A Christmas Match

The best Christmas possible—that’s what Lavinia Crowne intends to provide before taking her orphaned nieces and nephew home to Philadelphia. But carrying out her plan may be harder than she expects, with their handsome, stubborn uncle, Henry Hawthorn, insisting on raising the children in rough-and-tumble Sutter Creek, California. Lavinia can’t bear to lose her late sister’s children, though, or go against her father’s demand to bring them home.

Henry believes his nieces and nephew need affection and security more than a lavish lifestyle. But as the children conspire to bring their aunt and uncle together, a new vision fills his head—of future Christmases spent with sweet, determined Lavinia and their growing family. Can three little matchmakers, and the spirit of the season, bring the gift of a very happy beginning?

“I’d have been happy to help.”

Lavinia set the figurine down and pinned Henry with a steely gaze. “Has it occurred to you I might not want your help? This party is my undertaking, my opportunity to show you that—” She clamped her lips together and turned away.

“To show me what? That you’re determined to win the children’s affection? I know that. I just don’t think you’re going about it the right way.” Ugh!

How tactless could he be? “What I mean is—”

“I know what you mean.” She whirled around, her dark eyes flashing. “You think you can do a better job caring for them than I can, that because I’ve led a sheltered life I don’t have the necessary skills. You think you’re going to show me that they belong here with you. But you’re mistaken. I’m more capable than you give me credit for.”

“I think you’re more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

“I appreciate your kind words, but if you think plying me with compliments will make me give in, you’re mistaken.”

Dear Reader,

I’m a December bride, so when my editor asked if I’d like to write a Christmas story, I responded with an enthusiastic yes. This time of year thoughts turn to love—of our families, our friends and, most important, our Lord, who came to earth as a baby. Creating a love story set during this wonderful season was special.

I enjoyed writing Henry and Lavinia’s story and hope you’ve enjoyed reading it. This couple has experienced heartache, but they find solace in caring for their nephew and nieces. They also find a love of their own as they work together to make Christmas special for the children.

I strive to make my stories as historically accurate as possible. As I did my research, I learned a lot about Sutter Creek, a Gold Rush-era town not too far from where I live that has a rich history. I did take a bit of fictional license. The first church wasn’t built until two years after the story takes place. There was a congregation in the late 1850s, but I don’t know where they met. I chose to use the schoolhouse.

I love hearing from readers. You can contact me through my website at www.keligwyn.com or write to me at PO Box 1404, Placerville CA 95667.

Warmly,

Keli Gwyn

Award-winning author KELI GWYN, a native Californian, transports readers to the early days of the Golden State. She and her husband live in the heart of California’s Gold Country. Her favorite places to visit are her fictional worlds, historical museums and other Gold Rush–era towns. Keli loves hearing from readers and invites you to visit her Victorian-style cyberhome at keligwyn.com, where you’ll find her contact information.

Their Mistletoe Matchmakers

Keli Gwyn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily,

as to the Lord, and not unto men;

Knowing that of the Lord ye shall

receive the reward of the inheritance:

for ye serve the Lord Christ.

—Colossians 3:23–24

To my bright, beautiful daughter, Adriana, who loves Christmas more than anyone else I know.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

November 1860

Sutter Creek, California

The ominous crack of the large oak tree branch overhead sent a chill racing down Lavinia Crowne’s spine. Despite her mad scramble to get out of the way, she lost her footing on the slippery path and fell backward.

The jarring impact as she hit the ground was nothing compared to the thunderous roar as the limb came crashing down. She gasped, certain that her terror-laced breath would be her last.

To her surprise, she found herself trapped beneath a bend in the branch, staring at the stormy sky above. Her arms were pinned to her sides, but she was alive.

Thank You, Lord, for Your protection.

“Help!” Surely someone would hear her.

Bitter cold seeped through Lavinia’s clothing. The swollen gray clouds that had gathered throughout the day had begun unleashing their burden only minutes ago, quickly turning the yard into a muddy mess. Raindrops fell fast and furious, running off her cheeks like a fountain of tears. If only she’d attempted her dash to the shed earlier.

“I’m on my way!”

Lavinia recognized the man’s voice and groaned. Of all the people who could have come to her rescue, why did it have to be him? She had no desire for Henry Hawthorn to see her in her present state. When she faced her recently orphaned nephew and nieces’ uncle, she’d planned to be in her best form. Instead, she was a muddy mess.

The front gate banged against the wrought iron fence surrounding the corner lot, obviously thrown open in haste. A second shout penetrated the downpour, louder and closer than the first, confirming that the man whose boots were thudding across the soggy ground toward her was indeed Henry. “Hold on! I’m almost there.”

She hadn’t heard him speak since their one and only meeting at the wedding of her sister and Henry’s brother ten years before. Unlike his late brother, Jack, who’d embraced his heritage wholeheartedly, Henry had worked to lose his Scottish burr. The hint of the strong R she’d heard that day remained, though, giving his rich voice an undeniable appeal—even if it was the last one Lavinia had wanted to hear in response to her cry for help.

When she’d arrived in town eight days before, her sister’s friend, who lived next door, had been watching the children. Since Norma had three little ones of her own, she was happy to leave the job of caring for Jack and Pauline’s three children to Lavinia.

Henry had returned to Sutter Creek earlier than expected, having left for Marysville a day before Lavinia’s arrival. He’d told Norma not to expect him back until the day before Thanksgiving. That would have given Lavinia ten days to get to know her precious nephew and nieces on her own. But Henry was here now, cutting short her time alone with them by two days. Although the youngsters had been anxiously awaiting their uncle’s return, she wasn’t eager to face him again.

The irksome man had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times. What he’d witnessed at Jack and Pauline’s wedding reception all those years ago was nothing compared to her present state. She must look a fright. No doubt, her silk gown was ruined. Thankfully, she’d brought several more when she’d come west—along with the boots to match each of them. Some might see that as frivolous, but what lady didn’t fancy fine footwear?

From her vantage point beneath the broken branch, all she could see when she turned her head were a pair of leather boots and the bottom of a stylish overcoat worn by the purposeful man headed her way. The downed limb blocked everything else.

Henry covered the short distance from the white clapboard house at a jog. He leaned over her, confusion creasing his broad brow. Rainwater poured from the brim of his top hat. “Lavinia! What are you doing here? I left the children with Norma.”

The fact that he recognized her was a good sign. Her face must not be covered with as much mud as she’d feared. It also meant that even though so much time had passed since they’d met on that memorable but melancholy day his only brother had married her beloved sister, Henry hadn’t forgotten her. Then again, how could he after the spectacle she’d made of herself at the reception afterward?

Although she’d been just sixteen at the time, she’d known better than to behave like a petulant child. It wasn’t his fault that his brother, Jack, had robbed her of her only sibling and best friend, whisking Pauline off to the Wild West. Not that Henry had shown much sympathy. Lavinia could still hear his mild reproach. They’re happy. Why can’t you be happy for them?

He’d neglected to mention the gulf that had separated Jack and Pauline—a poor blacksmith and the daughter of a man who owned a hotel empire—which had become an obstacle that had led to discord, hurt feelings and, now, a bone-deep sorrow. Henry’s younger brother and her older sister had gone to their heavenly home two months ago following a boiler explosion on the steamboat taking them to San Francisco for their tenth anniversary, leaving behind three adorable children.

Lavinia squelched the desire to toss out a sarcastic reply to Henry’s question. That’s what she’d done when she’d met him at the wedding—not one of her better moments. But she was older and wiser now. “Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t free myself. I thank the good Lord you came along.” She’d stretched the truth a bit since Henry wasn’t her choice of a hero, but she was grateful he’d heard her cries for help and come to her aid.

He stared at her a moment, disbelief clouding his sky-blue eyes, and shook his head, sending water droplets flying. His businesslike manner reappeared. “I’ll get this off you, and then I’ll fetch the doctor.”

“I don’t need to see a doctor. I’m fine.”

“Perhaps, but you should still be examined.” He stood and gripped the branch with his gloved hands. They were fine leather gloves, not those worn by a smithy, such as he’d been in his days spent working with his brother in their shop back in Philadelphia.

Lavinia appreciated Henry’s concern, but God had been looking out for her. As far as she could tell, she hadn’t suffered any injuries.

The downed tree limb was large and must weigh a lot, but Henry hefted it with ease and dragged it out of the way. She attempted to rise onto her elbows, but the soggy ground made the task difficult.

“Don’t move!” He dropped to his knees beside her, heedless of the mud puddle that had formed, and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I need to check you over first. You can lift your head, which is a good sign, but what about the rest of you?”

“Nothing appears to be broken.” She’d done a quick test earlier, relieved to find that everything seemed to be in working order.

“If you’ll permit me, I’ll perform a cursory examination. Once I’m satisfied that moving you won’t be a problem, I’ll take you in the house.”

She wasn’t a hothouse flower in need of special treatment. “I appreciate the offer and would take you up on it, but—”

“You don’t want the help of a man like me. I understand. You made it clear that my family doesn’t meet your exacting standards, but I’m not the lowly no-account you seem to think I am.”

“I never said that.” All she wanted to do was get out of the rain, not recall memories of an unpleasant encounter she’d spent years trying to forget.

