Page 94 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
“Here for Lord Christopher’s whisky, are you?” Alistair Rutherford gave Oliver a hearty slap on the back. “Good day,” he added, beaming at Dinah and Grim.
Oliver took Dinah’s arm and drew her forward. “This is Miss Bishop, my lord, a dear friend of the Countess of Archer’s, and of the entire Angel family.”
“Is she, then? Well, Miss Bishop, any friend of the Angels is more than welcome at Rutherford Hall. Good lot they are, if a bit riotous, eh?”
Before Dinah could answer, Oliver hauled Grim forward. “This gentleman is Miss Bishop’s brother. Mr. Bishop is accompanying us to Cliff’s Edge to chaperone his sister. Aren’t you, Mr. Bishop?”
Oliver sensed Dinah stiffen in shock at this blatant lie, but he was staring hard at Grim, his eyebrows raised. If there was the least bit of consciousness on Grim’s face, their ruse was finished.
Grim had his flaws, but he could think quickly when the situation required it. “I, er…yes, indeed I am. My sister, Mr. Rutherford. Fond of her, you know.” He gave Dinah’s arm a clumsy pat.
Oliver turned to wink at Dinah. Her cheeks pinkened, and his lips curved. He’d never seen her blush. She looked prettier with that fetching wash of color on her cheeks than he’d ever seen her look before. If hehadfelt just a twinge of guilt at dragging her to Plumstead—and he wasn’t saying hedid—it evaporated like dew after sunrise at the sight of that blush.
“Shall we have some refreshment before we descend to the cellars? It’s a cold day, what? Tea will warm you. Do you fancy some tea, Mathilda?” Rutherford smiled down at the little girl still clutching his hand.
Mathilda paused to give this question the gravest consideration. “Will there be cakes?”
“Will there be cakes? Why, my dear child, have you ever known us to have tea without cakes? Run along now and fetch the others, there’s a good girl.”
Rutherford chuckled as Mathilda scurried off on a pair of chubby little legs. “I hope you don’t mind an informal tea,” he said to them as he led them through the entryway into a spacious drawing room. “We gave that up after the twelfth grandchild learned to walk.”
Informalwasn’t the word Oliver would use to describe tea at Rutherford Hall.
It was bloody chaos.
They hadn’t yet raised their teacups to their lips before they were set upon by a swarm of children of various ages, all of them demanding cakes. Dozens of pattering feet ran from one end of the room to the other, and a quartet of tiny black kittens gamboled about, pouncing on the cake crumbs that fell in the children’s wake.
The noise was unholy, with everyone shouting at once. Oliver had never enjoyed himself more, but he cast a few anxious glances at Dinah, who sat amidst the tumult, her brow furrowed, as if she’d found herself in a foreign country and didn’t know what to make of it. Not surprising, since taking tea with a family like the Rutherfords would be no more familiar to her than taking tea with the queen.
“Let’s see to your whisky, shall we, Angel?” Rutherford said, rising to his feet when tea gave way to a haphazard game of charades. “I’ve set aside a cask for Lord Christopher, but I thought you and Mr. Bishop might like to have a wander through the cellars.”
“I’d enjoy that. Is that agreeable, Bishop?”
Grim seemed to think this was an occasion that called for a formal bow and bent awkwardly at the waist. “I can’t imagine anything more delightful.”
Oliver hid his grin. “Very good, Mr. Bishop. Miss Bishop? Do you fancy a wander through the cellars, or will you—”
He stopped short, one eyebrow inching up.
Rutherford’s granddaughter Mathilda had grasped a fold of Dinah’s skirt, and Dinah was staring down at the child as if she were trying to work out what sort of creature Mathilda might be.
“Oh, no. She must come with me and play with the kittens. You will come, won’t you?” Mathilda clung to Dinah’s skirts and gazed up at her with pleading brown eyes.
“I…well, I…yes, I suppose I will.” Dinah darted a quick glance at Oliver, but she let the child led her by the hand toward the parlor.
Oliver, Rutherford and Grim descended to the cellars. Rutherford was proud of his collection, and they spent quite some time ambling about, pausing now and again as Lord Rutherford pointed out some of his rarer bottles, and held forth on the topics of fermentation and malted mash.
When they returned to the parlor, they found Mathilda chattering away to Dinah in that way young children do when they’ve found a favorite. Oliver couldn’t hear everything Mathilda said, but she seemed to be talking of the black kittens and listing off their names to Dinah.
Dinah said very little, but she sat calmly on the floor beside Mathilda, one of the kittens curled up in her lap, listening quietly as the child prattled on.
“We’ve finished in the cellars, Miss Bishop.” Oliver offered Dinah his hand.
Dinah scooped up the kitten in her lap and placed it gently in Mathilda’s hands. “Thank you for sharing your kittens with me, Mathilda.” She nestled her fingertips in Oliver’s palm. He drew her to her feet, his hand tingling from the slide of her skin against his.
Rutherford led them to the entryway, a servant following behind with the cask of whisky, but when they opened the door, they were nearly knocked off their feet by a blast of cold air. The temperature had dropped considerably while they were inside, and just as Oliver had feared, plump white flakes of snow were falling from the sky.
“Well now, we can’t send you and your friends out in this weather, Angel.” Rutherford shook his head at the gray clouds. “It’s nearly dark, and there’s no telling how much snow we’ll have.”
