My Merry Marquess (Wallflower's Christmas Wish #3) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,18

stated solemnly.

That night at dinner, what they managed to salvage of it, that was, Eve’s concern for Noelle diminished considerably. Lord Blitzencreek seemed to be a decent sort, and he seemed to genuinely care for Noelle.

Eve hoped that was enough.

Long after Blitzencreek bid everyone farewell, however, Eve still hadn’t heard a word from Nicholas. She rolled over in her bed restlessly. Had she really expected that after having failed to open the letters for over a year that upon finally discovering their existence, he would sprint to her side right off and declare his love?

She turned over again and punched her pillow. What if he didn’t even read them?

He will read them. Of course, he would. And then she worried over Noelle and Lord Blitzencreek.

After tossing for hours, Eve gave up on sleep altogether, donned a simple day dress in the dark of early dawn, and tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen.

She would bake.

She would make bread and perhaps some preserves and most importantly of all, she would make pies.

“Oh, Mama,” she whispered as she added wood to the stove and then moved around the room, lighting a few sconces. “I thought I loved him.” As a child, she’d spent hours with her mother, cutting apples, stirring the simmering sauce, and then rolling out the dough. Doing so now, she could almost imagine her mother standing beside her.

Even so, hours later she was no closer to having any answers. Her time hadn’t been spent in vain, however, as the kitchen was heavy with the aroma of spices, and they wouldn’t need to bake any bread for days.

She wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead and then wiped her hands on her apron when her aunt peeked inside.

“My, but you have been busy!” The feathers in Aunt Winifred’s hair bounced as she examined the counters laden with cooling breads and pies. “Mr. Kringle sent a missive round saying he has eggs and a nice cut of beef for us. Shall I take a pie and a few of these lovely loaves across?” Her aunt didn’t wait for an answer but began loading a basket selectively.

Remembering what Holly had revealed yesterday about Mr. Kringle and their aunt, Eve cracked a smile for the first time that morning. “We must hide your Mr. Kringle’s beef from Cook. The strays in the village are getting positively fat from all of her… mistakes.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. And speaking of that—”

“You have a visitor.” Noelle entered. “You’re welcome to come back, My Lord.” She gestured behind her.

The air whooshed out of Eve’s lungs, and she barely managed to acknowledge Noelle as her sister swept through the room and then disappeared out the back door. Something about meeting Holly outside and going on a sleigh ride.

Aunt Winifred raised her brows. “Good day, My Lord.” She curtsied in Nicholas’s direction. “I’m late for my errands.” She scampered away with the loaded basket. Late? When had Aunt Winifred ever cared about being on time for anything?

Nicholas nodded but remained standing at the entrance of the kitchen until the two of them were alone. He appeared as though he’d suffered an even worse night than she had.

His face was pale, almost green, and dark circles were etched beneath his bloodshot eyes. Eve placed the finished pie she’d just removed from the oven onto the counter so that she wouldn’t do anything stupid with it and trailed her gaze over the rest of him. Despite the haggard appearance of his face, he’d dressed impeccably this morning, shaved, and his hair was neat and tidy.

He held her letters in one hand.

Eve steadied her knees, which suddenly felt as though they might buckle beneath her.

He’d opened them.

Eve glanced around the room, remembering some of what she’d written and feeling embarrassed. She’d been in love with him at the time.

“I read them.” His voice sounded gravelly and dry. “I’m so sorry about your mother. Yesterday, I never would have suggested—”

“I know,” Eve cut him off. “I realized later.”

Unsure what to say, if anything, she took up her knife and returned to cutting and peeling the apples she’d been working on. She was afraid to look in his eyes. She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want his guilt. She wanted something that she hardly dared wish for.

He moved so that he was standing directly behind her—close—too close.

“All night, I’ve pondered words that might express how disgusted I am with myself.”

The heat of his body warmed her back.

“Did you ignore them