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In short, Mrs. Thackpenny was utterly delightful.

Brandon couldn’t help but feel the improvement in her temperament had also benefited the others in her household. Whereas before, he was typically met with stern, solemn-faced servants, now they bore smiles.

Just the other day, he’d even caught the much jollier Flannery flirting with Mrs. Wilkie beneath the kissing bough. Color had infused their flushed faces, and a romantic spark shone in their eyes.

Brandon would like to catch Joy beneath that same kissing bough. Today was her birthday, and he’d been invited to dine with her and Mrs. Thackpenny.

When was the last time they’d invited a guest for dinner?

It wouldn’t surprise him if his much-improved patient hadn’t dined with anyone other than a companion for a decade or more.

He’d not even lowered his hand to his side before the door swung open.

Flannery stood there in a sharp new black suit, appearing as pompous and official as any ducal butler. “Good evening, sir,” he drawled with the perfect blend of deference and confidence that only a butler could convey.

“Good evening, Flanders.”

Disappointment rutted around Brandon’s middle because Joy hadn’t answered his summons as she frequently did. But then again, perhaps, she was taking special care with her appearance. It was her birthday, after all. Brandon had broken every societal protocol in having a gown made for the occasion.

Not giving a donkey’s behind, he’d stepped way beyond the mark and asked Mrs. Wilkie to procure Joy and Mrs. Thackpenny’s measurements. After a bit of cajoling and intentional charming on his part, he’d finally persuaded the woman to do his bidding. Or mayhap, it was the promise of a Christmas goose and all of the trimmings that caused the cook’s eventual capitulation.

This afternoon, the gowns had been delivered to Joy and her companion. A soft wild rose for Mrs. Thackpenny, which the knowledgeable modiste had insisted was perfectly appropriate for a mature woman. And for Joy, an ice-blue evening gown trimmed in Mechlin lace to match her remarkable eyes.

Tonight, he planned to invite them to join him for Christmas at Rockford Park. Even Mrs. Thackpenny’s pets were welcome. He’d already sent word to Connor. His older brother had responded in his usual bantering manner, asking if Brandon had, at last, lost his heart.

Yes, big brother, my prayers have been answered. I have fallen in love with the most remarkable, extraordinary, beautiful woman.

However, his brother would not be made privy to that information until the woman who’d possessed Brandon’s heart was aware of that fact herself. He had every intention of rectifying that situation at the earliest opportunity.

“Your coat, my lord?” Flannery frequently addressed Brandon by his peerage honorific.

Brandon suspected it was because he was the only lord to grace this house in decades, and it made the aged servant feel important.

Taking in the bouquet of evergreens and holly atop a new table in the entry, he smiled inwardly. The place looked like a home now and not a gloomy mausoleum.

“Thank you, Flannery,” Brandon said, passing his outwear to the man. “Are they in the salon?”

“Mrs. Thackpenny is, sir. Miss Winterborne has not come down yet.”

After setting Brandon’s possessions aside, Flannery drew himself up. He gripped his crisp lapels in either hand and noisily cleared his throat. Staring straight ahead at some point beyond Brandon’s shoulder, the servant intoned, “Mrs. Wilkie and I would like to express our appreciation and gratitude for the changes you have wrought in this household, my lord. I never would have believed it possible had I not witnessed the transformation with my own eyes.”

Brandon clasped the man’s boney shoulder. “All it takes is a little Christmas spirit, persistence, patience, and a generous dose of kindness.”

“I don’t know about that, my lord, but we are most indebted to you. It seems you are able to heal the soul as well as the body.” He inclined his head, his sparse gray hair slicked back with pomade. “This way, if you please.”

Checking a smile at the man’s formal air, Brandon allowed himself to be guided to the salon.

“Lord Brandon Morrisette,” Flannery intoned with the solemnity of a royal majordomo.

The furniture had been rearranged to accommodate a hotter fire. Nonetheless, as was her wont, Mrs. Thackpenny sat upon her usual settee. A queen upon her throne. Poppet on one side and Whiskers on the other. A smile wreathed her lined face. Attired in the gown he’d secretly ordered and had delivered, she lifted her gloved hands to him in welcome.

“Doctor Morrisette.”

Ah, so she’d actually worn the gown.

Brandon considered that a huge milestone to have achieved. After five decades, she’d finally put aside her mourning weeds. Hopefully, she would look to her future now rather than dwell in the past.

“My dear boy. You’ve truly outdone yourself.” Mrs. Thackpenny beamed, the pale rose satin giving her skin a healthy glow. She’d even donned a diamond pendant, earrings, and a bracelet. A trace of the once beautiful woman still lingered, and dressed in her finery, she presented quite a regal figure.