“You didn’t have to. Your behavior that day spoke for you.” Although his tone was level, the underlying hurt that had crept into his voice flooded her with remorse.

He made a valid point. She’d behaved badly, but now was neither the time nor the place for a discussion on that. “Fine. Check me over if you must, and then can we get out of the rain? I’m drenched, and you will soon be, too. I’d like to spare you that.”

Despite their charged exchange, his hands were gentle as he ran them along her arms and legs, twisting them to and fro until he was satisfied. “From what I can tell, nothing’s broken, so I’ll get you inside.”

Before she realized his intentions, he had scooped her into his arms and started for the house. “You don’t need to do this. I’m perfectly capable of walking. Besides, I’m covered in mud. I’ll get it all over you.”

“I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

His kind words, spoken with sincerity and that rich rolled R of his, robbed her of speech. Henry meant nothing special by them, but aside from the servants who were paid to see to her needs, no one back home had cared about her in years—not since her mother had passed on.

Her father certainly didn’t care. The drive to expand his hotel empire consumed him. Paul Crowne had used her unexpected trip to California to care for his orphaned grandchildren to his advantage. He’d assigned his latest protégé, Stuart Worthington, who had served as her traveling companion and protector, the task of assessing San Francisco as a suitable location for another of his hotels, the Golden Crowne.

Not that she was surprised by her father’s callousness. He hadn’t spoken of Pauline or Jack in anything but derogatory terms since the happy couple had headed west. Lavinia’s request to pay them a visit after the birth of their son, Alex, had been flatly denied. She’d attempted to bring up the subject a second time when Jack and Pauline had welcomed their first daughter into the world, but her father had made it clear the subject was not open for discussion.

Lavinia hadn’t brought it up again until Henry’s letter arrived with the tragic news. To her surprise, her father had granted her permission to make the journey, proving he wasn’t as unfeeling as people seemed to think he was. If only he would wholeheartedly embrace the faith that her beloved mother had instilled in her daughters. He attended church and even made contributions, but he rarely spoke about spiritual matters, leaving Lavinia to wonder if he really loved the Lord as she did.

Eager to ease the awkward silence that had descended on them as Henry carried her toward the house, she asked the question that had occurred to her as she’d lain flat on her back with nothing shielding her from the pelting rain but bare branches and a massive clump of mistletoe high in the tree. “What would make a limb come down suddenly like that? It’s not as though the tree was struck by lightning, and the winds aren’t that strong, although they seem to be picking up.”

“It happens with oaks, especially after the hot, dry summers we’ve had the past few years. If a tree can’t support all its branches, it will shed one to survive. A falling limb usually occurs during the heat, but it can happen any time of the year. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt when that one came down.” He inclined his head toward the fallen branch.

“You and me both. I thanked the Lord posthaste.”

Her face was so close to Henry’s as he cradled her in his strong arms that his profile filled her vision. He’d already been good-looking at twenty, but the ensuing decade had done remarkable things for him, transforming him into a strikingly handsome man. With his angular jaw, aristocratic nose and arresting blue eyes, he must have turned the head of many a lady over the years. And yet, from what Pauline had written, no woman had turned his.

He reached the back porch, tromped up the steps and glanced at her. His eyebrows shot toward his hairline, and his well-formed lips lifted in a winsome smile.

She averted her gaze. How could she have been so foolish as to let him catch her staring at him? He might be a feast for the eyes, but he wasn’t the type of man to capture her attention. Like their late siblings, she and Henry came from different worlds.

And yet it appeared his situation had improved. His waterproof top hat, made of high-quality beaver, provided a sharp contrast to the shabby slouch hat he used to wear. Her head rested on his chest, the wool of his alpaca overcoat soft against her cheek. The coat, one every bit as fine as her father’s, had to have cost Henry a small fortune.

“Since my hands are full—” he winked “—could you open the door?”

Her many years spent schooling her emotions enabled her to hide her surprise. Barely. The gentlemen of her acquaintance would never have behaved in such a familiar manner, but in her experience, Henry only conformed to the social mores when it suited him. “You could put me down, you know.”

“I will. When I’m ready. The door, please.” He inclined his head toward it.

Obstinate man. “Are you always this insistent on doing things your way?”

He grinned. “Only when I’m carrying a lovely lady in my arms.”

Her manners failed her, leaving her mouth gaping. She snapped it closed and grappled for a suitable response, delivering it with playfulness on par with his. “Might I point out, kind sir, that I’m a muddy mess and don’t qualify for any special treatment?”

“This isn’t special treatment. I make it a point to come to the aid of anyone who tangles with a broken branch or—” his pleasantly full lips twitched “—a wayward piece of cake.”

He remembered? Of course he did. How could he forget that mortifying moment when she’d stumbled and sent her slice of Jack and Pauline’s wedding cake sliding down her front?

Henry had hustled her off to the kitchen after the unfortunate incident and helped her remove the bits of white frosting clinging to the silk. She’d done her best to ignore him up to that point—not an easy task since he was the best man—but he’d repaid her with kindness. Aside from that rather pointed remark about begrudging Jack and Pauline their happiness, of course.

“Very well. I’ll do your bidding.” Lavinia leaned over, twisted the knob and pushed open the door.

He entered the kitchen, set her down in front of the cook stove and rested his hands on her shoulders. “You’re not dizzy, are you?”

“No. Just a bit chilled.” She turned out of his grasp and held her hands toward the heat, reveling in the warmth.

“Where are the children?”

“Alex and Marcie are in school. I sent Gladys to meet them with umbrellas since the weather took a turn. Dot asked to go, too, so I let her.” She’d had such fun getting to know her nieces and nephew over the past week. The youngest girl loved her older siblings and missed them when they were gone. Since they were all Dot had left of her immediate family, it made sense.

Henry leaned back against the dry sink, his arms folded. “Who’s Gladys?”

“My maid, er, the housekeeper.”

“You brought a servant all the way from Philadelphia? Why?”

She preferred his playful side to his drawn eyebrows and pursed lips. She’d dealt with more than enough disapproval from her father over the years. She didn’t need it from Henry, too. “To care for the children, of course.”

“You don’t have to care for them. I am.”

“How can you? You still live up in Marysville, don’t you?” In his Miners’ Hotel, which he’d opened a few years back, if she had her facts straight. Pauline’s friend Norma said he’d made the trip down to Sutter Creek as soon as he’d received word of the steamship accident that had claimed Pauline and Jack’s lives, among many others. Although Henry’s concern for the children was laudable, he couldn’t leave his business for too long. Could he?

“I did live there, but I’m here now.”

Norma hadn’t elaborated on his plans. “For a visit?”

“To stay. The children need me, so I’ve put my place up for sale. That’s why I had to go back up there and wasn’t here when you arrived.”

He wasn’t making sense. “Are you saying you intend to take them in?”

“Yes.”

That one word, uttered so matter-of-factly, robbed her of her breath. He wasn’t going to raise the children. She was.

She needed to set him straight. Now.

* * *

The last thing Henry needed was the children’s meddlesome aunt interfering, but that determined look in Lavinia Crowne’s chocolate-brown eyes spelled trouble.

“I was clear in my letter. Father sent me here to—”

“What letter?” He hadn’t received one.

“The one I mailed the day we set sail. Didn’t you get it? I understood the Pony Express to be quite reliable.”

“Where did you send it?”

“To your hotel in Marysville.”

He nodded. “It would have arrived there when I was here in Sutter Creek. I asked my clerk to forward everything. The letter’s probably on—” he swallowed “—on Jack’s desk.” Two months had passed, and yet he still had a hard time saying his brother’s name without a stab of pain.

“I s-see.” She was rubbing her arms and clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering.

“We can talk later. You need to get out of those wet things. I’ll get some water heating so you can bathe, and then I’ll see about stretching a tarpaulin over the shed before it gets any wetter inside.”

“Wh-what happened to the shed?” She rushed to the window overlooking the backyard. “Oh! The branch destroyed a good bit of the roof, didn’t it? That’s too bad.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it once the storm’s past.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t inside. I was g-going out there to get more kerosene.”

“I’ll bring some when I come back.” He moved closer, attempting to capture her attention, but it remained riveted on the storm’s damage. “Do you need anything else before I go?”

She twisted a mud-coated curl around her finger. Her parted mouth and glassy-eyed stare gave her the look of someone who was lost. “I never thought about death much until I lost my mother. First Maman and now Pauline and Jack. Life’s a fleeting thing, isn’t it?”

He wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear, so he waited to see if she would continue. Thankfully, she did.

“Do you miss them?”

“I do.” He stared out the window, remembering the last time he’d seen Jack and his doting wife. It had been a hot September day. They’d been sitting on a blanket in the shade of that very oak tree, having a picnic lunch with the children. Laughter had flowed as freely as the lemonade.

“My brother and I had our differences when we were younger, but once we got a few years on us things improved. Pauline helped smooth Jack’s rough edges. She tried to help smooth mine, too, but according to her, I’m a—” he formed quotation marks in the air “—‘diamond in the rough.’” The memory of her saying those words in that playful way of hers made him smile. He turned to find Lavinia gazing at him, a look of wonder on her lovely face.

