In minutes, Noelle was bundled against the cold and trudging back toward the castle, back toward the empty counting house and her lonesome bedchamber, back toward the rest of her life. One without Benjamin.
Perhaps loneliness was her destiny. It was no one’s fault Benjamin had been born heir to a dukedom. No one’s fault his primary seat was miles away. No one’s fault his duty was to the House of Lords. If she wished to be angry, it might as well be with the stars above.
From the moment he’d come back, she’d known she could expect nothing from him.
And yet he’d managed to surprise her anyway.
The comfortable chair and better lighting in the counting house. His repeated kindnesses with Mr. Fawkes, no matter how many misunderstandings. The way Benjamin had made Tiny Tim’s health his personal responsibility. How he’d let her shove him into a sleigh and sit through a holiday play despite all the pain Christmas had brought him.
He’d done it all for Noelle. Because he wanted to be with her, while it was possible.
She strode through the castle entrance and headed toward the counting house stairs. Perhaps journals and accounts would keep her mind from Benjamin better than tea with a well-meaning friend. At least she could make herself useful.
“Miss Pratchett,” a male voice called just as she reached the spiral stair.
She turned around to find Mr. Marlowe’s solicitor smiling at her. “May I help you?”
“I should say so.” He nodded with satisfaction. “We’ve no less than eight candidates for your review. I’ve taken the liberty of inquiring into their references for you.”
She stared at him blankly. “Candidates for what?”
“The apprenticeship, of course. One moment, miss.” The solicitor fetched a stack of papers from his office. “Here we are. His Grace arranged for you to have an assistant. As I’ve stated—”
“What if I don’t want an assistant?” she stammered.
“Then don’t pick one,” the solicitor replied. “His Grace was quite clear on the matter. You alone have the authority to select as few or as many apprentices as you deem fit for the counting house.”
“Ihave the authority,” she repeated. “Me.”
The solicitor nodded. “Every decision left to your sole and complete discretion, miss. If you’d like me to search for different candidates—”
“I’ll take the list,” she said quickly and stepped forward to accept the documents.
Her pulse pounded. Benjamin had recognized how much work it had taken to clear up the old records and put them to rights. He had warned her not to spend so much time in the counting house that there was no room left in her schedule for life.
This was his way of letting her have it all. A position of acknowledged importance as well as the freedom to take time for herself. She held the papers to her chest. With the right talent in place, the counting house would be operational whether Noelle was absent for an afternoon or an extended holiday.
The corner of her mouth curved. Whether he liked Christmas or not, Benjamin had managed to provide both for Noelle and for the townsfolk. He had ensured less work for her and created new jobs for others. He had left Cressmouth a better place.
“How is Tiny Tim?” she asked suddenly.
The solicitor didn’t blink at the sudden change in topic. “As neat as ninepence, miss. Jumping all over everything again. A new lease on life, I'd say.”
Noelle took a deep breath. The pygmy goat wasn’t the only one who felt like leaping for joy. It was time for her to change as well.
As long as she only viewed herself as a function of Cressmouth, there was no room in her overextended life for anyone else. Not even Benjamin. She was equally responsible for pushing him away. For not making room. For being a fool.
Cressmouth would be right here all year round… but Noelle didn’t have to be.
If she was willing to try.
Her hands shook as she pointed out a pair of names to the solicitor. “These two look promising. How soon can they start?”
“They’re here now, miss.” He gestured toward his makeshift office. “Both have years of experience with accounts. Shall I send them up to familiarize themselves with ours?”
“Send Fuzzy Wig up, too. He’ll enjoy sharing the castle’s history as he acquaints them with the accounts.”
“As you please, miss. Should I tell them you’ll be up shortly?”
