The four cousins reached the door of the manor just as the church bell tolled for twelve-thirty.

Therese met them in the front hall and took in their smiles; before they could launch into a recitation of whatever had caused those smiles, she recommended they wash and tidy themselves before joining her in the dining room.

The boys groaned, but scampered up the stairs in the girls’ wake.

Three minutes later, hair brushed, coats and dresses straightened, the four slipped into their now-customary seats about the table.

At Therese’s upraised finger, they waited until they were served—all but jigging on their chairs with impatience.

Once the first sups of soup had been consumed, she finally asked, “Well, then—did you find anything in the vestry?”

“No,” Jamie said, “but it was a terrible mess.”

Out poured an accounting of all they had done. Therese listened and approved their reorganization of the music sheets, then Lottie, who had been all but swelling with the need to unburden herself, burst out with, “And we’re going to make a special choir to sing at the carol service!”

Surprised, Therese arched her brows—and Jamie and George leapt to fill in the gap between, describing how, impromptu, they had sung the country song, then “Greensleeves” in parts when Mortimer had asked if they could.

Melissa recounted Mortimer’s subsequent suggestion of them forming a special guest choir to lead the congregation for the carol service. “I thought it seemed a reasonable thing to do,” she said more quietly. “But we will have to practice for an hour every morning—except Sunday, of course.”

“We agreed to do that,” Jamie said, quite proudly.

Therese took in their eager faces; they really wanted to do this—even Melissa, although she was cloaking her enthusiasm behind a rather thin veil of indifference. Therese smiled upon them all. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Kudos to Mr. Mortimer for thinking of it.”

She paused, realizing what that said of Mortimer—that he’d known that children of her grandchildren’s station would be voice-trained, more or less as a matter of course. Hmm.

“So,” Melissa said, “do we have your permission to work with Mr. Mortimer and sing as his special guest choir?”

The unstated yearning in Melissa’s question reminded Therese that of all her grandchildren, Melissa was the most drawn to music. “Yes, indeed. It will be an excellent way to repay the village as a whole for all the little kindnesses bestowed upon you.”

And to Therese’s mind, Mortimer’s suggestion was another instance of Little Moseley working its magic upon those who sought refuge there.

All four children—even Melissa—beamed, then fell to demolishing Mrs. Haggerty’s latest jelly.

For herself, as she took in their happy faces, Therese was duly grateful; she really had had no idea how to reach past Melissa’s self-imposed shell, but music and the prospect of singing in a choir for the village had done the trick.

Melissa was, once again, smiling freely.

When the last smidgen of jelly had vanished and their spoons clattered in their empty bowls, Jamie looked around the table, determination in his face. “Now all we have to do is find The Universal Book of Christmas Carols.”

They set off for Swindon Hall in the carriage; with Melissa joining them—as a matter of course, Therese had noted with silent satisfaction—there were too many of them to manage in the gig, and the day had turned drizzly. Calling for the carriage had delayed them, and what with stopping to chat with Peggy Butts, who had been returning from visiting her sister Flora at Milsom Farm, and pausing to exchange tidings with Mrs. Johnson, encountered at the gate of Witcherly Farm, it was nearly three o’clock by the time they drew up in the forecourt before the Hall’s door.

They descended from the carriage, marshaled on the porch, then Jamie rang the bell.

Colton, the Swindons’ butler, opened the door to them. He beamed and welcomed them inside, then went to inform his mistress before returning to usher them into the long, airy drawing room.

Sally Swindon rose to greet them, along with a fair-haired young lady who had been sharing the sofa with their hostess. Judging by the hoops in their hands, both ladies had been embroidering.

Smiling, Therese walked forward and greeted Sally, who welcomed her warmly.

“Lady Osbaldestone—Therese. Well met.” After squeezing fingers and touching cheeks, Sally drew back and turned to the younger lady. “Therese—you must allow me to present Horace’s niece, Miss Faith Collison. Faith, this is Lady Osbaldestone, who I’ve told you so much about.”

Miss Collison was of average height, with a nicely rounded figure and soft blond hair. Her most outstanding feature was her face—even features and clear, light-green eyes set in a flawless complexion with the coloring of a Dresden shepherdess—but her prettiness was somewhat dimmed by gold-rimmed spectacles.

Miss Collison smiled with a perfectly judged curving of rose-colored lips and curtsied to just the right degree. “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am. My aunt mentioned you live in the village.”

“Indeed.” Therese nodded graciously; Miss Collison appeared to be a polite, well-brought-up young lady with unexceptionable manners. Then Therese waved at her followers. “In turn, allow me to present my grandchildren. Miss Melissa North is my older daughter Henrietta, Lady North’s, daughter.”

