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Wesley’s gaze sought Millie’s at once, without his consent. She lifted her eyebrows slightly, most likely having the same thought as he had. To call one’s own silhouette beautiful, was one expressing admiration for their own beauty or the handiwork of the artist?

“I am glad you like it,” he finally said.

“You did a much better job of it than I did,” Millie said, leaning over her seat slightly to better see Wesley. “I made poor Mr. Kendrick look like a horse.”

Mr. Kendrick smiled. “You did nothing so terrible as that.”

“I would prefer a horse to the pig she made of my sister when they were girls,” Wesley said.

Millie laughed, her face lighting up. “I did warn Mr. Kendrick of that unfortunate circumstance, did I not?”

“You did,” the man confirmed. He gave her a wide smile. “I was appropriately warned. Shall we adjourn to the drawing room, Miss Hollis? I believe Lady Dalmeer has a round of caroling planned for this evening.”

She sat up in her seat. “I would love to sing carols.”

“Where is Helena?” Wesley asked, forcing all eyes in the immediate vicinity to look at him. Had he spoken too forcefully? Blast. What was wrong with him?

“She is feeling unwell this evening, so Charles took her up after dinner.”

“How unfortunate,” Mr. Kendrick said.

Wonderful. Wesley helped make the man look compassionate and thoughtful.

“On Christmas Day, too,” Miss Stroud said. “Your poor sister.”

Millie smiled brightly. “Perhaps I will visit her and see all of you at the pianoforte for carols. She will enjoy seeing my silhouette, at least. You have a very steady hand, Mr. Kendrick.”

Wesley caught a glimpse of the paper in her hand and had to admit Mr. Kendrick had done her justice. The man stood as Millie rose from her chair and bowed slightly to her. Millie curtsied, offering him a small smile before leaving the long gallery. Wesley wanted to follow her, but the notion was ridiculous and he swallowed it at once.

“I think I will make my way to the drawing room,” Mr. Kendrick said, bidding them both a farewell.

Once he was gone, Wesley lifted his silhouette. “Thank you, Miss Stroud. I had a pleasant time completing this activity with you.”

She beamed at him, and he immediately regretted his choice in words. “Do you intend to sing carols?” she asked.

He feigned a yawn, covering it with his hand. “Not tonight. I am already too tired. Good night, Miss Stroud. I will see you tomorrow.”

She stood after he did and dipped her head in farewell. Wesley left the long gallery, making his way down toward the corridor with the white and black checkered floor, when the door to his right opened and Charles Vale stepped from a room. He appeared to be alone.

“How is your wife feeling?” Wesley asked.

“Terribly ill and wretchedly tired.” Charles closed the door behind him. “I left her asleep and imagined I would pass some time with billiards, but it turns out that hitting the balls on my own is not as distracting as I had hoped.” The poor man looked wretchedly tired himself.

“Are you worried for Helena? She is a strong woman.”

Not nearly as strong as her younger sister, but those Hollis women were not weak.

Charles sighed. “It is not her strength I am concerned about, but my own. I am not sure I will be able to live through months of watching her suffer.”

Wesley had no notion what the man was facing. He clapped him on the shoulder, doing his best to be supportive. They had not known one another well before coming to Bellthorne Hall for the house party, but Wesley had known Helena her entire life. In the last few years since they had married, he’d had occasion to spend time with Charles a handful of times. They were certainly not uncomfortable in one another’s presence.

He could use a distraction as well. “I will play billiards with you if you’d like to give it another try.”

“That would be welcome.” Charles opened the door to the room again. The walls were white and edged in gold accents, mostly covered by large tapestries. An enormous billiards table sat in the center of the parquet floor, two abandoned cue sticks with leather covering the tips laying across it.

Charles handed one cue to Wesley, nodding to the paper still in his hand. “Is that your silhouette?”

“Indeed.” He held it up near his head.