There was a general bustle as the party prepared itself for an adventure out of doors. Paul swore he’d readied himself for a trek over the Alps in less time than it took them to dress for a winter walk. Then he realized that every moment they were gone was a moment closer to his wedding, so he should probably stop thinking sharply sarcastic thoughts about them and just get them the hell out of the house.
*~~*~~*
Harriet was as pleased as Paul to see the hall empty and hear the cheerful calls outside as they began their excursion to hunt the elusive evergreens. It gave her chance to prepare for the evening’s festivities.
Not her wedding, since there was little she could do for that, other than pray—with fingers crossed for extra emphasis—that the Vicar of Pineneedle Drift would be enjoying the Christmas spirit to the point where he’d not mind adding a marriage to the Christmas Eve order of events. Her hand drifted to her pocket where she felt the comforting shape of the special license. Everything was in order; it only remained to pass the intervening hours without letting loose the scream she felt building in her lungs every now and again.
She squared her shoulders, took a breath, and did her best to push her nerves away as she walked downstairs to the kitchen and speak with Cook.
The woman was busy cutting up squares of cake.
“Oh, these smell wonderful.” Harriet inhaled the scent of cinnamon and cloves.
“Well, if we’re goin’ ter try this here new kind of meal, Ma’am, it seems small things are goin’ ter be best.”
“Indeed they are,” agreed Harriet, smiling as she saw Paul walk in. “I was just telling Cook that her desserts are going to be perfect for our evening buffet.”
“You are absolutely correct.” He grinned and shamelessly swiped a square, popping it into his mouth and closing his eyes on a murmur of pleasure. “And I think they’ll be wasted on our party, Mrs. Chester. These would be a sensation at any evening party in London, I’m sure.”
“I still ‘as to put the icin’ on ‘em,” said Cook proudly. “Right fancy they’ll look, mark my words, wi’ a bit of green and red, not to mention a swirl of spun sugar…my Millie does that real nice.” She beamed with pride. “O’course I ain’t too sure ‘bout this whole eatin’ off yon sideboard…”
“Apparently the idea of abuffetis a bit new-fangled here in the country,” explained Harriet, shooting a pleading glance at Paul.
“We’ll be all the kick, Mrs. Chester. The buffet meal is just beginning to catch on in London salons.” He leaned a little closer. “I heard that Lady Jersey herself introduced a buffet just last season and it was such a success that at least ten titled ladies held buffets in the following two months.”
“Yer sure?” Cook cast him a somewhat incredulous look.
“Absolutely,” he affirmed. “It’s new to us here in England, but I have done some travelling abroad, and I can assure you that on the Continent, a buffet is the current rage. Something different, and you know how Society loves the new and unusual…”
He let his words trail off, and Harriet realized how cleverly he’d made them both feel as if they were part of that very Society, in spite of being in a small hunting box in the middle of nowhere in particular.
“I’m sure it’s going to be spectacular” reassured Harriet. “Now Mr. Paul and I must prepare the hall, and have the lads make sure the Yule log is ready to light.”
Cook nodded. “Yer sure we can leave after t’food’s out?”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Mrs. Chester,” said Paul. “A time for families to be together.”
“It’s ever so nice of yer,” grinned Cook. “An’ we’ll be back early tomorrer.”
“You have the kitchen key?”
“I do. Right ‘ere.” She tapped her copious apron pocket. “The local lads are comin’ wi’ us. Too long a walk back to Pineneedle Drift, and Lord knows we’ve got room for ‘em. Good to ‘ave a crowd at the table.” She chuckled as she poured a cloud of soft sugar into a bowl. “I think’s m’ youngest might be sweet on that Brian.”
“I know you’ll keep a good eye on them, then,” said Harriet. “And I’m glad they’ll have a bit of Christmas.”
“How ‘bout you two then?” She cocked an eyebrow as she added other ingredients and smoothly cracked several eggs.
“We’ll be relaxing,” laughed Harriet. “And we hope to be able to attend the Christmas service over at the Pineneedle Drift church.”
“That’s a long walk,” repeated Mrs. Chester.
“We’ll ride, or borrow a carriage,” said Paul. “One of the advantages of being a butler.” He held his hand up to his mouth, grinning as he whispered. “What the guests don’t know about, won’t worry them.”
“Good fer you,” Cook whispered back.
“Time to go,” said Harriet, touching Paul lightly on the arm. “We have work to do.”
Together they left the kitchen, and Harriet sighed. “That’s settled, at least. It’ll be a quiet Christmas Eve once everyone’s retired.”
