Accompanied by her grandchildren, Therese toiled up the rise to attend Sunday morning service at St. Ignatius on the Hill. On entering the church, she walked down the aisle and sat in the middle of the front pew on the left, the pew closest to the organ. Mrs. Colebatch and the Swindons occupied the pew across the aisle; Therese exchanged smiling nods with her neighbors while the children arranged themselves on either side of her. Then Reverend Colebatch arrived and took up his stance before the altar, and she and her brood all dutifully gave their attention to him—or at least pretended to.

In reality, their gazes flicked constantly to where Faith had joined Mortimer in the organ corral. When Mortimer wasn’t playing, Faith sat in a chair alongside the organ, but when Mortimer set his long fingers to the keys, she stood beside his bench and turned the sheets for him—an act which, if the smile he directed her way was any guide, he found exceedingly helpful.

Lottie and Melissa, along with Therese, were fascinated by the interplay.

There’d been no choral practice for the children and Faith and Mortimer that morning, but as a group, they put their heart and soul into the hymns, leading the congregation with enthusiasm. Therese and, indeed, everyone else, was left in no doubt as to how much they all—Melissa and Faith and Mortimer included—loved to sing.

Therese spent the hymns watching Mortimer play; she still found it exceedingly curious that a professional organist of his caliber was so dependent on written music. Yet he plainly was. She had to wonder if his dependency was more imagined than real.

She spent most of Reverend Colebatch’s sermon pondering all she’d ever heard about the peculiar sensitivities of brilliant musicians. Then a whispered conference between Faith and Mortimer distracted her. In glancing across at the pair, who were juggling music sheets, from the corner of her eye, Therese caught the expression on Melissa’s face. Melissa was smugly pleased by the sight of Faith and Mortimer with their heads bowed together.

Therese lowered her gaze to Lottie, seated between Therese and Melissa, and found a more juvenile yet similar expression on Lottie’s face, too.

Smiling with amused satisfaction, Therese faced forward. Quite aside from being gratified by the evidence that her talents and inclinations had been passed down through the generations, she felt increasingly confident that by the time Melissa left Little Moseley, she would have turned a corner and would be…not a different girl, although undoubtedly, she would have changed, but more the girl—the emerging young woman—she had the potential to be. As Reverend Colebatch concluded his teaching and exhorted the congregation to pray, Therese was not too proud to bow her head and thank the Almighty for His help.

After another hymn, the reading, and a final hymn, the service concluded. The congregation made its slow, shuffling way out onto the lawn to mill and mingle as was customary. In the dull light of the gray day, neighbor chatted with neighbor, farmer to farmer, housewife to housewife.

With her small tribe about her, Therese paused to one side of the lawn. She’d invited the Longfellows, the Colebatches, the Swindons and Faith, and Mortimer for luncheon. As her staff were the most experienced and enjoyed employing their skills, she often hosted luncheons and dinners, viewing the activity as a contribution to village life and the maintenance of harmony—not that Little Moseley needed much help with the latter. Today, she was hoping that the luncheon would nudge a romance along; while she frequently dabbled in encouraging romance, it wasn’t often she got the chance within the bounds of Little Moseley.

While she waited for the other couples to move through the crowd and join her, Therese graciously nodded to Mrs. Mountjoy and exchanged a few words about a recently arrived grandson.

Then Mrs. Mountjoy’s son, Dick, came up. After ducking his head to Therese, Dick turned to Melissa, who had been standing silently beside Therese. Dick nodded to Melissa. “Wanted to let you know, miss, that we asked around all those we know in the village, and no one’s seen that book you and the others are after.”

Melissa blinked, then covering her surprise, responded, “Thank you, Mr. Mountjoy.”

“Aye, well.” Dick grimaced. “We’re all wanting our carol service to be the best it can be, so seems it’s us should be thanking you and the youngsters for hunting for the book.”

With another nod, Dick moved away, leaving Melissa staring after him.

“Miss!” Mrs. Tooks came puffing up. She, too, dipped her head to Therese, then focused on Melissa. “I’m right sorry to have to tell you that we haven’t found hide nor hair of that carol book. We asked all our neighbors and all our boys and girls who work at the big houses.” Mrs. Tooks tipped her head toward the other side of the lawn, indicating a large gathering. “We’ve just been sharing what we’ve learned, which I’m sorry to say is nothing.”

“Thank you for checking, Mrs. Tooks—you and all your family and friends.” With easy grace, Melissa inclined her head to the farmwife.

“Well,” Mrs. Tooks huffed, “seems as if, if we want our carol service, the least we can do is help you find the blessed book.”

