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Quickly, she slipped past Mrs. Wintle, carrying her waning candle and touching her lips at the memory of Mr. Cole’s mouth upon hers.

That kiss had been perfect. How she wanted to taste of it again. But she couldn’t. Because reality screamed louder than perfection. And the reality was, she had a mother to care for and a solicitor to find.

One more day, and she would be able to send off her letters and perhaps receive some in return.

And that was all that mattered. No matter how Mr. Cole had begun to turn her head.

Eighteen

Christmas day dawned bright and early for Clara. As expected, it was nothing like her Christmases of the past. Even still, there was a special feeling to the air, even with the servants. Everyone seemed more jolly, more willing to lend a helping hand, more than ready to express well wishes and a happy Christmas to all who passed.

Clara suspected everyone was excited for their own time off the following day, but for her, she knew why she was happy—tomorrow, she would finally be able to see if she’d received a correspondence from Father’s solicitor. She would also be able to send off a letter to Mother. She had it in her apron pocket at that very moment to keep Mother close to her that Christmas day.

Of course, there was another reason Clara’s joy had increased—and it had everything to do with her time with Mr. Cole.

In the light of day, she knew kissing him had been a substantial mistake, but she still could not get herself to regret the action, for each time she remembered it, each time she relived it, brought a renewed sense of joy to her soul, and that was welcome, indeed.

What was not welcome, however, was her level of distraction. She was late finishing up her cleaning, late to eating breakfast, and late to Miss Sterling to help her make ready for her to attend church with the rest of the guests that morning.

Even now, her hair was taking longer than usual, as her mind continued to remind her of the affection she’d experienced last night.

“You seem distracted this morning, Clara,” Miss Sterling said with a curious look to her eye as Clara finished the final touches of her hair.

“My apologies, Miss Sterling. It is simply the Christmas spirit, I suppose.”

“I hope you have a merry Christmas,” Miss Sterling said.

Clara smiled. “You as well, Miss Sterling.”

Once she was finally dressed, Miss Sterling paused, facing Clara with a sorrowful smile. “I have so enjoyed our time together. Grace is on the mend, though I do not know when she will be ready to see to me again. When the time does come, just know, I truly am grateful for your listening ear and talented hand.”

Miss Sterling left, and Clara’s heart warmed. She would miss working with Miss Sterling, as well. But replacing that service to remain with Mother in her own home, she would readily accept it.

After tidying the bedchamber and stoking the fire to ensure it was warm upon Miss Sterling’s arrival, Clara peered outside of the window, staring at the long trail of fine carriages with their teams of horses, all carrying the guests and Lady Dalmeer toward church that morning for the Christmas service.

Once the trail left, Clara knew she was safe to be about her other work of freshening up the other bedchambers.

Moving swiftly to be done before they all returned, she completed the ground floor fast enough, then moved to the first floor. As she neared Mr. Cole’s room, however, her work became sloppy as she grew distracted once again.

First, she forgot to clean the fire-irons in one room, then in the next, she somehow managed to entirely neglect changing the bedding.

By the time she reached Mr. Cole’s room, she’d become so frazzled, her thoughts were dodging back and forth like a Christmas robin.

She entered his bedchamber, closing the door firmly behind her without another thought, intent on finishing the room before he could happen upon her.

Her first task was to open the window to air out the space, hoping the cold, crisp, Christmas air would surely give her enough of a spark to rejuvenate her.

Then she moved to the bed. Mr. Cole’s room was always the cleanest. Most of the gentlemen and even the ladies had their bedding strewn about with underclothes tossed to the ground if their lady’s maids and valets hadn’t been bothered to have been called on the night before.

But never Mr. Cole’s. His blankets were always tucked up neatly, the pillows were always straightened and on the bed, and never was any article of clothing on the floor. Whether this was thanks to his valet or not, Clara wasn’t sure. She fancied Mr. Cole being a neat individual, or perhaps doing so for her sake, since he knew she cleaned his room.

Yet this morning, his bed looked awfully lumpy, the covers nowhere near as straightened as he typically left them. Paying no further heed to it, however, she pulled the top cover back first to the end of the bed.

“What the devil?”

Clara gasped, looking back at the top of the bed to see a man’s figure beneath the top sheet she—thank heavens—had not pulled back with the cover.

Mr. Cole sat upright, blinking hard and wincing as he clearly rose out of a deep sleep. The sheet slipped down from his top, revealing a bare torso and fine form she wouldn’t soon forget.