Holiday Reunion (Dukes of War Book 8)

by Erica Ridley

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” Oliver said with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

  Sarah straightened with interest. “Is it a Gothic romance?”

  “It’s… an illustrated primer with no words at all.” Grace fished a small volume from her reticule and tossed it to Sarah. “I recommend starting with page seventeen.”

  Sarah thumbed the pages rapidly, then turned the volume sideways. Her mouth fell open and a bright blush colored her cheeks. “That’s—”

  “—definitely something we should try.” Edmund plucked the book from her hands and tucked it safely inside his jacket pocket. “We’ll bring it back to Jane next Christmastide. Unless we ‘accidentally’ forget.”

  “The mistletoe!” Kate exclaimed.

  The entire party leaped up from their seats and raced into the entryway as the butler was opening the door.

  Xavier and Jane crossed the threshold with their three-year-old daughter between them.

  Jane immediately cupped her free hand to Xavier’s face and pressed a kiss to his lips.

  “How did you know there was mistletoe?” Kate demanded.

  “She assumes every doorway has mistletoe,” Xavier said with a straight face. “Even in July.”

  “I should be forever mortified if I were to miss an opportunity to kiss my husband,” Jane agreed with a lascivious wink. “Where are the others? Leticia has been demanding to see them all day.”

  Oliver’s brow furrowed. “Can three-year-olds demand?”

  “Worse. Leticia can read.” Xavier gave a long-suffering shudder. “Instead of, ‘No! Mine!’ she gives well-thought-out speeches on why every item in the house belongs to her.”

  “She’s welcome to pontificate at will in the nursery.” Ravenwood motioned for a maid to fetch Leticia from her mother’s arms and deliver her to the other children. “Although, to be honest, David’s responses will only consist of, ‘No! Mine!’”

  “Perfect.” Jane handed her daughter to the maid and her outer garments to a footman. “They’ll be the best of friends in no time.”

  The entire party grinned at each other.

  “I think they will be great friends,” Ravenwood admitted.

  ’Twas perhaps his true reason for wishing to start a new holiday tradition. Not just to reunite more regularly with the entire group at once, but to give his offspring a group of their own.

  Jane clasped her hands together. “Now that we’re all here, it’s time to decorate the tree!”

  Everyone looked at Ravenwood.

  “There’s no tree.” At their shocked faces, he cleared his throat and began again. “There will be a tree. Soon. Probably. In the meantime, we have wine and treats in the other room.”

  Two glasses of mulled wine later, Ravenwood was ready to pick up an axe, chop down the closest tree regardless of size or variety, and drag it into the parlor.

  Just as he was pushing himself to his feet to ring for his outer garments, grunts and rustles outside the room indicated the footmen were arriving with what was indeed the grandest evergreen on the entire property. The topmost tip nearly reached the vaulted ceiling.

  He let out a long sigh of relief.

  Ravenwood’s guests fawned over the majestic tree as the footmen placed it in a large tub packed with soil in the center of the room.

  “It’s beautiful,” Grace breathed in wonder. “I cannot wait to see it with candles.”

  Kate leaned over and kissed Ravenwood on the cheek. “It is a gorgeous tree, darling. Well worth the wait.”

  “Now what?” Grace asked. “Do we all affix our candles to the tree at once?”

  “No,” Ravenwood commanded. For a tradition to last, it needed to be special.

  “I agree,” Kate said. “Decorating would be over too quickly.”

  Bartholomew tilted his head toward his brother. “How did we do this before?”

  Unconsciously, Edmund cocked his head at the same angle to reply. “Didn’t we make it a game?”

  “We did!” Daphne jumped to her feet. “I’ve the best idea. Let’s play ‘I love my love.’”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a thinking game,” Daphne began.

  Jane held up her cup. “And a drinking game.”

  Conversation halted for an impromptu toast before the instructions could continue.

  “The first person starts with ‘A,’” Daphne explained. “Something like this: ‘I love my love with an A, because he is adorable. I hate him because he is addled. I took him to Andover and treated him to apples and his name is Albert Adams.’”