After dipping in a rough curtsy, Mrs. Tooks lumbered off.

Her place was filled by a small procession of locals, all coming to report to Melissa that, in response to her inquiry the previous day, they’d looked and asked about, but hadn’t turned up any hint as to where the book of carols might be.

Cam Whitesheaf, a tall, gangly youth, regarded Melissa with something like awe while his sister, Ginger, related their failure to find anyone who knew anything of the book.

After Melissa thanked them, and Ginger all but towed Cam away, Melissa glanced around, but no one else was waiting to report. She turned to Therese and, finally, let her amazement show. “I really hadn’t thought they would stir themselves to the degree they have, not just on my say-so—because I asked.”

Therese suspected Melissa had underestimated her impact. “From what they’ve let fall, you were obviously successful in impressing on them that, without the book of carols, the carol service will be, at best, severely abbreviated or, more likely, not held at all. The villagers value their Christmas traditions, and the prospect of one not eventuating is more than enough to move them to action.”

Melissa blinked again. “Apparently.”

Along with Melissa, Therese turned as the Longfellows came up, closely followed by Faith and the Swindons, along with Mortimer, who had been chatting with them.

After smiles and greetings were exchanged, Eugenia said, “Christian and I will take Cedric back to the Grange, then we’ll join you at the manor.”

Therese stroked Cedric’s downy cheek with the back of one finger, smiled, and nodded. “We’ll see you shortly.”

Turning to gather her remaining guests, Therese saw Mortimer speaking with Melissa and the three children. Faith joined them as Mortimer said, “We’ll need to practice in a concerted fashion tomorrow. For singing a cappella, we need to become accustomed to each other’s voices anew, and we should also ensure we have the two carols we have music for as polished as they can be.” Mortimer’s gaze went over the children’s heads. He scanned the dispersing crowd, then grimaced. “Even then, how we’re going to construct a carol service if you don’t find the book, I simply don’t know.”

“We’ll find the book.” Faith lightly touched Mortimer’s sleeve, drawing his gaze back to her and the other four.

Jamie nodded, his expression firming. “It has to be here somewhere.”

“Somewhere within reach—where we can lay our hands on it,” George added.

“It can’t have vanished,” Lottie observed.

“And,” Melissa put in, “the whole village has now been alerted, and everyone’s on the lookout for the book. Someone will find it.”

Therese hid her smile. From near dejection the previous evening to firm resolution and confidence in the face of adversity this morning; it was amazing how having someone more anxious and in need of assurance than they brought out certain traits in her descendants.

Mrs. Colebatch joined them, greeting all with a smile and a nod. “Jeremy will be with us shortly.” She focused on the children. “Still no luck?”

“Not yet,” Jamie replied. “We’re going to call at East Wellow next.”

Just then, Reverend Colebatch, having shut up the church and seen his last parishioner on their way, came striding up. “Another Sunday service done!” He beamed at all the faces. “And how is everyone?”

Everyone smiled and responded.

Deciding that it was time to make a move, Therese raised her arms in a gathering motion. “And now, Mrs. Haggerty has a roast waiting to sustain us. Shall we go?” She directed the group onto the path down the rise.

Readily—even eagerly—the Swindons and Colebatches started off arm in arm.

Mortimer turned to Therese and offered his arm. “Thank you for inviting me, ma’am.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Therese took his arm and allowed him to lead her in the other couples’ wake. The children skipped beside her, and Melissa and Faith brought up the rear.

As Therese strolled beside Mortimer, she was visited by the same elusive notion that had afflicted her days before—that she should know Richard Mortimer or at least know of his family. In ton terms, she should know who he was. Her inability to place him irked like a social failure—more, a failure in an arena in which she’d long considered herself unchallengeable.

She glanced at Mortimer’s face, but there was nothing in his serious features that triggered any recognition.

As they reached the lane, she waved her cane toward the entrance to the manor’s drive. “Have you spent much time in London, Mr. Mortimer?”

“No, ma’am,” Mortimer answered, apparently without reserve. “I’ve spent more of my time in Oxford than in the capital.”

Perhaps that was why she simply didn’t know him.

As the manor came into sight and thoughts of the upcoming luncheon rose higher in her consciousness, Therese allowed her various puzzlements over Mortimer to sink beneath the surface of her mind.