“I’m glad you got to know her. She was w-wonderful. I m-miss her so much it hurts.” She dragged in a shuddering breath, blew it out and squared her shoulders. “I should get changed. It wouldn’t do for the children to see me looking like this.”

“They were happy, Lavinia.”

She nodded, but her attention was on her soiled dress. “Yes. You’ve mentioned that before.”

He had—ten years ago. She hadn’t believed it then, but if she did now, it might bring her some comfort.

“I’d better see to the tarpaulin. Be sure to bolt both kitchen doors so you have your privacy. I’ll come in the front and entertain the children when they arrive.”

She spun to face him, her chin lifted in regal fashion, all business once again. “That’s not necessary. Gladys can see to them until I’m ready.”

Lavinia’s clipped dismissal didn’t sit well with him. He was the children’s uncle, and he knew them far better than she did. At least she cared about them—unlike her father. Paul Crowne had shown no interest in them, a fact that had grieved Pauline greatly. How could a man ignore his own grandchildren and deprive their only aunt of the right to visit them as he had? Pauline would have loved to have seen her sister again. From what she’d said, Lavinia had begged their father to allow her to come to California repeatedly, only to be met with his steadfast refusal.

Henry chose not to challenge Lavinia. He could clarify things later, once she was clean and dry.

He headed to the shed and surveyed the damage. It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. He tacked a tarpaulin in place, a task that took longer than expected due to the brisk wind.

There. He put down the hammer and checked for leaks but found none. That should keep out most of the water. Once the rain stopped, he would see to the repairs. He grabbed the kerosene tin and hurried toward the house. The children should be home soon, and they’d give him those delightful hugs that threatened to turn him into a pile of mush.

He’d arrived in California back in ’52 just in time to welcome his nephew into the world. The surge of emotion that had come over him when he held the squirming, squealing bundle of boy for the first time had nearly bowled him over. If being an uncle brought such joy, he could only imagine what it would be like to hold his own child one day.

His smile faded. To become a father, he would have to find a wife. Not an easy task. When he’d first set foot in the Golden State, men had outnumbered women nine to one. There was now one woman for every five men, but only a small fraction of those females were God-fearing ladies. An even smaller fraction were single. Of those suitable ladies who had come, even fewer had stayed.

Life in California wasn’t easy, but it certainly wasn’t boring. Each day was an opportunity to meet new people, experience new things and increase one’s knowledge. Pauline had been a rare breed, supporting her husband’s dreams and wholeheartedly embracing life out west.

Finding a courageous, spirited, supportive woman of God like his late sister-in-law had proven to be a challenge. He’d tried, but the handful of ladies like her that he’d met had been snatched up before he could say competition. The one time he’d believed that he’d forged a friendship with an eligible lady, she’d headed back east, offering him only a cursory goodbye.

He’d surrendered his dream of having a family to the Lord. Due to the steamship accident that had claimed the lives of Jack and Pauline, he had one now. Ever since losing their parents, Alex, Marcie and little Dot had turned to him for love and support, and he wouldn’t have it any other way—even if it meant putting down roots. Those three youngsters meant the world to him.

The sound of childish chatter sent Henry hurrying up the front steps, taking them two at a time. Despite his eagerness, he slipped inside as quietly as possible, yanked off his gloves and removed his rain-soaked coat and hat.

He opened the door to the parlor and stepped into the room. “You’re back, I see.”

“Uncle Henry!” the children cried in unison.

The two girls flew at him. Six-year-old Marcie flung her arms around his waist and gave him a sound squeeze. Four-year-old Dot grabbed hold of his thigh and wrapped her feet around his ankle. Eight-year-old Alex followed at a leisurely pace, attempting to look more mature than his sisters.

Henry ruffled Alex’s hair and stooped to kiss the top of Marcie’s head. She released Henry, and he took off in a lurching trek across the parlor with Dot still clinging to his leg. Her giggles filled the room.

A throat cleared. He turned toward the noise. An older woman with folded arms and a frown stood in the doorway. He hobbled over to her with Dot in tow and held out a hand. The housekeeper stared at it with a curled lip. Memories flooded in of others hesitating to shake his hand, Lavinia among them. He dropped it to his side and offered her a smile instead. “You must be Gladys. I’m Henry.”

“So I heard. Lavinia said you’d shown up and pulled that tree off her. I can’t believe you kept the poor dear talking as long as you did. Her teeth were chattering something fierce when we got back from the school. I poured her a bath straightaway. She’s almost ready, so she sent me out here to watch the young’uns—like I’ve been doing the past eight days.”

Evidently, Lavinia had told her maid-turned-housekeeper that he planned to care for the children, as was Jack and Pauline’s wish, and Gladys had taken offense. “And doing a fine job of it, too, I’m sure.”

The prickly woman scoffed. “Flattery won’t work on me, young man, so you can save your breath.”

She was outspoken for a servant and not at all the type of woman he would have expected Paul Crowne to have accompany his daughter. Perhaps he’d had a hard time finding a woman willing to make the trip west, despite his wealth. The conditions on board a California-bound steamship were reputed to be lacking, even for those traveling first class. Worse yet was the train trip across Panama. Although that leg of the journey only took about six hours, the exposure to disease had taken its toll. Three miners who’d rented rooms from him during the years he’d run his hotel had contracted yellow fever or malaria shortly after they’d arrived. They’d suffered terribly. Sadly, the diseases claimed all three victims in the end.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, ma’am. The children are healthy and happy. That tells me they’ve been well cared for.”

She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “But you think you can do better, I hear. You? A man, alone? I reckon you believe that to be true, but I have my doubts.”

He had his, too, but he’d made a pledge to Jack and Pauline. Honoring it required him to make significant changes and to give up his dream of running a restaurant one day, but he’d do whatever it took to ensure a good future for the children.

Gladys pinned him with a searing gaze, turned on her heel and left. A hushed exchange took place in the entryway, and then Lavinia appeared, looking every bit the refined lady she was, from the mass of damp curls piled on top of her head to the dainty leather boots that matched her dress. The cranberry red, while not customary for a woman in mourning, complemented her fair complexion and dark brown hair.

“Uncle Henry.” Dot let go of him and beckoned with a crooked finger.

He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees. “What is it, Dimples?”

She grinned, revealing the reason for the nickname he’d given her. “You said you miss my kisses when you go ’way, so here’s one.” She smacked a kiss on his left cheek.

“Come here, you.” He hefted her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Dot beamed.

Marcie tugged on his sleeve. “I have a kiss for you, too.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Muffin, because your kisses are as sweet as sugar.” He leaned over and received a buss on his right cheek.

He swiped a finger across his cheek, stuck it in his mouth and pulled it out with a pop. “I was right. Sugary sweet.”

The rustle of skirts drew his attention to Lavinia once again. She’d entered the room and stood by the settee. She caught him looking at her, and a shy smile lifted her lovely lips. Her eyes held a hint of...approval? From Lavinia Crowne, the woman who’d looked down her dainty nose at him during her sister’s wedding reception? Nice to know she found something in him to like now, whatever it was.

He tore his gaze from her and gave Alex his attention, struck once again by his nephew’s resemblance to Jack at that age. Henry swallowed the lump in his throat. “How did things go at school today?”

The quiet boy shrugged. “It was all right.”

Marcie, the talkative one of the trio, scoffed. “It was a real good day. He got the highest marks on his whole grade’s arithmetic examination. He knows his multiplication tables all the way to fifteen.”

Henry clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “That’s great, Buddy. I’m proud of you.”

Lavinia joined the conversation. “I am, too. I know how hard you studied for the test.”

Alex scuffed the toe of his boot over a swirl in the worn rug. “Thanks.”

Dot tapped Henry’s cheek.

“What is it, Dimples?”

“Can we have some hot cocoa? It was awful cold outside.”

“Yes, you may,” Lavinia answered. “Just ask Miss Gladys nicely if she’ll make it for you.”

“I’ll ask her instead. She likes me best, so she’ll do it for me.” Marcie patted her thick, curly hair. “I’ll even ask her for whipped cream on top.”

Alex scoffed. “What are you talking about? Miss Gladys doesn’t like anyone.”

“She does, too,” Marcie countered. “She said I’m a flibbertigibbet. Isn’t that a fun word? Flibbertigibbet.”

Alex burst out laughing. Henry kept a straight face, but he couldn’t keep his lips from twitching. Aside from merriment dancing in her dark brown eyes, Lavinia kept her amusement under control. She shot Alex a pointed look. He covered his mouth, but his shoulders still shook.

Marcie jammed her hands onto her hips and faced her brother. “What’s so funny?”

“You are,” Alex shot back. “Do you even know what a flibbertigibbet is? It’s a person who talks too much.”

“Well, Mister Smarty, at least I talk to Miss Gladys. You hardly say anything. Just please and thank you. That’s boring.”

“Come now, children.” Lavinia draped an arm across Marcie’s shoulders. She reached a hand toward Alex and let it hover for a moment, as though waiting for him to welcome the contact. When he didn’t, she pulled her hand back. “Go into the kitchen and get that cocoa. And no more quibbling, please.”

