A Christmas Dream (Hudson House Holiday #1)

Chapter Twelve

“T here have been excursions to the wilds of faraway jungles made with less fervor and planning than you’ve poured into this ball, sister dear.” Brant scowled from atop a ladder, hanging yet another ribbon-bedecked garland in the attic.

Dean laughed as he steadied the ladder and smiled at his wife. “He’s not wrong, Elle. Military leaders could learn from your ability to unite, organize, and charge onward, taking no prisoners.”

“Hush! Both of you!” Eloise playfully swatted her husband’s arm with the spool of red ribbon in her hands. He jerked, and the ladder wobbled. For a moment Brant wasn’t sure he’d remain upright and quickly finished hanging the garland before he climbed down the ladder.

He stepped back and surveyed the space. When Eloise had first suggested using the attic for the ball, Brant thought she might have experienced a moment of insanity, but she’d been right. The space was perfect.

Denver and Colin had worked at a frenzied pace to finish the trim around the floors, doorway, and windows, then the two of them had built a platform for the musicians, courtesy of the Silver Bluff Community Band. They’d also built long sturdy tables along the far wall which would hold refreshments. The dance would begin at six, with a light supper served downstairs at eight.

The attic looked incredible, thanks to Eloise’s vision and help from everyone who worked in the house. Brant saw Holland’s talented hand in the flower arrangements. He knew her mother had asked all the members of her quilting club to help crochet snowflakes and make paper cornucopias that decorated several of the trees.

Brant had gone with Remington, Dalton, and Gareth to chop down the trees. They’d all thought their toes might fall off before they made it home with two wagons loaded down with trees, as well as greens for garlands and wreaths, but it had been an adventure that Brant looked forward to experiencing every year.

If the ball were as well received as Eloise anticipated, Brant might even be open to holding it again next year. Especially if he could convince Holland she belonged by his side.

He knew the invitation to attend as his guest had taken her by surprise, but he could hardly wait to swing her across the polished oak floor tonight. He didn’t care if she had an expensive gown or came dressed in her work uniform. To him, regardless of what she wore or how she looked, she was always beautiful, desirable, and the woman he loved.

As though thoughts of her made her materialize, Holland and Ellen appeared carrying trays loaded with punch cups. Brant and Dean relieved them of the heavy trays and carried them over to the white linen-draped table decorated with two centerpieces of evergreens, pine cones, holly, and red taper candles that would be lit just before the guests arrived that evening.

The holly was something Brant had ordered, along with dozens of hothouse poinsettias, red and white roses, and enough baskets of oranges to present one to each of his employees.

Holland had started to fuss over the extravagance of the flowers and fruit, but her protests died when she began to arrange the flowers into elaborate decorations. Even Eloise had commented on her natural talent and eye for creating spectacular arrangements.

“Has anyone tested the dance floor?” Dean asked, giving Brant a shove toward Holland. “How do we know it’s safe for your guests?”

“For the sake of safety, I suppose we could give it a try.” Brant bowed to Holland, then held out his hand, hoping she’d take it.

She did, with her customary brilliant smile, and soon they were twirling around the attic. Not to be outdone, Dean swept Eloise into his arms and joined in the fun while Ellen stood by the door and clapped her hands to keep a rhythm going they could dance to.

“Oh, that was wonderful,” Eloise said, pushing in loose hairpins when Dean came to a stop.

“It was wonderful. I thank you, kind sir, for the dance,” Holland said, bobbing into a curtsy before she and Ellen disappeared down the stairs.

Brant went to the intercom system he’d had installed in the attic just last week and pushed the button that would connect him with Remington.

“Yes, sir?” Remington answered on the second buzz.

“The girls are carrying up all the heavy dishes. Have Dalton and Gareth help. If they’re busy, recruit some of the men who are working outside.”

“Consider it done,” Remington said, then disconnected the call.

