Page 62 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

“Mrs. Bailey,” she called out, knowing the woman had been standing in the hallway with her ear pressed to the door this entire time, “I’m ready to be dressed now.”

The nurse breathed out a sigh of relief as she opened the door and hurried back inside, only to halt in surprise to find Clara sitting safe and sound at the dressing table and waiting for her maid, as any other society lady would have been.

“Is everything…all right, my lady?” Mrs. Bailey asked, darting her gaze to the wash basin.

“Just fine.” Clara’s heart sang! “My blue dress please, with the white cashmere shawl.” She turned her head back and forth as she studied her reflection in the mirror. “I’d like to wear my hair down today, in lots of curls, and held back at my neck with a ribbon.”

“Yes, miss.” Mrs. Bailey made no comment about how out of character that last request was, thankfully, and set to work to dress her.

When Clara was ready and carried downstairs by the footman, the children were still in the breakfast room, lingering over a long breakfast and arguing about last minute plans for today’s open house.

But it was Michael who captured her attention. He’d been sitting at the head of the small table, reading a newspaper and finishing his coffee. He’d also been lingering over a very leisurely breakfast, and Clara couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been waiting for her.

He rose to his feet and pulled out her chair for her so the footman could lower her onto it. He murmured over her shoulder into her ear as he slid her up to the table, “You look absolutely ravishing this morning.”

She did her best to ignore his comment and the fluttering butterflies in her belly as she reached for her napkin and shook it out to place it onto her lap, but she couldn’t stop her cheeks from pinking. Thankfully, the children blithely ignored her arrival, so used to her presence had they become that even this monumental step of coming down to breakfast passed without their notice.

But Clara recognized its importance and wanted to cheer.

Instead, she cleared her throat and struggled for normalcy. “I’m glad I didn’t miss breakfast.”

“We’re having a lazy start to the morning,” Michael explained as he signaled for Eads to fix her a plate from the sideboard buffet and returned to his chair. But his eyes shone as he stared at her, as if he knew the changes she was experiencing this morning. “We’re glad you could join us, aren’t we, children?”

They all nodded absently, then immediately returned to their arguing and bickering. They had more important things to be concerned about, such as whether their tutor would let them bring their Christmas toys into the library during lessons.

But Michael understood the momentous nature of Clara’s arrival for breakfast, and he reached across the table to give her hand a brief—if wholly improper—squeeze of affection.

“A special Christmas breakfast, my lady.” Eads set a plate on the table before her. It was heaped with sausages, toast, wonderfully ripe berries of all kinds, and even a cinnamon-pecan sticky bun—Clara’s favorite. Then he filled her cup with hot chocolate and a small glass with freshly squeezed orange juice.

Clara smiled her gratitude. This breakfast was certainly special, indeed.

She hadn’t realized how famished she was from all of yesterday’s—and last night’s—activities until she began to eat. Every bite was heavenly, every sip of juice delicious.

Best of all, though, the children ignored her as they kept up a running stream of teasing and taunting. Her presence here in the breakfast room with them earned her not one mote of their attention, as if she were as ordinary as the toast on its rack.

That meant more to her than all the Christmas gifts she could ever have received.

As she finished her chocolate and began to ask the children what special plans they had for the day’s open house, a motion at the door caught her eye. Gordon, the same groom from the stables who had ridden north with Anthony, stepped inside the room. He held his hat apologetically in his hands.

Michael looked up. “Yes, Gordon?”

“Apologies for disturbing your breakfast, Your Grace.” He nodded deferentially. “But there’s a problem in the stables that needs your attention.”

“Oh?” Michael quickly set aside the newspaper. “Whatever could be the matter?”

Clara’s eyes narrowed.Thatwas the most disingenuous reaction she’d seen in months. What scheme had Michael conjured up now?

Whatever it was, he had also enlisted Gordon, apparently, as the man refused to look directly at her or the children, who watched him with puzzled expressions. His lips twitched as he fought back a grin.

“Perhaps you should come and see for yourself, sir.”

“All right then.” Michael slapped his napkin onto the table and rose to his feet. “But let’s all go, shall we? It will be nice to be outside in the sunshine and have fresh air to start the day.”

Like magic, their governess and his valet appeared just outside the doorway, holding coats and wraps for all of them. WhatwasMichael up to?

Then Mrs. Hansen hurried into the room. In her arms she carried a lady’s riding habit made of sturdy tweed and corduroy. Clara’s mouth fell open, and her startled eyes swung to Michael.

“We don’t have time to wait for Mrs. Bailey to bring down your coat, and this old thing was close by in the morning room armoire,” he explained.