Make Her Wish Come True Collection. Ann Lethbridge
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It was Christmas Eve. He had forgotten.
Tired, discouraged, Ben shucked his cloak and hat and stood there watching the choir. The choirmaster was waving his arms about with his usual fervour, as if his exertions would get more tune and music from his amateurs.
There she was. He saw her when the choirmaster swayed to one side, carried away by his efforts. ‘Amanda,’ he said, so softly that no one looked around. ‘Please don’t hate me.’
He stood there in the aisle, unable to move forward or leave, or do anything except stare at her like a drowning man desperate for a life preserver.
The choir had begun a series of crescendoing ‘Hallelujahs’ when Amanda noticed him. The love of his life threw down her choir book and wormed her way past a row of astonished sopranos. She ran down the aisle as the choir kept singing and threw herself into his arms.
She nearly bowled him over, but he grabbed her and steadied them both, he who knew something about ballast and balance on a pitching deck. ‘Hallelujah!’ sang the choir as he kissed her.
‘Ben, we are idiots,’ she whispered in his ear.
‘I know. Do you love me?’ he whispered back, acutely mindful that the anthem had ended and no one was paying attention to the vicar. He glanced at Reverend Winslow, cheered to see that the vicar didn’t appear overly concerned.
‘Yes, I love you, you ninny,’ his dear one said. ‘You should be kept on a short chain.’
Someone else caught his eye. Grinning as broadly as the others, his father sat next to Aunt Sal. Ben took Amanda by the hand as they walked down the aisle. Aunt Sal obliged by moving over and he squeezed in next to his father. There was nowhere for Amanda to go except on his lap, which appeared to bother no one.
‘I need an explanation, Da,’ he whispered.
‘In good time,’ Maxwell Muir whispered back.
Reverend Winslow beamed at them. ‘Are we all settled?’ he asked and the congregation laughed.
The service continued. The choir sang again, after a reading of Luke 2, but nothing could induce Amanda to leave his lap and rejoin the singers. With a sigh that went right to his heart, she rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. Her even breathing told him that she slept. That was just before his eyes closed, too.
At least the congregation didn’t tiptoe out and leave them slumbering. Ben’s father prodded him in the ribs before the recessional and they both stood, holding tight to each other, as the vicar and his acolytes walked down the aisle and into a snowy night.
Ordinarily, the gathering that followed the midnight service would have been a small one, as parents carried sleepy children home and elderly parishioners followed. No one left early this time. There was wassail for the adults and punch for the children, and Mrs Winslow’s exquisite desserts, made more special because Sal Mathison and Mandy had added their talents. Mandy’s Rose might be shuttered and dark, but it was plain to see that the real heart of the tea room carried on in the vicarage.
As much as he wanted to cuddle Amanda and work up the nerve to declare himself, Ben had another matter to discuss. ‘Da, what was it in my letters that sent you barrelling down the pike to Venable?’
His father traded glances with the suddenly shy lady who was probably going to become Ben’s wife. ‘Laddie, your letters were full of Amanda this and Amanda that. I wanted to see her for myself,’ he said simply. ‘At each change, the coachmen made certain I got on the right coach.’
Did I speak only of Amanda? he asked himself, his arm around her again. ‘And you wanted to make sure I stepped up to the mark,’ he said to his father.
‘For all that you sail in a dangerous occupation, you are the most cautious of my sons,’ his father informed him. He leaned forward to look at Amanda. ‘My dear, I thought he might try to talk himself out of a very good idea. Besides, I wanted to meet you. Ben said you needed a father. Here I am.’
Ben couldn’t help his tears when Amanda gave her father a deep curtsy. ‘And here I am, Father,’ she whispered.
Touched beyond words, Ben raised her to her feet. ‘Ben, we have had a pleasant visit, these past few days,’ she told him. ‘I have heard some diverting stories about your childhood.’
Ben rolled his eyes. He saw Aunt Sal’s smile and knew nothing had been settled. ‘Sal, I owe both of you an apology. This whole bad business with the loss of Mandy’s Rose wouldn’t have happened if I had kept my mouth shut. Can you forgive me?’
‘I can and will,’ she said in her forthright way. ‘Mandy and I are working for the Winslows now, and I—’
‘Pardon me, dear, but perhaps the curtain has not quite closed on this whole mess,’ Reverend Winslow said. The vicar ushered a little man forward, someone Ben had seen in Mandy’s Rose for a few meals, but unknown to him.
‘May I introduce Andrew Pickering?’
Ben made his bow.
‘Mr Pickering owns that row of buildings that our esteemed Lord Kelso has decided to purchase.’
‘A good row, sir, a good row,’ the little fellow said. He frowned. ‘The vicar tells me I have done a hasty thing, but perhaps we can make all right again.’
‘I believe you gave your word, Mr Pickering,’ Ben reminded him.
Mr Pickering shook his head. ‘I was duped.’ He gave a snort of indignation. ‘Promised me, he did, that there would be a signed contract by half-six on Christmas Eve.’ He shrugged until his high collar rode up past his ears. ‘It is midnight.’
Mr Cooper continued the narrative. ‘Lord Kelso had me prepare the contract, but he sent word this afternoon that he was too ill to do business until the first of the year.’
Serious nods all around. Ben felt his spirits begin to rise.
‘I reminded him that the deal was to be closed today and he just laughed. Said no one wanted it,’ Mr Cooper said.
‘Insulted me, he did!’ Mr Pickering declared.
‘I propose this, Master Muir,’ Mr Cooper said. ‘If you will make Andrew Pickering a better offer, the row will be yours to do with as you see fit.’
Amanda returned to Ben’s side, her face rosy with embarrassment for him, because she knew nothing about his finances. ‘Mr Cooper, you needn’t put Ben on the spot. I don’t think…’ She stopped.
Ben looked at the woman who might actually share his pillow soon. He gave his attention to Mr Pickering. ‘Three hundred pounds, did you say?’
‘Aye. You offer will have to be higher, to flummox Lord Kelso.’
‘You’re a shrewd gentleman,’ Ben said, which appeared to delight Mr Pickering. ‘How about four hundred pounds?’
Amanda gasped and grabbed his hand, towing him to a corner of the room. ‘Ben! Is that your life savings? You can’t!’
He pulled her close, amused to look over his shoulder and see everyone leaning towards them. Amanda moved even closer to him, which brought some heat to one of his appendages.
‘I guess that means you’re not marrying me for my money,’ he teased, stepping back a bit because they were the attention of mixed company.
‘Do be serious, Ben.’
He whispered in her ear about Brustein and Carter, and prize money. ‘We all get a percentage, not just the captain and admiral of the fleet,’ he concluded. With unholy glee, he saw that her eyes had begun to glaze over when his lips tickled her ear. ‘I can afford any number of Mandy’s Roses.’
Amanda took a deep breath and another, looking around as if aware for the first time that they were the centre of attention. ‘You would to that for Aunt Sal and me?’
‘That and