Triggs grinned, an odd sight for his weather-worn, deeply lined face. “Tha’ she be, ma’am. I’ll be certain ta see ee delivered of ‘er finest batch o’ Mahogany for the holiday. Mind ee don’ drink too much, or milord’ll be carryin’ ee to yer nightly rest whilst ee sleep wi’ pixies.”

Harrison exhaled slowly, shaking his head in lieu of laughing. “I have not had Mahogany in many years. My father always drank too much too quickly, and it took four footmen to drag him to bed.” Those memories were darker than he liked, given his father’s behavior when intoxicated, but Mahogany was of such a strength, it was the fastest sojourn to unconsciousness his drinking ever was.

Fewer damages that way.

“What were you doing drinking Mahogany many years ago?” Adelaide asked with an impish nudge to his side, bringing him back from the edge of those memories.

He smiled at her, more in thanks for her interference than for the joke she was making. “It’s a tradition,” he said simply, shrugging a shoulder. “I simply wanted a taste.”

“Many a lad ‘as done far worse, milady,” Triggs assured her with another deep laugh. “Young master ‘ere was on’y curious a’ the time, an’ I recall ‘is brother bein’ far worse off.” He nodded at them both. “Where to, milady?”

“This way!” Adelaide waved them in, pointing down the long corridor. “Mrs. Elsom will see you perfectly situated.”

The men traipsed in and went where she indicated, the sheer volume of greenery in the procession slowly making Harrison’s brows rise. When the last man had gone and the door closed behind them, he turned to his wife, silently querying.

Adelaide caught his look and huffed. “What, Basset? We are hosting a Christmas gathering, and then after that, a ball for Twelfth Night! Would you wish for Trevadden to be bare of any festive décor?”

“Not at all,” he replied as he folded his arms. “I’d simply like to avoid living in a forest if I can.”

She scowled. “Mind yourself, my lord. I will not hesitate to find a Cornish traditional curse to place uponyou if it suits me.”

“Duly noted.” He chuckled now, not bothering to feign disapproval. “You are alight with all of this, Adelaide. It’s wonderful to see.”

“The benefits of progression in my condition,” Adelaide quipped, a hand moving to cradle her slight bump. “I have all the energy in the world, and nothing excites me so much as Christmas for the present. I have learned all of the Cornish traditions and adapted them to our usage accordingly.” She suddenly winced and leaned closer. “Though, I beg you, do not make me include stargazy pie. The very idea of fish heads and tails stuck straight out of the pie, I cannot…” She held up a hand, swallowing ominously and shaking her head.