on the arm of the chair, and realized how much she’d grown to care for this man in such a short time. “I believe it may be an answer to your personal dilemma. To make a difference in people’s lives without so much death.”
“My brother was right.” He gave her a tender smile that sent her heart into a pitter-patter. “He said I should consider marriage. Talking to Charlotte—his wife—always eased his mind and his conscience.”
Those wings in her stomach set up a fuss again. “I’m happy to help.”
“I imagine you are tired, and I’ve kept you up with my rambling.” He stood and offered his hand, helping her to her feet. He led her to the door and stopped under the mistletoe. “We can’t disappoint Miss Tia.”
His mouth covered hers; his hands slid about her waist and pulled her close. His lips were soft and warm. They pressed against hers, making her insides quake and her legs weak. Her palms moved from his chest to the silk cravat, then slid around his neck. Her mind was a bumblebath of emotion. She knew his kiss wasn’t proper but never wanted it to end.
He drew back and touched his forehead to hers. “I feel as if I’ve been waiting for you all my life. Does that sound mad?”
She shook her head, still clinging to him, certain if he let her go, she would crumple to the floor in the happiest disheveled heap.
He reached up and plucked another berry from the bunch. “There are only four left for tomorrow. Not nearly enough.”
Gus woke with a start. He’d dreamt of Grandmama granting one Christmas wish to each of her grandchildren. But this year, instead of asking, she had pushed him under the mistletoe with Etta. Maybe his grandmother was a ghostly presence at Bliss Manor.
The absurd smile returned. He didn’t know exactly when or how it had happened, but he was in love Miss Henrietta Comden. He threw back the counterpane, ready to begin his day. A new year approaching, a new life and, he hoped, a new family.
He dressed in a cranberry waistcoat with matching tails and manilla brown trousers. By the time he reached the drawing room, he found Tia, Etta, and MacIntyre in an excited conversation.
“What happened?” he asked, worried they were planning to leave.
“Tia had the strangest dream last night.” Etta gave her sister a doubtful look. “She said ‘the countess’ visited her.”
Gus paused. “What did she look like?”
Tia described his grandmother, down to the cameo she always wore pinned to her breast. “It sounds like we both dreamt of Grandmama.”
“She promised my Christmas wish would be granted. And when I woke this morning, I could hear birdsong in my head, and Etta’s voice was as clear to me as if she’d spoken in my ear.” Tia’s clear blue eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I was so afraid I would forget.”
“I dinna doubt what the lass hears, only that a ghost was in her room last night.” MacIntyre shook his head. “Are ye sure it was no’ all here?” He pointed to his temple.
“It doesn’t matter. I remember,” Tia said, hugging herself. “It’s the best Christmas Day of my life.”
Later that day, over a cup of wassail, Gus gave Tia the book Etta had found in the library. She squealed, then curled up in a chair in front of the fire to flip through the pages. Mrs. Willoughby and MacIntyre sat together, deciding which parlor games to play after dinner. Gus noted the pleased smile she bestowed on the Scot and his tender tone as they spoke.
“It seems you’ve made my sister and our butler very happy this Christmastide,” said Etta. She sat down next to him on the chaise longue. “I only wish I had something to give you in return.”
He took her hand. “There is. Stay here.”
“I beg your pardon?” Those brandy eyes held his, searching for an explanation.
“It’s only been three days, and I don’t understand it myself, but I can’t bear the thought of you leaving.” He raised her fingers to his lips. “Tia was right. The heart is never silent, and mine declares that I’ve fallen in love with you.”
He’d said it. The spontaneous boy of his youth had reappeared, and now his fate was to be decided by this exquisite woman.
A tear fell down her cheek. Good God, he’d made her cry. Gus brushed it away with a finger. “I’m sorry, Etta. I’m afraid I’ve overwhelmed you.”
She shook her head, an umber lock