Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Christmas Eve was sunny and clear, the blue skies dotted with clouds, the air crisp and cold. Mercy had completed her wreaths, kissing boughs, and garland, but she needed to concoct a way to drive Colin from the house for a few hours so she could transform Winterbourne.

Sitting at the breakfast table, she spread jam over her toast and considered her options. Mrs. Johns had the goose dinner well in hand, and Mercy had promised to come down directly after breakfast to put the wassail on. If she could contrive to make Colin leave the house soon, she would be able to finish her decorating and have wassail waiting when he returned.

Colin stepped into the breakfast room, a soft smile falling over his face when he noticed her. “Good morning, Mercy.”

“Good morning,” she said brightly. “Have you any plans today?”

“I hoped to see to the attic repairs and make an inventory of what needs to be done in the servants’ rooms.” He frowned, looking at the window. “That blue sky bodes well, though. Perhaps I ought to join Hubble on the roof.”

“You could,” she agreed, wondering how that was any different from her joining Mrs. Johns in the kitchen. She swallowed the uncharitable thought. She wanted him distracted and absent—which would be achieved by him being on the roof. Away from the house entirely would be far better. “It is a good day for a ride.”

“Perhaps, but that is not such a good use of my time when our roof is leaking. Once that is taken care of, the repairs will feel less urgent.”

“True. It’s hard to know when we will have another sunny day like this.”

He rubbed his chin and took the seat beside her. “The roof it is.”

Well, on top of Winterbourne was better than inside the house, at least. She took a bite of her toast and reached for her tea.

“Do you have anything planned for today?” he asked.

She did, but she was not about to clue him in to her scheme. Or perhaps it would be less suspicious if she told him a little of her plan. “Mrs. Johns is permitting me use of the stove for a bit this morning so I can make my mother’s wassail recipe.”

She ate another bite of her toast and watched him absorb her words. Would he take issue with it?

To Colin’s credit, he took it in stride. “That is very kind of her to allow you use of the stove in your own kitchen.”

Mercy laughed. “That kitchen is very much Mrs. John’s domain.”

He shot her a playful smile. “I suppose I cannot argue that.” Colin held her gaze for a beat longer than proper formality called for, and it made her heart pound. Goodness, it was only a look. Why did she feel so breathless all of a sudden?

“Are you fond of wassail?” she asked, desperate for a distraction.

“I cannot recall the last time I drank any.”

She stood, pushing away from the table. “Then I will bring you some when you are finished with Hubble.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Mercy curtsied and hurried toward the door.

“Mercy?”

She paused at the threshold and looked over her shoulder. Colin was handsome in his blue coat, his cravat tied neatly and his hair combed. His smile was far more relaxed than his clothing, and she felt a surge of attraction for him when he looked at her in that way. “Yes?”

“Would you like to go with me to find a Yule log today?”

“That would be agreeable.” She immediately thought how lovely it would be to sit in the drawing room with the kissing boughs and garland on the mantle, a large fire burning in the hearth and a cup of warm wassail in her hands.

When he said nothing more, she made her escape, hurrying down to the kitchen to set the wassail to a simmer so she could gather the servants and begin instructing them on the decorations. It took all of a quarter-hour to put the wassail together amidst Mrs. Johns’ cooking mess. She and Lydia, the new kitchen maid, seemed to be working well together preparing for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner.

“Will you take it from the stove in an hour if I do not return?” Mercy asked, reaching behind herself to untie her apron .

“Of course, madam.”

She left them and the warm scent of citrus and cinnamon behind, going in search of Flint. She found Lewis coming down the stairs and chose to speak to him, instead.

“Do you know where Mr. Birchall is?”

“Outside, I believe, ma’am. He went up to assist Mr. Hubble.”

“Perfect.” Her smile grew, her body anxious with delicious anticipation. “How would you like to help me orchestrate a surprise for Mr. Birchall?”

Lewis nodded gravely. “It would be my honor, ma’am.”

“Very good. Find whatever servants can be spared and meet me in the drawing room, please.” She started to turn away when she noticed the look of hesitation in his eyes.

“Will Mr. Birchall approve?—”

“You leave Mr. Birchall to me, Lewis.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He left, but she could tell he was uneasy. She brushed off the concern and made her way toward the drawing room. She had a house to decorate and very little time to see it done.

As it turned out, Colin must have greatly impressed his desire for no one to enter the drawing room into each of his servants, for it took a good deal of persuasion to convince them to join Mercy inside. She explained her objective, and they immediately set to work, applying garland to both sides of the railing lining the grand split staircase. They hung wreaths over the doors, kissing boughs through some of the corridors, and lined the mantle in the drawing room with greenery. Everything was dotted with red holly berries or white mistletoe berries, and the sharp earthy scent of evergreen and sweet aroma of holly filled the house.

