Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mercy took extra care to dress for dinner, using Dorothy’s help to put up her hair and select the best necklace to match her emerald gown. She dressed early so Colin would have the room to himself. Then, while he was occupied, she snuck into the drawing room to continue assembling her kissing boughs and wreaths before it was time to meet Colin. She curled vines and leaves around twigs, using twine to tie them in place, then curled more vines around them to thicken the boughs. The room smelled rich and earthy, the sharp tang of pine filling the room. She was only in want of a roaring fire and a glass of wassail to feel like Christmas.

Mercy watched the clock, and when it grew too close to wait any longer, she put her things aside and crept toward the door. She pulled it open, listening for anyone who might be walking by. When she was satisfied she remained alone in the vicinity, she quietly stepped from the room, closing the door and laying the rope across the handle again to keep the maids away .

It seemed overcautious. In all honesty, not a speck of plaster had fallen during her time in that room. She imagined the work Hubble and his men were doing on the roof during the day was working to help stem the decay indoors.

“What were you doing in there?” a deep voice asked behind her.

Mercy squealed and spun to face the sound. She hit her back on the door, righting herself swiftly only to face Colin. His arms were crossed over his chest, his narrowed eyes fixed on her.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing?” His voice was thick with doubt. “It crossed my mind briefly that you believed we were meant to meet in the drawing room instead of the dining room’s antechamber, except for the way you snuck out.”

She sucked in a breath. “I did not sneak .”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raised. “What do you call it then?”

Drat, he had caught her. Perhaps redirection was a better course of action. “Shall we go through together?” She started toward the dining room like he had not just caught her coming from a forbidden room. But really , she had been perfectly safe. And it was the best place to hide her greenery while she assembled the wreaths and garlands.

Colin dropped his arms. “You cannot truly believe I am so easily distracted. Mercy, what were you doing in there?”

“Nothing,” she insisted, resting her hand on the bare railing overlooking the entryway.

“If you will not tell me, I will see for myself.” He started for the drawing room door.

“No!” Mercy hurried toward him, putting herself between him and the drawing room. “Can you not leave it be? I told you it was nothing. ”

“You are hiding something.”

She couldn’t fault him for that. It was the truth. “But it is not a bad thing,” she insisted. “It is only something I do not wish for you to see yet.”

His eyes narrowed again. He moved as though he would pass her, but she put her hands up, pressing against his chest to stop him.

“Trust me.”

Colin seemed to hold his breath. She could feel the steady thrum of his heart beating, the swift pounding matching her own. It took a bit longer than she would’ve liked for him to give her a nod. “Very well, but I don’t like the idea of you being in there.”

“I’ve yet to have any plaster fall on my head, if that is a comfort.”

“Shockingly, it isn’t. You know, it only takes once for you to be hurt.”

To his credit, the idea of this genuinely seemed to concern him.

It wasn’t until Colin glanced down at her hands that she realized she was still pressing against his chest. She dropped her arms to her sides. “Shall we go to dinner?”

“We ought to come up with a plan now,” he said, turning for the stairs down to the dining room.

Mercy fell in step beside him. “Lady Edith and I chatted for a good length of time today about our families while we were in the kitchen. She wondered about our relationship the last few years and how long we’ve been friends.”

“That is all good, but we must prove we could possibly fall in love in the future.”

“To that end, I think I have done more for us than you give me credit for. ”

“Yet when I joined you in the kitchen, your stare could have frozen me, it was so full of ice.”

“Perhaps you should be less concerned with a little mess and more concerned with the state of…” She trailed off and shook her head. She could not change Colin, nor did she want to. Earlier in the kitchen, when he had irritated her, it was merely because of his seeming embarrassment to find her baking with his aunt. It irked her, his staunch refusal to acknowledge that she was no less than anyone else simply because she was not afraid to dirty her hands. Perhaps it was not entirely natural for the mistress of a grand estate, but she enjoyed baking and being in the garden and chatting with the servants—most of whom she knew fairly well merely from living in the same village. Becoming the mistress of Winterbourne did not make her so lofty she must immediately disregard many of the people she had pleasantly chatted with before becoming Colin’s wife.

