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“I see.” Mrs. Grayson nodded. “I thought it might be yet another gift from my son. That would be the height of scandal.”
“Indeed, it would.” For the first time in her tenure at the Grayson residence, Felicity kept her own counsel and didn’t reveal everything she knew. “Suffice it to say I won’t embarrass you at the ball.”
“I never assumed you would. You’ve been everything proper thus far in our acquaintance.” The older woman glanced away. “However, my son is a different story. He knows I’d like him to find a decent match on that night, but he’s resisting me every step of the way. I’ll not achieve grandchildren at this rate.”
Felicity’s chest tightened with momentary sorrow. “Give him time. It seems to me the captain is quite stubborn.”
She snorted. “That he is.”
“And you wouldn’t wish for him to marry in haste to a woman he is ill-suited for.” Was she suited to him and his life though? If he were to show an interest in such a thing…
“True enough. It’s good you and he became friends. Perhaps if the ladies at the ball see how gallant and courteous he is around you, they’ll consider him a catch.”
“I suppose.” But Felicity didn’t want to be a magnet for females that might have more to recommend them to them than she did. Yet, outside of a few kisses, he hadn’t shown an affinity for moving their friendship into something beyond that.
Was he perhaps attempting to stave off boredom while in her company until something else better came along? How embarrassing.
And disappointing.
Then the butler arrived, and Felicity quickly requested a bowl of rum punch. If her voice held a slight waver, she didn’t care. The evening had become a trifle trying.
No sooner had she returned to her chair, than Bartholomew returned. He and Luke wheeled the pianoforte into the drawing room. “All right, Miss Cowan, do your best. Mother and I will follow your lead.”
“I am out of practice and could prove a horror.” Reluctantly, she rose and relocated on the padded bench the captain brought in from the corridor.
“And I’m utterly wretched when it comes to singing, so in this we’re well matched.” He gave her a quick wink before taking up a position behind the sofa where his mother sat. Luke perched himself on the edge of a chair nearby, his eyes wide.
“Nonsense, Bartholomew. You sing passably well,” his mother interjected while Felicity placed her fingers upon the ivory keys in an attempt to re-familiarize herself with the instrument.
Over the course of the next hour, Felicity played carol after carol while she, Bartholomew, and Mrs. Grayson sang every stanza. At some point during the festive time, the rum punch was delivered. Everyone indulged, and a half-filled glass was offered to Luke, who ended up coughing and sputtering his way through the treat. The rest of them happily sipped and more loudly sang until everyone lost their focus amidst laughter and giggles.
By the end, Mrs. Grayson was visibly drooping with heavy eyelids and faltering knitting needles, and Luke alternately yawned and rubbed his eyes.
“I think perhaps we should call an end to our evening,” Felicity said. She stood and came around the pianoforte. “Thank you for a lovely time, Captain.”
Bartholomew grinned. “Oddly enough, I’m not as knackered as those two.”
“Neither am I,” she admitted in a low voice. “Music is quite invigorating.”
“Ah.” He glanced at Luke and his expression softened. Felicity’s heart lurched. “Luke, my boy, you’re standing beneath the mistletoe.”
The boy glanced upward. “What does that mean, Captain?”
“One of the ladies in the room should come over and kiss you.”
“Oh.” His cheeks blazed with a sudden flush. “Miss Cowan, will you please do it?”
“Of course.” She crossed the room, conscious that Bartholomew and his mother watched her, then she leaned over and bussed Luke’s cheek. “Consider yourself kissed. May the Christmastide season find you well and blessed.”
“Thank you.” When she would have walked away, the boy caught one of her hands, and with a quick glance at Bartholomew, he brought it swiftly to his lips and kissed the back. “Was that correctly done, Captain?”
“It was. Nice work, Luke.” The captain beamed, as did the boy. She lost of piece of her heart to them both. They were so much like father and son it was eerie. “Now, come. I’ll see you tucked into bed. Mother, you’d best retire as well, for I won’t carry your bag of bones upstairs.”
“I didn’t raise you to have such cheek, boy, nor to be rude,” was the widow’s response, but she struggled off the sofa and to her feet. “Are you coming up, Miss Cowan?”
“Not just yet. I might do some reading until I feel tired.”
She harrumphed. “Bartholomew shall keep you company. I don’t like the thought of you alone by yourself.”
