Page 14 of The Virtues of Christmas
Unfortunate, that. Both of Philip’s boys were red-haired, but they were boys. “Beatrice says we must do more to make Henrietta welcome.”
Thad left off fussing with the blankets enveloping his daughter. “Beatrice says? I thought Bea had no patience with straying women.”
Bea had no patience with families who couldn’t get on with being families. “I might have misread her, somewhat.” Or hidden behind her skirts, as it were, or betrayed a sibling for the sake of keeping peace with a parent.
“Isabel said if I ever treat our daughter the way Papa has treated Henrietta, she’ll disown me. I do not favor the prospect of being disowned by my dearest spouse.”
“If you wrap the child up any more tightly, she’ll expire for want of air.” How many times had Bea offered Philip the same warning when the boys were small?
Thad rubbed noses with his daughter, which set her to squirming and cooing. “Who looked after Henrietta, Philip? Having a daughter sets a man to wondering. Henrietta was six when Mama died, and my earliest memory is of Henrietta reading to me. I have no memory of our mother, but I can’t forget that when Papa was too grief-stricken to recall he had children, Henrietta read to me every night.”
Philip came the rest of the way down the steps. “Henrietta was a good girl. That’s part of what makes Papa so angry with her.”
“He’s not angry, he’s ashamed. Time he got over it, I say.”
Thad was the family optimist, and in part because Henrietta had been such a devoted sister, his recollections of the years following their mother’s death were sad but benign. Squire Whitlow’s grief had expressed itself in temper and discipline with his two older children.
“People don’t get over a hurt because we say so, Thad, but for what it’s worth, Beatrice and I agree with you. Henrietta asks nothing of us but some hospitality at Christmas, and she always offers to help if we need it.”
Their wives emerged from the manor house, chattering volubly despite being wrapped up in scarves and cloaks.
“I wondered if Henrietta’s generosity extended to you as well. I’ve never had to ask for help, but I’d ask her before I’d ask Papa.”
“So would I.” Though Philip hadn’t realized that truth until he’d spoken it aloud.
“I suppose we’ll see you next week,” Thad said, taking Isabel’s hand. “Unless Henrietta’s come to visit.”
Beatrice took the place at Philip’s side. “Where have the boys got off to?”
“The stable, last I saw them.”
“Where they will get their best clothes filthy. Come along, Philip, and prepare to be stern.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Thad smirked, Isabel took the baby from him, and Philip wished the holidays weren’t bearing down on them all like a runaway team on a muddy road.
* * *
One did not kiss an innocent woman and then steal from her, not if one had any honor.
Michael accounted himself in possession of a modest store of honor, and yet, he’d kissed Henrietta Whitlow, or started to kiss her. That chaste little gesture in the inn yard barely qualified as a kiss, especially when offered to a woman whose affections had been coveted by kings and princes.
And yet that kiss had been enough to set Michael to wondering.
What would kissing Henrietta passionately be like? Holding her through a long and lazy night? Waking to see that red hair in glorious disarray? What wouldshefeel like wrapped around him, half mad with desire?
As the coach jostled along the increasingly snowy road, Michael set aside those speculations. He could sleep with any number of women, make love to many more, and hair was hair. What bothered him was that he wanted to know more abouther,and not simply so he could steal from her with less risk of discovery.
What books did Henrietta Whitlow treasure most dearly?
Did she ever stay up all night reading?
What holiday token would make her smile the way she’d smiled at the serving maid?
How did sheliketo be kissed, if she cared for it at all?
“You’ve grown quiet,” Miss Whitlow said. “You needn’t worry for Lucille’s slumbers. I’ve seen her sleep through a gale.”
