And yet he could see the danger there again. Of fostering, of allowing a closeness beyond the bonds of master and servant. Of fostering a bond withher. But he had not had a friend—a true friend—in so very long, was it not worth the risks? Surely it would hurt no one, a discreet, honourable friendship between them, at least for as long as he remained here. Her presence had made life at Thornhallow bearable, even in those moments when he’d felt she made it worse. Why should he question the sense of it all? There was no one here but themselves to judge.
Liam pondered it all relentlessly, and it wasn’t until the conservatory was gloriously bathed in moonlight that he finally made his way to the library, decidedly too preoccupied and unfocused to deal with anything more.
A book, he decided, and a dram of whisky, would set him right again.
Chapter Eleven
‘Ah, Mrs Hardwicke,’ Liam sighed, glancing up from his papers, welcoming the distraction though he was still not entirely certain he could trust himself around her, despite their weeks spent apart. ‘Come, please, sit,’ he added, with a wave of his hand.
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Rebecca smiled, taking a seat before him.
The woman had the indecency to look the opposite of what he felt. Sprightly, inspired, entirely herself. Full of life, unplagued by the darkness he knew she carried. Unplagued by longings like his, reassuring and yet heartbreaking.
Our distance has not affected you; how I envy you that, too.
‘I have come to discuss the arrangements for Christmas—if you have time, that is.’
‘Heavens, I’d quite forgotten it,’ he admitted despondently, rubbing the space between his brows with an ink-stained finger.
That explains the jolly mood...
‘We can discuss this at another time, my lord, if—’
‘Nonsense, I am quite in need of a distraction just now.’ He smiled faintly, gesturing to the mass of papers and ledgers strewn across the oak before him. ‘And it is only what, a sennight away?’
‘Indeed,’ Rebecca said, and he felt her studying him closely.
When he caught her gaze, however, she hurriedly opened her notebook, and stared down at it.
‘Well, Mrs Murray wished me to check that you would be happy with a cold dinner on Christmas Eve? And she wondered what you might prefer for Christmas Day? Venison? A goose, a turkey, or...? Unless you are dining away with friends, perhaps? Should we expect anyone?’
‘No, I mean... That is, I shall be at Thornhallow,’ Liam said, only realising it now.
His eyes turned towards the fire, and he remained lost in thought for a moment, before taking a deep breath and returning his attention to Rebecca.
‘A cold dinner will be fine. As for the day itself, well, I admit I don’t know... I’m unlikely to eat a turkey all by myself, nor a goose for that matter... Perhaps,’ he started, studying Rebecca in turn, gauging what her reaction might be. ‘Well, what are the staff planning? Will they all be here?’
‘Yes, we shall all be here,’ Rebecca said, surprised at his interest. ‘It shall be a goose for us, I think.’
‘Unless anyone has a preference for those infernal beasts, make it a turkey.’
‘My lord—’
‘Make it a turkey,’ Liam said firmly, raising his hand. ‘And have a plate of whatever is being had downstairs brought up, if you would be so kind, Miss Merrickson. It is nonsense to cook an entirely separate meal for me alone, and the staff deserve something special. I am quite sure they’ve eaten enough geese to last a lifetime.’
‘Very well, my lord,’ Rebecca conceded with a conciliatory smile. ‘A turkey it shall be.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Well, yes... About decorations...’
‘Must we?’
‘I was only thinking perhaps a little greenery, and—’
‘Do your worst, then, Miss Merrickson,’ Liam chuckled, his mood improving. ‘I see no point in attempting to dissuade you, for you shall simply go forth and do precisely as you please. And don’t pretend otherwise,’ he added, as Rebecca opened her mouth to retort. ‘We shall spend an hour negotiating terms and then one morning I shall descend and find you have turned the place into a paragon of festivity.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, turning her eyes back to her notebook, desperately attempting to hide a smile, but unable, however, to conceal a slight and very becoming blush. ‘Lastly, well, for St Stephen’s Day, that is, I was wondering...’
