“Anthony!”
He turned, peering out into the distance to where Charity had little Evie perched upon her hip. She waved with her free hand as Evie tried desperately conceal a mound of snowballs held within the skirt of her lavender gown.
Oh, lord. They were plotting an ambush, the two of them. And he was expected, like any good uncle, to walk into it unarmed.
“Go,” Mother said with a patient sigh. “Play a little. The girls will be glad of it. And later on—later on we’ll tellthem a few stories.”
∞∞∞
“Have you seen Anthony lately?” Charity asked as she settled beside Mercy upon the sofa in the drawing room. “For the life of me, I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Oh,” Mercy said. “I believe Thomas dragged him and Father off to the village tavern.”
“What! Whatever for?”
“Well, it’s the eve of your wedding. It’s tradition to drink to his last night of bachelorhood, isn’t it?”
Charity snorted. “Is that so? Then be a dear and pour me a very large glass of something strong. I’ll not be outdone.”
Mercy laughed—but, obligingly, she rose to her feet and headed for the sideboard situated against the rear wall of the room. “Truly,” she said, “I think they only wanted to slip away for a little while for manly sorts of things,” Mercy confided. “The house is just lousy with women at the moment, isn’t it?”
It was true, Charity supposed, that their numbers were skewed rather unevenly toward the female persuasion. She accepted the glass of brandy that Mercy set in her hand and took a sip. “I suppose Anthony and Thomas have got that in common, haven’t they. Being surrounded by women, that is to say.”
“Yes, and Thomas adores all of us—but I think every man needs to be a man on occasion.”
“Well, if he returns my groom six sheets to the wind, I shall know where to lay the blame. The last time Anthony over-imbibed, I’m given to understand he had a rather difficult morning thereafter. I would prefer not to face a groom gone green at the altar and risk him casting up his accounts upon my shoes.”
“And you are…ready?” Mercy asked delicately as she reclaimed her seat. “For your wedding tomorrow?”
Charity appreciated the question for what it was. It had been one thing for her to have arrived here heartbroken in the service of crying out her devastation upon her sister’s shoulder. It was quite another to have leapt from that heartbreak to marriage.
“Do you know, I really, truly am,” Charity said, laying her head upon Mercy’s shoulder with a serene sigh. “I think what frightened me most was the prospect of returning to London.”
“Was it? Why?”
“Because it has been so peaceful here.” And that had been all she hadever wanted. “But I’ve realized just lately—it isn’t being away from London which has brought me peace. It’s him. Peace isn’t a place one arrives at; it’s the person who gives it to you, and Anthony gives me that peace.”
Mercy stroked her hair. “You take it with you, wherever you go. It’s a gift that you give to one another, and it stays. You will certainly have it in London, so long as you have one another.”
“We will,” Charity said. “I know we will.” A soft sigh. “I do wish Felicity could have been here.”
“I had wondered at her absence,” Mercy said. “She couldn’t come?”
“I wrote to her,” Charity said. “But she has not yet responded. Or perhaps my letter never reached her. The post can be so unreliable at times.” More so in the winter, when fresh snow and ice occasionally caused interruptions in mail routes.
“Odd,” Mercy said, with a twitch of her brows. “I’ve not received a response from her of late, either.”
“It was selfish of me to ask, anyway. She has got obligations of her own, and she is seldom afforded the opportunity to shirk them, even for so little as a few days at a time. Perhaps we shall pay her a visit instead,” Charity said. “Anthony and I. To give her the news in person, just in the event that my letter missed her entirely.”
“I’m certain she would enjoy that,” Mercy said. “Perhaps we should all go for a visit. She did say not too very long ago that she would like to meet Flora.”
“Oh, you must, then,” Charity said. “It’s practically an invitation.” She sipped her brandy in silence for a moment, flicked her gaze to the crackling fire, to the darkness settling outside the house. “Does Flora sleep through the night?” she asked idly.
“Yes, thank God,” Mercy said with a sigh. “At last, she does.”
“Good.” Charity unwound herself from the sofa, setting her glass aside. “Let’s go, then. Put on something warm.”
“Warm?” Mercy echoed. “But where are we going?”
