Page 8 of Her Christmas White Knight

“Like ripe corn on a summer day.”

“And her eyes?”

“Blue as the ocean.”

His sister groaned. “Unlike you, I’ve never seen the ocean, so that doesn’t help.”

“As blue as lapis lazuli, then. Like the Virgin’s robes in an old painting. Why do you ask?”

She smirked at him. “You’re besotted already—I can tell from your poetic descriptions. I ask because I want to know which of my old gowns would suit her best. I hope she’s not too much larger or smaller than I, although the lacing can be opened up quite a lot if she’s plumper.”

Curse it. Now, Helena had him thinking about Julia’s figure. He almost groaned aloud as a vivid memory of the taste of her tingled on his tongue.

His throat was constricted. “She’s a similar height to you—fuller in the bosom and hips, mayhap.”

“Well, she can always leave off wearing a rouleau, if that’s the case. My russet gown with the blue embroidery will serve well, I think. She must come here early, so I can help her dress. Why not invite her for a meal before Christmas Day, so that she can feel more comfortable around us? Then she can try on the gown in advance. But you’ll have to manage the dinner while I help her.”

That wouldn’t be a problem—he’d learned a lot about cookery from assisting Helena. He knew he’d have to fend for himself when she left to marry Aidan, as he couldn’t afford a servant to do it.

Having a wife to cook for him would be infinitely preferable—though there was little likelihood of that.

“Why so gloomy, when I’ve just suggested a brilliant solution to your problem?”

“I was thinking about Father, and what he said to me that day.”

His sister’s smile melted away. “If only you could make your peace with him. He must be so lonely without us.”

Myall stiffened. “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear the names he called me after the fire. You didn’t see his expression when they took the bandages off, and he saw my ruined face.”

“He was upset for you and frightened. And you know he’d been drinking heavily since Mother died. He hated that you went into that burning house to rescue the child—he thought he’d lost you.”

“Did he tell you so?” Myall still felt slightly ill every time he remembered that dreadful argument with his father. It had hurt more than the burns.

“Nay, but I suspect that was the source of his rage.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t insult someone because they’ve been burned. You don’t tell them they’ll never find a wife, or have children to carry on the family name, because they look grotesque. You don’t say such things if you love them, as a father should his son.”

He turned away, picked up the poker, and jabbed at the logs. Hopefully, they could leave the subject now.

“Myall.” Helena’s voice was soft and low. “You’re not a monster. When the swelling went down, you looked perfectly normal, except for a few discolored patches. Father was shocked at the sight of you back then, but he hasn’t seen you since. He was drinking even more than usual while you were lying in your sickbed. I’m sure he knew not what he was saying.”

“Sister—enough. I don’t think he has much love in his heart for either of us. You know as well as I do that he’s sitting on a small fortune, and it would be nothing to him to lay out a good dowry for you. If he were to do that, both you and Aidan would be much more comfortably off. We shouldn’t have to scrimp and save to keep you in good gowns, and make you look your best for your suitor—that’s Father’s job. But did he beg you to stay when you threatened to leave if he didn’t give up drinking? Nay. I think he was glad to spare himself the expense of your keep. Now—let us say no more on the subject.”

He could never make peace with his father—there was too much bitterness between them. Besides, he and Helena were managing—after a fashion. And if Julia agreed to Helena’s scheme about sharing the goose, Christmas dinner could be saved, and Helena would be able to impress her suitor. An offer of marriage might soon be in the wind.

Now all he had to do was convince a reticent, belligerent, and proud Julia Wentworth to trust him. That shouldn’t be so difficult.

Should it?