Page 31 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

Which was why she’d made certain not to be alone with him since they’d returned to the house yesterday afternoon.

Avoiding him had been easy enough. She and the children had all gone immediately upstairs to change for dinner as soon as they’d returned from the woods, with Michael left to give orders to the footmen about what to do with the greenery and tree. Dinner had been awkward, and she’d caught Michael staring at her across the table nearly every time she’d glanced up. But the exercise and fresh air had worn out the children, who were ready for bed as soon as dessert was finished, and so was Clara, who used their departure from dinner as an excuse to do the same.

It was cowardly, she’d admit, but she also needed space and quiet to clear her head and think.

But while the children undoubtedly slept as soundly as logs,shehad spent a sleepless night tossing and turning and remembering every detail of that afternoon. By morning, she was still as heartbroken as ever. Nothing could ever come of those kisses except a painful reminder of all she’d lost. Having to be carried upstairs and down again by the footman had been a harsh slap of reality.

“Can we put paper snowflakes on the tree, too?” Susannah asked, reaching out to touch one of the pine needle boughs.

Clara smiled. “Of course.”

They certainly had enough of them. As part of her plan to avoid being alone with Michael, she’d spent the entire day helping the children craft decorations, including making dozens of red and gold ribbon bows and working with little Susannah while she carefully cut out paper snowflakes and angels with the scissors to make certain she didn’t accidentally hurt herself. They’d also tied the greenery, vines, and holly branches into wreaths and garlands to decorate the outside of the house’s doors, windows, and double set of wide stone stairs that curved up on both sides to the portico.

Through it all, she’d kept the children with her like little guard dogs. But she didn’t regret it. They had loved spending every minute of the day with her, and she felt the same. She’d come to look forward to being with them.

Their Uncle Michael, however…

He looked up and once again caught her staring. When he sent her a lazy smile, she turned away to busy herself with refilling her cup with chocolate.

Their Uncle Michael made her decidedly uneasy.

The children had buzzed around the conservatory like bees over a meadow when the footmen carried in all the greenery, ivy, and pinecones that had been collected yesterday…and then some. Clara’s lips curled in amusement against the brim of her cup. It was far more than what the children had gathered, which meant that Michael had the men go into the woods themselves to add solid, good pieces to the pile.

From her bench, Clara had directed the men to separate the yew boughs from the pine, the cones from the berries, and all the holly into its own pile. Then she’d given everyone a quick lesson on how to craft wreaths and garlands using the grapevine and metal forms she and the children had made that afternoon. Wreaths of all sizes had soon lain scattered across the stone floor, with Margaret tying wide, strong ribbons through each that would be used to hang them from the doors and windows.

“What do we do with the tree tonight?” Aaron asked. “Do we have to tie it up with string and wire, too?”

“Not the tree,” Clara explained. “Tomorrow, we’ll start making the decorations and gifts to tie on it, and we’ll decorate it on Christmas Eve. Until then, we don’t have to do anything except make certain it has plenty of food and water.”

“Food?”Benjamin scrunched up his nose. “Trees can’t eat!”

“But they do. All trees and plants need food. Mostly they absorb it from the soil, rain, and air, but when flowers are cut and put into vases or plants into pots, it’s our job to feed them, just as we would animals on a farm.” She picked up the little sugar bowl from the tray and held it out to Benjamin. “Our tree will stay green and fresh if we feed it a little bit of sugar. Would you each like to put a spoonful into its pot?”

The children eagerly rushed forward to take turns carefully scooping out their spoonful and pouring it slowly into the tree’s pot. When they finished, they peered into the pot and held their breaths, as if expecting to see Venus rising from the sea.

When nothing happened, Margaret let out a long sigh and returned the sugar bowl to the tray. “Is that all it gets?”

“It would help if we could give it a bit of lemon juice to keep the sugar from spoiling.”

Michael rubbed his hands together. “That’s my job.”

He strode to the potting table at the side of the room, picked up a utility knife, and approached the nearest lemon tree. He cut off an unripe green lemon, sliced it in half, and squeezed the juice from both halves into the water.

“There.” He dipped his hands into the watering can to rinse away the sticky juice on his fingers and grabbed up a towel. “Our tree has been properly watered and fed.”

“All ready for Christmas,” Clara said brightly.

He held Clara’s gaze with his. “And hopefully beyond.”

Her heart skipped. Dear God, did he mean more than the tree?

She couldn’t risk that he did. Shehadto put a stop to whatever mad thoughts might be stirring inside him, so she reminded them, “Only until Twelfth Night when you’ll throw it onto the bonfire.”

The mention of the last night of the holiday festivities sent the children bouncing with excitement, just as she’d hoped. They had asked Michael a few days ago if they could host a traditional Twelfth Night festival for the village, complete with a bonfire, punch and cakes, games, and music. Although he’d grumbled about that, too, Clara had seen the excited gleam in his eyes and knew he was looking forward it as much as the children. He couldn’t fool her. He was just as much a child at heart as his nieces and nephews.

A small pang of disappointment echoed inside her chest. Clara wouldn’t be here for Twelfth Night. Anthony would have returned for her by then.

Even if he hadn’t, she couldn’t attend anyway. The festivities were planned for the south field, where the bonfire could safely burn through the night and the crowds wouldn’t interfere with the running of the house and its outbuildings. There was lots of room there to build all kinds of games, arrange all the food tables, and even make a space for dancing. But the field was too far away from the safety of the house for her, too exposed to all the stares and snickers from the villagers who would undoubtedly be deep in their cups by midnight.