Chapter Seven
He brought me tea!
Harriet opened her eyes to see a small tray beside the bed, laden with tea and toast. A tiny pat of butter and a little dish of marmalade tucked themselves next to a butter knife and a neatly folded napkin.
She pushed herself up on the pillows and looked around, but the room was empty. And chilly, since steam rose from the teacup quite visibly into the dim light of the single candle he must have lit.
The tea was just the ticket for a cold winter morning, but it didn’t warm her heart as much as the realization that Paul had gone to quite a bit of trouble to get up, dress, and bring back a little tray for her, all without waking her. She buttered the toast and indulged herself for one of the few times she could remember having breakfast in bed.
There was also a slight feeling of relief, since she’d fallen asleep worrying about how to react in the morning, waking up to find a strange man lying beside her.
Well, he wasn’t strange, but even so…she’d never awakened with anything in her bed except a cat she’d had long ago. And her favorite toys, of course. One Christmas, a cold day not unlike this one, her Mama and Papa had given her a large white stuffed bear. He it had gone bald, but she didn’t care.
She’d named him Bruno. Now, all these years later, she wondered what had happened to him. And sighed.
There was still a vague sigh lurking in her mind as she prepared for the day ahead, dressing and making the bed. She’d been warm and comfortable, and perhaps even more so knowing she was protected by the man sleeping on the other side of her improvised mountains. He’d taken that well, she thought, judging by the amused turn of his lips when he saw her creation.
However, if whispers of this entire episode got out, she knew very well that she would be ruined, hills notwithstanding. Which also meant that her aunt and uncle wouldn’t be able to get a penny of dowry for her, and might well lose interest…a good thing, but also a bad thing.
There was that sigh again. Life was a great deal more complex than she’d imagined it would be as a child, cuddling Bruno in front of the Yule log.
Going down the back stairs with the tray in her hand, she paused.
The Yule log. They should see about that right away, since tomorrow was Christmas Eve.
Hurrying down the rest of the steps, she almost ran into Paul who was standing at the bottom. “Oh goodness, I’m sorry.” She moved the tray, aware that if she’d gone any faster, it might have cracked one of his ribs.
“No need,” he waved away her apology. “I was thinking of popping up to see if you were awake.”
“Thank you, Paul,” she smiled. “For this. For the tea and toast. It was a lovely treat and I’m most grateful.”
“You put in a devil of a day yesterday, Harry. I thought a few more minutes and a spot of tea were well deserved.”
“You’re too kind.” She moved past him. “Er, did you sleep well?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” He followed her into the kitchen. “Although it was chilly this morning. I was surprised there was no snow on top of those mountains.”
A surprised chuckle erupted from her throat, making Cook look up from the bowl she was stirring. “Mornin’, ma’am, sir. There’s oatmeal a’comin’ if you’ve a taste fer it…”
Over an abbreviated breakfast—Paul wanted to check the fires early—Harriet shared her idea about the Yule log. “I know it’s traditional here in the country, Paul. Not so much in London, since I think pulling up stumps in Regent’s Park is frowned upon…”
This time it was Paul’s turn to chuckle. “I would assume so, yes.”
“Gotta have that Yule log,” endorsed Cook.
“Ma always has one, ya know,” added one of her daughters. “We’ll be off to light it tomorrer, if me brothers have found a good one.”
“There.” Harriet turned to Paul. “You see?”
He nodded. “I do indeed. And I’m thinking our guests should be part of the hunt.” He finished his tea and scooped up the last of the oatmeal as he thought about it. “So, Cook, would it be too much to ask you to put together a luncheon that we can carry with us? I pray the weather will hold and we’ll have sunshine, because if so, I’ll get everyone out in the big farm wagon, and we’ll find our Yule log.”
Harriet drew a breath. “That might be a challenge…”
“Never fear. I’ll come up with something. A centuries-old country legend is always useful, I’ve found.”
“Do you know any?” she inquired.
“No, but I can make something up.”
