A Hero for Christmas. Jo Ann Brown
“I don’t remember this from my other visit,” Jonathan said.
“It was delivered last month.” Meriweather draped his coat over a chair by the hearth.
“When did you decide to order it?” He was careful not to put emphasis on decide because he did not want to upset his friend, but he could not imagine how Meriweather had chosen to order a billiards table when he could not make any decision.
With a sheepish smile, Meriweather said, “Actually it was ordered by my predecessor. No one knew about it until the table arrived. The craftsmen were very slow workers, but they did a fine job, don’t you think?”
Jonathan ran his hand along the smooth edge of the table. “I agree. Excellent work.” Looking across it to his friend, he asked, “So don’t you think it is time you tell me why you were so insistent that I come to Meriweather Hall?”
“I told you in the letter I sent. I could use your advice on certain matters to do with the estate and with my construction business.”
“And that could not wait until after Christmastide?”
His friend’s smile became a guilty one. “You have caught me out. You and Northbridge and I have been through so much together. I did not think we should abandon him on his way to the altar.”
“You sound as if he is about to meet the hangman.” He leaned against the billiards table. “I am surprised he didn’t marry your cousin Sophia before he left for his estate.”
“Sophia wished for her mother to be out of mourning, so she could attend the ceremony. Then there are all the plans the ladies like in order for everything to be as complicated as possible. Catherine is so focused on the events that the slightest problem or change can send her up to the boughs.”
Jonathan bit his tongue to keep from saying that Meriweather was one of the reasons Cat was stressed. Rather, he said, “I am sure the wedding and the ball will be successes. I have offered to do my bit to help Miss Cat—Catherine.”
“You are a braver man than I am, Bradby.” He slapped him on the back. “But we knew that already, didn’t we?”
Here it was. His chance to tell the truth. His chance to clear his conscience.
Again, as he had done too often, he hesitated. He should tell Meriweather the truth straightaway.
Unless...
He began to smile and nodded as his friend suggested a game of billiards. Going to the rack, he lifted out a cue. The solution was so simple that he was unsure why he had not considered it before.
He would never have to reveal the truth if he proved to everyone—and himself—that he deserved the title of hero. He hefted the cue and smiled.
After all, how hard could it be to become a true hero?
Chapter Two
The eaves outside Catherine’s bedroom windows dripped in a steady rhythm two days after the snow had stopped, and Mr. Bradby had returned to Meriweather Hall. The sun glittered on snow that had fallen from the trees and bushes. Puddles were forming on the garden paths, and she guessed by late afternoon that most of the snow would have melted.
She looked down at her shoes and then paused. Between the sloppy snow and the sand along the shore, she risked ruining anything she wore on her feet. She needed footwear that would not work as sponges, so she reached into her cupboard and pulled out a pair of old boots.
She pulled them on, and thereafter she went to the closest window and opened it. Cold air swept her breath away. She hastily shut the window. She had not realized it was so chilly. The dripping eaves had suggested it was much warmer.
She pushed away from the window. No matter. She would go ahead with her plans to visit the beach below the village farther north along Sanctuary Bay. If her bosom-bow, Vera, did not want to leave her cozy fire and join her, then Catherine would go on her own.
Buttoning on a heavy pelisse and wrapping a scarf around her neck, while taking care not to knock off her wool bonnet, she then grabbed a pair of thick gloves from her dressing table. She smiled when she opened the door and saw a small pail waiting by her door. Ogden had remembered that she liked to search the beach after a powerful storm.
Catherine swung the wooden bucket by its handle as she walked down the stairs. She half-expected the puppy to bound up the stairs as he did each time she came down. Glancing into the large parlor, she saw the huge black-and-white pup lying in front of the hearth. He looked up, wagged his tail a couple of times and then went back to sleep. That was a relief because she did not want the pup along today.
She heard the rattle of harnesses and wheels, and smiled again, knowing the carriage she had requested to be ready this morning would be waiting for her. If only the plans for the wedding and the Christmas Eve ball would go as smoothly...
No! She was going to have positive thoughts today. If she found what she sought on the shore, then that would be one task she could cross off her list.
Foggin was waiting by the door and opened it for her when she approached. She urged him to shut it quickly, because he already looked half-frozen.
The closed carriage was waiting in front of her, and she rushed toward it. Before she reached it, she heard her name called. She looked over her shoulder to see Mr. Bradby coming around the corner of the house. He was bundled up as much as she was, and she recognized him because of his height and his red hair which peeked around a scarf that was the brightest orange she had ever seen.
“I did not expect to see you outside on this blustery day,” he said when he was close enough, so he did not have to shout.
She was startled to have him address her. Since Cousin Edmund’s return, Mr. Bradby had spoken less than a dozen words to her. She had caught a glimpse of him turning in the opposite direction when their paths through Meriweather Hall were about to intersect. He and her cousin had not dined with the Meriweather women for the past evenings, offering polite excuses. When she came down for breakfast, if Mr. Bradby was at the table, he hurried to finish and left after saying a cheery “Good morning.” She had tried to guess what she had done to vex him, but nothing came to mind.
“Where are you bound?” she asked in lieu of a direct response.
He drew down his scarf so his face was visible. He gave her a smile that seemed to make the wind a smidgen less biting. “Just out to get some fresh air. I thought I might walk along the shore.”
“Vera Fenwick and I are going to the beach. I want to pick up some mermaid tears.”
“What?” His smile was replaced by puzzlement.
“That is what we call broken pieces of glass that wash up on the shore. The edges have been smoothed, so it reflects the light in a pretty way.” She caught her bonnet before the wind could pluck it off her head and quickly retied it under her chin. “The best time to find them is the first low tide after a storm. That is in about an hour or so. Would you like to join Vera and me?”
“It sounds like fun. However, I don’t want to encroach upon your outing.”
“Nonsense! The more eyes the better.” Maybe if she persuaded him to spend time with her, then she could ferret out why he had been avoiding her. “I have been collecting mermaid tears since Sophia and Charles announced their betrothal, but I need many more pieces to decorate the wedding breakfast tables.”
He grinned. “Like I said, that sounds like fun. I will help you search for your mermaid tears.” He glanced at the carriage. “Is Meriweather going somewhere again today?”
“I am using the carriage because the best place to find the glass is on the beach at the bottom of the village. We seldom find any pieces beneath the cliffs here. The currents wash all jetsam toward the village.”
A gust of wind silenced whatever Mr. Bradby might have answered. Instead, he reached a long arm past her