Henry set Dot down, and she trooped after her siblings. As soon as they were out of earshot, Lavinia laughed. “Marcie is really something, isn’t she? Even though I’ve just gotten to know the children, it took no time for me to see how similar Marcie is to... Pauline.” She blinked rapidly to clear her misty eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I miss her so much.”

“I understand. I miss her, too. She was so full of life.”

“She was the best thing in mine. I love how she saw everything as an adventure—even coming out here. I can’t believe I’ll never see her again. I should have come sooner, but...” She heaved a sigh.

“But your father forbade it.”

“She told you?”

He nodded. Paul Crowne hadn’t gone to his daughter’s wedding. Ten years had passed without a word from him. Pauline had never given up hope that his heart would soften one day, but he’d shut her out completely. “He didn’t even realize he had grandchildren until he got my letter with the sad news, did he?”

“I told him, but he—” Lavinia toyed with the button on her sleeve. “He rarely mentioned them.”

The admission had cost her. Henry softened his tone. “He has no idea what he missed, but it’s too late.”

“It’s not. He’s going to meet them. Quite soon, in fact.”

His jaw dropped. “Your father is actually going to come out here after all this time?”

She shook her head, dislodging a curl. The spiral drooped over her left eye. “He can’t get away. Business, you know. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to see that the children have a special Christmas celebration, and then we’ll be going home.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You and Gladys?”

She brushed the loose curl aside. “Yes, plus Stuart and—”

“Who’s Stuart?” The question had slipped out before he could stop it.

“Stuart Worthington is one of my father’s competent young managers. He accompanied us all the way to Sutter Creek before returning to San Francisco. He’s there now and will come back here at the end of the year to escort all five of us back to Philadelphia.”

Henry stared at her in disbelief. “You’re not seriously thinking of taking the children, are you?”

“Yes.” Lavinia’s too-sweet smile was at odds with the determination in her eyes. “I am.”

“Let me make myself clear then. You’re not taking them. They’re staying here with me. I’m their legal guardian, as per Jack’s will, and I won’t be relinquishing that right to you, your father or anyone.”

Chapter Two

Henry was their guardian? What could Jack have been thinking? Henry couldn’t raise a child on his own, let alone three of them.

Or could he? Her brother-in-law had obviously thought so. Lavinia couldn’t deny that Henry was good with the children. It hadn’t taken long to see that they doted on him, and it was clear he loved them deeply in return.

It appeared he had the means to provide for them—at least their basic needs anyhow. Although his frock coat, shirt and trousers appeared to be ready-made, his hat, overcoat and silk cravat were of the highest quality. His hotel in Marysville must be doing well, enabling him to hire a housekeeper, if he chose to.

But the children deserved more than the simple life they’d been living. Her father could give them that. He was determined to do so, which spoke well of him. Alex, Marcie and Dot would live in a lovely home, go to the finest schools and have opportunities beyond their wildest dreams.

Gaining the right to take them back with her might involve a legal challenge, but it wouldn’t be hard for a knowledgeable lawyer to overturn a will. Her father had waged far more difficult battles in the past and won.

Lavinia took a seat on the bright red settee and arranged her skirts, giving her time to form a suitable response. Henry meant well and deserved respect. Perhaps she could convince him that she’d be a more fitting guardian. He might even welcome the opportunity to relinquish his obligation. No doubt, he hadn’t expected to assume the role when he’d agreed to be named. “I admire your willingness to see that the children are cared for, but surely you realize what kind of life they would have back home.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Of course, I do. They would be taught to disparage people like their hardworking father, and I won’t have that. Jack might have fallen short of your father’s ideals, but he was a good man, and he was good to Pauline.”

She ran a hand over the arm of the well-worn settee. Like most of the items in the house, it had seen better days. At least there was a piano. Pauline had loved to play. “He couldn’t give her what she would have had if she’d heeded Father’s counsel and remained back east.”

“Jack couldn’t give her what she had as a girl, no, but he gave her what mattered most. She had a husband she adored and who loved her deeply, and they had three wonderful children. As I said earlier, Pauline was happy here. Anyone who knew her would tell you that.”

Norma had said much the same. “Be that as it may, I’m sure you’d agree that the children deserve to have the best we can offer them.”

Henry studied her for the longest time before taking a seat in the leather armchair to her left. He slipped a finger under the collar of his white dress shirt and tugged at it, loosening his cravat in the process. “I’ve worn one of these fancy things every day for the past five years, and I’m still not used to them. Some of society’s conventions sure can be restrictive.”

His attempt to make a point wasn’t lost on her. Her father had worked hard and done well for himself. His position required him to adhere to social mores, but he didn’t consider them to be restrictive. Perhaps that’s because he was used to them. He’d dressed in fine clothes as far back as she could remember.

“And yet you wear one,” Lavinia said.

“I’ve made concessions. A businessman is expected to present a certain image. I’ve learned that first impressions are what matter most, so I invested in the trappings necessary to make a good one.”

“Your hat, overcoat and cravat.” They did lend him an air of distinction. Of course, with his thick, wavy wheat-colored hair, bottomless-blue eyes and muscular build, he’d probably look good in grubby miner’s wear.

Henry nodded. “Men give other men a quick once over, and then they look each other in the eye, so a nice hat, a silk cravat and a clean collar are what’s important. Once a man has formed his opinion, the rest doesn’t matter as much.”

“So you’re saying my father looked down on Jack because he didn’t have those things?”

“What do you think?”

“I doubt they would have made much difference.” She mentally kicked herself. She’d just admitted that her father had disliked Jack on principle.

“You see my point, then?”

All too clearly. “Father had his reasons.” He’d shared them freely, loudly and often. She could hear him now, his booming voice filling his spacious study. Jack Hawthorn is nothing but a presumptuous smithy. Imagine a man like that asking my daughter for her hand in marriage when his are filthy. Has the interloper no sense of how things are done?

“Such as?”

What had they been talking about? Ah, yes. Her father’s reasons for rejecting Jack as a suitable suitor for Pauline. “Does it matter? Haven’t you formed an opinion of my father based on outward appearances, too? You don’t really know him or what kind of man he is.”

“I know enough about him to do whatever it takes to keep the children here where they belong.”

This conversation had dredged up things she’d rather not think about, gone places she didn’t want to go. She loved her father and wouldn’t allow anyone to speak ill of him, but his treatment of Pauline had left something to be desired. Taking another tack seemed the wisest choice.

Lavinia grabbed a sofa pillow and toyed with the fringe. “We can discuss this after Christmas. You obviously love them and want them to be happy, as do I. For now, I’m here. I think we should strive to make the holiday season as pleasant as possible for them.” That would give her time to assess the situation, locate a lawyer and overcome this unexpected obstacle.

He rubbed his chin, and in the quiet room she could hear the rasp of his thumb over the golden stubble dusting his jaw. “What did you have in mind?”

“To begin with, Gladys and I have been working on a menu for our Thanksgiving dinner. It’s going to be quite a feast.”

His former antagonism fled, replaced by genuine eagerness. “Really? What will you be serving?”

“The traditional dishes—turkey with cranberry sauce, ham, roast beef, an assortment of vegetables, fresh bread and, of course, a chicken pie. It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without one, would it?”

“That’s a lot of food for six people.”

“It is, but I want the meal to be special.”

“I’m sure it will be.” A wagon rumbled past out front, drawing his attention. He looked from the window to her. “That reminds me... I only have a satchel with me, but my trunks should arrive in the next day or two, so you can expect to see the freight wagon show up.”

She blinked in disbelief. “You’re having them delivered here?”

“Of course. This is where I live now.”

Her surprise turned to shock. “You can’t. I mean, I know you have been, but you can’t continue to do so, not with me staying here. It wouldn’t be proper. Besides, I’ve given Gladys the downstairs bedroom, and I’m staying in the spare one upstairs.”

He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. His calm tone was at odds with his rigid posture. “Let me see if I have this straight. First, you announce that you intend to take the children back east, and now you’re saying I can’t even stay in my own brother’s house?”

Put that way, she came off looking high-handed, which she wasn’t. At least, she hadn’t meant to be. “This isn’t how I intended for things to happen. If only the letter had reached you before I arrived.” She’d spent hours getting the words just right.

“You made the same deman—er, requests in your letter, I presume?”

“I did, but I was more gracious.” She’d taken pains to state her case as tactfully as possible.

He released his breath in an audible sigh. “Perhaps we could reach a compromise.”

She didn’t see how that was possible, but she owed him the courtesy of hearing him out. “What do you have in mind?”

“Since it would be safer for you and Gladys to stay here in the house, given that men greatly outnumber women, I’ll take a room at a boardinghouse. For the time being.”

“That’s kind of you.” But that wasn’t the compromise. It obviously had to do with the children. Something told her Henry wasn’t going to give in as easily when it came to them. “And regarding the other part of the compromise?”

“Let’s start by finding our common ground, shall we? Am I correct in thinking you want the children to remain together?”

“Yes, of course! They shouldn’t be separated.”

He nodded. “Good. Would you agree that keeping them in one location rather than dividing their time between here and Philadelphia would be wise?”

“By all means. Uprooting them repeatedly would be quite disruptive. Children need stability. Not only that, but the journey is fraught with dangers. There’s the risk of shipwreck or disease. And now that Lincoln’s been elected...” She couldn’t bring herself to complete her thought.

