Page 28 of A Hot Scot for Christmas
“Not…precisely.” She was hedging, and they knew it.
This sudden engagement stretched believability. The four servants in her employ weren’t fools. While the good people of Carlisle and Rockville might not put her under a looking glass, these four would. Didn’t they have a sneaking suspicion already?
A rough Highlander appears on Christmas Eve.
No horse.
No valise (save a saddlebag).
And his knowledge of Sabrina is slim.
They had to know something unusual was afoot. For this reason, their support was crucial. Truth be told, she needed them more than they needed her. But her kindness wasn’t mercenary. The time had come to put her heart into her home. Since coming to Eden House last spring, the four of them orbited around each other, but notwitheach other.
For there was a difference.
Her arrival had uprooted their quiet life. The sleepy household got a jolt with the start of River Eden Brewery. Yet, they rooted for her, each in their own way. Mr. MacLeod’s arrival was the latest upheaval, but he was growing on them. The Highlander had certainly won Digby’s fealty.
The old butler lowered his paper, addressing the others. “We must be lively…lots to do. Mr. MacLeod has already started on his list.”
Sabrina balked. “Mr. MacLeod has a list?”
Digby’s mouth flapped. This was torture for a servant who prided himself on discretion. The others quieted in commiseration. Sabrina, however, was relieved. Mr. MacLeod wouldn’t writeDo bodily harm to a pernicious army captain.
He would just do it.
But, Digby. The poor man was going green around the gills.
“Is there something you ought to tell me?” she asked her aggrieved butler.
“It seems I’ve overstepped my bounds, ma’am. Indeed, Mr. MacLeod does have a list of his own. I glimpsed it this morning.”
A list of his own for the Twelve Days of Christmas? Interesting. Though she strove for the appearance of unity with the errant Highlander, his list was an enticing development.
“What was on his list?”
“I had but a quick view, ma’am. Two items were of particular interest. Six yards of beige cloth and green felt. He asked me where he could procure them.” This was where Digby hesitated, his prominent nose turned up like a hound on a scent. “Mr. MacLeod said the felt, however, need only be the size of a man’s hand.”
“Beige cloth and green felt,” she mused on that.
“Mr. MacLeod said it was most urgent—something about Lord and Lady Rutger’s ball.”
Sabrina fell back on yellow cushions, flummoxed. Beige cloth and a hand-print of green felt. For a costume ball?
The Twelve Days of Christmas were suddenly becoming very, very interesting.
Chapter Nine
Rory checked the window. The Rutger manse was ahead, a massive square block rising out of the countryside. Bowls of fire lined the driveway. Rory followed the fiery bread crumbs to more bronze bowls lighting a set of stairs.
Guests gathered like a milling herd, waiting for entry.
Rory sat back, unimpressed. An Englishman’s ball was as good as any others. Men high in the instep, women stuffed in silks. The social wrangling and whatnot. For Sabrina’s sake, he’d bite his tongue and get through Lord and Lady Rutger’s ball.
The night was inevitable.
Her costume, however, was not.
Was she wearing the costume he’d suggested?
