy an afternoon with the new additions. I shall see that they have what they need.”
“You really are a sport, Mrs. Harry.” Ambrose eyed her again, with a greater degree of interest. “You sure you’re happy with old Paul over there?”
She drew herself upright. “Completely, Sir Ambrose.”
“Ah well.” He took himself off.
“Time to decorate, I believe.” Paul had returned to her side.
“Give me a holly branch.” Harriet glared at the retreating back of Sir Ambrose. “I know just where to put it.”