“War is imminent, so traveling the waters along the southern states isn’t wise.”

“Exactly. That’s why Father wanted me to turn right around when I got here, but I convinced him that allowing the children to spend one final Christmas season in their own home instead of at sea would be a compassionate gesture. He saw my point but insisted we begin our journey by the end of the year. I assured him we would.”

There. She’d let Henry know where things stood and had shown that her father could be reasonable. He was, on rare occasions anyhow, although she rarely challenged him for fear of enduring his slights. In fact, that was only the third time she’d done so. Christmas had been Pauline’s favorite holiday. Her children deserved to have the best one possible.

Henry rested his left elbow on the arm of his chair and leaned away from Lavinia, putting as much distance as possible between them. He clasped his hands, lifted his gaze to the ceiling and closed his eyes, giving her the impression he was praying for patience. His shoulders rose and fell three times before he opened his eyes. They held conviction coupled with...compassion. An odd mix.

“It appears we’re at an impasse. You loved your sister and want to do what you think best for our nieces and nephew. I loved my brother and Pauline, too, and want to do the same. They entrusted the children to me, which makes their choice of guardian clear.”

Jack might have named Henry as guardian in the will, but Pauline had said long ago that if the unthinkable happened and the Lord took her and Jack home, she wanted Lavinia to care for the children. And she had the letter to prove it!

Henry leaned toward her once again. “Let me ask you this. What do you think the children want?”

He had an annoying habit of asking questions she didn’t care to answer. He knew what the youngsters would say. He’d been an important part of their lives since they were born, whereas they’d only met her eight days ago. She couldn’t permit him to question them on this point. Not yet. Not until she had an opportunity to let them know what wonderful things awaited them in the east.

But how could she do that? They couldn’t begin to imagine how different life would be there, how much fun they would have. If only she could show them.

An idea struck her, filling her with hope. She could show them. By creating a Christmas like those she and Pauline had enjoyed when they were young, the children would see what their lives would be like in Philadelphia and why she was eager to take them there.

Showing what she could do for the children would also help strengthen her case should Henry refuse to relinquish his rights, forcing her to take legal action. She prayed he would have a change of heart before that, but she had her doubts.

“I think what they want is to know they’re loved and will be well cared for. As I said before, we can start by doing all we can to see that they have as enjoyable a Christmas season as possible, considering the circumstances. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Wariness creased his brow. “I can tell by the determination in your eyes that you’re up to something. What is it?”

“Just what I said. I’m going to make this Christmas extra special.”

“And after that?”

Another probing question. But she’d anticipated this one and had a ready answer. “We’ll discuss the children’s future then. It makes no sense to do so now. You and I have only had two brief interactions. Postponing the conversation will give us time to get better acquainted and determine which of our situations would be best for the children. Not only that, but if we put off the matter and focus on the children at present, they won’t witness any petty quibbling on our part. Not that you’d engage in any, of course,” she said with playfully exaggerated sincerity.

A slow, easy smile lifted Henry’s lips and eased the tension in his face—his very handsome face. “My dear Miss Crowne, I’ve underestimated your talents. You’re quite the diplomat.”

She returned his smile. “And you, Mr. Hawthorn, are a worthy adversary. If you’re in agreement with my plan and are willing to wait until December twenty-sixth to revisit the matter then perhaps you’d be willing to shake on it.” She extended her hand.

He stared at it a moment before taking it. His grip was firm but not overly so. To her surprise, he didn’t pull his hand back right away. Although she welcomed the reassuring gesture—and the resulting warmth that flowed through her—the resolve in his eyes gave her cause for concern. “I appreciate how much the children matter to you, but don’t expect me to change my position.”

She didn’t, which was why she would work hard to show her nieces and nephew why they’d be better off with her—and gain custody of them.

* * *

Lavinia closed her bedroom door behind her and inhaled deeply. The tantalizing scent of pies filled the air—apple and pumpkin, with more to come. Gladys had spent the previous afternoon in the kitchen, and she’d be there again today, getting things ready for tomorrow. Although this Thanksgiving meal wouldn’t be as sumptuous as those Lavinia had enjoyed around her father’s table, it would give the children their first taste of what life would be like when they reached their new home.

She rapped on Alex’s door. “Good morning, my favorite nephew. Are you awake?”

“It’s too early,” he grumbled.

“You’d better hurry, or the girls will beat you downstairs.” She’d discovered that a friendly competition helped get the children moving in the morning. The one who reached the kitchen first got an extra slice of bacon. Marcie had earned that honor the past two days. The sound of feet hitting the floor told Lavinia that Alex intended to have it today.

The door to the girls’ room opened, and little Dot peeked her head out. “I’m up, Aunt Livy, and I’m gonna get dressed real fast so I’m the firstest.”

“I heard that!” Alex hollered from behind his door. “But I’ll be there before you!”

Lavinia smiled. Another day was underway. She descended the stairs, ready for breakfast. After her frightening ordeal yesterday afternoon, followed by the draining conversation with Henry, her appetite had fled. She’d eaten little at supper and, consequently, had awoken hungry. She could almost taste Gladys’s crispy bacon, but—she sniffed—she couldn’t smell it.

She hurried to the kitchen to find Gladys hunched over the cook stove. The wiry woman’s movements were stiff and slow. “What’s wrong?”

“My rheumatism is acting up again, so wrestling with all these buttons took a while.” She swept a hand over her bodice. “Don’t you worry, though. I’ll get that bacon going right away.” Gladys placed several thick strips in the bottom of a frying pan and plunked it on the burner.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’d be happy to help.”

Gladys turned and studied Lavinia. The older woman’s face was pinched with pain. “I reckon you mean well, Miss Lavinia, but what do you know about cooking?”

Very little, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. “I’m a quick learner.”

“Then put on an apron, and you can take over.”

Lavinia grabbed a knee-length red apron that looked good against her green dress. The colors reminded her of Pauline. Her sister had rarely worn any others. “What do I do?”

Gladys handed her a pair of tongs. “Watch the bacon, and turn it every now and then. Keep your face back ’cause it splatters. I’ll fry up the eggs.” She reached for a second frying pan, but the heavy iron skillet slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor, narrowly missing her feet.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. My fingers are just being a mite troublesome this morning.”

Lavinia picked up the frying pan, which had landed right side up. “Why don’t you have a seat at the kitchen table and instruct me from there?”

“Maybe I should rest my poor hands a bit. They’ve got a lot of work ahead of them the next two days.” Gladys gave Lavinia a quick lesson in how to fry an egg and sank into the nearest chair.

Lavinia’s mind raced, going over the many items yet to be prepared for tomorrow’s feast. She couldn’t ask Gladys to work when she was in such pain, but without her help, the meal was in jeopardy.

A rap on the back door startled Lavinia. She rushed over, saw Henry through the window in the upper half and yanked open the door. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I’ve been eating my meals with the children. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

Technically it wouldn’t be. They had plenty of food, but she had no desire for him to witness her first cooking lesson. What choice did she have, though? He was the children’s uncle and had a right to spend time with them. A legal right, thanks to the will he’d shown her after their conversation on Monday. Not that she’d let that stop her. A will could be contested.

She produced a polite smile. “Come in and take a seat. I have to see to the bacon.”

He glanced at her apron and back again. “You’re cooking?” His voice held a note of disbelief. Not surprising, since he knew her father employed several servants, but discouraging just the same. Although she might be uneducated in certain areas, she wouldn’t let that serve as an obstacle. She’d learn whatever skills she needed to care for the children, and it appeared cooking would be the first.

“Gladys isn’t feeling up to preparing breakfast today, so I’ve taken over.” Lavinia hurried to the stove where the bacon was sizzling, turned the strips and added a dollop of butter to the second frying pan.

She took an egg out of the basket and rapped it against the edge of a bowl as Gladys had instructed her. Something went wrong, and the slimy mess oozed over Lavinia’s hands. A groan escaped her.

Gladys clucked her tongue. “Don’t hit it so hard, Miss Lavinia.”

“Here you go.” Henry held out a damp cloth.

“Thanks.” She wiped her sticky hands, grabbed another egg and tapped it on the lip of the bowl, doing her best to ignore the handsome man leaning against the counter. Her efforts resulted in a jagged crack. She positioned the egg over the frying pan, careful to get it close enough, and gently pulled the shell apart. The egg plopped into the pan with the sunny yellow yolk intact. So far, so good.

As she held the spatula and watched the white part cook, trying to determine the right time to flip the egg, the thundering of feet on the stairs announced the children’s imminent arrival. She turned just in time to see the three of them racing through the dining room.

“I’m going to win!” Alex hollered.

“Oh, no you’re not.” Marcie shot forward.

They reached the kitchen doorway at the same time, with Dot right behind. The little girl darted between them, tripping Marcie in the process and bumping into Alex. The three children toppled over.

Alex dragged himself out of the heap and huffed. “I was first.”

“No you weren’t. I was.” Marcie popped up and glared at her brother.

Dot sat on the floor with her lower lip puffed out in a pout. “You’re wrong. I’m the winner, aren’t I, Uncle Henry?”

“From what I saw, six arms and legs were tangled up together, so that makes it a three-way tie.”

