Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Mercy sat at the vicarage’s kitchen table while her mother bustled around the room, gathering supplies and piling stacks of shortbread on trays. Grace was nowhere to be seen, and the faint smell of rich, savory meat mixed with the aroma of hot tea, making the room cozy. She sipped at her cup of tea, eyeing the door to the sitting room. Papa had intercepted Colin and taken him away under the guise of gaining his opinion on the new violin he had recently acquired.

Colin was no aficionado of music. Or was he? Mercy did not know. He had usually participated in their Christmas choirs, it was true, but she had not seen him play a single instrument before.

“You may begin,” Mama said, setting a plate of shortbread in front of Mercy.

She had brought a basket full as well. It was increasingly difficult for her mother to narrow down the list of recipients each year, and the note she’d sent a few days ago proved just how true this still was .

“Grace walked down to Sophia Fairfax’s house. Her father has taken ill, so she brought them some jelly and a pot of Cook’s stew.”

That explained the savory odor. A loaf of bread sat on the work counter against the wall. “I hope he is feeling well before Christmas.”

“Can you imagine spending the holiday alone? That will be Sophia’s fate if her father is forced to remain abed, poor dear.”

Mercy could imagine it. She’d spent time in Winterbourne imagining that very thing. The year they had taken shortbread to Colin, they had known the roads were impassable and he was to remain in his drafty house alone. He had received invitations to join different families for dinner—Mercy had overheard them at church—but turned them down.

Whatever the reason, Colin had spent much of his life alone, hadn’t he?

Mercy bit back the bitter taste that left in her mouth and set her focus on wrapping the shortbread into small parcels and tying them with twine. With as many years as her parents had been distributing this treat among their parishioners at Christmas, it was plain no one was left unaware of the givers. Yet they insisted on keeping it anonymous when they could.

Mama sat beside her, and together they wrapped shortbread for a half-hour before the sitting room door opened. Colin stepped through alone, his eyes moving to Mama before settling on Mercy. His gaze had a heaviness she could not identify, but she could feel it to her toes.

“Would you care to join us, Mr. Birchall?” Mama asked, breaking the taut line of connection between them .

“Put me to work, Mrs. Caldwell.”

Mama’s smile was genuine. “If you insist.” She moved to the other side of the table. “Come. I’m sure you’d rather sit beside Mercy.”

Colin claimed the chair at her side, pulling it closer until it was near enough for his leg to brush hers. “I would never refuse such a treat.”

It was this comment that seemed to register differently for Mercy. Her body went still while her smile froze. He was not in earnest. He was only trying to prove their affection to her mother.

Mama popped up from her seat. “We need more twine. I’m certain I have some, somewhere…” Her words trailed off as she bustled from the kitchen, leaving them alone.

“Laying it on rather thick, aren’t you?” Mercy hissed, leaning close.

Colin pressed his arm against hers. “I think my behavior is perfectly acceptable.”

“If we were two ridiculous young people in the throes of a devotion.”

“We are plenty young,” he argued.

“But in no way violently devoted. It is not in either of our natures.”

He reached for some shortbread and put it in the center of the brown paper, then looked at her sidelong. “Perhaps we could be.”

She followed his lead, adding shortbread to her own square of paper and beginning to fold it, if for no other reason than to have an excuse to move her eyes from his searching gaze. The man was flirting with her, and she could not discern if it was part of his act or not. There was no one with them now, but he was being a little theatrical .

It occurred to Mercy in that moment how very much she wanted it to be real.

“Good heavens, but it is positively frigid outside,” Grace said, stepping through the kitchen door and stomping her feet at the threshold. She glanced up and her expression grew still when she noticed them at the table. Her nose and cheeks were tinged pink, her hair darkened from the falling snow. “Oh, you’re here.”

“We are,” Mercy said. “How is Mr. Fairfax?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. Sophia will likely not be at church. We ought to take them some shortbread.”

“Oh, dear. It’s as bad as that?” Mama said, bustling back into the kitchen. She put the twine on the table and went to help Grace remove her bonnet and gloves.

“Mrs. Bradford was outside when I passed her cottage, and she told me she intends to take dinner to them tomorrow. I think they will be well cared for.”

Mama nodded to herself, nibbling on a piece of shortbread while she sat at the table and started to wrap another bundle. Papa joined them, and soon they were all working together.

“Mr. Birchall has agreed to join our men in the choir.” He beamed.

Mercy snuck a look at Colin, whose smile became more of a grimace. “I will do my best, though I’ve not practiced.”

“Mercy can help you,” Papa said, disregarding this concern. “She knows the song well.” He lifted his eyebrows to her. “‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.’”

“Oh, yes,” she said, turning to speak to Colin. “I know—” She choked on her words, startled by his nearness and the watchful look on his face. Her cheeks heated, but he didn’t remove his attention .

“I know it well,” she finished weakly. It grew warm, and she was suddenly very thirsty. She turned back toward her dwindling pile of shortbread and put the last of it on a square of paper, folding and tying it closed with fumbling fingers. Colin had disturbed her greatly. She had spent the last few days with his aunt, undaunted by the need to prove their love to her, but now it felt different. Colin was acting differently.

