Page 91 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘No Felix?’
He chuckled. ‘He’s hunkered down in his pen, with extra blankets and food.’
‘Not in the house?’
‘Not until Christmas Day. Maybe the Snow Show, if he can promise to be good.’
‘And how will he promise that? It’s crazy that you’re even considering letting him loose when your home will already be full of people, and some of them will be trying to perform.’ Darkness nuzzled Imogen’s hand, and she stroked his silky head.
‘Felix likes being in the centre of the action,’ Harry saidcalmly. ‘He gets upset if he’s left out, though I’ve had to draw the line at ice-skating.’ He grinned, to show he was joking – probably. ‘You’ve been here long enough to realize that.’
‘I suppose I have. I’m looking forward to the Snow Show, even though Dexter’s and my rehearsal time has been woeful.’
Harry didn’t reply immediately, and Imogen peered up at him.
‘How are you, after yesterday?’ he asked eventually.
‘I’m all right. How’s Dexter?’
‘You haven’t spoken to him?’
‘Busted ovens and mince pie orders and it being three days before Christmas have got in the way, along with some cowardice on my part.’
Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘Understood. I haven’t spoken to him for the same reasons – cowardice notwithstanding. Do you know what you’re going to say?’
‘Sort of. I just … I need to come up with the rightwayto say it, you know?’
‘Idoknow,’ Harry said emphatically. ‘Believe me. And if I can help in any way – or Sophie and I, or anything we have at our disposal’ – he gestured towards the estate, the manor hidden somewhere beyond the snow-topped trees – ‘then please just ask.’
‘Oh no, I …’ Imogen started, but then an idea formed in her mind, sparking to life as she stood in the freezing cold, Harry’s pets pressed up against her legs, warming her through her jeans. ‘Actually, I’ve just had the most brilliant idea.’ She smiled up at him, and hoped that, by the time she’d finished telling him what she proposed, he wouldn’t think she was the most ridiculous human being he’d ever met.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The twenty-third of December dawned, the day of the Snow Show, and Imogen couldn’t help remembering the creeping death of their last, interrupted rehearsal, because she still hadn’t had a chance to speak to Dexter.
They had exchanged a series of messages the day before, where Imogen had asked to see him and he kept saying he’d have a spare moment soon, but then never did. At the end of the day he’d sent one saying:So sorry, but we’ll see each other tomorrow for Northanger Abbey. x
It was near impossible to determine someone’s state of mind from a WhatsApp, but Imogen decided he sounded exhausted. Or maybe as if he’d had enough – of snow, mince pies and broken ovens; being busy. Enough of her. She thought of her conversation with Harry, and her stomach squeezed unpleasantly.
‘More snow forecast,’ Birdie said, while Imogen made pancakes at the stove. It was a displacement activity, but shewasn’t managing a whole lot of displacing. ‘I hope everyone can make it to the manor tonight.’
‘Would the Oak Fest still have gone ahead, if you hadn’t planned something else? The ice rink is popular.’
‘Having an ice rink is a very different business from open mics, stalls and arcade games. None of those would have worked well in this weather. The Snow Show is a great idea; I’m looking forward to the whole evening.’
‘Me too,’ Imogen said, though the thought of it made her palms go clammy. ‘You know, inNorthanger Abbey, Henry Tilney comes to propose to Catherine Morland after she’s been completely disgraced in the eyes of his father. He goes against convention and stands up for her. He accepts estrangement from his family so he can be with her.’
‘It is a lovely ending.’ Birdie sounded baffled at the non sequitur.
‘I have disgracedmyfather, sort of,’ Imogen said. ‘But it wasmymisunderstanding of the situation, not his. And then, when Edmund turned up, Dextertriedto stand up for me, but … Anyway. It shows that love conquers all, doesn’t it? If you love someone, you can forgive them. Catherine is ridiculous sometimes, and Henry is always steadfast. He teases her, but it’s such a kind, affectionate sort of teasing, and—’
‘Is this your introduction for tonight?’ Birdie interjected. ‘Because if so, it might need some work.’
‘Gran!’ Imogen threw a cranberry at her. It landed on the table in front of Birdie’s mug of tea. ‘Sorry. It’s not my introduction. It’s me,thinking.’
‘Goodness. Is it always so chaotic inside your brain?’
Imogen turned, outraged, but Birdie was grinning. She lobbed another cranberry at her, and Birdie caught it.