Lavinia smiled. “He’s right. You’re all winners and get an extra slice of bacon.”

The bacon! She spun around, grabbed the tongs and flipped the sizzling strips.

Gladys helped Dot to her feet and dusted her off.

Marcie sidled up to Henry. “It wasn’t really a tie, was it? You just said that so Dot wouldn’t cry, right?” The precocious girl didn’t miss much.

Henry ruffled Marcie’s mass of dark curls that Lavinia had yet to wrestle into a braid. “I saw three young Hawthorns burst through that door at the same time, and I couldn’t be prouder. My nieces and nephew know how to go after what they want. If I’d known there was extra bacon to be had, I’d have been racing here, too.”

Lavinia slid the spatula under the egg and attempted to turn it over, but the slippery thing slid off before she was ready. The yolk broke open. Gladys made preparing breakfast seem easy, but the task was harder than it looked.

Marcie made a choking sound. “I’m not eating that egg.”

Alex wandered over and peered into the pan. “Why are you cooking and not Miss Gladys?”

“She’s not feeling well, so I’m taking over.”

He glanced at the kitchen table, where Gladys sat holding Dot, and back again. “What’s wrong with her? She doesn’t look sick.”

“It’s just my joints.” Gladys held up her bent fingers. “They get stiff every now and then.”

“Then let Uncle Henry cook,” Marcie said. “He’s good at it.”

Henry placed his hands on Marcie’s shoulders and turned her toward the table. “Your aunt would have an easier time of it without you children getting in her way. Take a seat, and your breakfast will be ready soon.”

They obeyed him without the usual objections Lavinia encountered. Henry came alongside her and lowered his voice. “If you’d like, I could fry the eggs.”

The last thing Lavinia needed was for her first attempt at cooking to result in total failure with Henry watching. She could ask Gladys for another egg-frying lesson later when she didn’t have a room full of young critics.

“You’ll need this.” She held out the spatula to him.

He chuckled. “And here I thought you’d turn me down.”

She probably should have. Working side-by-side was more disconcerting than she’d expected. She was all too aware of Henry’s powerful presence. His muscular arm brushed hers as he attempted to salvage the sorry egg, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

Taking her cue from him, she adopted a playful tone. “I considered refusing, but since we’re running behind schedule this morning, I decided to let you come to my rescue.” Again. This was their third interaction—and the third time he’d found her in a less than flattering situation.

He leaned so close that his breath warmed her cheek. “I only come to the rescue of pretty women with piles of curls.” He tugged on one of her curls that had broken free of her pins, let it go and smiled as the spiral sprung back into place.

Had Henry just flirted with her? The idea seemed preposterous but strangely appealing. Since she had no idea how to respond, she remained silent and focused on her task.

Several minutes later, they all sat around the table. Every plate boasted crispy strips of bacon and, with one exception, expertly fried eggs that would have made even the finicky chef at the restaurant inside her father’s Royal Crowne Hotel in New York City happy. Henry had taken the remains of her failed attempt. He speared a bite of the egg and ate it with as much relish as the children did theirs.

He looked up, caught her staring at him and winked. Merriment danced in his blue eyes. It seemed he was just toying with her. She’d been a ninny to think he was drawn to her. Oh, there were sparks between them, however, they weren’t fueled by attraction but by their adversarial relationship. They might have deferred their discussion regarding the children’s future until after Christmas, but it was on her mind. No doubt it was on his, too.

Alex and Marcie left to walk to school with their next-door neighbor, Norma, a short time later, lunch pails in hand. Dot went to her room to watch her siblings as they headed down Church Street toward the schoolhouse on the west side of Main, which doubled as the church while the small congregation worked to raise the funds needed to construct a building of their own.

Gladys began to gather the dirty dishes, but Lavinia stopped her. “I’ll see to those. You need to rest.”

“I’m not one to shirk my duties. If I rub on some liniment, I’ll be fine. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. There’s a meal to be prepared, and I aim to do it.”

“Now, Gladys,” Henry began, “I’m inclined to agree with Lavinia. Bustling around a kitchen for the next two days when you’re already hurting is likely to make things worse. What you need is someone who could work under your direction. I’m available.”

Gladys studied him through narrowed eyes. “You can fry an egg, but there’s a lot more work involved in fixing a feast. Are you sure you’re up for that?”

He nodded. “Provided Lavinia has no objections...” He turned to her. “What do you say?”

Why must he be so agreeable? And helpful? And adorable? With that boyish eagerness in eyes, she was powerless to resist him. “It appears I don’t have a choice, but it would ease my mind if I knew you’d be able to follow Gladys’s directions.”

“Ah.” He flashed her a winsome smile and continued, his lovely rolled R a bit more pronounced than usual. “You’re wondering if I can cook. The answer is yes. I’m a long-time bachelor and know my way around a kitchen. Besides, I’ll have Gladys there to make sure I don’t make a mess of things.”

His confidence eased the tension in Lavinia’s shoulders. “Very well. I’ll leave the meal in your hands then.”

“Don’t worry. It will be a feast you’ll remember for years to come.”

Chapter Three

The blast of pumpkin-scented air that escaped as Henry opened the oven door that afternoon made his mouth water. He could almost taste the rich filling. Plunging a butter knife into it and marring that smooth surface wouldn’t be easy, but he had to know if the pie was fully baked. He stuck in the blade and quickly pulled it out. Clean.

Gladys lay on the settee he’d moved into the kitchen and watched as he set the pan on a trivet in the middle of the table. “If that tastes as good as it smells, we’re in for a treat. The custard is smooth, and your pie crust turned out quite flaky. I never heard of keeping the ingredients on ice before, but I’m going to try that next time.”

“I think every kitchen should have an icebox. I’m surprised Mr. Crowne’s doesn’t.”

She snorted. “He’s not one to think about making life easier for his household staff. It’s a different story when it comes to his hotels and restaurants, though. I hear they have all the modern conveniences.”

Henry wasn’t surprised. From what he’d seen, Paul Crowne put his hotel empire before everything else, even his own family. They were expected to do his bidding, just as his employees and vendors were. Henry had seen that himself when Jack landed the contract for the iron work at the Crowne Jewel Hotel in Philadelphia. Mr. Crowne had barked orders at Jack. The domineering man had been just as demanding with Pauline, whose artistic bent had earned her the right to plan the hotel’s décor.

To her credit, his eldest daughter hadn’t cowed under the pressure. Pauline had stood up to her father regarding the work. She did so again when she fell in love with Jack and chose to marry him against her father’s wishes. She’d held her head high at the wedding, even though her father had refused to come and forbade his wife from attending, too.

At least Lavinia had shown up. Whether she’d chosen to defy her father or not, Henry didn’t know. She was understandably reserved that day, glossing over the matter of her parents’ glaring absence with well-rehearsed comments. Despite her aloofness, he’d detected a note of sadness in her bearing and pain in her eyes.

His attempt to make her feel more welcome at the wedding had resulted in disaster. She hadn’t heard him coming and had started, causing her to drop the piece of cake she’d been holding. Her mortification led to a temporary collapse of the barrier she’d erected. In that moment, he’d seen a joyless young woman trapped in a lonely existence.

If only she could break free, as her sister had. But from what he’d seen so far, Lavinia was more deeply entrenched in the ways of her father’s world than before. Worse yet, she wanted to whisk the children away and immerse them in that life, too, which wasn’t going to happen. They deserved to be happy. So did their devoted aunt, who was trying hard to prove that she was capable of caring for them.

Henry smiled at the memory of Lavinia staring at the frying pans that morning with determination befitting a military commander facing a ruthless foe. If only she could bring that stoutheartedness to bear in her dealings with her iron-fisted father.

“Don’t be daydreaming, Mr. Henry,” Gladys chided. “This meal won’t fix itself.”

He roused himself from his musings. “You’re right.”

“At least you took a pleasant journey, judging by that smile.”

The front door opened, and childish laughter filled the entryway. Lavinia and the children had returned. With school finished for the day, the holiday recess was officially underway. Despite the terrible losses they’d suffered the past year, they would celebrate with a meal sure to help ease the heaviness in their hearts.

Dot burst into the kitchen first and flung herself at him. “We’re back, Uncle Henry.”

“I see.” He scooped her into his arms. “It must be cold out there. Your cheeks are rosy, and your nose is red.” He popped the tip of it with a finger.

The little girl giggled. “The hot cocoa will warm us up. Is it ready?”

“It will be. I just have to fill the mugs.”

“And put whipped cream on top, right?”

“By all means. I can’t imagine cocoa without it.”

Marcie and Alex arrived, followed by Lavinia, who greeted Gladys, plumped the pillows behind her and pulled up the throw that had slipped off the side of the settee. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit better.”

“Helping Henry isn’t too taxing, is it?”

Gladys glanced at him and actually smiled. Her gruff exterior didn’t fool him. He’d seen the longing in the housekeeper’s eyes when he’d joked with the children. Not that he let on that he’d been watching her. If he had to guess, he’d say that the longtime servant had faced difficulties in the past, which had left her hardened. How sad. Life was meant to be enjoyed not endured.

She returned her attention to Lavinia. “I’m not much help, other than keeping him company and serving as his taster. Mr. Henry is a far better cook and baker than I’ll ever be. Just wait until you sit down to the meal tomorrow.”

