11.
The Christmas Mouse
Later that evening, Silas opened a door to reveal a dining room he scarcely recognized. The grand fireplaces at either end of the room roared with warmth and light. The scent of pine mingled with apples, cinnamon, and pastry. The servants had dusted and freshened the entire space, then filled it with greenery and candlelight.
On the table were several paper-wrapped packages, with toys from the nursery that he’d had cleaned and brought down. Best among them was a stuffed mouse, which he thought particularly fitting given the haunting story he’d heard his daughter tell. Next year, he promised himself, he’d do so much better; Coldharbor Manor would be as inviting and warm as Benedict’s house had been this morning.
But he knew that Emmaline would find even these paltry offerings wonderful, and the anticipation of her joy filled him with a happiness he’d never expected to feel again in this lifetime. She was still too ill for much celebration, so he only planned to have her brought down for a half hour or so, but he wanted her to feel the magic of Christmas. In doing so, he hoped to recapture a bit of it himself.
Laughter and footsteps sounded from the hall, and he looked up to find a strapping footman carrying Emmaline into the room with Grace at his side.
“Merry Christmas, Emmaline. Merry Christmas, Grace,” he called, his voice breaking a bit at the sight of them.
“It’s so beautiful,” Emmaline breathed, her voice a soft rush of wonder. She’d slept nearly all day in her warm, clean bed, and the medicine, in combination with her youth and resilience, had done wonders. It was so good to see her out of bed, her cheeks flushed with color instead of deathly pallor.
“We did our best with what little we had to work with,” Silas replied, allowing himself a tentative smile. “Next year, it will be lovely, I promise.”
Grace glanced at him, her blue eyes filled with wonder. “It is lovely now,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. “Better than anything we could have ever hoped for.”
Silas offered a tentative smile, his heart beating erratically beneath his carefully composed exterior. “Cook prepared a Christmas feast,” he said, gesturing toward the table. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m starving,” Grace admitted.
The footman deposited Emmaline in the chair Silas indicated, the one in front of the presents, which was to the left of the head of the table. He motioned for Grace to take the one to the right, where another tiny, wrapped present awaited.
“Are these for me?” Emmaline asked, staring in awe at her gifts.
Her excitement was infectious, a spark that seemed to illuminate the room. Grace’s eyes were once again filled with tears, but he knew these to be happy ones. She was pleased that Emmaline was so happy.
“They are indeed,” Silas replied, filled with unfamiliar joy that he’d been able to do this for her. “Would you like to open them?”
“Yes,” she cried, reaching for the nearest one.
He and Grace watched as she opened a package with a lovely porcelain doll inside. The doll had dark hair and green eyes. It looked very much like her and had once belonged to Silas’s sister, Elyse. Next, she opened a box containing a fragile china tea set. Lastly, the gift of the stuffed mouse. She exclaimed over all three presents, her small frame vibrating with excitement, but as he’d expected, she seemed most taken with the mouse.
She held the stuffed animal to her chest, her green eyes bright as she smiled at Silas. “A Christmas mouse. I will cherish him always.”
“The finder of lost things,” Silas murmured. “I hope he helps you find everything you ever wanted.”
Her eyes widened, and as he held her gaze, he saw a flicker of awareness there, the same feeling he’d had when he’d heard her tell that story, as if she’d somehow known he was there all along.
“I think he already has,” she said, finally dropping her gaze.
He turned his attention to Grace, searching for the connection they’d once shared. How he hoped that he hadn’t extinguished her love for him completely. There must be some spark of it left. Something he could build on, some little flicker he could fan into the flame it had once been.
“Thank you,” she whispered, tucking a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. “You’ve made her so happy.”
“Not nearly as happy as you’ve both made me,” he said, then gestured to the small box in front of her. “There’s one for you, too.”
She reached toward it with a trembling hand, her lovely face flushing as she carefully undid the paper wrapping to discover the ring box beneath it.
“It was my mother’s,” he told her softly.
“What is it?” Emmaline asked, leaning forward to see better.
Grace opened it and stared at the large sapphire ring that lay within. “It’s a ring,” she whispered.
“An engagement ring,” he corrected. “I’ve asked your mother to be my bride.”
