Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Bullet pudding was exactly as messy as Colin had recalled, and he enjoyed it as much as he had expected, especially with a full belly from Mrs. Johns’ delicious meal making him heavy and sluggish. He should be in his library, drinking port, not down in the kitchen playing children’s games. How he had convinced himself to make this happen, he did not know. The entire ordeal had been his idea.

Mercy and Grace were perched across from him at the worktable in the kitchen, their eyes gleaming. The worst of the lot was Mr. Caldwell, who stood beside Colin with his hands pressed together in glee. The man was a menace.

“I thought you would be on my side,” Colin muttered. “We men ought to stick together.”

“Not in a game, son,” Mr. Caldwell argued. “That is when it becomes every man for himself.”

Colin gave his father-in-law a heavy look. “I shall remember that when we are teamed up for charades later.”

Mr. Caldwell laughed heartily.

Colin had put it off for too long. He’d made the coin fall with his careless cutting of the flour, and now it was time to find it with his teeth. He dove in, face first, and rooted around until his nose hit the coin. It took some maneuvering, but he got the metal bit in his teeth and raised his face to the clapping and cheers all around him.

Mrs. Johns had even joined in from her position near the stove, if his sight could be relied upon. Currently it was a little addled by the flour.

Mercy’s laugh broke through the noise. She approached him and picked the coin from between his teeth. “Well done.”

“I told you I would lose.” His mouth was dry and his skin gritty with powder.

“You should be more positive. Perhaps it would help you next time.” She wiped his face with a small dry towel, removing the flour from his eyelashes and making it easier for him to see her wide, beaming smile. At once, it was all worth it.

Lady Edith had been correct in her advice again. Allowing himself to become a little messy had been a wonderful idea—he did not regret it in the least, and Mercy, it seemed, had loved it after all.

“If you’d like to change, we can wait for you in the library,” she said.

“That isn’t necessary.” He took the towel from her and wiped at his shoulders. “I can do a well enough job of dusting off here.”

“Shall I fetch my feather duster?” she offered.

He laughed. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Mama should have joined us,” Grace said, beginning to gather the flour on the counter and return it to the bowl. If there was one thing to be said for the Caldwell women, they did not wait around to be told what to do. When they saw a task, they stepped in without a word.

“Your mother likely enjoyed her moment of peace,” Mr. Caldwell said. He winked at Mrs. Johns. “That was one of the best dinners we’ve had in a good long while, but don’t anyone go mentioning it to Cook.”

“You flatter me, Vicar,” Mrs. Johns said, but her rosy cheeks betrayed her pleasure all the same.

“I will return to your mother so she is not waiting alone,” Mr. Caldwell said, then left for the stairs.

Colin accepted a second clean towel from Mercy and wiped his face and forehead. He’d underestimated his father-in-law. Though he had never questioned the man’s spiritual leadership, he had wondered at his methods for ministering and connecting with his parish. Now he could plainly see that none of Mr. Caldwell’s joviality precluded him from doing his job, and his teasing disposition was only that—a silliness that could be put aside when needed.

Mercy took the towel from his hands and spun him, then dusted his shoulders from the back. “How did you manage to cover yourself so thoroughly?”

“It is a skill of mine,” he said drily.

“You need a valet to work through this coat later,” Mercy muttered. “You should have added that position to the list to begin with.”

“Perhaps, but I was more concerned with filling the other positions first. I’d been without a valet for so long, it hadn’t seemed necessary.” Which was the truth, but he had also believed it would be difficult to find someone who could maintain his clothing the way he liked it. Mixing his own polish and keeping his clothing pristine took a great deal of time, but at least he knew it was being done right .

Mercy looked at him. “That cannot be the only reason. I can see it on your face now.”

He blushed. She would think him ridiculous, surely.

Grace finished cleaning up the flour and left to find a broom.

“I am very particular, Mercy,” he whispered. “I did not want to go to the trouble of hiring someone, only to send them away because they could not complete my toilette to my specifications.”

Mercy shook her head. “That is why you teach them.”

Grace returned with a broom and Lydia followed her from the stillroom, gently taking it. “Let me finish this up, madam.”

“Thank you, Lydia,” Mercy said. “Shall we join Mama too?”

Colin felt he was as clean as he was going to become without a bath, so he put the second towel with the first and followed Mercy and Grace upstairs. When he’d decided to ask Mercy to marry him, he had come to the conclusion that he could very well put up with the oddities of her family for the sake of a good marriage and Lady Edith’s promised fortune. He’d had no notion at the time that he had been so wrong, that her family was one of the things he would grow to appreciate in their arrangement. It had been so long since he’d had family in this house—four long years of quiet.

Mr. Caldwell’s laugh and Mrs. Caldwell’s stories at dinner and Grace’s teasing had filled their dining room with more than just bodies to share a Christmas dinner with. They had filled Colin’s heart.

A fire roared in the library hearth, shining against the waxy holly leaves and fading red berries on the mantle garland. Mrs. Caldwell’s cheeks were flushed and she’d moved to a seat further from the fireplace, but Grace eagerly took the place nearest the hearth.

Colin sat on the settee opposite them, glad when Mercy lowered herself close to his side.

“Shall we play charades?” Grace asked, grinning. “I’ll have you know that my Mr. Raybourne is absolutely brilliant at charades. When he returns to town, we shall have to prove it.”

Mercy’s hand found Colin’s and entwined their fingers. “We’ll play charades, but only if Mama agrees to go first.”

They looked to their mother, who gave a long-suffering sigh before pilfering a ginger biscuit from the plate on the small table between her chair and Mr. Caldwell’s. “Very well. Anything for my darling girl.”

Colin squeezed Mercy’s fingers as the exact same thought went through his mind. Anything for you, Mercy.

There had been a time last month, after Colin had first proposed marriage, when Mercy had the uncharitable thought that she would be happy to have a long break from needing to see her family. Grace had offended her with her refusal to accept that Mercy’s engagement was anything less than a spiteful maneuver. It had hurt to know her sister viewed her so callously. Not wanting to be the final Caldwell girl to marry had influenced her acceptance, but the speed at which they were married had nothing to do with it. That was entirely Colin’s doing.

Now, after waving farewell while they bundled close together for the walk back to the vicarage—Papa had outright refused Colin’s carriage on the grounds that a brisk walk home would be faster than the time it took to ready the horses—Mercy could not imagine Christmas without them.

They closed the door and locked the bolt. Mercy faced Colin and was overcome with a surge of affection for him.

“What is it?” he asked with some suspicion, tilting his head.

Mercy swallowed a laugh and stepped forward into his arms, threading her hands behind his back and resting her head on his chest.

He immediately returned the embrace, tightening his hold around her. “What is this for?”

“Thank you for inviting my family, Colin. I didn’t realize how much that would mean to me, but it was better than I could have imagined.”

“They were the family I needed as well,” he said.

The reality of his feelings hit her like a sudden snowball. “You felt loved.”

“I did. It was not difficult, Mercy. I felt appreciated.”

“You are,” she said, squeezing his waist tightly.

Colin pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love you, Mercy Birchall.”

She tilted her head back and looked in his hazel eyes, brimming with tenderness. Then she kissed him and thought of nothing else.