Page 9 of A Texas Christmas Carol

Felicity sighed. “I’ll brush some extra butter on the tops. Maybe that will help.”

“You never cared about your rolls this much when Mr. Warren came to dinner,” Charity observed with a wink.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t trying to convince Mr. Warren to partner me in a charitable endeavor.”

“No. Mr. Warren was trying to convince you to partner him in a matrimonial endeavor.”

“Charity.” Heat flushed Felicity’s cheeks as she fetched the butter crock and scooped a few tablespoons into a saucepan to melt. “You know I was never interested in Bruce Warren that way.”

Her sister shrugged, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe not, but he was definitely interested in you.”

“I think our Felicity has had her eye on another gentleman for quite some time now,” their mother said, making Felicity’s cheeks heat even further.

Maybe she should just hold the saucepan to her face. At this rate, it would probably melt the butter faster than the stove.

Mama set the gravy pan aside and laid a hand on Felicity’s forearm. When Felicity finally managed to meet her mother’s gaze, the concern radiating there made her heart catch.

“Are you sure Mr. Beazer is the right man for you? He’s so . . . dour. I can’t bear to think of my Felicity’s sunny exuberance being dampened by a man who cloaks himself in storm clouds.”

“I’m not sure,” Felicity admitted softly. “But I’m hoping that spending time in his company will clarify matters. There’s something about him that calls to me, Mama. Maybe it’s just God urging me to befriend him and bring a little joy into his life. Or maybe there’s something bigger at work. I don’t know. I’m praying that by Christmas, things will be clear.”

Her mother gave her arm a squeeze. “I’ll be praying the same.”

A surge of love for her mother welled up inside Felicity and relieved a bit of the uncertainty that had been plaguing her since this campaign with Evan began. She’d initially been so focused on providing for the children that she hadn’t paused to consider what damage her scheme could do to the man she secretly admired.

Yet the moment she asked for a donation and disappointment flashed in his eyes, she’d realized her error. He had feelings. He hid them behind a sharp tongue and cold glances, but they existed. And she’d hurt them. Worse, she’d inadvertently fortified the idea that his worth lay only in his wealth. Her conscience had demanded she make restitution.

That was when the purpose of her campaign shifted. Yes, the children still needed Christmas cheer, but so did Evan. Maybe even more so. It might be presumptuous of her to foist friendship upon him and entangle him in her charity project without his consent, but he was too good at isolating himself for her to take a more conservative approach. Perhaps if he could experience the genuine affinity of family, the joy of doing for others . . . the esteem of a particular young lady . . .

“Sorry, I’m late.” Serenity Sullivan, Felicity’s middle sister, pushed through the back door, looking anything but serene as she jostled a toddler in one arm and a platter of deviled eggs in the other. “Felicity, can you . . . ?”

Setting thoughts of Evan aside, Felicity hurried forward and grabbed the glass egg plate before her nephew’s kicking feet punted the yolks all over the kitchen.

“Thank you.” Serenity blew out a breath that ruffled the hair falling loose around her face. “I had to change Casper twice before we left the house. Then Amy had a temper tantrum about wearing mittens. If Randall hadn’t intervened, we’d probably still be trying to pry her away from the porch railing.”

Eggs safely settled atop the pie safe, Felicity returned to her sister and took the wiggling Casper out of her arms even as Charity moved to take her sister’s coat.

“I tell you,” Serenity said as she slid her arms from the sleeves, “it’s just not fair that men can get instant obedience with their dad voice while children completely ignore their mothers.”

“Yes,” Charity said with a chuckle, “but it sure is sweet when those same children want us for all their cuddles and kisses.”

“True.” Serenity smiled, a bit of peace settling over her as she glanced at her son, who was being bribed into good behavior by his roll-wielding Aunt Felicity.

“Down!” the little dictator demanded once he had his snack. “Hmba!”

Felicity laughed. “Humbug’s in the den with Papa George and the others.” She lowered Casper to the floor and aimed him in the correct direction. “Don’t let him get your bread, though.”

Casper ran off in search of doggie companionship, and Felicity turned to find Serenity eyeing her smugly.

“Papa’s not in the den.”

“He’s not?”

“Nope. He’s on the front porch. Talking to a particularly ill-at-ease gentleman in a suit far too fine for the Wiggins family table. One of the children is bound to sully it before the night is over.”

Charity giggled. Mama smiled. And Felicity wobbled on legs that had turned to jelly.

He came.