“We need to begin delivering so we might finish before it grows dark,” Mama said, hurrying through her final package. “Dress warmly,” she reminded them before disappearing, ostensibly to fetch her own warm clothing.

Grace moved to the door and started putting her bonnet and gloves back on.

Mercy stood and pushed her chair back to the table.

“May I help you?” Colin asked, rising.

“With what?” she asked.

“Your warm things.”

She would have laughed had she not been trying to make a point to Grace. He was being too courteous.

He glanced at her sister and back to her. Mercy detected a glint of amusement in his eyes. Was this a game to him? She knew it to be a farce, of course, but she wanted it to be reasonable. Instead, she felt constantly on the verge of laughter, her smile unwilling to be subdued.

“That would be kind of you, Colin,” she said, moving toward the door. Grace watched them with interest, her eyebrows slightly raised. “Come this way.”

He followed her from the room, his hand resting on her back in a protective gesture she found she liked very much. When they made it to the front door and she opened the closet where their things were likely stored, he dropped his hand.

“I think it is working,” Colin whispered. “Did you see your sister’s expression?”

“Sister? I was thinking of my mother,” she said, pulling his coat and muffler from the closet. “She is giddy.”

“I noticed.” He grinned widely, then lowered his head so she might slip the muffler around his neck.

Mercy arranged it to cover his skin and handed him his hat. “Turn, and I will help you with your coat.”

“Thank you.” He did so and she slipped it up his arms and over his wide shoulders. Colin turned his neck to speak to her over his shoulder. “Was I not meant to help you, though?”

“You may.”

He took his gloves and put them in his pocket before reaching for her winter clothes and helping her put them on, layer by layer. They grew very quiet while Colin placed her bonnet over her hair and tied the ribbon, then reached for her cloak. He wrapped it around her shoulders, all levity gone from his expression. He focused on fastening it at her neck, his eyes glued to that place while she burned from the contact of his knuckles brushing her skin.

Mercy found her pulse thudding, enjoying the feeling of his ministrations.

He reached for her gloves, and she lifted her hand so he could slide it over her fingers. When he had finished with the second hand, he tightened the glove, then did not release her. Swallowing hard, he met her gaze.

“Thank you,” she said, the words scratchy and dry.

He nodded, his attention steady. “I did not realize how much I might enjoy fastening a cloak. ”

She had nothing to say. Enjoyment was a vast understatement for how she felt about the situation.

Colin took a step closer, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. His thumb drifted along her cheekbone. “Mercy,” he breathed.

“Oh, there you are! We wondered where you had gone off to,” Mama said, coming around the corner. She looked between them, her eyebrows raised.

Colin stepped back, clearing his throat. “We are ready.”

“Shall we?” Papa asked, joining them. He looked between Mercy and Colin like he suspected they were sharing a secret, then smiled. Whatever reservations Papa had felt before her wedding were evidently put to rest.

“We shall.” Mercy returned to the kitchen to carry a basket of shortbread parcels, and the family left to deliver them to friends and neighbors alike.

She caught Colin’s gaze as they climbed into Papa’s small wagon. Despite all logic, she thought maybe she detected a hint of true warmth there.

Or perhaps that was only wishful thinking. She nestled close to his side on the bench—under the guise of proving their love, of course—and he put his arm around her.

Mercy’s joy could not be dimmed. When she hazarded a glance up at Colin’s face, she noticed his smile was wide, his dimple popping.

Her stomach dipped pleasantly, and she leaned into him. She was fairly certain he tightened his hold on her as well.

Delivering shortbread took the remainder of the daylight. When Colin and Mercy returned to Winterbourne, they were tired, yet there were still a few hours before dinner would be served. They stood together in the entryway, removing their winter clothes—muffler, hat, gloves, cloak, bonnet.

“I think your father has terrible aim.”

“He meant to hit the ground between our legs, Colin,” she said. Papa had made a snowball and thrown it their way as they’d walked between some of the cottages. “He would not wish to hurt you.”

She was only glad he’d not scoffed and called her father childish during the interaction. Papa had merely been enjoying time with his family.

“It would have been more fun to throw the snowballs at each other.”

She looked up. “You are not upset about his antics?”

“No,” he said, looking down at her in surprise. “It did not bother me. But I hold with my initial opinion: he has terrible aim.”

“You seemed to rub along nicely tonight,” she said carefully. The last time they’d spoken about her father, Colin had not been so charitably minded.

“Yes,” he said, distracted. “We did. Mercy, I must see to Hubble and his progress. I will see you at dinner?”

“Yes, of course,” she said.

He left in a hurry, the particular warmth they had shared over the previous few hours noticeably absent. Did that mean it had all been an act, and she had believed it? She had known he was thickening his behavior for the purpose of proving themselves, but something within her had believed that a tendril of his actions at least was authentic. It felt like a sudden blow, returning to the way they had been before .

Mercy drew herself up. There was garland in the drawing room that needed her attention. Perhaps what Colin needed now was a push in the right direction—something to show him exactly how she felt.