Page 29 of Saving Miss Pratt

Preston, his parents’ butler, opened the door at the first knock. His dour expression hadn’t changed a bit. He took Timothy’s hat and coat and said in his typically droll voice, “Your mother and father are in the upstairs parlor. Your mother has expressed her concern regarding your late arrival.”

Translation: I am in for a severe tongue lashing.

Timothy ran a hand through his unruly hair. Then, tugging briefly on the edges of his coat to straighten it, he took a deep breath and climbed the stairs to face the dragon.

Boughs of greenery and holly decorated the hall and wound through the spindles of the staircase, the festive mood not matching his own. Servants bustled around him, each giving him a quick but courteous nod and “Welcome home, Master Timothy.”

Excited chatter drifted down the staircase as he ascended one torturous step at a time, his ankle still throbbing mercilessly. A baby’s mournful wail alerted him that Bea and Laurence had joined them, and he breathed easier that there would be some friendlier faces to greet him.

His parents had been none too happy about his decision to pursue medicine, especially his mother. And though his father didn’t oppose his choice outright, he remained silent when Timothy would rather have had his support.

At least, other than little Lizzie’s cry, everyone sounded in festive spirits.

When Timothy entered the parlor, Laurence peered up from where he cradled little Lizzie in his arms. Her chubby hands wrapped around his cravat, attempting to either untie the neckcloth or choke her father with it. Laurence nudged Bea, and her eyes flew wide, the smile on her face as blinding as the snow outside the abandoned cottage.

Damnation!He must stop thinking about Emma!

“Timothy!” Bea bounded from her seat and raced toward him, pulling him into her arms. With ease, he picked her up and swung her around in a circle, much as he had when they were children.

She appeared well, and marriage had obviously agreed with her. Of course, much of that had to do with the fact she’d married the man she’d loved for eight years. Why she’d never confided in him—her own brother—about her feelings for his best friend had baffled him to that very day.

His parents followed suit, each coming to embrace him and welcome him home.

“Where have you been?” his mother scolded. “We’ve been worried sick. We expected you days ago.”

“Now, Matilda. He’s here now. That’s all that matters.”

Timothy gaped at his father and blinked. Was the man actually standing up to his wife for once?

“Welcome home, son.” His father clasped Timothy’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Ignore your mother,” he whispered, and Timothy had an unsettling feeling perhaps he’d slipped into the home of some other Timothy.

His father patted him on the back and addressed his mother. “He appears no worse for wear. No need to question him about his whereabouts.”

Timothy darted a glance toward his mother, whose lips had pressed into a tight line. He turned a questioning look toward Bea.

“Much has changed, Timothy,” she whispered in his ear. “We’ll speak privately later.”

“Come and sit by your mother.” His mother returned to the settee and patted a cushion next to her. “Let me look at you.”

With the first two steps, his limp announced all was not as well as his parents believed.

His mother’s hand shot to her chest. “Oh, dear. You’re injured.”

“A minor sprain. I had a bit of a tumble from my horse. Snow had fallen heavily in Lincolnshire, and the beast lost his footing, trapping me under him. I had to seek shelter and wait out the storm before continuing onward.”

He recounted the details of his time at the cottage, sans one important element. With no mention of Emma in his story, his tale suffered from her exclusion.

“Why in the world didn’t you obtain passage on a coach?” Laurence asked, jostling eight-month-old Lizzie in the air, which resulted in a fit of giggles from the imp of a child.

“To be honest, I thought I would travel faster by horse. I didn’t expect the blizzard.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” his mother cooed as he settled next to her. “Quick, Beatrix, fetch a stool for your brother to prop his injured foot.”

Bea did as instructed, but not without giving him a solid eye roll as she positioned the stool under his booted foot. Perhaps things hadn’t changed as much as he first suspected.

* * *

With bleary eyes,Priscilla stared out the window at the snow-covered ground. Everything appeared bleak and barren and, although others found joy in the blanket of white, it only reminded her of her life.

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