Oh God. He wasgrowing up. He pulled the covers up to his chin and considered the matter. He didn’t like the idea of growing up, but apparently it had happened without him knowing about it. Gone were the days when he could throw everything he owned into a saddlebag and take off down a road that looked interesting. He would probably not be able to sleep in the corner of a tavern or the bed of a Countess any more.
Especially not the latter.
A snuffling murmur came from the other side of the miniature alpine range separating him from Harriet. Applying great stealth, Paul managed to the mountains, leaving only a few small dales dotting the southern regions. Thus freed, he moved toward his future wife, slipping one arm beneath her and tucking her in to his body.
She snuffled some more, sighed, and willingly fit herself against him. Even in her sleep she was his.
He realized that in less than twenty-four hours, she would be his wife. Mrs. Paul DeVoreaux.
Would she be happy? He prayed that that would be the case. But he had little to offer. His life was beginning to restore itself, but the DeVoreaux finances were tenuous at best, and much depended on the current climate in London. Were the von Rillenbachs still out to destroy him? Did they still seek revenge for a death that happened so long ago? Had Society vindicated him for the sin of dueling after so many years?
Only time and his firm of solicitors would tell. He didn’t even know if there was any kind of estate left, or whether it had value. He might, in fact, be all but penniless. Was it right to marry Harriet under these circumstances, knowing that as soon as he did he’d have access to her funds?
He didn’t know. But as he closed his eyes and breathed in her unique fragrance, he was dead certain that he was going to marry her, right or not.
On that determined thought, he finally let sleep claim him.
*~~*~~*
Christmas Eve dawned early for everyone at the Inchworthy hunting box.
Harriet would have liked to linger a little and share those first few waking moments with Paul, but both knew that there was much to do. In addition, there was an awareness between them of the significance of this day; their morning greetings were tender, gentle—and fast. It was their wedding day, but before that joyous moment arrived, they still had duties to perform as butler and housekeeper.
Paul was dressed and gone by the time Harriet had shaken out her gown and made the bed. She’d wear her housekeeper’s gray ensemble, since she had brought little else with her. The room was warmer than usual, thanks to the fire, and she took a little longer to make sure her hair was tidy and shining. The tiny mirror told her that she would do, and that was the best she could hope for.
Hurrying down to the kitchen, she could already smell the fresh bread baking, and the lingering aroma of mince pies.
“What a wonderful start to the day.” She came up behind Cook and impulsively gave her a quick hug. “Happy Christmas Eve.”
Cook jumped. “And to yerself, Mrs. Harry. But yer could have had yer tea without the hug,” she grinned.
“I know.” Harriet helped herself from the massive teapot. “But it’s Christmas. A time for hugs.” She raised her cup in salute. “And also thanks.”
“Oh, go on,” blushed Cook. “The bread’ll be ready soon and I’ve a mind to put some ham out fer breakfast?”
Harriet nodded. “I think that’s a lovely idea.” She put her cup back on the saucer and pulled out a chair, sitting on the edge. “Lady Aphrodite has told me, in confidence of course, that she is expecting. I have no idea what she should be eating for breakfast, but probably not ham or kidneys.”
Cook nodded. “Oh the poor lady. You’re right, she needs something very light. I remember my daughters when they were in that situation. Couldn’t look at a piece of bacon without running fer the chamber pot.”
Harriet grimaced. “Yes, well I’d rather avoid that if possible.”
“Don’t you worry none. I’ll set up a special tray fer her.”
“Bless you. I knew I could rely on you.” Harriet smiled with relief. “Now, I’ve an idea for dinner this evening that I think would be lovely for our guests, and also give everyone below stairs a chance to enjoy their Christmas Eve.”
Cook looked interested, and Paul walked in at that moment.
“Everyone should indeed enjoy Christmas Eve,” he agreed. “What did you have in mind?”
Harriet explained her plan, and although it was different and made Cook frown, Paul nodded. “It has quite caught on in the Continent, I understand. I heard several mentions of it when I worked in London.” He glanced at Harriet. “I do believe our guests would find such a setting most entertaining. And something to speak of when they return home.” He poured tea on a sigh. “Silly thing, but one that matters to a certain set.”
The rest of the servants straggled in, and by the time the plan was set in place, they were smiling at the thought of time off.
“You will of course have Boxing Day to yourselves,” said Harriet firmly. “Weather permitting, the guests will be outside most of the day, and we’ll offer a cold collation in the evening. If shooting tires them out as much as gathering a log does, they won’t want much else.”
“Except brandy,” added Paul. “I swear we must have broached fifty bottles.”
“You exaggerate.” Harriet frowned at him.
