Page 48 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

He blew out a long breath as he stepped down to collect the last toy, although he had no idea where he’d hang it amid the dozens and dozens of items already dangling from the bough. He was very careful not to let his fingers brush against hers as he took it from her hand, then stepped back onto the stool and surveyed the bough for any last bit of branch to tie it to.

“The only thing missing from all the plans and decorations is an appearance by the baby Jesus himself.” He found a space and tied it near the little wooden cradle for Susannah’s doll. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to make room in the sheep barn for a manger.”

Clara laughed, and the soft sound warmed inside him. After the last time they’d been alone, when he’d brought her to such joy and then to tears, he wasn’t certain he’d ever be graced with hearing her laughter again.

Since then, she’d been painfully polite but distant, and she’d made an effort to never be alone with him, keeping Mrs. Bailey at her side and the children nearby like watchdogs. He was certain that the only reason she was alone with him now in the drawing room was because the children were pressed to the door.

Frustration ate at him. He’d shown her what she was still capable of doing despite her leg, how she could have most of the joys of her old life back again if she’d simply let herself accept them—including him. But something was holding her back and keeping her from loving him again, leaving her wounded and vulnerable.

How did he help her heal? How did he help her break out of the walls she’d built around herself to keep the world at bay?

He had no idea. But he wouldn’t give up, certainly not now when they were so close to having back the happiness that had been stolen from them. He’d begun this venture as nothing more than a promise to Anthony. But now he wanted so much more.

He turned the toy soldier thoughtfully in his hand. “Clara, we need to—”

“What did uncle say?” Aaron piped up from outside.

“Something about Jesus and sleep,” Benjamin answered, just as loudly.

“Notsleep, you dunderhead.” Margaret’s voice filled with exasperation. “Sheep. He saidsheepbarn.”

“What does the baby Jesus have to do with sheep?” Susannah interjected.

“Well, he was wrapped in swaddling clothes,” Margaret explained. “They must have been made of wool.”

“Ohhhhh,” a chorus of three young voices rose in unison at that false bit of enlightenment.

Michael rolled his eyes, and Clara stifled another laugh. She was enjoying herself, at least, even at his expense. But he’d gladly accept it. Always, he’d never wanted anything except to make her happy.

He winked at her. “Lady Clara,” he asked in a loud voice so the children would overhear, “where should I tie the ponies? We don’t have enough room on the bough.”

Her mouth fell open, and her eyes darted toward the door. Outside in the hall, a beat of silence occurred, followed by excited shouts and cheers.

She shook her head in warning. “Oh, you’re in for it now. How do you plan to explain a lack of Shetlands when the doors open and they run inside?”

“They escaped out the window?” He stepped back to admire the bough. It dripped with all kinds of gifts—soldiers for Aaron, a drum for Bennie, a diary with a lock for Margaret, doll things for Susannah… His gift for Clara, though, rested securely in his jacket pocket.

“We’re on the first floor,” she dryly reminded him.

“Then they climbed down the drainpipe.”

“With hooves?”

“Never underestimate the talents of a Shetland,” he said deadpan. Then he smiled conspiratorially. “Actually, they’re in the stables right now, waiting with big ribbons on their halters. We’ll take the children out first thing in the morning after breakfast to see them.”

She caught her breath and whispered, “You bought them ponies?”

“Well, I had to do something to win them over after you stole their hearts with all your Christmas festivities. How’s a man supposed to compete when a woman has gingerbread on her side?” When she began to counter his teasing with the fact that Christmas wasn’t a competition, he interrupted her. “Besides, they’re old enough to learn to ride, and with my brother’s diplomatic career becoming more important to the crown, the children will most likely be spending more school holidays with me while he’s away on the Continent. No reason they shouldn’t keep their own ponies here. The stables are more than big enough.”

Her eyes gleamed with approval. “That was very thoughtful of you.” Then she lifted a brow and called him out, “Andyou also wanted to win the competition.”

“Of course.” He snatched up a piece of gingerbread from the tray of sweets Eads had brought in a few minutes earlier and popped into his mouth.

If the holidayswerea competition, though, Clara would certainly have won by a goodly ways.

He’d lost count of the number of mincemeat pies, sheets of gingerbread, and cakes that his kitchens had churned out for the estate tenants and villagers for tomorrow’s Christmas Day open house and to fill baskets for those who wouldn’t be able to attend, along with shares of sugar, candles, and white flour. Then there was tonight’s dinner—it had been a feast that would have done the king proud, with at least five dishes per every one of the three courses, pyramids of oranges and sweetmeats that graced the table, and a special pineapple pudding. The big tree in the conservatory had been covered with toys and treats for the estate children. The morning room was filled with holiday boxes for the servants, andeveryroom contained so much greenery that he wondered if anything was left in the woods.

He was afraid to ask what all she was planning for New Year’s and Twelfth Night.