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“Really? Tom was so certain there would be snow.” Leah could see her every word grating on him. It brought her great joy, actually.

Mr. Hawthorne raised his eyebrows. “Are you questioning my expert opinion?”

“Of course not. How silly of me.” Leah could barely contain her smile. She really ought to be focusing on starting a conversation with Mr. Prescott or Mr. Newton, who had just entered the room, but she couldn’t help but want to vex Mr. Hawthorne further.

“What are you up to?” he asked, his low voice sending a chill across the back of her neck. She glanced at his face, which was leaned closer to hers than it had been before. The rich chocolate hue of his eyes was edged in gold, framed in dark lashes. Her words stumbled through her head, struggling to find a graceful landing.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said with an innocent look.

The matter couldn’t be discussed at the table—not with so many guests who could overhear. Mr. Hawthorne held her gaze, a challenge glinting in his eyes. She refused to be the first to look away, holding her neck and shoulders high.

“Will you pass the marmalade?” he asked finally.

“Gladly.” Leah reached out to fetch the dish from in front of her, extending it to him.

His eyes didn’t leave hers as he took it slowly, cautiously—as if he expected her to dump the marmalade all over his lap. His fingers brushed over hers as the weight of the dish left her hands.

The moment the exchange was over, she wiped her fingers on her skirts beneath the table. Her pulse was elevated, whether from the prolonged eye contact or the thrill of her schemes, she wasn’t certain. But it was unsettling.

She stole one more look at Mr. Hawthorne’s profile. The corners of his jaw were tight as he focused on his toast.

Miss Bowles left the sideboard with her plate and moved toward the empty chair on Mr. Hawthorne’s other side. He immediately engaged her in conversation.

Drat.

Leah had taken one opportunity from him but had given him another. Miss Bowles gave a shrill laugh at something he said. Surely she was only interested in him because Mr. Cole wasn’t in the room. Leah could content herself with Mr. Hawthorne being further down her list, at least.

But Leah wasn’t to be fretting over the lists of other women.

She needed to think of her own.

Mr. Woodward was an elusive one, to be sure. He was nowhere to be seen at breakfast. Mr. Newton was there, but he was seated on the opposite end of the table, and she was forced to endure Mr. Pritchard’s staring as she ate silently.

Leah’s only consolation was Lady Cartright swooping in to take the seat across from Mr. Hawthorne. Her gray hair was arranged in curls today, and she seemed to have taken fashion advice from Lady Dalmeer, her ruffled gown heavily embellished and cut low in the bodice. Her affection for Mr. Hawthorne clearly made him uncomfortable, as her eyes rarely left his face for the duration of the meal.

Leah grinned behind her cup.

Eight

As Felix had predicted, the afternoon brought no snow.

It was fortunate, because Lady Dalmeer had plans to send all the guests outside to scavenge for greenery with which to decorate the house in time for Christmas Eve.

Felix stood near the wall in the drawing room, arms crossed, as he watched Lady Dalmeer assemble the guests into groups. It would be a competition, with each group assigned to decorate a room of her choice. She seemed to be making her selections based on who had already been spending time together, so he hoped she would pair him with Miss Benson. If the countess was attempting to be a matchmaker, then he could only hope her intuition was trustworthy.

Felix crossed the room to Miss Benson with a bow and a greeting.

She smiled up at him. “Mr. Hawthorne, good afternoon.” She had a lovely smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She examined his face with a hint of reservation.

“I wish we could have spoken more at breakfast,” he said.

Miss Benson’s brow twitched. “You seemed to wish to spend the meal with Miss Sterling.”

Felix shook his head immediately. “No—I⁠—”

“You did give up your seat for her,” she countered. “I thought the entire thing to be contrived.”

It was contrived, but not by him. He paused to collect his thoughts, drawing a deep breath. “It is you I wish to speak to, I assure you. Are you otherwise engaged tomorrow morning? I thought to take a walk through the winter gardens and wondered if you would accompany me.”