Chapter Eight
Rhys hadn’t expected company.
He’d walked up to the great house after breakfast, planning to work in the study until midafternoon, and he had worked diligently, glad to finally be making progress.
If he continued as he had been, he’d have the key paper done and the outline for the book, too, which was what the publisher needed next from him.
He’d just saved a document when he heard voices within the house, voices recognized. What were the girls doing here?
Rhys stepped from the study into the corridor between the stairwell and the suite of rooms reserved for Alec’s uncle, which also included the billiards room, which was usually empty unless the earl was home with family or friends.
“Daddy!” He turned at the sound of Olivia’s voice.
Cat and the girls were with Mrs. Booth and Olivia was waving at him, delighted to have found him. All the girls’ cheeks were pink from the cold, and they all looked happy, no trouble so far today, which made him happy.
“Well, this is a surprise,” he said, smiling.
Cat shook her head slightly, embarrassed. “Mr. Trimble said we should come up and see the house before the Christmas tours start tomorrow. He said Mrs. Booth was happy to show us around and so here we are.”
“He also said that Mrs. Johnson had made some shortbread, and it was the best shortbread in all of England,” Olivia added, holding up a piece of shortbread. “And it is very good, Daddy. You would like it.”
“We didn’t mean to bother you,” Cat hurriedly added. “We just thought we should see the house while we could.”
“Do you want to go with us?” Jillian asked him. “Have a little break.”
“It won’t be a long tour,” Mrs. Booth said. “Just fifteen minutes or so since I need to get back to work, but I thought it would be a shame if the girls didn’t see it. This is, after all, where you grew up.”
Both girls looked at him, eyes wide.
“I didn’t grow up here,” he corrected swiftly. “I grew up in the old cottage out by the garage. Back then, it was a stable.”
“Your dad worked here,” Jillian chimed in, remembering. “He worked with the horses.”
“He was a very hardworking man, and no one knew horses like Mr. Harmon.” Mrs. Booth turned to the girls.
“Now, what would you like to see first? The old hall? The stairwell? The trees? I must say the volunteer decorators outdid themselves this year. They’ve changed some things and added some new things, and it all looks splendid. ”
“Why don’t we start with the entrance and the stairwell?” Rhys suggested. “That’s always impressive.”
“Perfect suggestion,” Mrs. Booth replied, leading them down the corridor and into a wider hallway that opened up into the formal entrance with the three-story staircase topped by a glass dome.
*
Cat stopped on the threshold, dazzled by the soaring tree, the garlands, the flowers, the ribbons, the lights. It was nothing short of breathtaking.
Olivia turned in a slow circle. “It’s like a Christmas card come to life.”
Jillian folded her arms but couldn’t hide the awe in her eyes. “You’ve seen this before, Dad?”
“The staff has been decorating ever since we arrived. It takes weeks for them to put it all up, and then probably at least a week to clean it up,” he said, glancing at Mrs. Booth for confirmation.
“He’s right,” Mrs. Booth said, guiding them down from the grand entrance through a doorway and into the first of a series of rooms that overlooked the drive and the front lawn.
“This old place takes an army to dress for Christmas, but it’s worth it.
Lord Sherbourne likes to keep the traditions going—much as his father and grandfather did. ”
Cat felt like a child in a candy store. She loved her history and the great country houses dotting the countryside.
Bakewell had several big houses close to it—Haddon Hall, Chatsworth House, and of course Langley Park.
Langley Park’s red brick exterior gave no hint of the opulence within, but it was all so lovely and old in the best sort of way.
The polished floors gleamed like amber, while the high ceilings were topped with elegant plasterwork.
But maybe the part Cat loved best was the way sunlight spilled through tall Georgian windows, the sunlight gilding the garlands of evergreen and gold.
Everything smelled heavenly, too, from the fresh fir trees in every room to the beeswax and spice.
Mrs. Booth shared the house’s history as they walked, passing through archways trimmed with holly into a series of grand rooms—the music room, the great green drawing room, the dining room with the richly paneled walls.
Every room had a tree and each tree had a different theme.
Some glowed with old-fashioned candles and crystal drops; others shimmered in silver and ivory, their ornaments delicate as snowflakes.
Then Mrs. Booth opened the doors to the old hall, and the girls gasped.
The ceiling soared high above them, its massive carved beams still showing the house’s Elizabethan bones beneath later Georgian polish.
