Tonight had been the happiest since before his brother and sister-in-law had died. It was good to see the girls laughing and teasing.
If Miss Claywell hadn’t come along and discovered why the girls were always so somber and quiet, tonight would have been dull, as Christmas had been, with little joy to celebrate the holiday. He thought it had been the sadness of the first Christmas without the parents, and perhaps it was some of that, but it had been more.
He needed Miss Claywell, and not just for himself. She belonged in his family.
Yes, desire and need were what pulled him toward her, but it was so much more.
When Preston reached the parlor there was silence as Matilda slowly removed a stick from the stack as Miss Claywell and his nieces looked on. Preston stood behind and watched, the others leaned in. When it was free, Matilda took it and held it in the air.
“Fourteen, Miss Claywell...I mean, my queen.”
The others clapped.
“You have beaten me, Miss Matilda. A match well-played.”
Delia reached forward and scooped up the sticks and put them back in their box. “It is late, and we should be off to bed.”
The girls didn’t argue and jumped to their feet.
“Goodnight, Miss Claywell. Goodnight, Uncle Preston,” they called as they left the room, leaving him very much alone with the governess, not that Preston had any complaints.
He crossed to the sideboard.
“Would you care for a brandy?”
Miss Claywell stood and smoothed her skirts. “I shouldn’t.”
“It’s Twelfth Night.”
She worried her lower lip and he feared that she would decline.
“It isn’t right.”
“You are queen and can do as you please,” he reminded her.
“Is the king giving a dictate?” she asked, humor twinkling in her emerald eyes.
“If he must.” Preston poured the amber liquid into a sifter and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” Miss Claywell took it and settled into a chair. Preston wished she had sat on the settee, then he could have joined her.
“Thank you for including me tonight.”
“Why hadn’t you intended to join us?”
“Servants don’t belong at family celebrations,” she reminded him.
“I wouldn’t know,” he admitted. “There were no celebrations the short time that Miss Halton was here.” Nor had she been included when he visited.
“Of course not.”
Was it too soon to speak of love? If one of his friends spoke of love after such a short time, he’d think them mad.
Perhaps he was mad, and it wasn’t the Ambrose curse.
“The girls will visit Monique tomorrow?” he asked in clarification of what he already knew.
“Yes. We have an appointment in the morning. The girls should return by luncheon.”
