by Lauren Royal
“Chrystabel,” her siblings said simultaneously—Arabel in an embarrassed groan and Matthew in a tone of warning.
Chrystabel took no notice. Her gaze was fastened on the lady of the house. Though she’d thought the countess enjoyed her company and might even approve of her proposal, Lady Trentingham didn’t smile.
But she didn’t frown, either.
The woman did, however, raise a hand to keep her husband and son from interrupting. “You made a similar offer at supper last night, Lady Chrystabel, which my husband declined. What makes you think you’ll get a different answer this morning?”
She sounded interested, not accusing, which Chrystabel took as an amenable sign. That left the conservative earl and his overcautious son as her main obstacles. Lord Trentingham’s resistance seemed to come more from an unthinking instinct for prudence than from genuine opposition, so she decided to see to him first. He ought to take less effort to convince, and once both parents were on her side, they could help sway Joseph.
“Two reasons,” Chrystabel told the countess, then turned to address Lord Trentingham directly. “The first being that I expressed myself poorly at supper. Last night, my lord, I’m afraid I spoke like one who eschews convention, respectability, and good sense for the sake of trifling frivolities.”
Though he was too polite to agree, the earl mumbled something that wasn’t a denial.
“Well, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I take the law quite seriously, and my rejection of it is not senseless but deliberate. I disobey out of respect for tradition and principle, just as you do by continuing to operate the vineyard you inherited from your father and continuing to dress in a manner that reflects your lineage and beliefs. Celebrating Christmas might be fun, but more importantly, in my opinion, it’s our duty as Christians and an important way we honor and celebrate our faith and our families.”
Everyone including Lord Trentingham looked a little stunned. After a protracted moment of silence, Joseph was first to find his voice. “I care about duty and tradition, too, but it’s foolish to ignore the risks. One must strike a balance. The way you flaunt the law—”
“Who’s flaunting?” Arabel wanted to know. “In public, Chrystabel dresses modestly and follows all the other restrictions. Even in private, she never drinks to excess or uses coarse language. And the small rebellions she does allow herself are always conducted discreetly in her own home—or the homes of those she trusts. What’s so foolish about any of that?”
Pleased and touched, Chrystabel shared a smile with her sister. It felt good to have Arabel come to her defense. For once, her scholarly little sister had chosen to praise her judgment rather than challenge it.
But Joseph wasn’t convinced. “What’s foolish is taking unnecessary risks when we’re already under scrutiny. Having Sir Leonard breathing down our necks increases both the odds of getting caught and the likely severity of retaliation. It’s not a good time to push our luck.”
“I agree,” Chrystabel announced, and for a second time, everyone looked stunned. “That is, I agree lawbreaking should be avoided any time Sir Leonard is apt to show up unannounced—which is why I propose strictly limiting our observance to Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I would make all of the arrangements myself and personally ensure the evidence is disposed of by midnight tomorrow, more than twenty-four hours ahead of Sir Leonard’s return.” When she locked eyes with the viscount, her heart gave its usual stutter despite their rivalry. “A brief, modest celebration would mark the holiday while incurring very little risk. Does that sound like a fair balance, Joseph?”
It was the first time she’d acted on his invitation to use his given name. Though she’d been calling him Joseph in her head since last night, hearing herself speak it aloud felt different and odd. But in a good way.
She wondered if he’d liked hearing it. He certainly looked less belligerent than a few moments ago. Now he looked surprised and intrigued, among other emotions she couldn’t distinguish.
She enjoyed the idea that he found her surprising. And he certainly seemed more interested in her now, though that was probably in part thanks to the red gown. More than once, she’d seen his gaze lingering, well, not exactly on her face.
Could those other, indistinguishable emotions have been the first stirrings of love?
Her heart gave a deeper, echoing stutter at the thought.
And when it became obvious he wasn’t going to answer her question, she forgave him immediately. A young man in the grip of burgeoning love was bound to get a bit tongue-tied, after all.
Turning back to the others, she saw victory in her grasp. Creath and Arabel beamed, Lady Trentingham nodded encouragingly, and Matthew shrugged his manly indifference. Even Lord Trentingham looked a little excited. “All in favor?” Chrystabel asked.
When five voices said, “Aye!” Joseph seemed to come awake.
A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “Aye,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Wonderful!” Lady Trentingham dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and rose. “Lady Chrystabel, I’ll leave you to planning our secret Christmas while my family discusses some issues of significance. Henry, shall we meet in your study in an hour?”
