Free Kissing Comfort by Jo Goodman Page A

supply one. “Good night, Mother.”
    â€œGood night.”
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    After the disquieting events of the previous evening, Comfort embraced the sense of peace she felt when she woke in her own home. Not far off, the sound of church bells could be heard calling people to Sunday services. Realizing the ringing meant she was already too late to attend, she lay back and allowed herself the luxury of a lazy, feline stretch. Her movement disturbed the cat that had been tucked in the warm curve of her knees. Thistle sank his claws into the cotton coverlet and then into Comfort’s flesh. She jerked her legs away and made a grab for him.
    â€œCome here, bad boy.” She chuckled softly when he didn’t even make a show of resisting her. Turning on her side, she cradled him close and rubbed her chin between his ears. His long gray-and-white hair tickled her. “We missed church, but I’m guessing we weren’t the only ones. Uncle Tuck might be up, but he’ll be having breakfast in his room, and I imagine Uncle Newt is still snoring.”
    She remained in bed a little longer, rising only when she felt she was in danger of drifting back to sleep. She did not want the day to slip away from her, not when she had explanations to make. The carriage ride last night had afforded her the only real opportunity to present the facts to her uncles, and she’d been loath to disturb the quiet calm that was their blanket on the journey home.
    She rang for assistance and asked for a bath to be drawn. Suey Tsin moved about as quietly as the cat, occasionally causing Comfort moments of alarm when she rounded a corner and came upon the girl unexpectedly. While Comfort soaked, Suey Tsin presented day dresses for her to wear. Communicating in truncated English, rapid-fire Chinese, and a flurry of gestures, her maid presented a compelling argument for the ice blue dress being more suitable as evening attire, for a dinner party perhaps, or for the theater, and as a result, Comfort chose the lemon yellow pinstripe.
    By the time she arrived in the breakfast room, Newton was sitting in his usual place at one end of the table and studying the paper folded in thirds beside his plate. Although he rose slightly at Comfort’s entrance, and gestured to her chair, his eyes never left the account he was reading.
    Amused, she kissed the cheek he absently offered and took her seat. She had just unfolded a linen napkin over her lap when Tuck joined them. She looked up in surprise. “I would have wagered that you’d already taken breakfast in your room.”
    â€œThat’s why Newt and I have always cautioned you against making wagers. You don’t have the head for it.” He sat, snapped a napkin open with considerable flourish, and laid it protectively over his chest like a bib. Ignoring Comfort’s mild censure, he leaned forward and sniffed deeply. He immediately ferreted out the covered platter that was hiding the bacon and reached for it. After placing three crisp strips on his plate, he passed it to Comfort and then poured himself a cup of coffee.
    â€œI make wagers all the time,” she protested. She permitted herself one bacon strip, put four on Newt’s plate, then thought better of it and took one back for herself. “Every time I make an investment for the bank, in fact.”
    â€œThat’s different.”
    â€œWhat he means,” Newt said, still staring at his paper, “is that mostly you’re wagering other people’s money. You’re more clearheaded when it’s not your own.”
    Comfort bit off one end of a bacon strip and waggled what remained of it at her uncles. “Are you two ever astonished that you made your fortune in banking?”
    â€œAlways,” said Tuck.
    â€œIt passeth all understanding,” said Newton.
    â€œWell, as long as you know it.” She took the platter of scrambled eggs from Tuck and spooned a heap onto her plate.