Melissa curtsied to Mrs. Swindon, then exchanged bobs and hellos with Miss Collison.

“And,” Therese went on, “Sally, you will remember these three imps. Miss Collison, allow me to introduce Lord James, Viscount Skelton, his brother, George, and sister, Lady Charlotte, known to all as Lottie.”

Celia’s three children, long inured to the process of polite introductions, bowed and bobbed, first to Mrs. Swindon, then to Miss Collison.

“Now we have the introductions out of the way”—Sally Swindon waved to the numerous chairs facing the sofa—“let’s make ourselves comfortable, and I’ll ring for tea and…” She paused to glance out of the window at the now-gray and increasingly chilly day. “Perhaps crumpets wouldn’t go amiss.”

The children smiled hugely, wordlessly assuring Mrs. Swindon that her supposition was correct.

Therese claimed the armchair closest to the fire, opposite Sally Swindon’s position on the sofa. Melissa duly sank into the chair opposite Miss Collison, while after a momentary hesitation, Celia’s brood wriggled themselves onto the small love seat between the armchairs.

As she resumed her seat on the sofa, Sally went on, “When we last corresponded, I believe I mentioned that we were intending to visit Faith’s parents—Horace’s sister and her husband—in London.”

Therese inclined her head. “You did. I trust your sojourn in the capital passed without mishap?”

“Indeed—it was quite pleasant. I hadn’t been to town in an age, and it being so late in the year, the absence of crowds made getting about much easier.” Mrs. Swindon regaled them with a brief list of the sights she’d made a point of seeing, then said, “But the primary reason we visited was to farewell Margo and Vincent—Faith’s parents. Vincent is with the Foreign Office and has been posted to Constantinople.” Mrs. Swindon glanced fondly at Faith. “Lady Osbaldestone knows all about such postings—her husband was also in the Foreign Office.”

Therese smiled reminiscently. “I saw much of the world by dear Gerald’s side.”

Lottie was quiet, big ears flapping, but both Jamie and George were starting to fidget. Therese glanced at them, then arched a brow at Sally. “I wonder if Mrs. Higgins might need some help preparing those crumpets.”

Sally smiled at the three younger children. “I’m sure if you go through to the kitchen, Mrs. Higgins would be glad of some help.”

The mention of food had instantly captured Jamie’s and George’s interest, and even Lottie was willing to be diverted.

Therese nodded to the three. “You may go and tell Colton you’ve been sent to assist Mrs. Higgins.” She was sure Colton would understand.

The children leapt up, bowed to Mrs. Swindon and Faith, then hurried to the door.

As it closed behind them, Therese looked at Faith Collison. “Am I to take it, Miss Collison, that you elected to remain in England?”

Mrs. Swindon put in, “We all felt that Constantinople was perhaps not the best place for a young lady of Faith’s station, whether on the marriage mart or not.”

Therese arched her brows. “In this case, I would certainly agree—being so fair, Miss Collison, you would unquestionably have attracted far more attention than you would have been at all comfortable with.”

Faith nodded. “Papa feared so, and when he explained…well, I was happy enough to stay behind.” She glanced at Mrs. Swindon and returned her smile, equally fondly. “And Aunt Sally and Uncle Horace invited me to stay for the year or so that my parents will be away.”

Sally’s mention of the marriage mart had piqued Therese’s curiosity, and being a grande dame gave her the social license to baldly ask, “Am I correct in thinking, Miss Collison, that you count yourself finished with the marriage mart?”

Miss Collison’s green eyes met Therese’s, and the young woman lightly shrugged. “As I understand we’re to be neighbors, ma’am, please call me Faith. And whether I’m finished with the marriage mart or it with me is, I suspect, a moot point. But this year’s Season was my third, and I confess that I’ve yet to meet any gentleman able to fix my interest for longer than a few hours.”

“You have had three offers, Faith, and from three perfectly eligible gentlemen.” Mrs. Swindon’s tone suggested this was an ongoing argument.

“Be that as it may, Aunt Sally, I could not see myself married to any of the three.” Faith met Therese’s gaze. “I am in the lucky position of not having to marry unless I so choose. Mama and Aunt Sally say I’m too picky, but I would rather live my life comfortably alone than married to a gentleman I did not love.”

Mrs. Swindon made a frustrated sound. “Love will come if you give it a chance.”

Faith’s lips fractionally curved. “My point precisely, Aunt Sally. However, I see no reason to imagine that continuing to dance attendance in London’s ballrooms is likely to yield a better result than it has to this time. Three years is enough.”

