And did it again. Twice.
“Er, Paul? Damn thing isn’t catching…” He glanced over his shoulder with a frown.
“I don’t understand…” Paul moved forward to stand by the Earl. “May I?” He took the taper and repeated the process. But the kindling refused to fulfill its purpose, remaining stubbornly dead. Not a flicker anywhere.
“Well this is certainly not what I expected,” said Paul, annoyance rippling through him. “The kindling has been drying here for a couple of days. I cannot imagine why it’s not lighting immediately.”
He heard a movement behind him. “If I may be allowed…” Harriet walked past the two men with a decanter in her hand. One quick move was all it took and suddenly the hall was redolent with the pungent scent of brandy.
“Oh God,” mourned Sir Ambrose.
“Tell me that wasn’t the good stuff,” moaned Sir Geoffrey.
“Well, that’s an interesting technique, Mrs. Harry,” chuckled the Earl. “Let’s see how successful it is.” Once again he stepped forward with his lighted taper.
This time, with a fiercely brilliant whoosh, the kindling exploded into fire and the log itself began to smoke and smoulder and at last break into leaping flames.
Cheers echoed to the rafters as Harriet quietly walked back to the tea-table. The Earl followed her, a huge grin on his face. “You are a delight, my dear. You just saved Christmas Eve. Although I’m not sure Ambrose and Geoffrey will ever forgive you.”
She laughed back. “Well, my Lord, I remembered something my father always used to say.” She put the decanter back on the table. “Everything works better after a good dose of brandy.”
“And so youflambéedour Yule log?” Paul came up to them with a smile. “Congratulations. It was daring and successful.” He glanced at the Earl. “And we have more brandy. The gentlemen need not concern themselves.”
“Well now, I think I would like tea, and you can explain to us about this evening. A little bird whispered that there will be some surprises in store?”
*~~*~~*
Harriet was both surprised and delighted at the enthusiasm with which her plan for the evening was welcomed. She and Paul presented the notion of a buffet as a sophisticated and exciting new way of sharing a meal, emphasizing that it was only now starting to become the fashion within theTon.
They, pointed out Paul, would be among the earliest to have tried this unique dining experience, and when he mentioned that it was all the rage in Paris and across the Continent—well that sealed the matter neatly.
She followed with the mention of the many games that would be forthcoming, easily accessible to the guests who might engage in a quick round of Spillikins between courses if they chose, or wait until everyone was replete to indulge in a rousing game of charades.
Since her presentation was accompanied by the footmen moving tables around and bringing in chairs and footstools, the audience could begin to see how delightful it would be to spend this Christmas Eve in the hall, an informal party with food rather than the more formal dinner. They could settle in front of a roaring Yule log and play games., all the while selecting delicacies at their whim.
“How wonderfullyalfresco,” laughed Lady Aphrodite. “And speaking personally, I shall enjoy the chance to sample little portions as my appetite dictates.”
Sir Farren nodded his approval as well. “Very good, very good indeed.” He cleared his throat. “I should mention that I am an acknowledged expert at Charades, you know. Even the Beau himself complimented me not long ago.”
“Oh hoi, now. We can’t have that,” laughed Sir Ambrose. “I’ll wager a monkey I win more than yourself, Farren.”
“We love Spillikins,” chorused Hestia and Phoebe.
There wasn’t much to be said to that comment, so Harriet wisely retreated, knowing that tea and chatter would rule for at least an hour or so. Then the hall would empty as the guests went upstairs to change for dinner.
She couldn’t believe it was dark already, and that Christmas Eve was upon them in full. Only a few more hours…
From being a day when each minute crawled past at the speed of a slug on the cabbages, the early evening turned into a whirlwind of activity and the dinner gong was sounding before Harriet expected it. She’d overseen the setting of the tables, helped with the final decorations on thepetit-foursCook’s daughter had decided to create, and made sure that there were some pretty bows and greenery on the buffet tables, to echo the theme of the day.
The candles were lit, and she stood back to survey the overall scene, pleased that it had surpassed her expectations.
It clearly appealed to the house party, since as they arrived at the top of the stairs in response to the gong, there was applause and delighted exclamations.
Harriet smiled and stood off to one side as they descended, praying they’d find no fault. The Yule log was behaving perfectly, a steady blaze that warmed the large hall and guaranteed a cozy evening for everyone. It took very little time for everyone to grasp the notion of filling their own plates and then eating wherever they chose.
“I didn’t think I’d say this, but bless the twins.” Paul leaned toward Harriet and spoke quietly. “They’ve no notion of propriety and seeing them so enthused has lured the others into the entire thing.”
She nodded. “You’re right.” She watched Sir Farren fill a plate for his wife, and noted her affectionate thank you as he brought it to her chair. “They’ve a chance to be themselves here, in this setting. Nobody judging or about to whisper rumors of their behavior on the morrow.”