NINE
THERE WAS NO time to waste.
Chrystabel’s schedule for the day quite suddenly seemed at least a mile long. Somewhere between her first bite of bread and her last sip of ale, she’d gone from having nothing to do to wondering how she could possibly get everything done.
After the meal, her first stop was the kitchen, where she surveyed what she had to work with in planning her menus for Christmas Eve supper and Christmas breakfast. She squealed with delight when she found a basket of ripe red fruit in the pantry.
“Strawberries?” she asked Mrs. Potter, the Ashcrofts’ rosy-cheeked cook. “In the winter?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Potter said with a smile. “Lord Tremayne grows them in his conservatory.”
“Does he?” Thinking she needed to see strawberries growing in winter, Chrystabel mentally added a visit to Joseph’s conservatory to her long list of things to do today. “I think we should have a big strawberry tart. What else in your pantry may we use?”
Finding that the kitchen had stocks of turkey, chicken, and bacon, she decided to have them baked into a large Christmas pie. Usually Christmas pie also included goose and pigeon at a minimum, but she was certain the one she planned would be just as delicious.
She also found fish, cauliflower, and a basket full of small artichokes. Mrs. Potter had a number of fine ideas for employing those items, so Chrystabel left them to the cook’s creativity. Fresh white manchet bread and a large sallet would complete the meal.
For Christmas breakfast, she examined the larder again and planned panperdy, buttered eggs with bacon, and hot pan cakes with butter and sugar.
“Do you have any red wine?” she asked Mrs. Potter. “Or is only the Tremayne wine served here?”
“Oh, we have plenty of red wine in our cellar.”
“Excellent. I hope you won’t mind me invading your kitchen later this afternoon, because I’d like to make the mulled wine myself.”
“You’re quite welcome here, my lady,” Mrs. Potter assured her. “We all have to look at each other most every day of the year, so we’re always glad of a new face.”
Chrystabel chuckled. “My heartfelt thanks.” It took some tinkering and lots of tasting to make a perfect batch of mulled wine. She preferred not to risk leaving that task to a kitchen servant.
The mulled wine would be for tonight, of course, but what to prepare for a morning drink? Something sweet and delicious, as it was the most special of holidays.
“I don’t suppose you have cocoa beans?” she ventured, her fingers fiddling with her lion pendant. Parliament had banned chocolate as a sinful pleasure, but…
“I certainly do,” Mrs. Potter admitted, proving Christmas was the season for miracles. “Just a modest little hoard, but I’m not saving it for an
ything in particular. Shall I have the beans ground for you?”
“Oh, that would be marvelous!” Chrystabel loved chocolate nearly as much as she loved secretly ignoring ridiculous Puritanical laws. “I’ll have all our kitchen staff fetched here to help you. Thank you once again, Mrs. Potter. Until this afternoon,” she said as a way to excuse herself.
Now it was time to start decorating. Although first, she needed to stop by her brother’s chamber.
On her way upstairs, she wondered if Lady Trentingham was holding the enigmatic family meeting yet. Chrystabel was insanely curious to know what the countess meant to discuss with her husband and son, because the lady’s carefully offhand manner had made her suspect it was something quite serious. And she’d long ago learned to trust her instincts in matters such as this.
Could the Ashcrofts be meeting to talk about their guests? Were they unhappy to have the Trevors foisted upon them? Maybe…but last night Lady Trentingham’s invitation to stay had seemed sincere, and today she’d agreed to let Chrystabel plan a secret Christmas in their home. It didn’t make sense.
So she’d have to keep wondering.
When she knocked on the door of Matthew’s chamber, he came to greet her with a quill in his hand. Glancing past him, she saw several open account books on a table. His hair was sticking up in places, as though he’d been running his fingers through it.
Was he anxious about their finances? She hoped everything was all right—but she had no time to worry about anything like that today.
“May I borrow a hat?” she asked, craning around him to try and spot one. “Or are they all still packed away in the wagon?”
“I think John brought up one or two.” John was his valet. “But why do you need a hat?”
“For Creath. I mean to tuck her hair up under it.”
He blinked. “Why on earth should you want to do that?”
“You and I must go out walking to find a yule log for our secret Christmas. Creath said she longs for the outdoors, and if we her disguise her as a boy, she’ll be able to come with us. You’re too tall to loan her clothes, but I’ll beg some off the younger Cartwright boy.” The Cartwrights were the two musically talented brothers in their household.