Therese considered Faith and what she could see in that slight smile. Unless she missed her guess, Faith Collison’s apparent softness and the undramatic nature of her beauty concealed a spine of tempered steel. One needed strength to turn one’s back on the ton. “Tell me, Faith, what was it that you found so lacking in your gentlemen suitors?”

Again meeting Therese’s gaze, Faith succinctly replied, “Trustworthiness.”

Therese was impressed; she inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I would definitely recommend that quality in a future husband.” Therese noticed Melissa was paying close attention. “I know many gentlemen who possess that trait. You must have had reasons for believing your three suitors lacked it.”

The expression on Faith’s lovely face suggested that, when it came to gentlemen, she had lost faith. “Odd though it may seem, my spectacles”—she raised a hand and tapped the gold rim of one lens—“allow me to see through the blandishments of ambitious suitors. And once those blandishments were stripped away, all that remained of those three gentlemen’s motivations to marry me was, indeed, ambition.”

Mrs. Swindon heaved a sigh, but offered no rebuttal.

Therese found herself respecting Faith Collison more than she’d anticipated. “I take your point.”

In other circumstances, Therese might have seen Miss Collison’s situation as a challenge, but in Little Moseley, there were precious few gentlemen of suitable caliber to put forward as potential candidates for any young lady’s hand, much less that of a jaded lady who knew her own mind.

Turning to Sally Swindon, Therese inquired after her husband, and from there, she and their hostess settled to trade information on village events. Although Therese had returned only three weeks ago, Sally, Horace, and Faith had been back for a mere two days.

“I feel I’ve so much to catch up on,” Sally said.

Melissa had little interest in local affairs and doubted Faith Collison had, either. She caught the young lady’s eye and ventured a smile.

Faith immediately smiled back. After glancing at her aunt—in close converse with Melissa’s grandmother—Faith rose from the sofa and came to sit on another chair closer to Melissa’s.

“Tell me,” Faith said, “do you know Little Moseley well?”

Melissa shook her head. “Hardly at all.” If Faith had had three seasons already, she had to be at least twenty-one. But Melissa knew that because of her height, most people thought her older; Faith probably took her for sixteen or seventeen—close enough in age to be friends. Melissa saw no reason to correct any misapprehension; she could do with a friend herself. “I only arrived on Monday night.”

“Oh—that’s when we reached the village, too,” Faith said. “Just ahead of the worst of the sleet.” She shivered dramatically. “My parents live in London, and we’d been there until then, so that was my first real taste of winter. I have to say I’m quite looking forward to a country Christmas with white fields under snow.”

“I came from our house in Buckinghamshire, so it wasn’t such a shock.” Melissa paused, then said, “I heard that your father is with the Foreign Office. Mine is, too.”

“I did wonder,” Faith admitted. “Papa has often spoken of Lord North. Your father’s one of the senior men there, isn’t he?”

Melissa nodded. “He’s based in London and has been for years. He and Mama entertain constantly.”

Faith nodded sagely. “When I was young, I never thought I would ever say this, but dinners and balls every night can get to be quite boring.”

Melissa grinned. “Indeed.” She studied Faith’s face, then said, “I’m only here until Christmas, but it seems you have a whole year of Little Moseley ahead of you. How do you think to fill your time?”

Faith widened her eyes. “I really don’t know.” She glanced at her aunt, then lowered her voice. “As you’ve probably gathered, I have, more or less, given up on the notion of marriage.” She paused, then said, “Three Seasons of being a wallflower, followed by three offers, each of which was prompted more by my father’s talents than mine…” Her chin firmed. “I believe I know where I stand with gentlemen—eligible ones, anyway—and as I don’t need to marry for money, I’ve decided to do something else with my life.”

Melissa didn’t miss the bitterness that rode beneath Faith’s words, no matter how resigned she otherwise seemed.

Faith met Melissa’s eyes. “My problem is that, having been reared, as we all are, to imagine no other life but marriage, I have no idea what alternatives exist. I view this coming year as a time to cast around and see what other avenues I find appealing.”

Slowly, Melissa nodded. “You asked about the village. Like you, I haven’t seen much of it yet. Hartington Manor, Grandmama’s house, lies opposite the church, and I’ve only just started going out and about. In fact, the only public building I’ve been to is the church. If you’re partial to music, the organist is quite amazingly talented.”

Faith wrinkled her nose. “Church music.”

