He let out a long sigh. Perhaps Harvey’s death had been unavoidable, but his arguments with his father were absolutely his fault. Returning home had only reinforced that to him.
There were so many people who relied on Engalworth for their support and it had almost fallen into his wastrel cousin’s hands. Mr. Weazelton would have gambled away the property, let the tenant houses fall into disrepair, perhaps even closed the church so he did not have to pay Mr. Clayton’s salary.
Throwing back the covers, Alan rose. Why had he not deferred to his father’s age and experience?
Then again, his work behind enemy lines had saved a multitude of people. What if he’d not been there when British soldiers had tried to mistreat the servants of the manor where he’d been working undercover for over a month? He never would have known the men and women well enough to feel it was his duty to intercede on their behalf.
And then there were all the officers he’d saved by uncovering Ratford’s and Sancerre’s plans. Their evil scheme would have decimated the leadership of the Royal Army.
His head fell into his hands. Why couldn’t life have a clear right and wrong? He knew real living was more nuanced than that, it was something his uncle would not let him forget. “God works with the mess He has,” he would always say. “And that is what makes life so beautiful.”
If only he could see the beauty as Mr. Clayton did.
A knock at the door stopped his mental wanderings and forced him to face the day as his valet entered. It was for the best. He really needed to stay out of the past if he wanted Christmas to be a success.
As part of the festivities, he donned a reddish-brown coat, a snowy white cravat, and black waistcoat and trousers. To complete his appearance, he tucked a sprig of holly in his lapel.
Lifting his timepiece from the bureau, he pursed his lips. Christmas services would begin in three quarters of an hour. He’d have to hurry if he wished to break his fast before attending.
In the breakfast parlor, he found Miss Prudence, her face bright and her gown festive.
“Good morning,” she chirped before returning her attention to the eggs and sliced ham on her plate.
“Have the others already eaten?”
“Mmhm.” She hummed around her mouthful of food.
He should have known she’d answer in the affirmative, but the rebellious part of him wanted to have some time with Grace before they set out. He filled his plate and sat. Thatcher, his footman, came in and handed him a note. Turning it over, he recognized the writing.
“Please excuse me,” he said to Miss Prudence before opening the message. Worry clung to the back of his mind. Had his uncle’s illness intensified?
Instead, he found a cheerful note proclaiming Mr. Clayton’s recovery and his intentions to give the Christmas sermon. He smiled. Growing up, his uncle had always filled the position of vicar, but he’d worried with his illness that a curate would have to give the Christmas address. It was nice that one thing would remain unchanged this year. Tradition brought comfort, something he rarely had these days.
“Is everything alright?” Miss Prudence dabbed her lips and set her napkin back in her lap.
“Indeed. My uncle is simply informing me that he will be able to join us for our regular Christmas festivities.”
A vision in soft green stepped into the room. “Pru, we really need to…” Grace’s words died away as her gaze met his.
Alan swallowed the bite of food he’d been chewing, his eyes glued to her. His gaze trailed from the tip of the black boot that peeked out from under the intricately beaded gown to the cascade of curls expertly arranged on her head. She looked like Christmas should feel. Beautifully colorful, completely composed, and full of gentle happiness that graced her face in a shy smile.
Grasping onto his senses, he finally stood. “Good morning and happy Christmas. Might I say you are looking quite well today, Miss Lenning.”
Her cheeks pinked and she dipped her head. “Thank you. Happy Christmas to you as well.”
“I’m done,” Miss Prudence said, throwing her napkin on her plate. “Are we walking or riding?”
Grace shook her head. “The sun is out and doing its best to create a great deal of mud. I believe the plan is to ride in the carriages.”
Alan glanced out the large window to confirm her words. The snow had indeed begun to melt. Even so, he’d not have had the ladies walking to the church otherwise.
A commotion in the entry alerted them to the impending departure. He dabbed at his lips, regretting the need to leave so much of his breakfast behind, but that was the result of sleeping longer than he’d intended.
He did not regret the sleep, though. His head was clearer than it had been in months and his hands were steady. He didn’t even jump when the footman pulled out Miss Prudence’s chair with a terrible screeching sound.
When was the last time the effects of his dreams only lasted one day? He did not remember.
At the door, he found Mr. and Mrs. Lenning, Hamdon, and his sister holding little George adorably bundled up and ready for their little excursion.