  “And then the next person takes ‘B,’” Jane put in. “‘I love my love with a B, because he is brainy.’”

  “She’s definitely not talking about me,” Xavier said, sotto voce.

  Sarah clasped her hands together. “That’s a great idea!”

  Xavier narrowed his eyes. “What’s a great idea?”

  “Instead of A, B, C, we’ll use our real loves,” Sarah said, eyes shining. “As each couple finishes, we’ll place our candles on the tree. Ready? I’ll go first.”

  Everyone scrambled to refill their glasses and plates, then arranged themselves in view of the empty tree, the Yule log, and Sarah.

  She took a deep breath and began. “I love my love with an E, because he is even-tempered.”

  “Edmund?” Bartholomew interrupted with faux shock. “He broke my hobby horse when I wouldn’t share. While I was still on it.”

  “Adults don’t hold grudges,” his twin said firmly. He turned to his wife. “Go on, darling. Tell everyone why I’m so wonderful.”

  “‘Hate’ is next,” Bartholomew reminded him. “I can’t wait.”

  Edmund shot a startled look toward Sarah. “Skip that one.”

  She gave him a stern look. “One must play the game. I hate Edmund because he is… energetic.”

  Oliver affected a lewd tone. “By ‘energetic,’ do you mean—”

  “In every sense.” Sarah’s cheeks were bright pink. “I’m the mother of twins! Sometimes a woman wants to fall asleep, but no, it’s ‘let me fulfill your every desire all night long.’”

  Everyone burst out laughing.

  “You poor thing,” Daphne said with mock solemnity. “How ever do you cope?”

  Sarah grinned and continued, “I took Edmund to the Egyptian Hall.”

  “Did you really?” Jane asked. “How was it?”

  Edmund’s eyes shone in remembrance. “The hieroglyphs were stunning.”

  “I found the tomb disturbing,” Sarah admitted. “I couldn’t sleep for a week.”

  “We know the real reason why,” Jane stage-whispered. “It takes time to fulfill every desire.”

  “And then, I treated Edmund to eternal love.” Sarah sent a tender glance toward her husband. “Or perhaps eternal exhaustion.”

  “Both,” he agreed with a laugh. “I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

  “Good,” Kate told him. “You’re next.”

  He cleared his throat. “I love my love with an S, because she is sweet.”

  “Not very sweet,” Sarah admitted. “I did run away from the wedding.”

  “That’s because you were standing there with Ravenwood,” Edmund told her. “Who would want to marry a duke?”

  “So true. Being a duchess is dreadful. I suffer every single day.” Kate snuggled into Ravenwood’s side and wagged her fingers at Edmund. “Carry on.”

  Edmund slid a sidelong glance at his wife. “I hate her because… she snores.”

  Sarah gasped. “I do not!”

  “You started right after the twins were born,” he said with a put-upon expression. “It’s the real reason I wake you up every night.”

  She burst into giggles. “At least there’s a happy ending.”

  “I took Sarah to…” Edmund narrowed his eyes in concentration. “The Sans Pareil Theatre.”

  Grace shook her head. “It’s called The Adelphi now.”

  “We
went last year when it was still Sans Pareil,” Edmund assured her.

  “So did we!” Grace lit up. “What did you see?”

  “An amusing burletta about—”

  “I love my love,” Sarah cut in, “but he is never going to finish his turn if we keep interrupting.”

  “And finally,” Edmund concluded with a grin, “I frequently treat her to fine sherry.”

  Jane raised her glass in a toast. “That is indeed how it all starts.”

  Sarah snapped her gaze toward Ravenwood. “Candles?”

  He nodded. “Candles.”

  Together, Sarah and Edmund lit their tapers and affixed them to the tree.

  “I love it,” Grace said when they finished, “but I’m not sure I have it all memorized yet. Can Oliver and I be last?”

  “Of course.” Kate lifted herself up from Ravenwood’s side. “Here’s mine. I love my love with an R, because he is romantic.”

  “Ravenwood?” Oliver snorted. “In the House of Lords, he seems more like an automaton.”

