“I love you too.”
Thirty-Six
KILMARNOCK ABBEY, EDINBURGH - DECEMBER 24, 1816
Dav,
Please send more shirts. My tailor has the measurements. I’ve ripped a few and the sheep ate one. Black and white only, please.
Mr. Grayson’s limbs are perfect—if a little long. It is fortunate that he is so good-natured and was not offended when you first termed him a cricket.
You may confirm the changeling theory with mother. It certainly feels that way, though I think the emotion I am experiencing is called happiness. I am incapable of it, as you know, and therefore must be a changeling.
In a more serious matter, Sorcha is very much your cousin and, as such, is determined to vex me. Ishould probably also inform you that she is with child, though unmarried—do not get any ideas. She has asked me to consider adopting the child as my own. Though I haven’t the slightest idea how I would go about making that legal, I must admit her argument is compelling. Do not share this information with Mother or Cee. I will write them in due course.
Warmest regards,
Xander
P.S. I may have underestimated the scope of the repairs required when I first arrived.
XANDER
Though the housewas by no means presentable, it was in a state to be decorated on Christmas Eve. The guest rooms, the billiards room, the library, and the music room were the only ones still in desperate need of repair. With the servants’ quarters, the kitchens, the study, the dining and breakfast room, the drawing room, and bedrooms enough for Sorcha, Tom, myself, and a just completed nursery all in need of only minor cosmetic changes.
The scent of fresh lacquer lingered heavily in the air at some part of the house or other on a daily basis. We had little need of Miss Gillan and she had returned home and only visited once or twice a week when her specific skill set was required.
Once the servants’ quarters were sufficient to be lived in, we were able to hire a housekeeper in Lock’s wife, a valet—Godfrey had more than earned his promotion to butler—a couple footmen, a cook, and some maids. In the spring, we would need to add a gardener, stablemaster, and such, a position Lock had expressed interest in. The Black Swan proved to be an exceptional source of loyal staff who did not bat an eyelash when they found Tom and me in compromising positions. At least, as long as no one paid any mind to subtle adjustments to uniforms or wild flirtations.
Sorcha had looked near to popping for more than a month at this point. And she hadn’t wavered in her decision in the slightest. She was resting comfortably—or as comfortably as she was able to at present—on the settee beside the fireplace, directing Lock with the wreath she wanted above it. Murray had proved handy with the evergreen, holly, hawthorn, berries, and ribbon and had fashioned them into a more than passable centerpiece.
Tom was out in the cold, fetching a yule log. Though the winter was colder than I preferred, it was not as severe as I had expected. Snow had been sparse and light, dusting the scenery only to melt with the next day’s rain.
Tom returned in a great flurry of fanfare with an impressive pine log he rolled inside. Fenella gave a bleat of greeting from outside to the cheers of our newest staff who hadn’t had the benefit of the early days with her. They were all rather fond of her, offering her carrots and other treats on every viewing.
Jamie rose to fetch the sheep something from the kitchens, ignoring my protests entirely.
I met Tom by the door, mostly closed to keep Fenella out, and pulled him close for a warming kiss. There was mistletoe after all…
The tips of his ears were icy when I cupped them, and his nose was the same delightful, ruddy shade he turned all over in our bedroom.
“Aye! Knock it off! I swear the two of ye…” Sorcha complained from her perch.
Her complaints earned Tom another kiss, just to spite her. We werestillunder the mistletoe.
Behind us, Murray hauled the heavy log to the fireplace, now properly festooned. “Are ye ready?” he called.
Jamie came running back and slipped in the hall in his stockinged feet. He had far too many carrots for one sheep to eat clasped in his hands—though I had no doubts Fenella would manage it. “Jus a minute!” He yanked open the door and handed the beast a few carrots that she took with a pleased bleat. Then, from nowhere, he pulled a red strand of ribbon and tied it festively around her neck. The sheep allowed it, never once trying to charge him or shitting where he might step.
The blatant favoritism was beginning to grate.
Token accepted, she set off to her pen, which she had taken to quite happily. The lads decorated it for the holiday with evergreen boughs she had gleefully chewed bare spots into.
“Ready!” Jamie called after shutting the door behind Fenella and joining us in the drawing room.
I shoved Tom’s great coat to the floor before guiding him over to the chair I’d claimed. We settled there, in the chair too small for two, wrapped up in each other.
“Ye dinnae want to do the honors?” Murray asked.
