Chapter Nineteen
Two Days Before Christmas
Maggie came awake slowly in the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar bright light shining all around her.
She was half tempted to draw the old-fashioned bed-curtains and go back to sleep but then she remembered.
England. Eleanor. Ethan.
Not necessarily in that order. So she threw off the covers and squinted against the glare as she looked out the window and
gasped because—
Snow. Feet of it. Miles of it. Clinging to every tree and bush, covering the rolling hills like a layer of thick, soft cotton. It was pure and bright
and looked like Christmas—the kind in the movies. The kind that isn’t real. But it was real. Maggie felt it in the cold that seeped through the glass and into her bones and made her whole body shiver. It was
real, and Maggie didn’t know whether to be excited or apprehensive as she pulled on an extra layer and made her way downstairs.
Sir Jasper, Mr. Banes, Dr. Charles, and the duke and duchess were already at the table, sipping tea and eating breakfast,
but every eye turned when Maggie entered, as if, on some level, they knew she didn’t belong there. And the problem was, on
some level, Maggie knew they were right.
Of course, Ethan had never had that problem. “Good morning!” he boomed from the doorway. He must have been one of those people
who can thrive on very little sleep because he practically bounded over to the sideboard and started piling food on his plate
and, nervously, Maggie followed.
His hair was damp and he was wearing dark jeans and a plaid shirt and looked like an ad for a dating app that specialized
in lumberjacks. Maggie gripped a warm plate in her cold hands and waited for the inevitable grin or smirk or wink, but nothing
came. He didn’t tease or cajole. He hadn’t even glanced in her direction, and she thought about the look on his face the night
before, the low soft words I could always pick you out of a lineup .
“Ethan?”
He kept his gaze on the sideboard, and when he spoke, the words were low and under his breath. “I’m hot while I’m pouring
coffee. I’m charming while I’m dishing up eggs.”
Maggie was trying to decide if she should feel irritated or relieved that he’d resumed his mocking ways when Kitty appeared
at the door, exclaiming, “Good morning! Is everyone here?” She looked around the assembled group as if silently taking a head
count. Aside from the children and Nanny Davis, only Eleanor and Cece were missing and, apparently, Kitty didn’t feel the
need to wait.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve worked up a little... agenda.” She bit back a grin, like she didn’t want to brag but she
was really good at agenda-making. “Nothing formal. Just a few activities to make this”— dramatic pause — “the perfect Christmas.”
Today’s sweater was Seven Swans a Swimming, and Maggie wondered if Rupert’s matched. She stared at him, mentally willing him
to move so she could see.
“Item one!” Kitty went on. “Cut the Yule log. Now, Mr. Wyatt, you look like a man who can wield an axe.”
Ha! Lumberjack! Maggie almost pumped her fist before she felt warm breath on the shell of her ear as someone (one guess who) whispered, “I’m
hot while I wield an axe.”
“When you’re done, I have a few places you can stick it,” she whispered back, but his only response was a chuckle.
“Item two! Decorate—”
But before Kitty could finish, Cece came bursting into the room.
“Miss Honeychurch!” Dr. Charles exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”
But Cece was too busy to answer, scanning the faces, searching and desperate. “Is Aunt Eleanor here?”
“We haven’t seen her,” Rupert said, going back to his eggs. “Up writing half the night, blasted music blaring.” He sounded
more than a little annoyed.
But Cece... Cece looked distraught. “Has anyone seen Aunt Eleanor? Has anyone seen her this morning ?”
A shiver went down Maggie’s spine for reasons that had nothing to do with flannel-wearing men and chilly windows. “Why?”
“She’s not in her bedroom,” Cece said. “Or the library. She’s nowhere. She’s... gone.”