He looked up at her. “You were somehow responsible for my grandfather, Fuzzy Wig, the counting house, the castle’s welcome biscuits,anda Christmas goat?”
“I don’t mind,” she stammered. “Cressmouth needs me.”
It had never seemed like a lot before. Or if it had, all the better. The more the village needed her, the less likely she would find herself alone.
“You deserve a break,” the duke said firmly. “A holiday from this endless ‘holiday.’”
She shook her head. “I would never leave Cressmouth.”
He snorted. Of course he felt the opposite. He couldn’t wait to leave.
His inevitable departure ought to fill her with relief, not emptiness.
She knew better than to wish he would stay. It was impossible. He was a duke. He belonged in London. She was nobody. She belonged here.
Yet she could not help but wish she could change his mind. About Cressmouth. About Christmas. About her.
If he of all people admitted Christmas was magic, it might do more than prove her right.
It could make him want to stay.
Chapter 7
By the third morning, the counting house was starting to feel less like a tiny chamber atop a tall, lonesome tower, and more like a shared retreat high above the rest of the castle. Noelle no longer feared Silkridge might be present. She secretly hoped he was.
Her disappointment at finding the room empty was quickly eclipsed by her surprise at finding it changed.
Mr. Marlowe’s side of the chamber was the same. Hers now boasted new sconces in addition to daylight from the tower window, and a cushioned chair designed for the comfort of someone of her height. The area looked positively inviting.
She stepped around her desk to the new chair and eased onto the plush cushion. Firm, but not too firm. Comfortable. Not so high that her feet could not reach the floor, not so low that the desk was out of proportion. It was perfect.
She grinned to herself as she rose to fetch the next journal in her quest to improve each one chronologically. She was almost done with the task. With the new chair and the sunnier lighting, it would be a joy to work in the counting house today.
As she turned from the bookshelf, the scent of mint reached her nostrils.
A footman stood in the doorway bearing a teapot, toasted bread, and cheese on a silver tray. “Shall I place this on your desk?”
She nodded in wonder. The tower was too tall for bellpulls, so Mr. Marlowe had never had one installed. As king of the castle, servants brought any repast or libation he might wish throughout the day.
As junior clerk, Noelle was expected to take her meals in the communal dining rooms with the rest of the castle.
The arrangement was more than generous. Mr. Marlowe did not charge a penny from his staff or his neighbors for partaking in the community refreshments. It had become part of her routine. Waking at dawn, trekking to the greenhouse for fresh mint, stopping by the breakfast room for a bit of toast and cheese before heading up the long winding staircase to the counting room.
She had never wanted or expected more. She was still proving herself.
Yesterday, Silkridge had casually mentioned the workers had been renovating the aviary since dawn. He had been there to oversee them. Noelle had not. Her absence had not been intentional. With both Mr. Fawkes and Mr. Marlowe, she was used to being the first to her desk in the mornings. Silkridge’s dedication was a surprise. In order to beat him to the counting house today, she had skipped her morning routine.
He had anticipated far more than her early arrival.
Instead of attempting to spoil her with plates heaping with meat and eggs and the finest tea in the kingdom, he had sent a tray bearing the items she actually preferred.
But how? She hadn’t seen him in the breakfast room before. Noelle doubted herself capable of missing him. Whenever he was close, her skin tingled as if charged with electricity.
Which meant the duke had been forced to actively go find out what she might want. Perhaps he remembered her love of mint tea from their youth, but her breakfast habits had changed after becoming clerk. Silkridge hadn’t relied on half-remembered memories. He had investigated to ensure he presented something she desired.
Andoh, did she desire! A shiver tingled along her skin. Try as she might to deny it, the kiss they had almost shared, the one they had no business indulging, was all she could think about.
And now, blast him, every time she sipped her favorite tea she would think of him as well.