“But no.” Melissa leaned closer. “Mr. Mortimer practices every day, and he plays mostly secular pieces by the great composers. For anyone who loves music, it’s worthwhile stopping by and just standing at the back of the nave and letting his music wash over you.”

Faith stared at her. “Just from your voice, I can tell you truly love music—and I do, too. I play the harp.”

“Pianoforte, clavichord, and harpsichord,” Melissa returned with a smile. “I also play the violin and cello, but didn’t think to bring either with me.”

Faith sighed. “Aunt Sally and Uncle Horace have a lovely music room, but no harp. I wish I’d thought to get our staff in London to pack up my harp and send it here, but it’s a large one and so unwieldy. And now I don’t dare send home and ask for someone to find where it’s been stored and send it on—if they don’t pack it properly, it’ll end in bits.”

Melissa frowned. “Sadly, Grandmama doesn’t have a music room, but from what she’s said, I gather there are several large houses around the village. Perhaps one might have a harp you can borrow.”

“I love to sing, too,” Faith confided, “but I prefer to play the harp while doing so.”

Melissa was about to mention the special choir, but the door opened at that moment, and all four ladies turned to behold a procession. Lottie was in the lead with a small tray on which four different jams were displayed in cut-glass dishes. She was followed by George, who carried a bowl of freshly churned butter, and behind him paced Jamie, bearing a large platter piled with golden crumpets, which were still steaming.

The scent of freshly toasted crumpet teased everyone’s senses.

Faith grinned and whispered to Melissa, “I did wonder if those three would remember that there are others here who might enjoy a crumpet, too.”

Melissa chuckled. “I thought Grandmama was being rather reckless sending the boys to help—they eat all the time. There might well have been none left by the time the platter reached us.”

The next fifteen minutes were spent in devouring Mrs. Higgins’s delicious crumpets, slathered with her prize-winning jams. Tea was poured and sipped in between bites.

When all present were satisfactorily replete and sat back, wiping their lips and sighing contentedly, Therese decided it was finally time to broach the purpose of their visit. “While it’s been delightful to chat and catch up, Sally, we had another reason to call.”

“Oh?” Relaxed against the sofa cushions, Mrs. Swindon arched her brows.

“As you know, the village carol service is approaching—apparently, it’s scheduled for Friday next week. However, the village’s wonderful new organist, Mr. Mortimer, who in all other respects is a superlative musician, can only play from music sheets. He needs the written music.”

Sally Swindon frowned. “But the church owns a book of carols. I borrowed it not long ago—a little before we left for London.”

Therese nodded. “So we learned. However, at some point in time, the book of carols has been misplaced. To say it’s vanished is probably overstating things—mislaid, I suspect, is nearer the mark.” She looked at Sally. “Do you remember what you did with the book?”

Sally nodded. “Quite clearly. I had it…” Her eyes narrowed. “It must have been sometime in November. I wanted to copy some of the hymns—sadly, not the carols but the others included in the back of the book. I heard about them from Eugenia when she had the book to look for hymns for little Cedric’s christening. It only took me two days to copy what I wanted, then Reverend Colebatch called to wish us Godspeed for our journey, and I put the book of carols into his hands.” Sally met Therese’s eyes. “I remember doing so quite clearly, just before he left, so he must have taken the book back to the church.”

Therese well knew Jeremy Colebatch’s propensity for becoming distracted. “Where were you when you handed him the book? Was it in the front hall? If so, I agree—he must have left with the book.”

Sally grimaced. “No—I had the book in the music room, and I went there to fetch it, and he followed. As I said, I put the book into his hands, but then Mrs. Colton needed me to look at some stain, and I left Jeremy in the music room…” Sally Swindon knew Jeremy Colebatch even better than Therese. Eyes widening, Sally stared at Therese. “Oh dear. Perhaps he left the book in the music room. We departed for London the next morning, and I haven’t been in there since I left him standing in the middle of the room, book in hand.”

George hopped to his feet. “We could search the music room—if you would like?”

Jamie and Lottie both bobbed up, too, hope lighting their expressions.

Smiling, Sally Swindon eyed the children’s eager faces. “Do you know where it is?”

“I’ll take them.” Faith rose.

“I’ll go, too.” Melissa got to her feet. “Just in case the book’s been put on some shelf out of sight.”

Sally Swindon waved them to the door. “By all means—I hope you find it. Clearly, if the village is to enjoy a carol service, we need to find that book.”

Melissa followed Faith into the front hall.

Faith directed the children, who were ahead of them, down one of the corridors. “The door to the music room is the last one on the right.”

With Faith, Melissa strolled in the children’s wake. When she entered the music room, George and Lottie had the piano stool open and were poring over the contents.

