Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,18

might be falling in love with him.

If that were the case, her future was sure to be strewn with heartache.

Clasping her red knitted shawl about her shoulders, she stood in the doorway and watched as he and Stevie climbed into the luxurious coach. How happy and excited Stevie looked. This was an unprecedented adventure for him. He could count on his fingers the number of times he’d ridden in a coach, and even more exciting was the prospect of going shopping. Lord Paxton had kindly given him a small sum of money to spend, claiming that Stevie had earned it by helping him hang the Christmas greenery.

As their coach disappeared from sight, she grew calmer. For the first time in years, she trusted her precious son to another. Completely. She knew Lord Paxton would make sure Stevie stayed warm and out of the cold air and wind.

What a wonderful Christmas this was going to be! She would not allow her thoughts to stray to his lordship’s return to London. She must savor each wondrous day they would share. A smile on her face, she turned to go inside when she heard the clop of horses coming from the west. Mr. Blatherwick.

What a pity that Lord Paxton wasn’t here to limit this man’s visit. The misfortune of being too polite always hindered Mary. Since Mr. Blatherwick was coming here, though, she might as well put him to good use. She stood in the doorway and greeted him when his coachman assisted his master in disembarking. Mr. Blatherwick’s eyes widened. “You are standing on your own!”

This was the first time since her accident that his first comment to her actually referred to the injury. Was he becoming less self-centered? “I am much improved. The swelling in my ankle has receded.”

“Where’s Lord Paxton?” he inquired.

“He and Stevie just left. They’re going to Lower Worthington.”

A quizzing look quirked his face.“Stevie?”

“My son.”

“Oh, that’s right! Fine lad.” He almost pushed past her in an effort to enter her house.

“I wondered if I could impose on you to take me in your fine coach to visit poor Mr. Knight today. I’d hoped to take him some of Mrs. Ballard’s mulled wine.”

“Knight? The old fellow’s still alive?”

Her voice dropped. “Barely. Poor dear. I doubt he’ll see the new year.”

“Pity.” Then his face brightened. “I should be honored to take you.”

It was just a short drive before they reached the unkempt cottage. “It doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” Mr. Blatherwick said. “Just look at how the garden’s been neglected!”

“Recall that Mr. Knight’s in poor health, not to mention very advanced years.”

The coachmen assisted them from the conveyance, and Mary walked ahead, knowing she must knock loudly in order for Mr. Knight to hear. After a faint voice urged them in, she opened the door. “Good day to you, Mr. Knight. We’ve brought you some of Mrs. Ballard’s mulled wine. It wouldn’t be Christmas without it.”

It looked to her as if he hadn’t moved since she’d last been there. He was still stretched out on the sofa, only now a thick quilt covered him.

Mr. Blatherwick strode up to the dying man and held out his hand, fully expecting Mr. Knight to stand up and shake it.

She turned to Blatherwick. “I don’t think Mr. Knight is quite able to sit up just now.”

“Pity.”

While she stood beside the infirm man, Blatherwick dropped into a comfortable chair nearby and spoke. “I say, Knight, have you seen the new lake I’ve had constructed at Ambersley?”

In a feeble voice, Mr. Knight said, “I don’t believe I have.”

Blatherwick was only too happy to enlighten him. “It was no easy feat, I tell you. When I approached Campbell—he’s the best, you know, at that sort of commission—he did his best to dissuade me from the project. Said it would cost a fortune. I told him expense was no detriment to Benedict Blatherwick. I don’t care what I have to pay for something that brings me pleasure.”

Mary looked from the fire to the sickly man and spoke to him in a soothing voice. “Should you like me to build up the fire a bit more, Mr. Knight?”

“Now see here, Mrs. Milne,” Blatherwick said, frowning, “that’s a job for servants. Can’t have a pretty little genteel thing like you doing that.”

“I assure you I’ve performed such a task many times in my life.” She turned back to Mr. Knight. “Are you chilled? It’s awfully cold today.”

“I’m fine right now. The girl Lord Paxton sent to help out will