As Melissa had only recently graduated to her parents’ table when they were dining with company, she was pleased to have been included at her grandmother’s board as a matter of course. She was somewhat surprised to find Jamie, George, and Lottie also at the long table, but apparently, through their activities the previous year, the trio had earned the interest and, indeed, the respect of the adults gathered, none of whom seemed to think the children’s presence odd. All the adults interacted freely with the three children and with Melissa. As the questions and chatter ranged back and forth, she relaxed and joined in and found herself enjoying the meal and the company much more than she’d anticipated.

Although an attempt was made by the ladies to steer the conversation along unfraught paths, with Reverend Colebatch, Christian, and Richard at the same table, inevitably the talk turned to the upcoming Christmas events.

Richard had tried to keep his mind from the sense of impending failure that haunted him over the carol service, which seemed destined to be canceled because of his inability to play without written music. To say he felt guilty on multiple counts was an understatement; he wished there was some way for him to give the best performance of his life to the village that had so readily taken him in, but…without the music, that wasn’t going to happen.

Whether by luck or by design—and he suspected the latter—Lady Osbaldestone had placed him beside Faith Collison in the middle of one side of the long table. That had certainly helped in keeping his mind off the carol service and the missing book of carols; with her sweet face, her pretty eyes framed by her spectacles, and her gentle, compassionate, yet determined nature, Faith effortlessly fixed his attention and lured his senses.

With their conversational scope widened by being in general company rather than alone in the church, they chatted over inconsequential things—what sort of trees each liked, whether they preferred country or town to live in, whether they liked to ride and what sort of horses each favored; they shared preferences and experiences and discovered they had many of the former in common. Looking past the glint of Faith’s spectacle lenses and smiling into her eyes, he managed to forget about the dark cloud that hovered over his and the village’s collective head.

Then Reverend Colebatch sobered and said, “Many of the villagers mentioned how concerned they are over the possibility of the carol service not going ahead.” His expression anxious but, as ever, mild, he looked around the table. “I took it upon myself to assure them that, even if we have to make do with only a few carols, the service, as such, will take place.” He looked at Melissa, Richard, Faith, Jamie, Lottie, and George, all seated along the opposite side of the table, and went on, “I thank Heaven that we decided, this year, to switch the order of the carol service and the pageant. That will allow us two extra days—indeed, until Friday afternoon—to find our missing book.”

For a second, silence reigned, then Melissa heard Richard, seated beside her, give a soft sigh.

His tone one of sincere contrition, he said, “I cannot apologize enough for not being able to play without the book. Most organists would be able to play most carols from memory, but I fear that, music-wise, my mind doesn’t work that way.”

Several adults—Lady Longfellow, Mrs. Swindon, and Mrs. Colebatch as well as the reverend—leapt in to assure Richard that the fault was not his.

“I certainly don’t recall playing by memory being a stipulation when the parish hired you to the organist’s position,” Mrs. Swindon said.

“Indeed.” Mrs. Colebatch nodded. “Quite right. It’s the parish’s responsibility to provide the music, and really, that book of carols ought to be in the vestry. If any fault exists, it’s one shared by all the village for not ensuring that book was where it should be long before this.”

Reverend Colebatch coughed, then muttered, “Indeed, my dear.” More loudly, he said, “And the fact remains that we do have the book of carols—it’s simply been misplaced, and we just have to find it.”

In her mind, Melissa heard, as she was sure everyone else did, the words Reverend Colebatch had left unsaid. In time. They had to find the book of carols by Friday.

She glanced around the table. Despite the bracing comments, all present were concerned—increasingly so—over the continuing mystery regarding the whereabouts of the book of carols and the looming prospect of a regrettably short carol service.

Reverend Colebatch’s initial comment might have been a touch tactless, but he hadn’t been wrong. The prospect of a poor carol service was weighing on the village as a whole.

To her left, from beyond where Richard sat, Melissa heard Faith’s soft voice reiterating the others’ assurances that he was not to blame for the situation.

Richard sat half turned toward Faith; Melissa couldn’t see his face, but Mrs. Swindon, seated opposite, was watching and taking note.

Then Richard sighed again, this time resignedly. Melissa heard him softly say, for Faith’s ears rather than the whole table’s, “The village has been so very welcoming, I don’t want to let people down. If I had my way, I would strive to give them the best carol service they’ve ever enjoyed.”

“That’s a laudable aim,” Faith immediately responded, “and when we find the book of carols, you’ll be able to do precisely that.”

The stalwart certainty in her voice gave Richard pause, then he chuckled. After a second, he said, “Thank you. I will place my trust in our youthful helpers and hold myself ready to give my all when they recover the book.”

