“Because we can’t afford real gold leaf, only Dutch foil. And there are many reports that the copper in Dutch foil is bad for children.”
“Ah.” Money. It was always about the lack of filthy lucre. Even for him. He peered into Cass’s bowl. “What flavor is the icing?” he asked, though he already knew from having helped Mother with countless gingerbread houses as a child.
“Vanilla, of course. But I’m not sure it’s stiff enough to hold the pieces together. I may need more sugar.”
Before she could stop him, he scooped up a dollop with his finger, then licked it off. “Hmm. I agree. Definitely needs sugar.”
Cass’s smile caught him off guard. Her smiles were like watching the sun peek from behind a cloud, giving him hope that the day might be fine after all. Why must she have such a lovely smile?
His mother snatched the bowl and put it out of his reach. “Will you stop that? If you keep eating all our hard work, we’ll have nothing left. Go make yourself useful, and fetch your brother. The footmen are already setting up the tree in the ballroom. I was thinking of waiting to decorate it until Grey and Bea—and later, Thorn—arrive, but with the snow only partly melted, that might be quite late. So I suppose it’s best that we at least get a start on it. Tomorrow, we won’t have time, and I hate to disappoint the children on Boxing Day.”
“Boxing Day. Right.” He vaguely remembered his parents handing out boxes to the servants on the day after Christmas, adhering to the English custom, though the family was living in Prussia. But once he’d left home, he’d thought no more about it, and the practice had faded into the recesses of his memory. “Will these children be eating the Armitage Hall made of gingerbread?”
“They’ll be eating a gingerbreadcastle,” Cass chided him, though her eyes were dancing. “Assuming you don’t eat all the parts of it first.”
“Just one more . . .” he said, and reached for another piece of gingerbread.
His mother slapped his hand. Hard.
“Ow!” he said, rubbing his hand with a frown. “You’d think the stuff was actual gold from the way you ladies protect it.”
“If it were gold, you wouldn’thaveto fetch Sheridan,” Gwyn said mildly. “He’d already be in here calculating its worth and figuring out which bills to pay off with it. ’Tis a pity it’snotgold.”
Heywood’s gaze shot to Cass. “If it were, Sheridan would have to fightmefor it,” he said.
A blush rose in Cass’s cheeks that made him ache everywhere. Then she shifted her gaze from him, leaving him feeling bereft. God, but he hated this. It wasn’t fair. Heknewwhat he wanted. He just had no right to claim it.
Frustrated now, he left to find Sheridan. Any conversation with Cass about Malet would have to wait. Because if Heywood got her alone, he couldn’t be responsible for his actions. Then he’d have no choice but to marry her. Unlike Malet, he would never seduce and abandon a woman, no matter how much he desired her.
Shaking off the memory of poor Valeria’s lifeless body, he went in search of his brother. It took him only a short while to unearth Sheridan from the stacks of papers upon the desk in the study, which had once been their uncle’s and then their father’s. How strange to be in a place that by rights was home, yet didn’t feel remotely like home to Heywood.
“Mother wants you,” he told Sheridan.
Looking haggard, Sheridan pushed his chair back from the desk. “For what?”
“The tree has been erected in the ballroom. Though if you need me to tell her I couldn’t find you . . .”
“No, I’ll go.” Sheridan rose. “I need a break from poring over numbers that I can’t make work to my satisfaction.”
As they strode down the long hall with its picture windows, Sheridan paused to look out at the ice-crusted lawn and the melting icicles under the eaves. “You realize that Malet will be here as soon as the roads are passable. If his aim is revenging himself on you and Douglas, he will at least try to regain Kitty. Or have it out with you.”
“True. But it should take him a bit longer to come here. He’ll have headed north.” He’d told Sheridan everything after his brother had badgered him for the truth. Almost everything, that is. Sheridan didn’t know about his dilemma with Kitty and Cass.
“Have you a plan for dealing with him if he does show up here?” Sheridan asked.
“I do. When he comes to the door, my plan is to shoot him through the heart.”
Sheridan eyed him askance. “And then you will hang.”
“Ah, yes,” he said dryly. “I still haven’t worked out that tiny flaw.”
“In other words, you have no plan.”
Heywood shook his head no. “My original plan was to court Kitty myself, then marry her to keep her out of Malet’s reach. But now that . . .”
“Now that you’ve discovered Kitty is . . . shall we say . . . a bit . . .”
“Dull witted?”