But how to make him see this?

“What is troubling you?” he asked again, stopping in the corridor just outside the antechamber. “Are you keeping something else from me?”

This time a fissure of misgiving shot through her. “It’s no great secret. I am very much not cut out to be a fine mistress of such a grand estate. I far prefer maintaining comfortable relationships with my servants and making my own shortbread at Christmas.”

He seemed to struggle with how to respond.

She shook her head, dislodging the uneasiness and putting it aside. “We should go in. Your aunt will be with us soon.”

“Mercy,” he said, quietly reaching for her hand. His fingers were gentle when they came around her palm, gripping her so lightly she wanted to step closer to him, to incite a firmer hold. “I suppose my mother has filled my head with an idea of what the mistress of Winterbourne ought to be. I don’t know any differently. I do not mean to control the way you choose to run this house.”

She felt tears spring to her eyes unaccountably, but was prevented from responding when the door to the antechamber swung open.

Lady Edith stood there, her eyes sliding down to their hands. Her presence made it impossible to reply to Colin, so Mercy squeezed his fingers, a promise the conversation could continue when they were alone again. He gave her a soft smile, and she looked for the dimple in his cheek, but it did not show.

“Shall we go in to dinner?” Lady Edith asked. “Or shall we skip the meal entirely and enjoy the shortbread straightaway? I have a feeling I know why you are being so sweet, Mercy. Trying to warm our judge in your favor, are you?”

Mercy grinned. “I suppose if you didn’t want a biased judge, you should not have chosen my husband.”

Lady Edith cackled, her cane hitting the rug with muted thuds as she crossed the room. Colin hurried to her side to offer his arm, and Mercy watched him move with grace, despite his long limbs and wide shoulders. He was very handsome, even with his fastidious hair pomaded just so and his immaculate coat. She would be hard-pressed to find a single smudge on his entire ensemble.

When compared to the perfection he often displayed, she could see why her unkempt, flour-dusted chin had left something to be desired.

Yet she could not find it in herself to be embarrassed.

Colin helped each of the women into their chairs before taking his seat at the head of the table. Mercy caught his eye as she pulled off her gloves and laid them in her lap. They never had discussed a plan to prove their affection for one another. She hoped being caught holding hands when they were speaking privately worked in their favor. The truth was her heart still raced from that interaction.

She faced Lady Edith. “Did you enjoy your rest?”

“There are more lumps in the mattress than I recall, but I made do. Next time I visit, I expect to see much more of the house opened. A bedchamber on the north side of the house would suit me well.”

Colin seemed uneasy. He reached for the stem of his glass, turning it slightly until the pattern matched up just so. He reached down and shifted his knife before his hand stilled. He was clearly unsettled, and she imagined it was from not knowing whether Lady Edith intended to leave him the money to finish work on the house.

Mercy thought a change of subject was best. “I’m glad to hear you would like to return. We would love to see you again.”

“Have you seen a doctor recently?” Colin asked, concerned. Did he fear she wouldn’t be well enough for a return visit?

Lady Edith lifted her wine glass and drank, refusing to respond. “Let’s speak of more pleasant things, shall we?”

Mercy exchanged a glance with Colin. They had no choice but to comply.

When dinner was through, one of the new footmen, Lewis, brought out a tray bearing two plates of shortbread. Colin sat at the head of the table, sandwiched between his wife and his aunt, and stared at the tray. It was impossible to tell them apart, and nothing about the plates indicated which woman had baked which shortbread.

Blast it all, he was going to choose the wrong one. He knew it.

“Mrs. Johns told me which shortbread belongs to which lady,” Lewis said.