Any doubt Melissa or Mrs. Swindon—or indeed, Melissa’s grandmother, who she now saw had been closely observing Faith and Richard, too—might have harbored regarding the reality of a romance between Faith and Richard Mortimer was, Melissa judged, laid to rest. That Richard had paid most attention to and placed most credence in Faith’s words—that she had reached him more effectively than any other and lightened his dejection—spoke volumes; even Melissa knew that.

As conversations started up on less-fraught topics, Melissa pondered Richard’s sentiment of repaying the village for its welcome and inherent succor and felt a wave of corresponding emotion—and determination—rise inside her. Little Moseley might be a tiny village in rural Hampshire, but something about it made it special. Her cousins knew it; that was why they’d insisted on returning. She herself had sensed it—as if the village somehow cleared the mind and shone light on the path to becoming the person one really should be.

More than anything else, it was the people who lived there who made the village what it was. And she, too, could embrace the goal of returning the village’s favor by finding the missing book and making the village carol service the most splendid in living memory.

She glanced at Jamie, seated on her right.

He met her eyes and mouthed, “We have to find the book.”

She nodded and whispered back, “As soon as we possibly can.”

The rest of the luncheon passed in easy camaraderie.

When, eventually, replete and smiling, Therese’s guests departed, she sighed, waved to Crimmins to close the front door, and turned to find her grandchildren regarding her, impatience writ large in their faces and the missing book of carols on their minds.

She waved them to her parlor. “Come—let’s sit and see where we are.”

The four duly followed her into her inner sanctum and settled in their customary spots—the girls on the sofa and the boys on the hearthrug. As Therese sank into her armchair, all four fixed their gazes expectantly on her.

She took in all she could see in their faces—the resolution, the determination, and the worry that ran beneath the more positive emotions. “It seems that by widening our net and informing the villagers of the consequences of not finding the book, we’ve spread concern over the matter, but in reality, that couldn’t be helped. They needed to understand so they would be moved to check, and at least we now know that the book isn’t sitting, forgotten, on some cottage dresser.”

“But we need to find it and soon,” Jamie stated.

Therese inclined her head. “Indeed. And to that end, I suggest you four should focus all your energies on tracking down our elusive tome. As we’ve already discussed, speaking with the rector of East Wellow is the necessary next step.” She frowned lightly, then in a considering tone, went on, “As it happens, Sunday afternoon is not a bad time to accost a rector. His duties for the week will be done with, and I daresay, in this season, you will find him relaxing at home. He will be most amenable to questioning”—she glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf—“over the next few hours.”

She allowed her frown to deepen and edged her tone with regret. “Sadly, after my meeting with my man-of-business yesterday, I must write and dispatch several important letters in relation to my financial affairs. The letters won’t wait.” She paused, seeing frustration bloom in all their faces. “However”—she tapped the chair’s arm smartly—“I can’t see any reason the four of you shouldn’t take the gig and drive over to East Wellow and inquire of the rector whether he still has the book—unlikely, as I believe we’ve agreed—and if not, to whom or where he returned it.”

Melissa blinked. “The four of us…without you?”

Therese opened her eyes wide. “I can’t see why not. Dealing with a country rector should be well within the scope of your abilities.” She paused, then added, “If in doubt, simply behave as your mother or I would in the same circumstances.”

Therese watched Melissa weigh the challenge Therese had deliberately laid at her feet against her desire—and that of her cousins—to push ahead with finding the missing book.

Therese flicked a glance at Jamie, George, and Lottie. All three had their lips firmly shut, no doubt biting back demands that Melissa should take on the role of leading their expedition and could they go? Now?

Therese hid a smile. She was proud of the three; they were learning in leaps and bounds, and this was definitely a decision for Melissa alone.

Therese was unsurprised when, after several more seconds, Melissa refocused on Therese’s face, on her eyes, then nodded. “All right. I’ll try.”

Melissa smiled weakly when her cousins erupted into cheers. To her way of thinking, she had precious little choice. They needed to push on with their search for the book of carols, and if approaching the rector herself was the only way to move forward immediately, then she had to try.

The fact that her grandmother believed she could carry off the encounter bolstered her confidence. Besides, if she wanted her part in finding the book to stand as her thank-you gift to the village, then her role had to cost her something, didn’t it?

After regarding the cheering three with a fond smile, their grandmother turned her obsidian eyes back to Melissa, viewed her—also fondly—for a moment, then arched her brows. “Well? What are you waiting for? The clock is ticking.”

Melissa drew in a breath, rose, and looked at the other three. “Come along, you lot. Let’s get on the lane to East Wellow.”