  “Lovely,” Ravenwood murmured. “Thank you.”

  Kate squeezed his hand. “For everyone’s information, my husband has the heart of a poet.”

  “In a jar under his bed,” Bartholomew whispered to the others.

  Edmund looked over with interest. “Does that work?”

  “No dismembering,” Daphne scolded. “It’s Christmastide.”

  Kate slid Ravenwood a droll look out of the corner of her eye. “I hate him because he is… rational.”

  Ravenwood tried to hide his laughter. Kate was so spontaneous, he was surprised she’d managed to celebrate Christmas on the right date.

  “I took him to Wigley’s Royal Promenade Rooms,” she continued.

  Jane leaned forward. “How was it?”

  “Fascinating! We saw Mr. Theodon’s Mechanical and Picturesque Theatre, which was marvelous, but not as wonderful as the Traveling Automaton.”

  “Did you visit the Spring Gardens?” Xavier asked with a sly look in his eye.

  Ravenwood’s lips quirked. “You should have heard her shriek when the water splashed her.”

  “I didn’t know hidden machinery controlled the fountain,” Kate protested. “No one told me I was about to step on the trigger hidden in the walkway.”

  “That’s why it’s called the Spring Gardens.” Bartholomew’s eyes were merry. “It makes everyone ‘spring’ out of the way.”

  “You’re all terrible.” Kate lifted her chin. “Back to the game. This year, I treated Ravenwood to a race down Rotten Row.”

  Ravenwood nearly had an apoplexy just remembering the occasion. “Remind me never to wager against you again, woman.”

  She snuggled back into him. “Your turn.”

  “I love my love with a K,” he began slowly, “because she is courageous.”

  Jane choked on her wine. “What? That doesn’t start with a K.”

  “I have the heart of a poet,” he reminded her. “I’m using poetic license.”

  “Can everyone?” Xavier asked.

  “Just me,” Jane said. “X is hard.”

  “Very well,” Ravenwood agreed. “Jane and I have poetic license. Next. I hate Katherine because she is… charismatic.”

  At that, Daphne shook her head. “Charisma isn’t a bad trait.”

  “I want her all to myself,” he protested. “She’s always flitting about, making people like her. Having conversations and such.”

  “I shudder,” Bartholomew said with a straight face. “Carry on.”

  Ravenwood continued, “I took her to the Curiosities at St. Paul’s Cathedral—”

  “You’re not even trying for Ks.” Oliver shook a finger in reproach. “For shame.”

  “I’d like to see the Curiosities, too.” Daphne leaned forward. “What was the best part?”

  “The Whispering Gallery,” Kate answered without hesitation. “You can whisper with your mouth near the wall at one end of a great circle, and a person on the other side, one hundred and forty feet away, can hear you quite clearly.”

  “All the people can hear.” Ravenwood gave her a stern look. “My cheeks were quite red.”

  “What did you say?” Jane whispered in glee.

  Ravenwood continued before his wife could answer. “I was forced to treat her to… kisses.”

  “Now you know what I said,” Kate whispered back.

  “Candles!” Sarah called out. “Well done.”

  Ravenwood offered his wife his elbow. They walked arm-in-arm to the tree.

  “Come around to the other side,” she murmured. “They won’t see you kiss me.”

  “We can hear you, though,” Xavier called out. “We’re right here.”

  Jane giggled. “I doubt Ravenwood had the only flushed cheeks at the Whispering Gallery.”

  Ravenwood gave up on propriety and kissed his wife before all and sundry.

  His friends erupted in a wholly improper cheer.

  When they retook their seats, he motioned to Jane. “I pass the torch to the next poet.”

  Jane immediately brightened. “I love my love with an X, because he is experienced. The things I could tell you…”

  “Please don’t,” Xavier said. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

  She kissed his cheek. “You always do. I am the luckiest woman I know. I hate him because… he’s exuberant.”

  “What?” the entire room burst out at once.

  “Xavier is the opposite of exuberant,” Oliver protested. “He is so non-exuberant that he was unconscious for six months.”

