“Help me fulfill my mission,” she said, permitting herself a smile. “My mission to bring Christmas back to Blackwall.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Adrian sat in the garden doorway of his study with a fresh cup of tea cradled in his hands. After the gentle flakes of snow that had fallen in the town, and all the way back to the castle yesterday, it had not stopped through the night and was still falling now. Softly, silently, not in a heavy haze of white but like cherry blossoms detached in the gentlest of breezes.
I imagine Valerie is watching anxiously, worried that it might ruin her plans.He smiled, trying to envision how they would take all of the cook’s food to the town hall if another snowstormwereto hit this part of the country.
Richard would have known how;hehad ridden through the first snowstorm as if it were nothing at all.
Still, as long as it remained a gentle tumble of snow, everything would be fine, and Adrian would not have to consider the logistics of moving a feast from the castle to the town without a carriage.Severalcarriages, if the industriousness of what was happening in the kitchens was anything to go by.
He glanced back at the clock on the mantelpiece, surprised that it was almost seven o’clock. He had known that time was getting on by the fact that darkness had snuck in a while ago, but he had not thought it wasquiteso late.
I ought to see if the cook has a moment to prepare dinner for me,he mused wryly, as he rose to his feet. Old injuries ached, needing a few steps to ease the rust of his legs from sitting too long in the cold of the crisp evening air.
Once he could move without wincing, he headed out in search of something to eat. But he had only made it down the first hallway before he realized that something was strange—namely, that Jarvis was not where he usually was. The butler could usually be found close by on days where Adrian spent most of his time in the study, but the man was not in any of the rooms that branched off the hallway. Nor was he at the table, tucked into a recess, where he often waited with a book or the day’s papers so that he would be within summoning distance of his duke.
Indeed, he did not knock to ask when I mightlikedinner, or if I intended to have it at my writing desk.
Adrian frowned, unsettled by this sudden change in a man who was as constant as the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening.
Then again, it was not the first thing that had changed since Valerie’s arrival; evenhehad altered his habitual routines for her over the past week. Years of doing the same thing, at thesame time, in the same way, every single day, all tossed out of the window because of that vexing, charming, intoxicating woman.
Before she came to Blackwall Castle, he could spend weeks without venturing outside; now, he took a brief turn around the gardens every morning and even journeyed to town to make wreaths and help children to put up decorations, of all things.
It is temporary,he reminded himself.When she is gone, everything will return to the way it was.
He did not like how his chest tightened at that thought, like the walls that had once been sacred to him had relearned how to close in on him.
Pressing onward, taking his customary route through the drafty, dimly lit corridors of the castle, he emerged into the entrance hall and came to an immediate, jarring halt.
What is the meaning of this?
Everything had been transformed. The stone walls bore the greenery of ivy garlands tied with bows and ribbons, old tapestries replaced with banners that had been intricately woven with festive designs: mistletoe, holly, robins, and a sleigh pulled by white horses. Bunting with stars and angels now crisscrossed above the space, while wreaths hung in the windows. Very familiar wreaths, with red, star-painted bows.
His ability to breathe faltered, horrified by the sight.
“Who has done this?” he growled to no one.
Overcome with a compulsion he could not control, he marched to the new banners and wrenched them from the walls. He grabbed fistfuls of ivy and dragged them to the floor, leaving a trail of ribbons and bows in his wake. When he could not reach the bunting to rip it down, he seized the nearest wreath instead. Heart pounding, he stared at the aged yellow of the stars that had been carefully painted on the red bows, and felt as if a great sea were rising through him, threatening to drown him.
“Your Grace?” a startled voice made him whip around.
Jarvis and Mrs. Mullens stood on the periphery of the entrance hall, staring aghast at the torn-down decorations.
“What have you done?” Adrian snarled, gripping the wreath so tight that he feared he might actually break it. “Take it all down. Every last bit. At once. If I see a single ribbon, there will be?—”
At that moment, Valerie hurried in, a festive bouquet in her hands: rosemary, holly, laurel, and red roses that must have come from the greenhouse. She was smiling, her cheeks pink as if she had just been outside.
Her green-eyed gaze fell upon the destruction, and her face crumpled.
“What happened?” she gasped, looking to Adrian for explanation. “Did you rip it all down? I was… just coming to get you, to show you what we had done.”
Adrian cast a stern look at the butler and the housekeeper, who should have known better. “Do as I have asked,” he instructed, his tone only marginally softer. “Valerie, come with me.”
“But, I—” Valerie began to protest, until Mrs. Mullens gave her a gentle push and a nod of reassurance.
Meanwhile, Adrian turned and headed back the way he had come, unwilling to discover what else Valerie had decorated. At least his study was untouched; that was where he needed to be if he was to speak to her with a clear mind.
