“Our traditions are much the same as other families. We play games, eat Christmas pudding, burn a yule log and such. We usually start celebrating a few weeks before Christmas by gathering greenery to decorate the house. If it is a good year, we have a pomander to add fragrance.”
Lord Gladsby took a chair near hers, chasing away her fatigue with his nearness. “Our mother used to do the same. One of my earliest Christmas memories is asking my mother if we might eat the oranges covered in cloves.”
Prudence giggled. “Did she let you?”
“Of course not, for which I am grateful. It would have been a woody, nasty business. But they do smell delightful.”
Grace agreed. She was partial to the spicy scent mixed with citrus. Perhaps that was why she adored wassail so much. The mixture of fruit and spices delighted her tongue and reminded her of Christmases past.
Lord Gladsby leaned forward and looked at his mantel. “I suppose my house is a bit bare. I’d not thought about decor for the season. Perhaps tomorrow we might make a trek out to the grove and see about gathering some boughs to make things a bit more merry.”
“Don’t forget the mistletoe.” Prudence grinned, giving a tiny bounce in her seat.
“Yes,” Bradley said, eyeing his wife, “we cannot forget that holiday essential.”
Anthony chuckled as he absentmindedly fiddled with the golden ball on the top of his cane. “We would never dream of it.”
Grace did not miss the conspiratorial looks that passed between both married couples. What it must be like to have someone you wished to meet under the mistletoe and who wished to find you there as well? Her gaze wandered to Lord Gladsby’s profile. The low glow of the fire highlighted the creases below his cheekbones, prominently pronouncing the lines of his straight jaw and high cheeks. His hair appeared golden in this light, each strand on top pomaded into a perfect curl.
He turned, and she blushed at being caught unabashedly staring at him. His brow lowered. “Forgive them, Miss Lenning. I believe their excitement at having a chance to kiss in public without censure has made you uncomfortable.”
She smiled. Hardly. She’d been imagining what it might be like to kiss him, but that was not something a gently bred woman would confess, unless, of course, it was Prudence. She’d have blurted out her feelings long ago.
Grace, however, knew her place. “I am not uncomfortable. I am merely tired. It has been a long day, and it is hard for me to achieve the same level of enthusiasm when I am fatigued.”
“Forgive me.” Lady Hamdon rose from her seat. “I had quite forgotten your travels.”
The rest of the party followed suit.
“There is nothing to forgive,” Diana said. “It was not that far of a journey, but the hour is getting late. Thank you so much for the lovely dinner.”
Grace bit her lip. She should not have mentioned her fatigue. She’d not meant to imply a misstep on Lady Hamdon’s part or toimply that she wished to retire. In truth, she’d rather spend a few more moments in Lord Gladsby’s company, but perhaps it was for the best. She reallydidthink better on a good night’s sleep and there would be two whole weeks to drink in the sight of him.
“Tomorrow, then.” Lord Gladsby bowed over her hand. When he rose, there was a twinkle in his eye. “I look forward to hunting holly with you.”
Heat emanated from her head all the way to her toes, but she laid the blame on the roaring fire. He must have meant the whole of their party. He’d not meant just her, even if her bubbling heart and fanciful mind had jumped to that conclusion. He was a gentleman, after all.
But was he the sort that tossed out flippant compliments?
She did not think so, at least from what she knew of him. In fact, she steadfastly hoped not, for she desperately wished his words to have the exact meaning he’d implied.
Chapter 4
Acat startled and ran away when Alan stomped his boots upon entering the stable. The thin blanket of snow that had fallen the night before seemed determined to stick to his feet. One of the stable hands poked his head out of the stall he’d been mucking and quickly straightened and abandoned his pitchfork.
“Ho there, Owen,” Alan said, “where does your pa keep the saws and such?”
The boy’s nose crinkled. “I don’t think they be kept in here. Those’d be Mr. Lovell’s responsibility.”
Alan glanced over his shoulder toward the greenhouse. Of course the gardener would be the one with such tools. “I believe you are right.”
He turned to leave, but another thought struck him. “Owen, do you know if perchance the sleigh has been cleaned and greased for use?”
“That’s what me dah be doin’ just now. We need a bit more snow a for ye can use it though.”
“Indeed. I only meant to request its preparation if it had not been done, but it seems Mr. Ladd has preempted me as usual.”
Owen smiled and picked up his pitchfork. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again, his eyes darting to something behind Alan.
