Page 55 of Unmasking the Silver Heiress
"It's essential for the arcs to be symmetrical, Sarah!" Nell called over her shoulder, beginning her descent on the ladder with a cacophony of alarming wooden squeaks.
Nathaniel stepped forward quickly and caught her about the waist, swinging her down to the ground before she could maneuver any further danger on that ladder. "Good God, Eleanor!" he muttered, for lack of any other words coming directly to mind.
She smiled brightly at him, her eyes sparkling like polished silver, and gestured above them to the work she'd done. "It's mistletoe," she said softly. "From the apple trees. I bought it in Dover, but Kit said we'll be able to gather our own next year. Isn't it beautiful?"
"It's a kissing bough, then?" Nathaniel responded with a raise of his brows, too taken by her happiness to maintain any outrage over her climbing ladders like a stable boy.
"It is," she confirmed, lifting her chin in invitation as he leaned down and pressed a warm, if chaste, kiss on her lips.
After all, they had an audience.
Next year.
He didn't dwell upon it, instead leading her into the dining room for a spot of tea and a small breakfast. The ceiling was finally dry and the chandelier rehung, restoring the room to some of its former splendor. It wasn't leafed with silver, but instead re-plastered with great swirls of powder blue, mimicking the lazy waves of an idyllic sea.
Had he really gone to all this trouble just to leave the house behind again, in the dust?
As they discussed their plans for tonight's dinner, sharing hot oats and honey with more of Aunt Susan's potted cherries, Nathaniel thought that this Meridian House was a far cry from the one that had haunted him.
Perhaps the floors that gleamed with a fresh coat of wax were the same planks of wood, and yes, the rooms had returned to the same lives they'd led before, but this place felt a world away from the crumbling manor on the cliff that he'd averted his eyes from, every time he'd passed it.
Next year.
It was worth considering. Tentatively.
He could not picture a kissing bough having quite the same charm in the echoing emptiness of Marylebone in the winter.
Kit arrived before luncheon, bringing with him the restored harp, freshly painted and tuned by the artisan Lady Dempierre had suggested. The piano had been repaired as well, and together the two men had managed to return both instruments to the ballroom without Nell's knowledge.
"Should we drape it with fabric?" Kit asked, straining his neck side to side as he considered the placement of the harp. Its sculpted embellishments had been painted, its wood polished, and brass settings restored to a gleam. "So that you can whip it away in a moment of great reveal?"
Nate chuckled, shaking his head. "I do not think I am capable of such a gesture without appearing utterly ridiculous."
"Yes, that was my hope," Kit agreed, clapping his cousin on the shoulder in good spirits. "Mother is beside herself with excitement for tonight. She has so missed being able to have a family around her in the holiday season."
He nodded, allowing Kit to depart for other business before dinner, and did his best to disregard the discomfort that had settled onto his shoulders at those words.
Kit had been in the army. Uncle Archie had vanished. Nate had tied himself to London. It had never occurred to him that his aunt had been alone and adrift on Christmas for all of those years. It was as though those holidays when he and Kit had been boys were nothing more than a fantasy, something he'd convinced himself had never been real, while she had likely mourned those lost days, alone at her hearth during the darkest and coldest times of the year.
It was unacceptable. He had behaved unacceptably.
Next year.
There was no point in pretending that his original plans still held any weight. He was no more likely to return to London full time than he was to tuck Nell away in some country cottage with her books. So why not consider the prospect of next year? Why not consider all the years thereafter?
It felt more alluring by the minute.
* * *
The snow beganto burst from those swollen clouds just before sunset, pouring from the sky in dizzy spirals of sparkling white.
Kit and Susan had been laughing like children as they ran from the carriage to the door of Meridian, snowflakes melting on their clothes and in their hair, and not at all detracting from their joy at the night ahead of them.
Nell was wearing forest green and silver, her brown curls caught up in a band of pearls and diamonds with dark tendrils of her hair springing out around the lines of her face.
Every time her wedding band caught the light and sparkled, he found himself thumbing his own ring. It had already become such second nature to wear it that he often forgot it was there. He liked the reminder of seeing its counterpart, flashing and glittering, as cheerful as his marriage had somehow become.
In the place of a traditional yule log, Nell had suggested that they begin their holiday tradition instead with a yule candle, which would require less tending and would create significantly less mess amidst the ongoing restoration of the house.
