Page 144 of The Bachelor Spy
“No.” Evie’s eyelids sank closed despite the tip of her smile. “Not that one either.”
Blake’s gentle teasing search for an endearment even brought out Zahra’s chuckle. The whole experience went right over dear little Lily’s head.
“I am looking forward to Amelia and Elliott’s visit, though.” Grace nodded toward the decorations. “I’d had every intention of dressing in disguise as Father Christmas and surprising them.”
Frederick choked on his wine. “You were going to dowhat?”
“Since we’re having some of the children from Astlynn Commons visit for presents and cake, I thought I’d finally get to dress in disguise.” She patted her ever-extending abdomen with amusement. “I’m certainly round enough to play the part. All the books say Father Christmas is jolly and portly. I can play the jolly part, though my laugh isn’t quite low enough.”
“You’re missing a few of the other aspects, aren’t you, Lady Astley?” Blake’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Beard? Height? The minor detail of being male?”
“The children don’t care about such technicalities.” She waved away his words. “Besides, I made a white beard out of cloth and cotton wool, and it looks fairly believable. I tested it in the mirror.”
“Did you?” Frederick coughed out again, lips twitching.
“Though I’ll admit the beard kept slipping when I attempted the ‘ho, ho, ho.’ It’s rather more difficult than one might think to maintain proper beard adhesion while projecting Christmas cheer.”
Blake chuckled.
“Is this a typical Christmas tradition for Havensbrooke?” Evie asked, looking around the table with barely concealed amusement. “Lady Astley dressing as Father Christmas?”
“No,” Frederick answered, giving his head a firm shake before leveling his gaze on Grace. “It is not. Especially when Lady Astley is supposed to be resting.”
“Good luck with that one, Freddie.” Blake raised his glass in mock salute. “I can’t imagine you’ll ever win the battle to have the enigmatic and creative Lady Astley rest for any significant length of time.”
“She rests very well when she’s reading storybooks to me and Lily at night,” Zahra offered with the solemnity of someone providing crucial evidence. “She finished two whole pages last night before falling asleep in the middle of a sentence.”
Grace stared a bit open-mouthed at Zahra. “Did I?”
“It was no worry, Mama Grace,” came Lily’s quiet voice. “Zahra finished reading while you slept.”
Grace blinked, a little uncertain how to respond. She had no memory of the situation at all. Except for waking to find Zahra and Lily both curled up in bed together, fast asleep, and Frederick gently touching her face to waken her.
Another twinge shot through Grace’s back, sharper this time. She shifted in her chair again, trying to find relief.
“Well, darling, it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?” Frederick’s smile wavered as if he were fighting laughter. “That the place you’d feel most capable of resting would be while reading a book.”
His eyes were absolutely glowing with affection and barely suppressed mirth.
Grace sighed away the confusion. She loved his smile. And if her occasional ridiculousness brought it out in him, then she wouldn’t worry too much about her idiosyncrasies. In fact, they’d served her very well on quite a few occasions.
“You’ll have a treat tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Blake.” Grace brought her hands together and donned her best smile for the newlyweds. “Our patients have assembled a male choir, led by Dr. Shaw, and they’re planning to sing carols for us.” She looked over at Brandon, who stood waiting to serve. “They’re actually very good, aren’t they, Brandon?”
“Indeed, my lady.” He dipped his head, but the whisper of a smile softened his expression.
He’d been closer to smiling much more often since all the hullabaloo with the thieves and the spies had passed by. An even greater bond had been built between the dear butler and the lord and lady of the house.
She suspected that nearly dying together did that to people.
Dinner arrived in courses—consommé, roasted duck with chestnut stuffing, winter vegetables glazed in butter. But a sudden swell of nausea and the gnawing pain in her back stole Grace’s appetite entirely. She pushed food around her plate, attempting to look engaged while her stomach staged a quiet rebellion of the oddest kind.
Perhaps it was the duck. She’d never been very fond of eating one.
They seemed too cute to eat.
When Frederick commented on her full plate, she merely grinned. “I can’t imagine trying to fit anything else in my stomach right now. It’s crowded enough as it is. I’m fairly certain the baby is using my stomach as a footstool.”
The room laughed—well, except Frederick, who tilted his head with those perceptive eyes of his and studied her with growing concern. “Perhaps we should retire for the evening?”