Lottie looked up. “There’s lots of music in here.”

“But no red book of carols,” George reported.

Between them, Jamie, Faith, and Melissa found several other piles of music sheets. They also found several books of music, two of which were red. Sadly, neither was the book of carols.

Disappointed, they tidied all the music away again, then at Jamie’s suggestion—reasoning that Reverend Colebatch might have left the book on a table or sideboard, but it had subsequently fallen and been accidentally kicked out of sight—they did a full circuit of the room, looking behind curtains and even under the sideboards.

Finally, Melissa straightened and sighed. “No book. It looks like Reverend Colebatch did, indeed, take it back to the church.”

Dejected, the three Skeltons trailed Faith and Melissa back to the drawing room.

Under their grandmother’s interested gaze, they slumped into the seats they’d recently vacated.

“I take it,” Therese said, “that the book is not in the music room here.”

“No,” Jamie said. “We searched everywhere, too. It’s definitely not there.”

Faith had returned to the chair beside Melissa; she looked from Therese to Melissa. “You said the organist is very talented. Surely he must be able to play at least a handful of carols—enough for a carol service.”

All three children shook their heads.

“It’s not the usual sort of carol service,” George explained. “We were here for it last year, and it lasted for a whole hour.”

“At least eight carols, dear,” Sally Swindon confirmed. “And we rarely have the same carols—maybe three of the most popular—but the tradition is that we have a full choral service with the carols standing in for the narrative of the Nativity, as it were.”

“Oh.” Faith blinked, clearly trying to envision it. “So this service is a major event for the village.”

“Indeed,” Therese rather grimly said. “And for a concatenation of reasons, we absolutely must find that book.”

“By Friday next,” Jamie put in.

“Well, it’s Wednesday,” Sally said, “so you still have time, and it is a small village.”

“Actually”—Melissa caught Therese’s eye, then turned to address Faith—“quite aside from the hunt for the book, we—my cousins and I—have agreed to help Mr. Mortimer to make the carol service an extra-special event by forming a special guest choir to lead the congregation and sing solos and harmonies.” Melissa paused, then said to Faith, “You mentioned that you love music, too, and you love to sing. Would you consider joining our choir? There are only the four of us at present—we could do with more trained voices.” Melissa glanced at Therese. “I’m sure Mr. Mortimer would agree.”

Clever girl. Whether Melissa had intended to inveigle Faith Collison—a young lady in need of the right husband—into the orbit of Richard Mortimer, he who was the only potentially suitable bachelor in the area, Therese didn’t know; regardless, the result was exactly what she—arch-grande dame that she was—wished to see. She nodded encouragingly. “That is, indeed, an excellent idea—as things stand, Mortimer’s special guest choir is rather small. What part do you sing, Faith?”

Behind her lenses, Faith’s eyes had widened. “Er…soprano. I’m a run-of-the-mill soprano.”

“That should work well,” Melissa hurried to assure her. “I sing alto, and as you would expect, the children’s voices are light and high. Having you to anchor the soprano part against my alto and Mortimer’s baritone will greatly help.”

Faith didn’t need much persuading. It was soon agreed that she would come to Hartington Manor the following morning and walk to the church with the other four would-be choristers to practice with Mortimer.

“Perhaps,” Faith said, looking first at Mrs. Swindon and then at Therese, “if we could find a harp somewhere, I could play as well—I’m accustomed to singing and playing simultaneously, and the harp will blend well with the organ.”

Therese inclined her head. “We can certainly ask at the other houses when we visit in pursuit of the book of carols. Someone must have a harp tucked away, and I’m sure they’ll be happy to see it put to use in such a good cause.”

Lottie, Jamie, and George had waited patiently for all to be settled.

Now, Lottie stirred and piped, “But first, we have to find the book.”

Everyone looked at her, then Therese replied for all. “Indeed, my dear, we need to hunt down The Universal Book of Christmas Carols forthwith.”

The following morning, as arranged, Faith arrived on the manor doorstep at ten minutes to ten o’clock.

In a flurry of coats, scarves, and mittens, the other four rushed to get themselves suitably accoutered, then the five set out to walk the short distance down the drive, across the lane, through the lychgate, and up the path to the church.

Therese watched them go with approval and a touch of pride. She’d wondered if Melissa’s liking for the church and her attraction to the special choir had been driven by infatuation, there being little doubt that Richard Mortimer was just the sort of gentleman to inspire such fancies in an inexperienced girl. However, Melissa’s readiness to introduce Faith to Mortimer argued firmly against any tendre on Melissa’s part—for which Therese was duly thankful. Coping with unsuitable infatuations was a tricky business she’d hoped she’d left far in her past.

