Page 36 of The Virtues of Christmas
“Healthy lungs on a child are always a cause for rejoicing,” Squire Whitlow said. “Well, don’t just stand there,” he went on, waving a hand at Wright. “Get us another tea tray with plenty of biscuits and show the visitors in. You’re in the household of a baron, and company will be a constant plague.”
“Wright,” Michael said, rising. “Who are these callers?”
“Your sisters, my lord. All of them. With all of their children, and a husband or two, if I’m not mistaken. Cook will have an apoplexy.”
His sisters?All of them?And the children and the husbands?
The cautious joy blooming in Michael’s heart lurched upward to lodge in his throat. “Make them welcome, Wright, or I’ll sack you on Christmas Day. You will make my family welcome, no matter how much noise they bring, or how many vases they break.”
Wright bowed very low—though not quite low enough to hide a smile—and withdrew.
“Shall we be going?” Philip Whitlow asked, rising. “Your lordship’s apparently quite busy with visitors today, and we wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.”
“My friends are always welcome here,” Michael said, and he was smiling too, because now—finally—Henrietta was looking straight at him and appearing very pleased with herself.
Or possibly, with him?
* * *
Michael did not look well-rested, but neither was he being the unapproachable lord. As Papa bleated on about ditches and boggy ground, Henrietta considered that Michael Brenner might be a shy man. She liked the idea and, as she watched Michael draw both Thad and Philip into the discussion, admitted that she liked Michael as well.
What’s more, Papa liked him.
“I’ll suggest we remove across the hall to the library,” Michael said, “lest the size of the company exceed the capacity of the parlor. My nephews can be rambunctious.”
“So can mine,” Henrietta said, offering Michael her hand. Her brothers looked surprised, but then, her brothers had been indulged by wives who’d let manners lapse amid the exigencies of domestic bliss.
Michael’s grasp was firm, but fleeting. “You’ll find the library a little lacking in warmth,” he said, aiming his comments at Henrietta. “But the room could be gracious with a little attention.”
His library was lovely, though his desk was a bit untidy, as if he’d tried and failed a number of times to write a difficult letter. Henrietta was wandering about, trying to casually work her way to the desk when a herd of small children galloped into the library.
“I get the ladder!” one boy yelled.
“First on the bannister!” another cried.
“I get the bannister,” a small girl called, elbowing one of the boys in the ribs.
“Reminds me of you lot,” Papa said, taking some book or other from Henrietta’s hands, while Michael went to the front door to greet his sisters. “That man is in love with you, Henrietta. Properly head over ears. I had to see it for myself, and he did not disappoint. If you show him the least favor, he’ll make you his baroness.”
Papa’s words were offered beneath the pounding of a dozen small feet up the spiral staircase in the corner of Michael’s library. His lordship rejoined the group in the library, bringing four laughing, chattering sisters with him and two much quieter men.
Pandemonium ensued, with children sliding down the spiral bannister, mamas and papas clucking and scolding, Philip and Thad putting a boy each on their shoulders to reach the higher shelves, and Papa—Papa?—presiding over the bowl of rum punch on the sideboard.
“You come with me,” Henrietta said, taking Michael by the hand. “We’re seeing to more refreshments.”
He came along docilely—brilliant man—while one of the girls snatched Henrietta’s serving of punch and nipped up the steps with it.
“My sisters have come to call,” Michael said. “I’ve been hinting and suggesting for weeks, but they never acknowledged my overtures. Now they’re here, and all I want is to see them off so I can have more time with you.”
“Where’s the formal parlor?” Henrietta asked.
“Two doors down, to the right. My staff has doubtless lit the fire there, because they’re certain the vicar will soon be joining the riot that passes for my household at present.”
Henrietta escorted Michael to the formal parlor, a lovely room full of gilt chairs upholstered in pink velvet, thick carpets, an elegant white pianoforte, and a pink marble fireplace.
“The quiet,” Michael said as Henrietta closed the door. “Just listen to the quiet.”
The only sound was the fire crackling in the hearth, though Henrietta could feel her heart pounding against her ribs too.
