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“A ghostly tune?” She inspected the room, half-expecting to see Tia and Jasper hiding in a corner. “It seems we were both lured here.”
“The servants say my grandmother has not left yet. Mrs. Willoughby insists a spirit cannot join their maker if they have unfinished business.” He laughed. “My brothers and I hated the gallery. We always thought the eyes on the paintings followed us.”
“What do you think your grandmother left undone?” A ludicrous idea, she knew, but therewasa presence in this house. And where had the voice come from?
He shrugged. “Just servants’ talk. Have you noticed it began snowing again?” He nodded at the window. White flakes swirled and dipped to create a fluffy border around the edge of the panes. “With the strong winds, it seems nature will be blamed for your forced stay. It also means your cousin cannot travel.”
Etta chuckled, her mood soaring. “I’m devastated on both counts.” She strolled along the wall of books, various colors of leather binding with titles in gold or black letters. “Do you like to read?”
“Of course, I’m a physician.” He followed her, his hands clasped behind his back.
“For pleasure or only knowledge?” Her finger trailed the worn spines and stopped atBelindaby Maria Edgeworth. She pulled it out and peeked inside. “A first edition. Tia will be overjoyed.”
“Is there a difference between prints?”
“For this particular novel, a great deal of difference. The story reprinted a few years ago had all the scandalous parts removed.”
“Then I can see Miss Tia preferring this one.” They both laughed.
“Miss Comden—”
“Please, I think after everything you’ve done for us, Etta would be appropriate.” She breathed in his scent of bergamot. The spicy citrus and floral reminded her of a fortifying cup of tea with a bit of orange added. Yes, his presence bolstered her much like a cup of strong Congo tea.
“Etta, why don’t you keep this volume a secret for now? I will give it to your sister as a gift on Christmas Day.” He reached out for the book and brushed her hand. Two pairs of eyes locked on to his fingers covering hers.
A tingle shot through her limbs, and she sucked in a breath. “You are, I mean, that is very generous,” she bumbled as heat stained her cheeks. “I fear the day has flown by. I must change for supper.” Etta shoved the novel at him, picked up her skirts, and left the library pell-mell.
*
December 24, 1813
Gus combed backhis hair and adjusted his cravat. He gave his silver waistcoat a final tug as his valet held out the black tails. He wore a new pair of black trousers and turned in the cheval mirror, admiring the fit. He had spent two delightful evenings with the Comden sisters. Tia was accomplished on the pianoforte and the harp with the help of a clever tool that moved back and forth like a pendulum. She memorized the first notes of a piece and watched the swing of the needle to keep the rhythm of the song. Etta would accompany her with the lyrics and had the voice of an angel. Her face lit up as she sang, her light brown eyes twinkling with golden flecks.
His affection for Etta swelled. Not only was she a prime article, but she was also compassionate and loyal. Isn’t that what a physician needed in a wife? He often worked long hours at odd times. Etta would understand.
It had been years since he’d thought of marriage. He’d been betrothed once, but the woman didn’t understand his philanthropic attitude. She had asked to be released from her promise.
He entered the drawing room to find the greenery had arrived with several baskets of ivy and laurel. Miss Tia and Etta sat on the chaise longue, winding the pine boughs together to lay upon the mantel.
“Well, I see you’re earning your keep,” he quipped.
“Christmastide is almost upon us.” Miss Tia pointed at the hearth. “The Yule log needs to be lit.”
“I don’t keep many of the old traditions, but the cooper always delivered a log for my grandmother. He has obviously continued the practice. Oh, and I smelled mincemeat pies earlier. Johns will deliver them to the tenants tomorrow.” He picked up one of the long lengths of evergreen and laid it over the mantel. “Tell me where you want it, and I’ll hang it for you.”
The scent of pine filled the room as they arranged the boughs over the windows and doorway. The snow continued to fall outside, and he thanked his luck and the weather for cooperating.
Mrs. Willoughby brought in another basket with rosemary and holly. He smirked when Tia held up the mistletoe and wagged her brows, her head nodding sideways at her sister. Gus decided he liked the girl even more.
She held it above her head, closed her eyes, and raised her cheek to him. He obliged, and she plucked off a berry and handed the cluster to him. He walked over to Etta who was on a chair, busy tucking bits of rosemary and holly into the greenery above the entrance.
“Could you hang this please?” he asked.
Her cheeks were the color of the cherries as she took the mistletoe from him and looped it through a small twig of pine. She avoided his eyes as he leaned against the doorframe, waiting for her to finish.
When she finally bent to step down, he took her hand and pulled her to him. “It’s tradition.” He had caught Tia’s holiday spirit. “We can’t disappoint your sister.”
Her amber eyes widened, and she turned her head to present her cheek.