Colin selected a piece and took a bite before setting it down on his own plate. Well, that was the winner. It had to be. It was utterly delicious, buttery and crumbly. He sipped his wine to clear his mouth, then ate a piece from the other plate. His chewing slowed to nearly a stop. They tasted the same. Equally buttery, equally crumbly, melting in his mouth.

He looked up at each of the women before settling his gaze on Lewis. “Are you certain these aren’t from the same pan?”

Lewis shook his head. “I watched Mrs. Johns put them on the plates, I did.”

Colin took a second bite from each plate. He could not detect a difference. To him, they still tasted the same. The women watched him with interest until he put his shoulders up. “I’m not sure what you expect from me. There isn’t a better shortbread. They are identical.”

He thought he could detect a hint of relief in Mercy’s relaxed posture.

“Give it here,” Lady Edith said, reaching for the tray.

Colin slid the tray closer to her, and she pinched a bite from shortbread on each plate, chewing thoughtfully. Her gaze snapped to Mercy. “As loath as I am to admit this, I have to agree. ”

“Let me try,” Mercy said. She repeated the process and chuckled. “We ought to compare our recipes.”

“I would, if it did not make me fear an angry visit from my mother-in-law,” Lady Edith said, reaching for another piece of shortbread and nibbling on the edge.

“Did she not die years ago?” Colin asked.

“Precisely. The last thing I want for Christmas is a visit from an angry ghost.”

Colin chuckled at her ridiculousness. He caught Mercy’s eye, her amused smile radiant. “Shall we adjourn to the library?” he asked.

They agreed. The women walked together from the room, Colin following close behind.

“We give shortbread to many of our neighbors at Christmas each year,” Mercy said to Lady Edith. “I’ve had a good deal of practice.”

“What fortunate neighbors you must have.”

“I suppose I’ve used that word liberally. We often deliver them all over the parish, so it is not necessarily the same families who receive baked goods each year. We try to choose people who might need an extra measure of love.”

“Your father must be privy to personal situations among his parishioners.”

Mercy nodded. “He tends to know who is in need.”

The women disappeared into the library, but Colin remained in the corridor, her words having caught him by surprise. He wanted to follow them but found his feet wouldn’t move.

Did Mercy know she was talking about him ?

A few years ago, he had experienced an exceptionally trying season. It was not that he had been unhappy precisely; he had merely been lonely. To make matters worse, he had opted not to join his sister’s family for Christmas because the roads were overladen with early snow, and he deemed it unsafe to venture clear to Devonshire.

On a particularly trying day just before Christmas, when his house had been silent, Mrs. Johns had presented him with a small, brown paper-wrapped package of shortbread. She had told him it was from a friend in the village. She would not reveal who, and at the time he did not press, but it had lifted his spirits to know someone had thought of him.

Knowing that person was Mercy and her family filled him with a strange bubbling warmth he couldn’t quite push away.

Mercy appeared in the doorway, pulling him from his memories. “Is everything all right?”

“Shortbread,” he said, as though it had just occurred to him she had made some. “You make shortbread.”

She peered at him with uncertainty. “We have discussed this at length already.” There was a hint of defensiveness in her tone, and he imagined she thought he was going to rebuke her further for her baking.

He shook his head a little, still reeling from the discovery. “A few years ago, at Christmas, you brought me shortbread.”

She froze, her green eyes snapping to his.

“It was you,” he repeated quietly. The reality settled in his stomach like a warm cup of tea on a cold day, soothing his tired body and making him relax.

“Do not abandon me in here,” Lady Edith called, snapping them from the moment. “I’ll be gone tomorrow and you shall have all the time in the world to be romantic together then.”

He held Mercy’s gaze for another minute, neither of them saying anything, before gesturing to the library. She let out a breath and went inside. He swallowed, following her. Despite telling himself it hadn’t meant anything in particular, he could not shake the feeling that his wife had long since meant more to him than he had realized.