He eagerly awaited Lavinia’s response. He’d poured himself into the preparations in the hope that she’d see how supportive he was of her plan to make this year’s holiday celebrations the best they could be. The fact that he was enjoying himself immensely was a bonus. He embraced any excuse to spend time cooking. His opportunities to do so were few and far between, but one day...

No. He wouldn’t be opening a restaurant after all. He’d been granted the privilege of caring for the children, and working well into the night wouldn’t fit with his new role in their lives.

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.” Lavinia’s words lacked conviction, and her smile appeared forced, which was puzzling.

Marcie bounded up to him. “I’m going to eat lots, Uncle Henry.”

“Me, too,” Alex added.

Henry shifted Dot to a more comfortable position on his hip. “How about you, Dimples? Are you going to fill your plate?”

She nodded so enthusiastically that her curls bounced.

“And what will be on it?” Henry asked.

“Food.”

Laughter erupted all around him, but he managed to keep a straight face. “What kind of food? Turkey? Stuffing?”

“She doesn’t like stuffing,” Marcie informed them. “But I do. Mama’s stuffing tasted so good.” The normally exuberant girl’s shoulders drooped, and her voice took on a sorrowful tone. “I wish she was still here to make it.”

“I miss her, too, sweetie, but I know she’d want us to be happy.” Lavinia wrapped an arm around Marcie and drew their niece to her side. “I think a cup of cocoa would be just the thing to cheer us up, and I heard your uncle say he’ll have it ready for you soon. Why don’t we get you out of your coats so you’re ready for it?”

The children trooped after Lavinia and returned shortly—without her. “Where’s your aunt?”

“In the parlor,” Alex said, “putting another log on the fire.”

“Very well. If you’ll take a seat at the table, I’ll serve you.”

They clambered into their chairs on the side opposite the pies and awaited their treat. He prepared the drinks with his back to them, carried over the steaming mugs and set one in front of each of them.

Dot clapped and squealed. “It has whipped cream and chocolate curls.”

Marcie smacked her lips, and Alex nodded appreciatively.

“I made a cup for you, too, Gladys.” He handed her one.

“Why, thank you. It’s right fancy.”

“What about Aunt Lavinia?” Dot asked. “She likes cocoa, too.”

“I’ll take her some while you stay here and keep Miss Gladys company.”

Moments later, he entered the parlor, mugs in hand. He held one out to Lavinia, who was seated in Pauline’s favorite chair, gazing at the fire. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” She took the cocoa and stared at it. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

“What do you mean?” He sat in Jack’s wingback armchair and sipped the tasty beverage.

“This isn’t an ordinary cup of cocoa.”

“I thought the children would appreciate that.”

“I’m sure they do, but...” She set her mug on the side table and turned to face him. The sadness he’d seen all those years ago had returned. She must have been thinking about her sister. “You could have told me you know how to cook.”

So that’s what this was all about? “What difference does it make?”

“You said you know your way around a kitchen the way a bachelor does, but it’s obvious you know a lot more than that. I saw the pies you made. They’re not the work of a novice. Have you worked in a restaurant or something?”

He’d spent as much time as possible in the one inside his hotel, but he didn’t advertise that fact since many men thought of cooking as women’s work. The miners he served appreciated a man who could broil a steak or whip up a mess of beans, but they didn’t come west expecting to eat white fricassee chicken or ragout of onions. If they knew he was a trained chef, he would become a laughingstock.

“I don’t see why it matters, but I received some instruction.”

“Where?”

She was certainly persistent. That trait could serve her well when she encountered obstacles. He’d have to remember that, since she seemed to consider him one. “Back in Philadelphia. I made some wrought iron railings for a widow who’d been a student at Mrs. Goodfellow’s cooking school when she was young. She paid for the materials, but I offered her free labor in exchange for lessons.”

“Why did you want to learn? Few men would.”

He rubbed the chair’s smooth wooden arms. “I happen to enjoy cooking.”

“It’s certainly a useful skill. You’ve proven that.” She picked up her mug and took a sip. A bit of the whipped cream remained on her upper lip, but she swiped it off with a finger and popped it in her mouth. She pulled out her finger, stared at it and blushed. The heightened color did nice things for her fair complexion. “Forgive me. That wasn’t very ladylike.”

“We’re practically family. You don’t have to pull out the company manners for me.”

She gave him a look that made him wonder if he was sporting a whipped-cream mustache himself. “Although we share the same wonderful nieces and nephew, you and I are most definitely not related.”

Her formal tone, the same one she’d used at the wedding, grated on him. “I realize I’m not up to Crowne standards, but I’m a decent fellow.”

She took a sudden interest in her mug, running a finger around its rim. When she finally looked at him, the stiffness was gone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it as an insult. Like you, I’m aware that we come from different worlds—and different places. That’s put us at odds, whether we like it or not. But I meant what I said yesterday. I’ll work with you to see that the children are as happy as possible throughout the holidays.”

“They’re looking forward to Thanksgiving.”

She nodded. “You’ve seen to that.”

Her statement sounded more like an accusation than a compliment. Could it be she was jealous of his relationship with the children? If that was the case, she had no cause for concern. He would see that they wrote to her once she returned to Philadelphia. In the meantime, he had to do something to make her feel more welcome. “Gladys shared your menu with me, but is there anything special you’d like me to make?”

His request earned him a hint of a smile. “Since you ask, did the woman who gave you lessons teach you how to make lemon meringue pie?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Goodfellow had been known for that particular pie. “I’ll whip one up right away.”

Lavinia stood, mug in hand, and he shot to his feet. “I’ll go see how the children are doing.” She crossed the room, paused in the doorway and turned to face him, wearing a warm smile. “Thank you, Henry.”

“My pleasure.” He liked seeing her happy. She would only be here a few weeks, but perhaps he could add a little joy to her life—before she faced the future and the difficult parting that was to come.

* * *

A tempting assortment of savory scents filled the air the following afternoon. The dining room table, although much smaller than the one at which Lavinia had eaten her Thanksgiving dinners back home, was groaning under the weight of the dishes already on it as Henry carried in yet another.

Clad in a black cutaway coat, white shirt and white silk cravat, he looked as fine as any waiter in her father’s restaurants. He’d even draped a white linen cloth over his arm. The children, their eyes as big as their dinner plates, delighted in his performance.

She had to admit he’d impressed her, too, both with his cooking and his appearance. More than once, she’d caught herself staring at him, which wouldn’t do. He might be an incredibly handsome man, as well as a talented one, but he was also the man intent upon exerting his rights as the children’s guardian.

He found a spot to squeeze in the gravy boat, surveyed the spread and nodded at her. “All’s ready for your dining pleasure, milady.”

Dot tugged on Lavinia’s sleeve. “Why did Uncle Henry call you that?”

Alex answered before Lavinia could. “It’s what a waiter in a fancy restaurant calls a fine lady.”

“How do you know?” Marcie asked. “You’ve never been to a place like that.”

“My friend Frankie went to San Francisco, and he told me.”

“Frankie fibbed. He’s never been there. His sister told me so.” Marcie gave her head a toss and stuck her pert little nose in the air.

Gladys put a finger to her lips and frowned. “Shh. Children in fancy restaurants don’t squabble.”

Henry removed the cloth from his arm and took his place at the head of the table.

Lavinia waited until the children were quiet to speak. “Your uncle put a lot of work into this meal. What do you say to him?”

The children chorused their thanks.

She sent Henry a smile. “I’ll add my thanks to theirs. Everything looks and smells great. Would you like to say grace?”

“I’d be happy to.” As soon as all heads were bowed, he began. “Thank You, Lord, for this meal we’re about to enjoy and the special people around this table. We think of two loved ones who are no longer with us, and we thank You that they were in our lives for as long as they were. Be with us in the year ahead, guiding us in the paths You would have us take. In Your name, I ask these things. Amen.”

Silence followed, broken by sniffles from the girls. Even Alex swiped at his eyes. Lavinia struggled to breathe, which was not an easy task given the ache lodged in her chest. Unable to speak, she grabbed the nearest bowl, scooped some mashed potatoes and helped Dot do the same.

Henry picked up the serving fork and carving knife. “Who wants a drumstick?” His well-timed question dispelled the fog of grief that had descended. Excited chatter soon filled the room.

They lingered over the meal, enjoying the delectable dishes. Lavinia sampled each one. Although everything tasted good, she agreed with Marcie. Stuffing was her favorite, and Henry’s was the best she’d ever had. His cooking was on par with that of the chefs her father hired for his restaurants.

To Lavinia’s surprise, Gladys was the last one done. She dabbed at her mouth and laid her napkin on the table. “You outdid yourself, Mr. Henry. Everything was delicious.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you liked it. I noticed you tucked in a fair amount.”

“I reckon that’s because food tastes better when someone else fixes it.”

He acknowledged Gladys’s compliment with a wink. “Is anyone ready for dessert?”

Alex shook his head. “I’m too full.”

“Me, too.” Dot patted her stomach, producing three resounding thumps as evidence.

“I can squeeze in one more bite of stuffing.” Marcie forked a bite, ate it and licked the tines.