The small group vanished around the curve in the drive. Smiling, Therese turned away from the window. It seemed it was merely Mortimer’s music that drew Melissa his way.

Melissa led the way into the church, her heart lifting—she truly felt as if it lightened and rose in her chest—at the prospect of hearing more of Mr. Mortimer’s playing. She knew music well enough to recognize a rare gift when it fell at her feet, and being able to enjoy what amounted to all-but-private performances from a player of Mortimer’s caliber was a gift she was determined to savor for as long as she possibly could.

With Faith beside her, Melissa walked boldly up the nave to where Mortimer was—as usual—playing the organ. She halted before the low wooden railing at the front of the organ corral; as, oblivious, Mortimer continued playing, she glanced at Faith and smiled when she saw an expression of stunned wonderment on her new friend’s face.

The other three joined them, and they waited in silence, simply enjoying the music, until Mortimer reached the end of the piece.

As the last chord faded, he seemed to return to himself. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Jamie, George, and Lottie lined up to Melissa’s left. “Ah—you’re here.”

Mortimer rose and stepped around the organ bench, then his gaze fell on Faith, standing on Melissa’s other side, and he checked his stride.

“Good morning, Mr. Mortimer.” With one hand, Melissa indicated Faith. “We found another visitor to the village who loves to sing and would like to join the special guest choir. Allow me to introduce Miss Collison, who has come to stay with her uncle and aunt, Major and Mrs. Swindon of Swindon Hall.”

Mortimer stared, then appeared to recollect himself. His gaze locked on Faith, he stepped down to the floor so that only the low railing separated them. Then he held out his hand.

Melissa watched, intrigued, as Faith, seemingly dazed, placed her gloved hand in his palm.

Mortimer closed his fingers about hers and bowed. “Miss Collison. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Faith blushed and dropped into a curtsy. “The pleasure is all mine, sir.” They both straightened. She stared into Mortimer’s face for a second more, then stuttered, “I hope… That is…” She paused and drew breath and, raising her head, started again. “Miss North told me of the special choir, and I would very much like to join.” Especially after hearing him play; his truly was a superb talent.

Mortimer was still staring at her in an intent, concerted way. Faith couldn’t recall any gentleman looking at her in such a fashion, as if his focus had drawn in and he literally saw only her. Surely he could see her spectacles—well, he could hardly miss them. Most gentlemen—in her experience, all gentlemen—saw the gold-rimmed lenses, and it was as if their gazes were instantly deflected. But not Mortimer; he seemed to actually see her, even with lithe and dramatically attractive Melissa standing right beside her.

Faith would have wagered that the younger girl was far more the sort to fix the attention of a brilliant-but-eccentric musician.

She blinked. Had she—Faith Collison—somehow managed to fix the brilliant Mr. Mortimer’s attention?

That was such a novel thought, she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“I…ah.” She had to say something to break the spell. She swallowed and offered, “I’m a soprano, and I play the harp as well.”

Finally, Mortimer blinked and, as if having to force himself to do so, released her hand. “You will be a very welcome addition to our small band.”

Faith realized she hadn’t been breathing properly and rectified the omission.

Melissa had been following the interplay between Mortimer and Faith with utter fascination. She noticed that, beside her, Lottie, wide-eyed, had been doing the same. To Melissa, it seemed that Faith and Mortimer needed a little help to get on. “Sadly,” Melissa said, “Miss Collison didn’t bring her harp with her, and the Swindons don’t have one.”

“But while we’re searching for the book of carols,” Jamie put in, “we’re going to search for a harp to borrow as well.”

“That is,” Faith said, “if you feel having a harp to add to the accompaniment would be beneficial.”

Now it was Mortimer who looked fascinated. “I’ve never played beside a harp before—I would think it will add depth and harmonic complexity.” He smiled at Faith. “I look forward to hearing the combination.” Finally, he looked at the others. “I certainly hope you manage to locate a suitable instrument.”

One part of Richard’s brain was attempting to remind him that the other four were there to practice—and so was he. He wasn’t there to moon over a pretty face, which was all the larger part of his mind wanted to do. But he also wanted to learn more of the riveting Miss Collison—why she had so riveted his attention he had no clue; all he knew was that she had claimed his focus in a way no other young lady ever had—and the fastest way to do that was to carry on.

Forcing his eyes from Miss Collison’s angelic countenance, he ran his gaze over the others. “First names are best for choir work, or so I think. My name is Richard. And you are?” He pointed to the last boy in line, the older one.