  “He’s making up for lost time,” Jane said primly. “This year, I took him to the Exeter Exchange—”

  “How was the menagerie?” Daphne asked.

  Jane’s eyes widened. “The roar of the lions frightened horses passing in the street!”

  “She means it frightened her,” Xavier said with a grin. “I told you it was safe.”

  Jane shivered. “I much preferred the kangaroo. It never once roared at me.”

  “Go on,” Xavier prompted. “Or I’ll roar at you.”

  “Right.” She tilted her head in thought. “And last, I treated him to… ecstasy.”

  “My turn,” Xavier announced before any of the laughing friends could ask for clarification. “I love my love with a J, because she is joyful.”

  “Is that poetic license for ‘incorrigible?’” Kate asked.

  “I’ll allow it,” Ravenwood said. “Jane is incorrigible, with a silent J.”

  “Janecorrigible,” she said with a nod. “I like it.”

  Xavier tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. “I hate Jane because… she’s a genius.”

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t start with J.”

  “See?” He tickled her side. “She always has to be right.”

  “Ravenwood?” Jane demanded. “A ruling, please?”

  “I’ll allow it,” he said again, unable to stop his mouth from curving. “What’s next?”

  Xavier straightened. “Every year, I take her to every subscription library in London—”

  “None of that starts with J!” Jane protested.

  “You only visit libraries,” he pointed out.

  She conceded the point. “Fair enough.”

  “And this year, I treated her to a gift from… John Arpthorp’s shop.”

  Jane placed a hand to her chest and gave a meaningful look to the ladies. “Arpthorp’s corsets and unmentionables are divine.”

  “You just mentioned them,” Xavier whispered. “You promised.”

  “Well done.” Sarah pointed to the tree. “Candles!”

  While Jane and Xavier hunted the perfect bough for their tapers, Kate leaned over to Ravenwood to whisper, “Shall we plan a visit to John Arpthorp?”

  “Definitely,” he whispered back. “I cannot wait to strip you of whatever we’re about to buy.”

  “My turn,” Daphne announced with a soft smile at her husband. “I love my love with a B, beca
use he is brilliant.”

  “A wise man never argues with his wife,” Bartholomew agreed solemnly.

  Daphne continued, “I hate him because he is… brawny.”

  “What?” everyone choked out. “What’s wrong with muscles?”

  “All the women stare at him!” Daphne said, affecting the mien of a woman incensed by jealousy. “He’s mine!”

  “They weren’t staring at my brawn,” Bartholomew consoled her. “They were trying to figure out why my leg kept applauding them.”

  “Lies,” she said immediately. “They still stare, even with the new leg. But they shan’t have you. That’s why I take you to bed and treat you to bliss and intend to keep you very, very busy—”

  Bartholomew cut off her tirade with a kiss. “I love my love with a D, because she is both daffy and devoted.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You say the sweetest things.”

  “It’s true,” he said. “I have never met anyone more passionate about helping people in need. Oftentimes, your sense of humor is the only light in their lives.”

  “That… is incredibly sweet,” Daphne admitted. “I love you, too.”

  Bartholomew continued, “I hate her because she is… determined.”

  “I thought you liked my determination,” she protested.

  “You bullied me into becoming your fiancé,” he reminded her.

  “Only the first time,” she said with a straight face. “I turned you down the second time, which makes you the determined one.”

  “True,” he conceded. “This year, I took Daphne to… dinner.”

  Grace arched her eyebrows. “Dinner?”

  Daphne nodded. “We’re gone most of the year. By now, we’ve been to every hotel and pub in England. I’ll write a guidebook if I ever run out of charities.”

  “Which means no guidebook,” Bartholomew said. “Which is too bad, because I always treat Daphne to dessert.”

  “Excellent.” Kate clapped her hands. “To the tree with you and your candles.”

  “Last couple,” Ravenwood said gruffly. His heart warmed. The evening was turning out perfectly after all. “Grace, are you ready?”

  “I think so.” She took a deep breath and turned to Oliver. “I love my love with an O, because he is observant.”

  Oliver raised his brows. “Bartholomew gets ‘brawny,’ and I get ‘observant?’”