~27~

The warmth of the fire wrapped around the small gathering at Garin's home one white frosted evening, toasting numb fingers and noses with its tender caresses. The host and his guests had retired to the drawing room for tea and conversation after Olga, his one help (who refused to speak a word of English!) had served a charming dinner which they finished with a delightful bit of Ptichye Moloko.

"It was so white and lovely and everyone knows how much I love sweet and white things," said an enthusiastic Lori to Garin's mother afterwards.

Margaret Louise Garin, a tender, frail-looking woman with a head of grey and startling topaz eyes, was drawn to Lori the moment she laid eyes on the child. Yet all were aware the woman possessed a reserved nature that made her relation to the doctor undeniable.

"And she's got such a lovely smile, his Olga, and gave me extra nothings when I peeped in at the kitchen," Lori was saying to her interested audience of one while her mother (who'd have been exasperated at her being near the kitchens in the first place) exchanged some words with Wade, her authoritative tone complimenting her deep purple gown and delicate jewels.

"Your father and I were confident we should see the day you settled down sensibly, though I might add it did not happen entirely how I imagined."

Garin and Miss Brightley exchanged secret smiles since they both knew what Mrs. Lambert had imagined!

She let her gaze wander over to her new daughter-in-law. Her mouth relaxed as the young woman's head leaned back and a trill of laughter escaped her.

Mrs. Lambert gave an absent nod as a smile slipped across her lips.

"Nevertheless, I am satisfied."

(Another truth, since she was no doubt growing fond of Lisabeth despite her growing nervousness that the girl was too lenient towards Lori, whom she still believed required a firm hand).

Wade Lambert, his wavy locks reflecting the burning candlelight, took a drink of his tea.

"Let's just be honest, I'd never have pursued marriage if it weren't for love of Bertha."

Lisabeth's sharp, surreptitious gaze shot over to her husband before she arched a brow.

And just who is this Bertha?"

Resting in the rustic armchair of his great-grandfather, Garin surveyed his guests with a twinkle in his startling blue eyes.

"I assure you it is nothing but an inn along the roads to Cairne."

"Consider it one of my successful investments, darling," said Lambert, raising his glass to his wife. "Freddie Burke's eyes nearly jumped from their sockets and sprint across the room last time we had words!"

"Don't gloat, dear," said Lisabeth, her features having reverted to their sweet innocence.

"Pride can be a dangerous thing when left unchecked," said Garin. "It's one of the three things that leads men to tomfoolery."

"And what are the other two?" asked Idrielle.

"Strong drink and love."

Lambert finished his tea and stretched lazily.

"You've forgotten one, old boy."

Garin gave him a derisive look.

"Enlighten me."

"Why you, of course!" and turning to his wife and her sister, "You can't imagine the times I've had with him. He speaks in blasted riddles!—as you'll soon find out," he added, with a nod in his sister-law's direction. "Can't understand a thing he says when he gets all philosophical!"

Garin's mother laughed outright, earning herself a displeased frown from her son.

"It takes a strenuous amount of patience to deal with him," the doctor whispered to Idrielle while Wade was gesticulating wildly with his hands.

Mr. Brightley and Mr. Lambert, disengaging from their private conversation, joined the company.

"To think of all the nonsense that's led to this cheerful gathering," said Mr. Brightley, his eyes glowing behind his spectacles as he kissed Idrielle's head.

"Yes, much nonsense indeed, I heard," said Garin's mother, exchanging a smile with Lori.

"You don't know the half of it," quipped Idrielle under her breath, throwing her sister a harsh glance.

"I understand you're still cross at me for my near death experience, Idrie, but really it all turned out quite swell!"

By now, Miss Brightley and Garin were frowning at her, but she laughed.

"I ought to thank you, Daddy—and Mr. Lambert as well."

Mr. Brightley and Mr. Lambert shared puzzled looks.

"Good heavens, what on earth for?" said Wade, casting her a dubious look.

"Well, if they'd never agreed to this, Idrie would never have come to Harwickshire."

"Ah, yes, then I must admit I'm grateful for your having broken your dainty foot because," he stressed when everyone started to speak at once, "I'd have never fallen in love with you."

"Touching," said her sister in a sardonic tone. (Lisabeth, however, did not hear it)

Lisabeth giggled, laying her head on his shoulder.

"And I'd have never been the chosen bride!"

"Careful, children," said Garin, stirring the fire and reaching down to draw Lori away. (Her face had been getting closer and closer to the grate!) "Love and romance are better in small amounts. An overdose can be deadly."

"Poor Idrie," Wade whispered to his wife. "She'll be grey and withering for lack of affection from her oaf of a beau."

Lisabeth snorted a laugh.

"Let's have a song!" cried Lori, who'd gotten quite bored with being drawn from the fire every few minutes; she turned expectant eyes on Idrielle's slender fingers.

"And vodka!" added Margaret Garin, bringing in the glass decanter while Olga, her striped skirts nearly blinding Garin with the ridiculousness of the yellow, carried a tray of glasses.

"Mama—"

She waved her son off with a tsk.

"Shush, boy. It's been a while since I've tried it and this evening is a momentous occasion all around."

Garin shook his head as Wade's "Hear! Hear!" floated across the room.

Everyone gathered round as Idrielle Brightley took her place at the piano and played a soothing piece with a tender look from her mother-in-law, whom Garin watch swipe a tear from her eye.

Wade drew Lisabeth away from the group and kissed her hand before entwining their fingers.

"How does it feel to be the bride of choice? You don't think Idrie will be too sad, do you? She lucked out, after all."

Lisabeth laughed and swatted his sleeve.

"Idrie couldn't care a farthing for your big headedness," and she fondled his hair with a playful hand. Her Russian doctor has enchanted her bookish soul."

"Ah, the sweet 'Aleksy, darling!' just rolls off the tongue with perfect finesse. Shall I address him as such on the morrow?"

They smothered their laughs, looking over their shoulders like naughty children.

Lisabeth sighed, looking at her husband with eyes of tender affection.

"To think all those months led to this peaceful moment."

Wade smiled, drawing her close.

"And to many more like it, darling."

The room resonated with laughter and love, and as the gentle tune continued, the family (Mrs. Lambert especially!) savoured the beauty of the moment—a moment born out of unexpected yet hopeful turns, a moment that brings everything together like a present carefully wrapped just before Christmas morn. One of warmth, companionship and the glow of shared happiness.

And this is where our tale ends, dear reader, as the family became much too burdened with my gazing and peering into their affairs, (though Lori suggested I hide out in the attic at Idleworth Manor, but alas! I have a mean allergy to dust and refused her considerate offer). Rumours have it that Garin's godsons will visit Harwickshire soon, and Lori's bent on retaining the doctor's attention, as well as her precarious position as his favourite little friend among the infestation she calls meddlesome boys! Let's say the adventure with these three shan't fail in attracting worthy gossip, laughs, scathing looks and even (heaven forbid!) a rather scandalised Florence DeDellia Lambert.

What can I say? Unforeseen circumstances occur to even the most predictable of people...