Rosalyn and the duke shared a smile. She swallowed hard. Her heart ached with the happy memories, her mind wandering in the past. She gazed into his eyes, and she could see that he, too, was lost in thought. He saw her staring and he smiled.
Rosalyn smiled back and, without thinking, she stepped forward towards him. He took her hand, folding his own around it. She stopped breathing for a moment. The gesture was so tender that she could barely think.
“Shall we go and assist Sebastian and Harriet? I think they are having some difficulty reaching the hooks,” the duke said with a laugh.
Rosalyn looked over to where Sebastian and Harriet were attempting to hang a bunch of fir boughs, tied with red ribbon, from a hook at least eight feet up on the wall. He was standing on a chair, but even then, he was having a hard time reaching it. As they watched, Sebastian wobbled on the chair and Harriet shrieked and then giggled.
“There is a ladder in the corner,” the duke said with a grin as they reached the pair. “You know, the one that the staff use if they have to pull the curtains,” he added to his sister Harriet, gesturing to the high curtains over the small windows.
“Oh! Yes! I know where it is. Come on!” Harriet gestured excitedly to Sebastian. He climbed down from his stool and grinned at Rosalyn.
“I am not sorry to be relieved of chair duty,” he said with a rueful grin. “I feared for my neck.”
They were all laughing as they followed Harriet to the corner to retrieve the ladder.
Chapter 16
Callum gazed out of the window. It was afternoon, the sky leaden grey over the garden. He was in the drawing room, trying to read a book and relax while most of the guests took a turn about the garden, but he was too restless for reading. His mind went back to the events of the morning repeatedly, thoughts of decorating the ballroom with Miss Rothwell lingering in his mind.
“Your Grace?” the butler’s voice in the doorway made Callum jump. He sat up straight, closing the book on his lap with some annoyance.
“Yes?” he asked briskly.
“Your Grace? What are your instructions should it snow? Mr Randell has asked for your direction.”
“Ah, you mean about the stables?” Callum got to his feet. “I shall attend to it directly,” he added, his heart thudding. It was dark outside and as he looked through the window, the first flakes floated down.
He hurried downstairs just as the guests who had been on an afternoon jaunt about the grounds, crowded into the entranceway.
“Oh! So enchanting!” Lady Bronham was saying loudly to Mother as they walked in.
“It is truly Christmastide now,” Lady Millicent said excitedly.
“I believe we should take a coach ride!” Mother declared, glancing at Callum as he hurried to the entrance to the staff corridor. “To view the estate beneath the snow. It is quite charming.”
“Oh! Oh, yes, Your Grace!” Lady Millicent exclaimed, sounding delighted. “Oh, do let us. What a delightful notion.”
Callum winced and shot an annoyed look at his mother, but the other guests—including Mr Rothwell and his father—were all chattering about it excitedly and Callum sighed. He would have to indulge his mother just this once. Besides, he thought, his heart thudding swiftly in his chest, he did own a barouche. Once the estate had started to show signs of prosperity, he had indulged his whims and purchased one for sightseeing jaunts. It would be the perfect coach for himself and Miss Rothwell to enjoy the wintry scenes together.
He hurried to the kitchen to meet with Mr Randell.
“Have the walls gone over carefully, and any chink where the air gets in filled up,” he instructed his stable master briskly. “If the snow is blowing in, have the windows shut, especially on Buttercup’s stall. If the snow falls straight down, leave them open for an hour so that the fresh air can circulate.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Mr Randell bowed low.
Callum thanked him and hurried upstairs. In the entranceway, he found a milling group of twelve or so guests, all donning pelisses or greatcoats and chatting in lively, happy voices. The sight of the snow had clearly lifted everyone’s spirits.
His gaze scanned the space, seeking Miss Rothwell. He heard happy laughter, and he spotted Miss Rothwell and her two sisters in the corner, hurriedly tugging on bonnets and pelisses. Harriet was with them. He crossed the room and bowed low.
“Miss Rothwell,” he addressed her politely. “If I may, I invite you to join me in the estate barouche.” His heart raced; hands damp with nerves.
Miss Rothwell stared at him, her cheeks going red. She looked away shyly, then her gaze met his once more. He could see delight in her expression and his heart soared. “I had thought that we would go in the family coach, but, well, I...” she stammered.
“Go with the duke,” Mr Rothwell said quickly. “Georgie and Isabel and I shall think of something.” He grinned. The duke looked at him frowningly, but he could not help but be grateful to him for persuading Miss Rothwell to say yes.
“Yes. I would be pleased to accept, Your Grace,” Miss Rothwell said seriously.
“Grand,” Callum said swiftly. He reached up to fetch his greatcoat from the hat stand and shrugged it on. Then he donned his charcoal brocade top-hat and hurried down to the kitchen to find the coachman.
