The Christmas Secret by Julia London

Hannigan, who was, naturally, in the middle of the excitement, holding the supposed letter up over her head as if keeping it from leaping children. “Please, do be quiet!” Molly called out. “This letter is of a very personal nature!”
    “Intended for whom?” Keira inquired, looking confused.
    “I cannot say. There is no seal, there is no address, ” Molly said, her voice full of intrigue.
    “Give it over,” Declan demanded, holding out his hand. Molly hesitated. Declan arched a brow, and Molly very reluctantly put it into his outstretched palm.
    Declan turned it over and frowned. “We’d all avoid a lot of trouble and hysteria if we took the time to properly address and seal our letters, aye?”
    “For heaven’s sake, what does it say?” Grandmamma asked.
    “Darling,” Keira said, and smiled at her husband in a way that Eireanne had noticed could entice Declan to anything. Even now, he sighed as if he knew he was beaten, and opened the letter to read it. His frown deepened. When he finished, he quickly folded it up. “Well then,” he said. “Nothing to give concern. What has happened to the music?” he said, and gestured to the fiddle player, who dutifully picked up his bow.
    “No!” Mrs. Hannigan cried, and the fiddler froze, looking to Declan. “You cannot leave us in suspense,” Mrs. Hannigan insisted, and a chorus of agreement accompanied her.
    Declan pressed his lips together and looked at Keira. She gave him a hapless shrug. Declan’s eyes narrowed, and he thrust the letter toward her.
    Keira’s smile deepened. “Thank you,” she said sweetly and read the letter herself. “Oh my .”
    “For heaven’s sake, do not toy with your guests, darling,” Mrs. Hannigan warned her daughter. “What does it say?”
    “It is a love letter!” Keira announced. She might as well have said it was full of dirty treason, for the ladies gasped and the gentlemen frowned accusingly at each other.
    “A love letter!” Molly cried with glee. “For whom? There must be some indication?”
    “There is none,” Keira said, turning the vellum over. “It does not say for whom these sentiments were intended, and neither is it signed. It’s almost as if the writer had not finished the letter.”
    “Let us see!” Mabe insisted, clambering to see it, but Keira held it away from her. “Come now, Keira!” Mabe complained. “We must know who wrote it!”
    “But how can we know?” Keira asked laughingly. “It is unsigned.”
    “I know!” Mrs. Hart said loudly and raised her thick arm. “We will have all the gentlemen write a sentence from the letter, then compare it to the penmanship in the letter.”
    “Why do you assume a gentleman wrote this?” Keira asked.
    “Of course a gentleman penned it,” Molly said. “What lass in this county would have the courage to send it? We should do as Mrs. Hart suggests,” she said eagerly.
    “We shall not, ” Declan said. “Whoever penned that letter did not intend to be publicly tried for it. For all that is good and holy, put the thing into the fire and let us return to our celebration.”
    But no one paid Declan the slightest heed—they were far too interested in the letter. “Read it!” some gentleman bellowed.
    When Eireanne looked around to see who had shouted, she caught sight of Henry. He smiled playfully, slyly pointed to her and waggled his brows, as if to suggest she had written it. She laughed and shook her head, then pointed at him. Henry pretended to consider it, then nodded, bowed low, and peeked up, grinning.
    “Aye, aye, read it,” another man brayed.
    “Shall I?” Keira asked coyly, and the almost thirty souls shouted at her that she must.
    “All right, all right,” she said laughingly.
    “Keira,” Declan started, but Grandmamma was quick to shush him, and he clamped his jaw shut and looked toward the ceiling in what Eireanne knew to be an act of supreme control.
    With a giggle of delight, and a dramatic clearing of her throat, Keira