The bleak gardens and orchard below and the trees shorn of their foliage by winter looked all the better for having the mantle of night drawn over them. The captain gave a restless sigh, the floorboards of the room seeming too solid. It usually took him several days to accustom himself to the absence of a deck rolling beneath his feet, to not constantly being obliged to make decisions, rap out commands. He was not a man framed for leisure, and he already longed to be doing something. Going over accounts with the bailiff, inspecting the house, interviewing prospective servants—anything. But, of course, none of that was possible. It was Christmas Eve, with whatever sort of revelry that entailed. Despite his disapproval, his bride-to-be was even now down in the kitchen, supervising the preparation of the evening mea.l Until more help could be engaged, Trent conceded the necessity of it. Perhaps later, he could sit down with Emma and plan out the final arrangements for their wedding. That much, at least, could be accomplished today.