“That is the handiest thing,” Dean said, admiring the system that allowed Brant to call from nearly any room in the house and connect with the staff person he needed. There was a button for Remington. One for Mrs. Sanders. Another for Dulcie in the kitchen. Repairs had been made to the system in the stables, so it finally worked properly now.

“See what you did,” Eloise complained. “Now Dean will have one of these installed at our house and drive the staff mad.”

“They’re already halfway there, or they wouldn’t work for us in the first place.”

Eloise laughed. “That is true.”

Brant escorted them to the stairs. “There’s so much to be done. What’s left on your list, Eloise?”

“Have you checked outside to make sure your guests will receive a festive entry?” Eloise asked as they walked single file down the stairs.

“Not yet. Shall we take a look?” They made their way down two more flights to the main floor.

Brant didn’t bother with a coat as he hurried out the entry door and down the front steps until he stood in the center of the drive. Snow capped the copper turrets and dusted the roofline as well as the plants on either side of the house. A wreath sporting a fluffy red bow hung from the door, and garlands accented the front of his home.

“It’s perfect, Eloise!”

“I’m glad. Now come inside before you catch a cold,” she said, motioning for him to join them in the warmth of the house.

After checking on the final preparations in the entry, the formal parlor, and even the washrooms, Brant made his way out the back door and walked down the path to the river garden. He stopped and turned, pleased to see the house looked just as festive from this side. Brick-encased pillars held electric lights on either side of the garden walkway, with shrubs and trees draped in snow. It looked wonderful in the daylight, and he could envision how grand it would appear with the lights glimmering in the twilight and reflecting on the snow.

A simple lunch of chicken soup and bread was served in the breakfast room. Eloise and Nanny Lewis somehow coaxed Mayes, Clara, and Bobby into taking naps. Savannah joined Dulcie, Holland, and Ellen in the kitchen as they worked to prepare the three-course meal that would be served after the dance, as well as ready the refreshments. One of the storage areas on the third floor that hadn’t yet been filled was put into use to keep extra trays of cookies and candies ready to replenish the empty trays at the ball.

At four, Brant retired to his room, took a bath, and gave considerable care to his grooming. He selected a high-collared white shirt and silk tie, a deep-red velvet vest, and a black tailcoat suit. Rather than wear the shoes Dalton had polished to a high shine, Brant chose his favorite cowboy boots, hoping they made the statement that although he’d come from the East, he embraced life in the West.

By half past five, Brant’s nerves were wound so tight, they felt like they might snap. He opened the balcony door in his bedroom and stepped outside in the gathering darkness. The cold air seeped into him but also calmed him slightly. After one more deep breath of the frosty air, he returned inside, closed the door, and made his way downstairs. He stopped by the kitchen, hoping to find Holland ready and waiting for him, but she wasn’t there.

“Is she downstairs?” he asked Savannah as she breezed past him with a tray full of little tidbits that emitted mouth-watering aromas.

Savannah shook her head and set the tray on the work counter. “She said to extend her deepest regrets, but she won’t be able to attend the ball.”

“What?” Brant shouted, drawing the gazes of everyone in the kitchen. “Where is she?”

“I’m not certain, Mr. Hudson. She isn’t in our room, and I haven’t had time to search for her elsewhere. My humble opinion is that she’s scared silly because you and this house are everything she’s ever dreamed of, and now that her dreams are within her grasp, she’s terrified of reaching out and grabbing them. She adores you, sir, whether you come to her as Alex her friend, the lord of the manor, or Brant—the man who clearly loves her. I am sorry she let you down.”

Brant could have explained how it was he who’d let Holland down. There were so many things he could have said or done to encourage her these last weeks. Instead, he’d stolen a few kisses in the kitchen, extracted her promise to attend the ball, and found himself so immersed in executing what felt like an impossible Christmas dream, he’d hardly done more than say hello each day when he dropped by the kitchen to see her. No wonder she felt uncertain about attending with him. He could hardly blame her.

Rather than search her out and make things worse, he sent up a prayer, then went to find the one person he was sure could convince Holland to attend the ball.