better than good. It was more than she'd hoped for.
'Amen,' Stockport said solemnly. All heads came up. The children began to eat and exclaim about the food all at once.
Stockport kindly chided them. 'Eat slowly or it will come back up again.' Then he launched into a tale from his boyhood about a time when he'd eaten too many apples, making the boys laugh with his gestures and little Anna grin at him with her eyes wide.
He would make a
Nora mentally recoiled
from the thought it. She was getting positively henwitted if Christmas brought out such a reaction in her. This was the
88
Pickpocket Countess
second time she'd had uncomfortably sentimental thoughts regarding Stockport.
He looked down the table at her and winked, bringing her into the new story he was telling. Nora gave herself up to her fantasy, rationalising that it would be her little gift to herself.
For the duration of the meal, she pretended she had the right to call him Brandon; that he could call her Nora; she didn't have to eat dinner with him behind a mask; that they had a supper table filled with children around it who he would make laugh with his tales over the evening meal; two happy people living a simple life in a simple cottage somewhere, with happy children. It had been her ultimate fantasy since she was very young, part of a life she'd once had, but then lost. She took a deep breath and pushed down the memories that thought threatened to dredge up. She couldn't risk the pain. It made her vulnerable, something she could not afford with the Earl of Stockport hovering so near.
When the meal was over, her daydream was too, firmly locked into its place in the depths of her heart. It was too dangerous to let such a powerful dream linger too long.
After dinner, Stockport roped the children into helping him do the dishes and storing the remaining food, leaving Nora a chance to speak with Mary alone.
'You've done too much. I can't imagine how you managed all this and I know you've brought baskets for so many others,'
Mary said when they were seated near the fire.
'I've done very little.'
'Everyone will be grateful.' Mary coughed into a worn handkerchief.
'How are you, Mary?' Nora asked cautiously.
'It is taking me a long time to get over this,' Mary confessed.
'Should I send a doctor?' Nora didn't know how she'd
Scott
89
manage that. She had spent all the money from her robberies on the baskets and rent was due on The Grange. Even if she could find the money, she didn't know how she'd find a doctor who would be willing to come to such a neighbourhood.
'This is nothing sunlight and country air can't cure.' Mary waved a dismissive hand that looked skeletally thin in the firelight.
Along with hot food, clean living conditions and freedom from worry over an
Nora mentally added. Out
loud she said,
send more food over later this week. The soup and bread should last a few days.'
'I wish I could say we won't take your charity, but I have nowhere else to turn and I am grateful,' Mary said sadly. Mary nodded to Stockport as he sat jiggling Anna on his knee and telling the children a story. 'Is this man your beau? Does he know who you are? He's lovely to look at and there's something in the air between the two of you.' The thought of love added a soft spark to Mary's eyes.
Nora shook her head. 'He's not my beau. I thought there might be something in it for us if he came today.' She was saved from saying more when Stockport's story came to an end and the boys clamoured for presents.
Nora rose and clapped her hands for attention. 'Gather round over here and Brandon will bring the basket. There might be some presents in there.' Brandon. The boys had called him by his Christian name and it slipped as easily off her tongue as it had theirs. Perhaps her daydream wasn't as tightly locked away as she thought. Most likely, it was due to the shirtsleeves'
intimacy of the afternoon.
Brandon placed the basket in front of her and Nora distributed the
'Amen,' Stockport said solemnly. All heads came up. The children began to eat and exclaim about the food all at once.
Stockport kindly chided them. 'Eat slowly or it will come back up again.' Then he launched into a tale from his boyhood about a time when he'd eaten too many apples, making the boys laugh with his gestures and little Anna grin at him with her eyes wide.
He would make a
Nora mentally recoiled
from the thought it. She was getting positively henwitted if Christmas brought out such a reaction in her. This was the
88
Pickpocket Countess
second time she'd had uncomfortably sentimental thoughts regarding Stockport.
He looked down the table at her and winked, bringing her into the new story he was telling. Nora gave herself up to her fantasy, rationalising that it would be her little gift to herself.
For the duration of the meal, she pretended she had the right to call him Brandon; that he could call her Nora; she didn't have to eat dinner with him behind a mask; that they had a supper table filled with children around it who he would make laugh with his tales over the evening meal; two happy people living a simple life in a simple cottage somewhere, with happy children. It had been her ultimate fantasy since she was very young, part of a life she'd once had, but then lost. She took a deep breath and pushed down the memories that thought threatened to dredge up. She couldn't risk the pain. It made her vulnerable, something she could not afford with the Earl of Stockport hovering so near.
When the meal was over, her daydream was too, firmly locked into its place in the depths of her heart. It was too dangerous to let such a powerful dream linger too long.
After dinner, Stockport roped the children into helping him do the dishes and storing the remaining food, leaving Nora a chance to speak with Mary alone.
'You've done too much. I can't imagine how you managed all this and I know you've brought baskets for so many others,'
Mary said when they were seated near the fire.
'I've done very little.'
'Everyone will be grateful.' Mary coughed into a worn handkerchief.
'How are you, Mary?' Nora asked cautiously.
'It is taking me a long time to get over this,' Mary confessed.
'Should I send a doctor?' Nora didn't know how she'd
Scott
89
manage that. She had spent all the money from her robberies on the baskets and rent was due on The Grange. Even if she could find the money, she didn't know how she'd find a doctor who would be willing to come to such a neighbourhood.
'This is nothing sunlight and country air can't cure.' Mary waved a dismissive hand that looked skeletally thin in the firelight.
Along with hot food, clean living conditions and freedom from worry over an
Nora mentally added. Out
loud she said,
send more food over later this week. The soup and bread should last a few days.'
'I wish I could say we won't take your charity, but I have nowhere else to turn and I am grateful,' Mary said sadly. Mary nodded to Stockport as he sat jiggling Anna on his knee and telling the children a story. 'Is this man your beau? Does he know who you are? He's lovely to look at and there's something in the air between the two of you.' The thought of love added a soft spark to Mary's eyes.
Nora shook her head. 'He's not my beau. I thought there might be something in it for us if he came today.' She was saved from saying more when Stockport's story came to an end and the boys clamoured for presents.
Nora rose and clapped her hands for attention. 'Gather round over here and Brandon will bring the basket. There might be some presents in there.' Brandon. The boys had called him by his Christian name and it slipped as easily off her tongue as it had theirs. Perhaps her daydream wasn't as tightly locked away as she thought. Most likely, it was due to the shirtsleeves'
intimacy of the afternoon.
Brandon placed the basket in front of her and Nora distributed the
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