“Jamie.” The lad grinned.

“I’m George,” the younger lad volunteered.

“And I’m Charlotte, but everyone calls me Lottie,” the little girl piped.

“Melissa,” Miss North said.

“And I’m Faith,” Miss Collison revealed.

Richard found his gaze had snagged on her again. He forced himself to nod and wave all five to the entrance of the organ corral. “Let’s try this with the sopranos to my left and the alto—Melissa—on my right.” He resumed his seat before the organ and waited while the others filed in and arranged themselves. He looked at his four sopranos; Faith Collison had led the others in and was standing farthest from the organ. “Hmm. I think the balance will be better if Miss Collison—Faith—stands beside the organ, with Lottie next, then George, then Jamie.”

Faith and the children rearranged themselves as directed.

“Good. Now…” Richard looked at the organ and managed to remember what should come next. “Let’s start with some scales.”

Returning to the musical task at hand anchored him—and, he rather thought, settled the others, too.

Once he was satisfied their voices had warmed, he had them attempt the Lord’s Prayer, set to the music he’d found in the vestry. After that, he rearranged his sopranos. Faith remained by the organ—her voice was the strongest and most mature—and Richard moved Jamie next to her, with George beside him and little Lottie at the end of the line. The little girl’s voice held a delicate crystalline clarity that, used correctly, would prove achingly evocative. Richard knew of several carols that would benefit from the sound, but first, he needed the music found.

At Jamie’s suggestion, they tried one of the carols for which the music sheets had been found in the vestry.

After running through it, they all grimaced.

“That’s not at all Christmassy,” Lottie said.

Melissa sighed. “It’s far too ponderous to use.”

No one argued.

“We may as well try the other two we have the music for.” Jamie sorted through the music sheets. “We need to know if they’re awful, too.”

They were.

Richard rested his hands on the keys. He felt frustrated beyond reckoning; like the others, he could hear all the carols he’d sung since childhood in his head, but… He glanced at Faith and found her looking at him. He met her eyes and said, “I just can’t play without the music before me.”

She smiled gently. “I’m sure we’ll find it soon.”

“We know it’s not at the Swindons’,” Melissa said. “The deacon knows of three others who borrowed the book recently, and we’ll be visiting them shortly.”

“There’s still more than a week to go before the carol service,” George put in.

Richard managed a weak smile. It was the least he could do when the children were so intent on helping him. Nevertheless, he felt forced to point out, “While as a choir, we can practice using other hymns, we will need at least a few days to work through the carols we hope to perform at the service and…”

“To do that, we need the book of carols.” Jamie pulled a face.

Melissa had noticed Lottie eyeing Faith, as if willing her to say something or do something. But while Faith certainly looked concerned and sympathetic toward Mortimer, she didn’t seem to have any ideas to offer—to draw Mortimer’s gaze back to her.

For all of her life, Melissa had heard references to their grandmother’s prowess in promoting ton matches; from what she’d observed of Lottie’s interest in Faith and Mortimer, Melissa had to wonder if the predilection for matchmaking was inheritable. And if the trait had come down to Lottie, might not Melissa have it, too?

She racked her brains for some way to forge ahead—to keep Faith and Mortimer in each other’s company, albeit with the four of them as chaperons. All she could think of was to extend their practice—to get Mortimer playing and directing them again.

“I was wondering…” She studied the organ’s keyboard. “I know two carols by heart—to play, I mean—on the pianoforte. I know it’s not exactly the same, piano to organ, but you work off the piano score, don’t you?”

Mortimer nodded. “But I need it written down.”

Melissa met his gaze and hoped she’d guessed aright. “If I played, could you copy it down—write down the music for yourself?”

Mortimer blinked. For a moment, he stared at the empty organ shelf, then admitted, “That might work.” Refocusing, he made various adjustments to the organ, then pushed to his feet. “That’s now set to best mimic a piano. Why don’t you try out your carols while I fetch a pencil and paper?”

Mortimer headed for the vestry. Melissa slipped onto the organ bench and laid her fingers on the keys. The others gathered about her excitedly.

“Which carols do you know?” Lottie asked.

“‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ and ‘This Endris Night.’” Melissa started playing the former.

Then Mortimer was back, carrying pencil, paper, and a straight-backed chair. He set the chair where Melissa had stood, then sat and looked at her. “‘Hark! The Herald Angels’—start at the beginning and stop when I say.”

She nodded. “I only know the piano accompaniment.”

