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What a load of blatant fustian rubbish, but Joy adored him all the more for it.

After an expected pretense at fussing and objecting, Mrs. Thackpenny had eagerly unwrapped the first parcel, only needing Joy’s assistance to help untangle a knot in the string.

Delicious foods and what Brandon deemed essential holiday decorations filled the brown paper wrapped boxes. A ham, ginger biscuits, Shrewsbury biscuits, maid of honor tarts, pies, sweetbreads, puddings, and much, much more.

Flannery and Mrs. Wilkie had nearly wept in appreciation.

For once, the entire household was in danger of becoming plump.

That first day, Brandon had brought swags of pine boughs and holly for the fireplace mantels in the salon and dining room.

“What are you trying to do, you impudent bacon-brain?” Mrs. Thackpenny had snapped. “I don’t observe the holiday,” she’d harrumphed, glaring at him with her arms folded.

He’d blithely ignored her and called upon Flannery and Mrs. Wilkie to help him and Joy display the garlands. Mrs. Thackpenny, despite her grumblings, had pointed her cane several times, directing the foursome to raise one side or lower another.

The second day, Mrs. Thackpenny, after turning a starchy eye upon a grinning Brandon and muttering, “Insolent rapscallion,” had whisked open a box of vibrant cranberry-red and gold bows.

Naturally, Brandon set Joy and the delighted servants to tying them upon the sconces, lamp bases, and banister. Lady Persephone Poppington and Sir Galahad Whiskerton also found themselves festooned with a merry Christmas bow each.

A degree of festiveness had crept into nearly every corner of the previously depressing house, and it was all due to Brandon Morrisette. If Joy believed in such nonsense, she’d suspect he possessed magical powers, for what he’d achieved with Mrs. Thackpenny was nothing short of miraculous.

How he had wheedled his way into the contrary woman’s good graces, she couldn’t quite say. But the menu had improved, and Mrs. Thackpenny now actually permitted fires in all of the occupied rooms. In truth, the past week had been the most enjoyable of Joy’s life since leaving Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women. It wasn’t just the improvement in her living conditions either.

Today, the darling man had dragged a kissing bough and sprigs of mistletoe out of the boxes he’d brought.

Mrs. Thackpenny astonished Joy by clapping her hands and laughing out loud.

Mrs. Thackpenny did not laugh.

Neither did she clap her hands with the exuberance of an excited child.

Indeed. Brandon Morrisette was either a miracle worker or a wizard.

Mrs. Thackpenny had then proceeded to regale them with a tale of how she’d met her dearly departed husband at a Christmastide house party. When he’d stolen a kiss beneath a kissing bough, she’d lost her heart to him.

Joy’s heart twinged at the obvious love the old woman had felt for her husband. She’d loved him so deeply and wholly, she’d never remarried. In time her bereavement and loss had turned her bitter and caustic.

But since Brandon had begun paying marked attention to her, charming her with his gentle humor and considerate bedside manner, the hard shell she’d protected herself with for five decades had begun crumbling away.

Sniffling, Mrs. Thackpenny fished around inside her sleeve in search of one of the many handkerchiefs Joy had embroidered for her. A wistful smile framing her mouth, she’d daintily dabbed beneath her spectacles.

Joy’s gaze had meshed with Brandon’s, and an electrical current had charged between them despite the several feet that separated them.

He’d given the kissing bough a pointed look and then winked at her.

Joy’s all too eager imagination had run amuck this past hour, trying to determine precisely what he’d alluded to.

Surely, he hadn’t meant he’d like to kiss her?

At the thought, her heart tumbled over itself, and she very nearly missed a step.

Every year, for as long as Joy could recall, she’d made a wish on Christmas Eve.

Oh, she’d stopped believing they’d actually come to pass many, many years ago. Regardless, what harm was there in wishing? Sometimes, especially these past five years, she had a hard time deciding what to wish for.

Not this year.

No indeed.