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With that, he turned and waded back into the pond, emerging at the exact instant that Noelle choked out, “Fuzzy!”
Brigitte propped herself on her elbows in time to see Eric toss the saturated plaything at his niece. “Here. He’s in better condition than you are.”
Staring at her uncle with eyes the size of saucers, Noelle snatched her toy, then succumbed to wracking coughs.
Kneeling, Eric leaned Noelle forward, rubbing her back and forcing the water from her chest. “Don’t be frightened. You swallowed almost half that pond. You’re merely returning it.”
Hugging herself to still her shivering, Brigitte wondered if she’d died and gone to heaven. Not only had Eric saved their lives—and Fuzzy’s, for that matter—he was tending to Noelle, carefully ensuring that her breathing returned to normal and, miracle of miracles, teasing her.
If this were heaven, Brigitte decided, it was every bit as wonderful as her grandfather had always claimed.
In the wake of that assessment, she dissolved into another fit of choking.
Eric’s head snapped around. “Are you all right?” he demanded, frowning as Brigitte’s coughs were replaced by uncontrollable shudders.
Mutely, she nodded.
“Dammit, Brigitte.” He released Noelle, tearing off his own saturated coat and wrapping it around his wife, fierce emotion glittering in his eyes.
Instantly, Noelle burst into tears. “Don’t chest-ize Brigitte. It wasn’t her fault; it was mine.”
“I know very well whose fault it was.” Eric scooped first Noelle, then Brigitte, into his arms. “I’ve got to get you both inside before you freeze to death.” His dark stare swept over his wife, then flickered to the grass behind her. “Since I can only manage two hoydens and one bedraggled cat at a time, I fear the holly will have to wait.”
So saying, he strode off toward the manor.
With a contented smile, Brigitte gazed over Eric’s shoulder, watching until the rapidly retreating boughs of holly had disappeared from view.
Miracles, she mused, might be gifts from heaven.
But they happened right here on earth.
—
“Noelle, drink that entire cup of warm milk and climb into bed.”
Leaning against Noelle’s bedchamber wall, Brigitte massaged her own pounding temples.
Noelle gave her a worried look. “Your cheeks are real red, Brigitte. I think you’re a whole lot sicker than me.”
“I’ll be fine,” Brigitte assured her. “As soon as I have you tucked in, I’ll go to bed. By morning, I’ll be myself again.”
Dubious, Noelle complied, swallowing her milk then scrambling between the sheets, Fuzzy beside her. “Uncle was a hero, wasn’t he, Brigitte?”
A small smile. “Yes, love, he was.” With an enormous effort, Brigitte propelled herself into an upright position, crossing the room to kiss Noelle good night. “I shudder to think what would have happened had Lord Farrington not chosen that precise minute to glance out his window.”
“He didn’t choose that precise minute to glance out his window,” Noelle refuted matter-of-factly. “He’d been watching us for nearly an hour. That’s why I climbed the tree when I did—I was counting on his help. But you’d already guessed that part.” She chewed her lip. “The next part was a surprise to me, too. I didn’t ’xpect to fall in the pond. That was real scary. Uncle must have run awfully fast to get from his chambers to the door and across the grounds to the pond in so short a time.”
“It didn’t seem short to me,” Brigitte replied, feeling the room sway. “It seemed an eternity.”
“He didn’t chest-ize me for what I did. He didn’t even chest-ize you about gathering holly.” Noelle screwed up her face thoughtfully. “Where’s Uncle now?”
“I don’t know, Noelle. Back in his chambers, I suppose. Although—should he emerge—I wouldn’t suggest alerting him to the fact that you plotted his heroic appearance. I don’t think he’d take kindly to it.”
“No. He wouldn’t,” a deep-timbred voice affirmed. “So rest assured, Noelle, you’ll be duly chastised for your antics—tomorrow.”
Brigitte jumped, staring incredulously at the doorway as if seeking confirmation of the impossible.
Hovering just inside the room, Eric assessed his niece with an expression Brigitte’s feverish brain classified as none other than tenderness.