Lavinia overlooked the informality. It’s what the children were used to. There would be time enough to teach them proper etiquette when she got them back home. “I suggest we wait awhile. It’s a clear day. Perhaps the children would like to play outside, provided they put on their coats first.”

They voiced their approval of the plan and darted out of the dining room.

Gladys hopped up and began clearing the table, prompting Henry to stand as well. The children raced through the room and headed for the back door, with Marcie in the lead.

Lavinia rose and reached for Dot’s plate.

“You don’t need to do that, Miss Lavinia. I’m feeling a bit better this afternoon, and I want to help. It’s the least I can do after Mr. Henry did all the cooking. You two go on out and enjoy watching the children romp around.”

Lavinia wasn’t eager to spend time with Henry after their talk the day before. Following the startling revelation that he was an accomplished cook, she’d left the kitchen to collect her thoughts. Before she could, he’d shown up in the parlor bearing the prettiest mug of hot cocoa she’d ever seen with artfully carved chocolate curls on top of creamy white whipped cream. If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d even added a pinch of cinnamon to the steaming beverage.

She still couldn’t believe that he was trained by a student of Mrs. Elizabeth Goodfellow, the renowned cooking instructor who’d run the most highly regarded cooking school in the country, conveniently located in Philadelphia.

And she, Miss Lavinia Hélène Crowne, daughter of a highly successful hotelier, couldn’t even fry an egg. If only she’d been allowed to learn some basic cooking skills, as many of her friends had, she would be able to provide meals for the children. Henry could do so, but she had to rely on Gladys.

Henry was quick to thank Gladys for her offer of help. “I put the block of ice in a pan at the base of the pie safe and covered the door with some towels, so you can store the leftovers there.”

Gladys sent him one of her rare smiles. “You made us an icebox? How clever.”

He laughed. “You haven’t seen it yet. It’s not pretty.”

“If it keeps the food from spoiling, I don’t care what it looks like.” Gladys entered the kitchen with a dish in each hand, leaving Lavinia alone with Henry.

An awkward silence descended on the room.

“Do you want—”

“I’ll go fetch—” she said at the same time.

He nodded at her. “Ladies first.”

“I was going to say that I’ll get my cloak and head out back. And you?”

“You answered my question. I was going to see if you wanted to join the children.”

He waited in the dining room while she retrieved her cloak. They passed Gladys on their way out.

The late November day was clear but chilly. A breeze sent crispy brown leaves from the massive oak tree somersaulting over the ground. The large limb that had trapped her was nowhere to be seen.

“When did you find time to move the branch?”

“I saw to that while you and Dot went to the grocer’s to pick up the spices I needed yesterday. It’s behind the shed, waiting to be cut into firewood. I’ll get the lumber and shingles tomorrow and repair the shed on Saturday, provided the weather holds.”

The children were involved in a rousing game of tag, zigzagging across the backyard. Marcie chased after Alex with Dot not far behind. How they could run after all they’d eaten was a mystery.

Lavinia took a seat on the porch swing, sitting to one side so there would be room for Henry. He inclined his head toward the open spot as if asking permission. She nodded. He sat and promptly pushed his feet against the floor, setting them rocking.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, relishing the soothing motion of the swing. The children’s laughter helped drown out the distant rumble of the stamp mill at Leland Stanford’s Lincoln Mine north of town, which operated around the clock, even on holidays.

The quest for gold drove the town and many of its inhabitants. Although Mr. Stanford’s formerly fledgling mine was now doing well, most of the men who’d come west in the hope of striking it rich had little to show for their efforts. She’d been happy that Jack had come to California prepared to ply his trade, knowing a blacksmith’s services would be in high demand. He’d done all right for himself and built a nice home for his family, a larger one than she would have expected.

Lavinia stood and ran a hand along the wrought iron railing with its decorative pattern. The front porch had a matching railing, but the one on the staircase inside the house was even more beautiful. “This reminds me of Jack and Pauline. I can see my sister’s creative flair in the twists and curlicues, along with your brother’s fine workmanship.”

Henry smiled. “Pauline did have an eye for design. She wanted something even more elaborate, but I had to remind her that there was a limit to my, er, a blacksmith’s abilities.” He looked away, but not before she saw his lips pressed firmly together, obviously regretting his slip.

“I see. He was the salesman, but you did much of the work. Your talent is evident here as well as at the Crowne Jewel. Father might not have been happy about hiring Jack and having him win my sister’s heart, but he’s pleased with the job you did. Whenever he gives a tour of that hotel, he points out your artistry.”

The swing’s chains attached to the balcony overhead creaked rhythmically as Henry kept the swing in motion. “I appreciate the compliment, but I haven’t practiced that trade in years. Long enough for these to come clean.” He held up his hands and turned them so she could see the palms and then the backs. “I can offer to shake a lady’s hand these days without offending her sensibilities.”

She hadn’t thought about his coal-stained hands since the wedding, but his comment caused a memory to rush in. He’d held out a hand to her when she’d arrived at the Hawthorns’ home for the wedding, but she hadn’t been sure whether she should shake it or not. “My hesitation that day had nothing to do with your appearance. My mother had taught me that it was a woman’s place to make the offer, so yours gave me pause.”

He frowned. “I see. It wasn’t the stains then but my lack of manners. It must have been hard for you to be among so many common folks who don’t put as much stock in minding their p’s and q’s as those in your social circles.”

She straightened to her full height and lifted her chin. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Henry. I wanted to be at Pauline’s wedding so much that I went up against my father. He pushed back—hard—but I stood my ground. Even though I knew I’d be walking into a situation where people would pass judgment and whisper about me and my family, I didn’t let that stop me. I was prepared to stand by my sister no matter what. And I did.”

She drew in a calming breath and released the fists she hadn’t realized she’d formed. She’d spoken without thinking, but she didn’t regret her outburst as much as she ought to. The record needed to be set straight. She might have a wealthy father, but she wasn’t unfeeling.

“I’m glad you came. Pauline put on a brave front, but your father’s decision not to attend the wedding crushed her. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind, but she made me promise not to. She knew if I did, he wouldn’t let you come, and she wanted you there very much.”

Her vision blurred, and she blinked to clear it. “She wasn’t just my sister. She was my best friend. I can’t believe I’ll never see her again.”

“Why didn’t you come for a visit in all these years?”

“I wanted to.”

“But your father wouldn’t agree to it? That’s what Pauline told me when I asked her.”

She turned away, gripped the railing and fought to keep the rush of memories at bay. Many times, she’d stood at the door to her father’s study with the intention of going inside and making another request, but any mention of Pauline resulted in a heated rehashing of all the ways his eldest child had failed him and a reminder that as far as he was concerned, he only had one daughter. Lavinia spun around. “If I’d had the means, I would have come.”

Henry nodded. “Even if it meant defying him?”

“I’d have found a way.”

He stared at her for the longest time, his gaze passing from her head to her feet and back again. “I’m not an expert on etiquette, as you well know, but I’ve wondered about something. Your dress is pretty and reminds me of the cranberry sauce we just had. Most women who’ve lost a close family member wear black, but I’ve yet to see you in it. Why is that? I know you loved Pauline deeply, so I figure there must be an explanation.”

She returned to the swing, sat and faced him. Although she wasn’t about to tell him how her father had insisted the entire family go into mourning after Pauline left, she could tell him how she’d chosen to honor her sister now. “She loved Christmas more than anyone I know. The tree wouldn’t even have been removed after one party, and yet she’d start talking about her plans for the next—which friends she would invite to Father’s party, what she’d wear, who she’d have make her gown. I could count on one thing, though. Her dress would be red, green or a combination of the two. She loved those colors so much that she wore them all year long. I’m wearing them in remembrance of her.”

“I understand your reasons and admire your decision, but how will you deal with those who might question you?”

“I’ll tell them what happened when I arrived in Sutter Creek wearing a mourning gown. I’d only been here an hour when Dot asked why I was dressed in black. Alex told her it was because their mama and papa had died. The poor dear burst into tears and sobbed for a good ten minutes, soaking my shoulder and ripping my heart to pieces. She begged me not to wear the dress ever again. I took her to my room, opened my trunks and let her go through them and pick out what she wanted me to wear. She chose the dress I have on.”

He brushed a hand over his sleeve. “I don’t wear a black armband for similar reasons. Dot made a fuss when I did, so I took it off. No one seems to have noticed. They haven’t mentioned it anyhow.”

“My color choice raised some eyebrows when we went to the school for the church service this past Sunday, but to their credit, no one has said anything to me or to the children.”

He nodded, his bright blue eyes shining with approval. “It appears the lovely Lavinia Crowne has more gumption than I gave her credit for.”

Her? Lovely? With her unruly curls and pointed chin? She wasn’t, but it was nice to have a handsome gentleman say so. “I might not be as courageous as my adventure-seeking sister, but there are times when I’ll go after what I believe is right.”

“I’ve seen as much. I do the same.”

She knew that all too well. He had every intention of keeping the children here, and so far, he’d presented a stronger case than she had. A judge was sure to rule in his favor.

But that was about to change. She was going to show Henry, the children and the people of Sutter Creek how a Crowne celebrated Christmas. When they witnessed the party she had planned, they’d realize she was capable of offering the children far more than their small-town uncle could.

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