Wassail simmered in the kitchen, making the sharp tang of cinnamon, apple, and orange waft through the halls.

It was, simply put, magical. All they needed was a Yule log burning in the hearth.

Mercy walked around the house, adjusting things here or there to ensure perfection. She wanted everything to be just right. She let herself down the corridor and into the drawing room. The harsh sounds of banging overhead proved the men were still working on the roof, and she was grateful they were willing to continue, even on the eve of Christmas.

Powder rained down from the molding on the ceiling and Mercy stepped out of the way. She looked at the mess on her shoulder and brushed it off. In all her time in the drawing room, she had yet to experience anything like that. The attic and servants’ rooms were nestled between the drawing room and the roof, so she didn’t understand how the roof repairs would affect the ruined plaster in this particular space.

Mercy stepped back further and admired the hearth, her hands clasped in front of her and a wide smile spreading over her lips. It looked positively perf?—

“What is the meaning of this?” Colin said behind her, pulling her from warm thoughts of surprising him. His carefully modulated tone made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. “Mercy?”

She turned to face him slowly. He looked thunderous, standing in the doorway. “I decorated,” she said, stating the obvious. “It is Christmas Eve, Colin.”

“I am perfectly aware of the date. What I do not understand is why you expressly ignored my wishes when you were fully aware of the danger of being in this room.”

Unease slithered down her spine. “I know you dislike the falling plaster, but thus far, no one has been injured. Until today, nothing has even fallen loose from the ceiling.”

“Until today?”

She closed her mouth. She was not going to admit that moments ago she had been rained on. It was only dust, after all.

He crossed the room, coming to stop on the other end of the rug from her. His brow was stern, folded into irritation.

This was nothing like she had imagined in the days she had planned, prepared, and executed her surprise. She felt flat, her stomach dropping with chagrin, but then a sense of umbrage stole over her. She’d not been injured, and she had worked hard to turn their home into a veritable Christmas haven. “You are being overly cautious, and I did not do anything reckless.”

He scoffed. “It is not reckless to subject your servants to the possibility of plasterwork or pieces of the ceiling falling on their heads?”

“Goodness, Colin. You speak as though I do not care for their safety. I spent a good deal of time in here alone before I trusted it enough to invite?—”

“You should not have done so at all,” he snapped. “I told you it was unwise.”

“Yes, but how could I have managed to surprise you otherwise? This is the only room you do not enter.”

He looked taken aback by this revelation and glanced about the room as though seeing the greenery for the first time. Had he not noticed the stair railing? The kissing boughs or wreaths on the doors in the entryway? She had worked tirelessly when she could steal pockets of time over the last few days to do this for him. Was he truly so blind to what really mattered?

Mercy had never felt smaller. “I cannot be the wife you want me to be, Colin. I can only be who I am.”

He tucked his chin, leaning back. “I have never requested you be anything different.”

“Have you not? It seems, since I arrived, I have done nothing befitting the mistress of Winterbourne. If you had wanted obedience, Colin, you ought to have married a hound.”

His face hardened. “You are being unfair.”

The pounding above them intensified and more plaster rained down from the ceiling between them, like freshly falling snow.

Colin’s eyebrows shot up. “I told you it was unsafe. We need to leave before another chunk falls.”

She folded her arms over her chest, being obstinate. “I would prefer we talked first. We cannot maintain a marriage where we disagree so heartily on proper behavior. You tell me I am not to weed the garden or help Mrs. Johns, yet you assist Mr. Hubble with the floors and the roof? I am not meant to be idle, Colin. I cannot sit about all day and sew. It is not in my nature, and it is not what my parents raised me to be. Had you wanted an idle wife, Sophia Fairfax would have been a better choice.”

His face shifted into confusion. “What has Sophia to do with anything?”

“Do not play coy with me. She is biddable and beautiful. In any matter, it isn’t relevant now.”

“I think it is exceedingly relevant. If you are miserable here, Mercy, I would like to know. ”

“Miserable?” She scoffed. “Colin, I love it here. What I do not love is feeling as though I will never be quite up to scratch. I cannot be the wife you want.”

He stared at her, his jaw working. His eyes were hard, assessing.

Mercy was overcome with a wash of fatigue. She didn’t have the heart for this conversation any longer, especially not on the heels of such disappointment.

She moved toward the door. “I will see this is cleaned up.”

“We need to talk about this,” he said.

She stopped walking and looked at him. “Perhaps when this?—”

The pounding sounded louder than before and the ceiling shook, raining down powdery debris on Mercy’s head. She blinked, her eyes stinging from the grit, when another loud bang preceded a cracking sound.

Mercy was aware of her name being shouted as something hard hit her on the head. Everything went black.