But the snow had a quieting effect, smoothing the world’s rough edges and dampening the chaos into a muted silence. If only she could capture some of that peace for herself.
Instead, it appeared that she was stuck in the manor. With Blair. Indefinitely.
He’d kept mostly to the study since their conversation, blessedly. She wasn’t entirely sure she could trust herself to be in his presence again without her skin catching fire and her wits turning to pudding.
Still, she softened her footfalls as she crossed the entrance hall toward the stairs, praying that she would go unnoticed. She’d best find Livie and tell her that they were good and snowed in for the time being. The girl had taken to hiding again, occasionally in the spots Amelia had discovered—the armoire at the end of the hall, under her four-poster bed—but there were times when even Amelia couldn’t track her down.
As she mounted the stairs, a thought tickled the back of her mind—indeed, they weren’t going anywhere until this storm broke and the snow melted. Nor would anyone be arriving until that time. There could be no visitors to this remote, snowed-in Highland keep for at least a few days, perhaps longer.
The seed of an idea began to take root. Amelia hastened her steps, her mind scuttling ahead of her feet as the idea sprouted and curled like a vine over her thoughts.
By the time she found Livie, she’d formed a rather audacious plan. The girl had wedged herself under the wood-paneled desk in the schoolroom, drawing in the chair so that she was completely blocked from view. She was curled around a book, reading by what little light slanted in through the chair legs.
“Come out, Livie,” Amelia urged.
The girl must have caught the note of excited urgency in Amelia’s voice, for she closed her book and stuck her head out without being asked twice. She fixed Amelia with a curious blue gaze.
“It is time to make gingerbread.”
At Amelia’s abrupt declaration, Livie frowned. “Why?”
“Because it is less than a week until Christmas, for starters.”
Livie sighed dramatically. “What does that matter? I cannae think to enjoy it with him under Glenrose’s roof.”
“But that is exactly what we are missing—the spirit of the season.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed in assessment. “What are ye on about?”
Amelia sank down to the floor, her gray skirts pooling around her so that she was level with Livie. “I have an idea.”
Livie stared at her skeptically. “Oh?”
“I know you don’t like Lord Brenmore.” Amelia ignored Livie’s huff and continued. “But the fact of the matter is, he is your guardian. He bears the sole power to decide what happens to Glenrose.”
“Aye, I ken,” Livie said, her voice drawn with frustration. “And he’s already made up his mind to destroy it—or at least all the good parts about it.”
“But perhaps his mind can be changed.”
Livie blinked, but then shook her strawberry-blonde head. “Nay. He’s already sent for his solicitor.”
“When was the last time you looked outside? We are in the midst of quite the storm, and already a foot of snow covers the ground, with more falling every moment.” Amelia felt a grin breaking across her face. “No one is getting out of Glenrose—nor getting in.”
That gave her exasperated charge pause. “Lord Brenmore’s missive went out before the snow began,” she replied cautiously.
“Indeed. And the solicitor has probably already received it,” Amelia conceded. “But he will be delayed several days at a minimum—perhaps a week or more.”
“And what good does that do us?”
“Lady Lavinia, I am surprised at your lack of imagination,” Amelia chided in a mock-formal tone. “Much can be accomplished in a week—especially this of all weeks.”
Seeing that Livie still didn’t understand, Amelia couldn’t suppress an excited laugh.
“I know you think Lord Brenmore unfeeling—cruel, even. But he is a decent man, I think. And he truly believes he is doing right by both you and the estate.”
Livie opened her mouth for what would undoubtedly be a strong objection, but Amelia hurried on before she could speak.
“He is wrong, of course, and not just about your future, but about what matters most in the world. We have a chance, you and I, to show him that. To remind him of the true spirit of the Highlands, and of the season.”
Blair’s words about his idyllic childhood spent roaming the Highlands under the eye of his loving parents came back to her. He must have understood the meaning of family, home, and community back then. If his heart had been filled with such things once, perhaps it could be filled again. And if they could remind him of that, they just might divert him from his clearance scheme.
“It is simple, really,” she tumbled on. “Lord Brenmore was raised in the Highlands, but he has forgotten all the joys and simple pleasures of the way of life here. We must make him remember in what little time we have. And what better time than Christmas—a time of traditions and fond memories, of quiet evenings by the fire and the scents of evergreen and holly and—and mulled wine! Yes, we’ll need mulled wine and spiced whisky and—”
Amelia’s racing thoughts were stalled when Livie’s small hand closed around hers. When she met the girl’s gaze, her blue eyes were filled with guarded hope.
“Ye…ye truly think such a scheme could work?”
Amelia sobered. She would never mislead the girl or give her false hope. But she had seen light and warmth in the depths of Blair’s frost-blue eyes before. She wouldn’t give up on saving Glenrose—nor on him.
“There is a chance,” Amelia
