O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,209

too. For better or for ill, the man’s blood ran through his veins.

The shopkeeper peered around the door “May I help you, sir? We’re about to close.”

Kit entered.

“Do you have paper and pencil?”

The man looked disappointed at such a meager order, but he opened a drawer to fulfill the request. Kit grinned as the man held out a pencil stub and sheet of paper.

“No. You’ll need them. Let’s start with this puppet theatre. What costumes come with it?”

There was something to be said for being a child at heart in possession of a large income. Kit played with each toy as it was presented to him and made his selections – they came to over two pages and the crowning item among them was an illustrated Tales from Shakespeare.

“Fetch me a pen.”

Despite the lateness of the hour, the shopkeeper moved with alacrity, buoyed by the outstandingly large sale he was making.

Kit hesitated over the flyleaf a moment, then smiled. He knew the perfect inscription. It was one from Shakespeare himself.

“I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks.”

Chapter Seven

Bishop’s Wood

Truro, Cornwall

Christmas Day, 1818

Kit woke early. He eased himself carefully out of bed, so as not to wake Sophia.

They were guests of Sir Daniel Ridgeway and his wife, Lady Abigail, invited to spend Christmas at Bishop’s Wood, their large Georgian estate.

The invitation had been unexpected – and the surprises hadn’t ended there either.

By a miracle, he’d found a man named Adam.

Adam Hardacre. His father.

More than that, Kit discovered his new family came with two half-sisters, who, along with their beautiful mother, had welcomed him and Sophia into their hearts and homes.

And yesterday, he’d almost lost them again.

He drew open the curtain to let in a little light. The early morning winter sky was bright, the sun painting the underside of the clouds a golden amber color. What a contrast it was compared to the day before. He’d sailed through storms equally ferocious, but that wasn’t what had his heart pounding, even now recalling it.

Despite the temptation of getting back into bed and snuggling up to his wife while she slept, he dressed quietly. He would only disturb her, and he wanted her to rest.

Slipping down the servants’ stairs, he encountered no one. Everyone was still asleep, no doubt exhausted by the most remarkable series of events that had unfolded over the past three weeks. Such things didn’t tire him. Instead, they filled him with energy that other people sometimes found wearisome.

Not Kit.

He went out through the kitchen and into the grounds. He ignored the brick path down into the formal gardens, choosing instead the lesser trod, narrower gravel path that led down to the woods.

Yesterday had been quite the adventure. He carried a fresh wound to his leg as proof.

A group of children, including his half-sisters, had been in peril. They had been trapped on rickety scaffolding as the storm battered Truro and yet there had been more.

He paused a moment, closed his eyes, and relived the moment he had to let go of his father in order to save him.

“Let me go.”

“No!”

“You have to.”

“It’ll be a bad landing.”

“It will be worse if I take you down with me. There’s no choice… Son.”

Kit breathed in the cold morning air and opened his eyes in time to watch his breath turn to steam. The chill was bracing, even his latest crop of aches and pains was something to savor, a badge of honor – they reminded him how precious family was and how very close he came to losing them so soon after finding them.

He was not really a religious man – he left such things to his friend, Elias – but he could not deny the gratitude in his heart. He gave thanks to the Good Lord above for giving him the very thing he had been missing.

A family.

Kit Hardacre, the orphan, now had a past to go with his present. And, if he was not very much mistaken, he had a future, too. All he had to do was wait for Sophia to confirm what he knew to be true.

He was going to be a father.

The newly breaking dawn drew him through the forest path toward the glint of light on the large pond. As the sun rose higher, the whitewashed boathouse glowed. He made his way to it to sit on the bench and rub out the ache in his leg, turning his face toward the newly risen sun. Even in the crisp, cold, Christmas