“That’s all we need,” Faith assured her. “As long as we have that, we can sing.”

The next half hour went in playing and transcribing. Like many musicians, Mortimer had a notation system of his own he used to rapidly write down music. It wouldn’t be legible to anyone else, but he could read it, and using it, he could very quickly get down each phrase.

Within a minute of starting, first Lottie, then Jamie and George, started to quietly sing the words that went with the phrases.

Faith glanced at Mortimer. “Does the singing bother you?”

He paused, then looked up—first at her, then at the children. He smiled faintly. “Strangely, no. I suppose because I know the words so well, it actually seems to help me…imagine the music, although imagine is not quite the right word.”

After that, Faith added her soprano to the quiet chorus.

From the corner of her eye, Melissa saw Mortimer’s lips lightly lift.

Finally, they reached the end of “This Endris Night,” and Mortimer jotted down the last chord.

“Right, then.” He rose, and Melissa readily traded places. Mortimer settled the pages of his scrawl on the shelf, adjusted several stops, then set his fingers on the keys and played.

His rendition wasn’t perfect, but Melissa corrected his mistakes, and he made notations on his score. They went through both hymns, with the children and Faith singing softly along.

At last, Mortimer sat back and smiled—a real and sincere and much happier smile. “At least now, we have two carols we can use.” He looked at Melissa. “Thank you.”

Melissa grinned back. “You’re very welcome.”

“All right.” Mortimer looked around at his choir. “I’ll write these out properly later, but for now, let’s see what we can make of them. Back into place, I’ll conduct, and let’s see what you can remember of the parts.”

They all returned to their positions, and after checking they were ready, Mortimer commenced the introduction. He raised a hand, then with a graceful sweep, led them into the choral section.

His baritone rolled beneath Melissa’s alto, while the sopranos, led by Faith, soared above. Gaining confidence, they grinned at each other as the sound swelled and filled the church.

From the rear of the nave, cloaked in shadows, Therese watched, listened, and quietly smiled.

She saw Melissa and Lottie exchange a conspiratorial look; interpreting that look with ease, Therese felt her last lingering reservations as to Melissa’s interest in Mortimer fade. Those reservations had prodded her into trudging up to the church, but clearly, her granddaughters saw Mortimer and Faith in the same light Therese did—as a potential match it was their duty to promote.

After a moment, Therese slipped into the nearest pew, sat, and gave herself up to the music—to the sound of her grandchildren’s voices rising and twining in the old evocative carols.

Finally, Mortimer declared that morning’s practice at an end. He rose from the organ, and the others milled around. Mortimer looked at Faith. “We’ll meet again tomorrow at the same time. We can practice with other hymns.” He glanced at Melissa. “And thanks to Melissa, we’ll have two carols we can use.”

“But two carols aren’t anywhere near enough for a carol service,” Jamie stated. “We need the book—we’re going to spend the rest of the day searching.”

Mortimer regarded his youthful choristers in sober seriousness. “I wish I could be of some help, but being new to the area…” After a second, he tipped his head toward the organ. “And I’ve not played as much as I should have over the past months—I need to retrain my fingers, so to speak.”

Lottie jigged beside Faith, nudging Faith forward. Melissa, on Mortimer’s other side, turned toward the aisle, waved, and started walking.

When the four of them turned in to the aisle, Lottie and Melissa fell back, leaving Faith and Mortimer walking together.

In the back pew, Therese muffled her chuckle; she watched and listened as Mortimer, somewhat hesitantly, asked how long Faith expected to remain in the area.

Therese rose as the children drew level with her position. They noticed her only then and welcomed her with smiles.

Together, they followed Mortimer and Faith onto the church porch. Faith’s groom was waiting with the Swindon Hall gig. With her grandchildren about her, Therese watched as Mortimer handed a lightly blushing Faith up to the gig’s seat. She thanked him prettily, then he stood and watched the groom drive her away.

Apparently without remembering the rest of his choristers, Mortimer slowly followed the gig down the drive.

Therese didn’t mute her smile. She stepped down off the porch, and the children fell in about her, with Lottie and Melissa flanking her. As they walked down the path toward the manor, Therese tapped Melissa’s sleeve. “You and Lottie”—Therese smiled approvingly as Lottie turned a happily smiling face her way—“did well in there. Clearly, you’ve inherited some of my talent.”

Lottie positively beamed.

Melissa, too, couldn’t suppress her smile, although she quickly ducked her head as if to hide it. But after a second, she murmured, “Thank you, Grandmama.”

Her head high, Therese smiled unrestrainedly; when it came to Melissa, she was definitely making progress.