Page 27 of A Hot Scot for Christmas
Mr. Digby begged to differ and the four of them launched a spirited debate about local ecclesiastical jurisdictions. Eden House’s history was bandied while Sabrina set her papers on the table, a mischievous thought coming. She was getting good at these terrible ideas.
“Mr. MacLeod and I might elope,” she said offhandedly. “With the border so close, it would save us from the headache of a wedding.”
Mrs. Digby straightened abruptly. “Weddings are a delight…ma’am.”
Sabrina bit back a smile. Thatma’amwas an after-thought. Her cook was most put out that her mistress, a healthy young woman, was not married with a gaggle of children around her knees. Mr. MacLeod was the dear woman’s beacon of hope. She threw her cook a conciliatory bone.
“Weddings are wonderful…” though her first wedding had been a disaster (two drunk brothers, one sullen father, and learning that her husband kept a mistress came to mind) “…but let’s start with Twelfth Night festivities, shall we?” She fanned the papers.
Each servant’s name was written across the top.
Polly eyed them suspiciously. “What is this, ma’am?”
“These are your marching orders. We all have a list of tasks, myself included, because we are going to make the Twelve Days of Christmas the most delightful, most enjoyable time for Mr. MacLeod.” She clamped her mouth shut to keep from sayingbefore he leaves.
After last night, it became her mission to pour joy into his life. Any opinions about an excellent holiday for a Scot who didn’t celebrate said holiday were muted.
She picked up a sheaf and held it out. “This one is for you, Digby. Mr. MacLeod needs clothes. Please see what you can do.”
Digby strode forward, and took his list, casting a serious eye to its contents. “I have wondered about that, ma’am. What is the poor man going to wear on laundry day?”
Sabrina hiccupped a laugh. An image of Mr. MacLeod wearing his extra cravat—and nothing else—sprang to life.
“I agree,” she said, fighting a smile. “Laundry day is problematic.”
“Mrs. Standish, our last mistress, saved the clothes her son outgrew.” Polly volunteered this. “You should find them in the storage room at the back of the barn.”
Sabrina shook her head. “Boys clothes won’t work.”
“Not that kind of outgrowing clothes, ma’am. Mr. Standish used to be a gentleman of excellent health…” Polly’s nose scrunched. “…but life as a banker ruined him.”
“London ruined him,” Mrs. Digby said. The woman was staunch in her belief that cities rotted teeth and ruined souls.
Sabrina toyed with the paper in hand. “I do recall him.” The banker was tall and his girth, a sign his body was short on long country rambles. To her butler, “Please, see what you can do, Digby. Polly’s skilled with needle and thread, and I’m decent enough. Between us, we can manage. If not, please find a seamstress in Rockville.”
“Excellent, ma’am.”
The servants were clustered round the table. Candles, ribbons, lists of games, and people to invite were on each sheaf of paper. Polly pored over her list, gasping her delight.
“Oh, this is wonderful, ma’am.”
Mrs. Digby’s eyes had gone misty under her mobcap. “Do you really mean this, ma’am?”
Sabrina’s heart swelled.
“I do.”
Certain names were on each servant’s paper. Family members, dear friends. Rockville folk mostly. The inclusion of each one, a gift.
“We’ll consult the household calendar, but we have twelve days to choose from,” she said. “It will be our mission to see how full we can pack Eden House.”
Mrs. Digby clapped with joy, chorusing, “Thank you, ma’am” with Polly who clutched her paper to her chest.
Sabrina had put the name of a farmer’s son at the top of Polly’s list.
Digby lowered his sheaf. “You and Mr. MacLeod were busy last night.”
The settee squeaked under her. There were so many ways one could take what Digby said.
