"The pies needed judging. It was a public service."
"Of course, it was."
Alaric shrugged on his coat and headed for the door, then paused. "Grimsby, if anyone asks, you're my valet because the duke is particular about his servants' standards."
"And if they ask why a duke who never visits cares about his servants' standards?"
"Tell them he's consistently inconsistent."
"That's actually believable."
"I'm choosing to be offended by that."
"Your Grace has that right."
Alaric made his way downstairs, ducking under the strategic mistletoe with newly acquired skill. Outside, the snow had intensified, turning the village into something from a Christmas card—the sort his mother used to collect, all soft edges and warm lights against the winter dark.
The square was even more chaotic than when he'd left it. The star had returned, now being positioned near the tree with a complex system of ropes and wheels for lifting that looked like something from a naval operation. Marianne stood in the middle of it all, somehow managing to direct multiple activities simultaneously while arguing with someone about garland density.
"No, Mr. Martin, we discussed this. The garlands need to overlap by at least six inches or they'll gap when the wind blows.Mrs. Hartley, not there; the lights need to go on first! Thomas, stop throwing snow at your sister!"
She spotted Alaric approaching and her expression shifted to one of amused surprise. "Mr. Fletcher. I didn't think you'd actually come."
"I was promised the sight of you eating a bonnet."
"Only if you actually help. Standing about looking critical doesn't count."
"What if I stand about looking helpful?"
"That's just standing about with a different expression."
"I have many expressions."
"Do you? So far I've seen critical, disapproving, and mildly unyielding."
"That last one is my thoughtful face."
"You might want to work on that."
Several villagers had stopped what they were doing to watch this exchange with interest. Alaric became aware that he was essentially bantering with the widow in front of an audience that probably hadn't had this much entertainment since the previous steward's dramatic departure.
"Right then," he said, affecting a businesslike tone. "What needs doing?"
Marianne blinked, clearly not having expected actual cooperation. "Oh. Well. The star needs to be lifted to the top of the tree, but the angle's wrong. We can't get it high enough without risking dropping it."
Alaric examined the setup. They were trying to lift the star directly up, fighting gravity and the weight of the ridiculously large ornament.
"You're approaching it wrong," he said. "You need a counterweight system. Basic physics."
"Basic physics," Marianne repeated. "Of course. How foolish of us not to have our physics textbooks handy while decorating for Christmas."
"Sarcasm doesn't change the laws of gravity."
"Pity. It would make life so much more interesting."
"Your life seems plenty interesting already, given the decorated sheep."
"You saw those? That was Mrs. Martin's idea. She felt they looked 'festively under-dressed.'"
