Silkridge choked in disbelief. “Miss Pratchett is the castle cook?”
Angelica laughed. “Even better. She is the grand architect that made these biscuits possible. Without her, one might as well be greeted with gruel.”
“Grand architect?” The duke blinked in confusion. “What is that supposed to mean?”
But Angelica was already gone, and Noelle didn’t feel like explaining. The less he knew about her life, the better. The lives of her friends were a much safer topic.
“Miss Parker has the steadiest hand and keenest eye in all of Christmas. I once saw her create an intricate, jewel-encrusted tiara fit for royalty. You should see it.”
He lifted his brows. “I find that jewel-encrusted tiaras tend to unseat one’s top hat.”
No. She would not find him amusing. That path only led to heartbreak.
“There you are,” came another familiar voice. This one belonged to Olive Harper. “Azureford won’t stop pestering me about my stallions.”
“Azureford theduke?” Silkridge said in obvious incredulity. “The Duke of Azureford?”
“I told you,” Noelle reminded him. “You’re not the only duke in Christmas.”
She turned to her friend. “You need an auction, of course. Don’t allow him to be the only bidder.”
Olive pulled a face. “I haven’t time to plan an auction. The stable roof needs to be patched and one of my broodmares is looking breach—”
“I’ll organize it,” Noelle said immediately. “You take care of your horses and I will take care of the auction.”
“Noelle, would you? I shall owe you any favor you wish.” Olive squeezed her hand and then dashed toward the door.
A frown marred Silkridge’s ducal brow. Either Christmas familial informality or talk of a breach broodmare had met with his disapproval.
He cocked an eyebrow in Noelle’s direction. “Do you allow everyone in town to address you by your Christian name?”
“Not everyone,” she said sweetly. “You may call me Miss Pratchett.”
A muscle worked in his temple.
“That was a dear friend of mine,” she continued as if his question had never been spoken. “Miss Harper has a quick mind, an enormous heart, and one of the most sought-after stud farms in all of England. She is a fascinating woman and a wonderful person.”
Silkridge seemed amused by this explanation. “You make it sound like everyone in Cressmouth is a fine soul and perfect neighbor.”
“Possibly because everyone in Cressmouthisa fine soul and perfect neighbor,” Noelle agreed. She arched her eyebrows right back at him. “That is, almost everyone.”
She knew she was being prickly. But sometimes the only way to protect oneself was to keep a safe distance from those who could inflict hurt.
Unfortunately, she was no longer certain such a distance existed between her and Silkridge. His presence on the same mountaintop was more than enough to send her heart racing.
“Will you be attending the reading of Grandfather’s last will and testament?” he inquired.
“Most of the town will be attending,” she said noncommittally. “Your grandfather meant everything to Christmas.”
“He’s gone.” The duke’s expression shuttered. “You can stop calling it ‘Christmas.’”
“Mr. Marlowe was the town’s savior, not its dictator,” she snapped. “He didn’t just rename us. He gave us Christmas every day.”
Noelle could swear the duke mutteredhumbugunder his breath.
“Then I suppose I will see you tomorrow?” he asked aloud.
Not if she saw him firstseemed a churlish reply.