At the center of the room stood the grand tree—nearly twenty feet tall, dressed in wide crimson ribbons and glossy red balls.
For a long moment, no one spoke and then it was Cat who broke the silence with her whisper, “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. ”
*
Rhys looked at her, the wonder in her expression, the sunlight reflected in her eyes, and something hard and tight in his chest loosened.
It was beautiful here, and he knew Cat’s appreciation had nothing to do with money, or society or connections. She loved it for the history, for the generations who had taken care of this house and history, ensuring that it continued to stand for another century or more.
Mrs. Booth smiled at Cat and then at Rhys. “I remember you helping with the trees when you were a lad, Dr. Harmon.”
“Only the year Mr. Trimble was hurt.”
“Oh, that was a terrible injury. He was laid up for weeks, and at the worst time of year.” Mrs. Booth checked her watch.
“I’d best get ready for the florist. They’re doing something to the dining room table.
I’m also certain Mrs. Johnson has a tin of shortbread for you to take back to the cottage.
I don’t know how you did it, but you two girls seem to have wrapped her around your little fingers. ”
Both Jillian and Olivia smiled, and Rhys walked them through to the kitchen, where Mrs. Johnson was icing a tray of gingerbread men.
“It’s still a bit warm,” the cook said, placing one in Jillian’s hand and then Olivia’s. “The icing’s misbehaving, but if you eat it quickly it won’t matter, will it?” She then handed a gingerbread man to Rhys and Catriona. “We can’t let the children have all the fun.”
Olivia impulsively hugged Mrs. Johnson and then Rhys and the girls were outside, with Cat carrying the tin of shortbread.
“I’ll be home in an hour or two,” Rhys said.
“Take your time,” Cat answered. “We’re just going to watch a movie on my laptop and have a quiet afternoon.”
“That sounds fun. I wish I could be there,” Rhys said, kissing each of his daughters on the forehead.
“Then come home now,” Olivia pleaded.
“I have to work a bit more, but soon,” he promised.
*
By the time they reached the cottage, the gray sky looked almost like silver.
If it weren’t for the gravel on the highest part of the road, they’d be walking through slush and mud.
The girls didn’t complain but the moment they rushed through the front door, Jillian wanted a hot bath, and Olivia wanted some hot cider if they had any.
They didn’t, Cat told her but said they could to Bakewell tomorrow and buy some.
“Are we really going to watch a movie?” Olivia asked, hanging up her coat.
“I think it’d be a fun thing to do while we wait for your dad,” Cat answered, peeling off her own coat and scarf. “Do you have a favorite Christmas movie you and Jilly like to watch?”
“Let me go ask her.” Olivia tore up the stairs.
Smiling, Cat stepped into the kitchen, set the tin of shortbread on the counter before warming herself briefly in front of the lovely old Aga.
The girls returned in less than ten minutes. “No long bath today?” Cat said to Jilly.
“I couldn’t get the water very hot. But that’s okay. Livy said we could pick a movie, and we chose Paddington if you have it.”
“I should be able to find it. I’ll grab my computer and you two pick an apple or banana from the fruit basket. I think after all those coo—biscuits—we could use something healthy.”
Thank goodness for streaming options, Cat thought, finding Paddington on a UK network. The girls sat side by side on the sofa, and Cat was trying to decide where she should sit when Olivia patted the space next to her. “Here, Cat,” she said, with another little pat on the cushion.
Touched, Cat hid the sudden rush of emotion by grabbing blankets off the back of the couch and spreading one over the girls, and the smaller one over her legs.
Settling next to Olivia, Cat pushed play and they spent the next hour and a half cozy and warm, watching the adventures of an adorable bear.
The credits had just begun to roll when the door opened and Rhys entered, carrying several white takeout bags. “Curry,” he said, “all your favorites.”
The girls cheered and begged to eat where they were, on the couch, since they were so comfortable.
Rhys exchanged glances with Cat, and she just smiled because it had been a lovely afternoon, the first where she felt as if she belonged—not as a member of the family, but as a friend of the family, and for her, today, that was good enough.
Rhys had picked up cartons of chicken Korma, and butter chicken, as well as rice and naan, and crispy onion bhajis. Rhys teased the girls for watching a movie they had already watched a dozen times, and then the girls teased him for watching ‘that awful American western’ a thousand times.
Cat arched a brow. “Which awful western is that?” she asked.