She expected Matthew to call disguising Creath a harebrained scheme, since he often berated her ideas—but instead he just looked concerned. “I didn’t hear any of the Ashcrofts agree that you might disguise her.”
She shrugged that off. “They didn’t disagree, either. The viscount said it would have to be a very good disguise, and I will make sure it is.”
“Very well, then,” Matthew relented with suspicious speed, walking right over to the wardrobe cabinet to pull out a hat. “Let me know when it’s time to leave.”
He wasn’t arguing? He wasn’t criticizing? He was just looking forward to their walk?
She took that as a very good sign, indeed.
Now it was time to get to decorating, just as soon as she got one of her staff to locate the Cartwright boy.
When her bedchamber yielded no trace of Mary, Chrystabel groaned. She didn’t have time for this. With a sigh, she went back downstairs. Hat in hand, she began to wander in and out of rooms, in search of one of the Trevor servants. Any of the Trevor servants. Anyone who knew the Cartwrights, so she could task someone else with finding the younger brother.
In the fourth room she tried, she came across Creath, seated with a book. The chamber was lined floor to ceiling with dark-stained wood shelves. Tremayne’s library.
Since she did need to speak with Creath, she approached the girl, who was apparently too involved in her book to notice anyone was there. “What are you reading?” she asked, put in mind of Arabel.
“Oh!” Creath startled a little and looked up, then turned to the book’s first page. “‘Artemenes, or the Grand Cyrus,’” she read aloud.
Chrystabel saw that the volume was written by someone named Madeleine de Scudery, and underneath the title it said, That Excellent Romance. “Goodness, that sounds interesting.” She didn’t often read books, but then again, the Grange’s library included nothing that could be called romance. “What is the book about?
Creath’s eyes lit up. “So far Cyrus Artemenes is searching for his love, Mandana. She was abducted by the king of Assyria, and then again by a man named Mazare.” Up until now, Chrystabel hadn’t seen the girl so enthusiastic about anything. She was obviously enjoying this book. “Mazare was found dying on a shore after a shipwreck, and Mandana was believed dead, too. But she hadn’t perished—she was actually taken by the king of Pontus, who is now holding her captive.”
“How many times can one woman be kidnapped?” Chrystabel wondered.
“Apparently at least three,” Creath replied with a little smile.
Chrystabel was glad to see the story was taking Creath’s mind off her troubles. Having troubles of her own, she thought a distraction like this might do her good, too. “May I borrow that book when you’re done with it?”
“You can read the first volume now. This is the second one. But I don’t know if you’ll have time to finish the whole story before you leave.”
Creath didn’t know that Chrystabel wasn’t leaving, of course. Once Joseph fell in love with her, she’d have plenty of time to finish reading this book and many more. “How many volumes are there?”
“Ten. The whole book is over thirteen thousand pages.”
“Thirteen thousand pages? Oh, my. I shall have to think about that.” Actually, she would have to forget the whole idea. Chrystabel doubted she’d find the time to read thirteen thousand pages in her entire lifetime, let alone in just one book. And she certainly had more important things to do right now.
As would Creath, soon enough.
“I’ve borrowed this to disguise you as a boy,” Chrystabel said, holding up Matthew’s wide-brimmed Cavalier hat. “So you can come out walking.”
“Out of doors?” Creath bit her lip, looking torn between guilt and longing. “I don’t think I’m allowed.”
“You’re allowed if you’re disguised,” Chrystabel said blithely. “I obtained permission from the viscount.”
“He said that?”
“He did. And we would so enjoy having you along.”
“We?”
“My brother and I.” Chrystabel watched closely for a reaction.
She needn’t have feared missing it.
“Oh!” Creath turned pale, then pink, then managed to drop her book and lose her place. “I, um, I’d be delighted to accompany you and your brother.” Her words came out muffled as she was doubled over, feeling for the book.
“Excellent.” Chrystabel had to clench her jaw tight to stifle her laugh. “I shall borrow a boy’s breeches for you, too.” She eyed the girl dubiously. “Have you a suitable cloak?” At breakfast she’d noticed Creath was wearing the same tawny dress she’d worn the day before. And she still had yet to change clothes.
Straightening, Creath shook her head. “I ran away from Sir Leonard with nothing but the gown I had on.”
Chrystabel had guessed as much. “Oh, but Arabel and I have plenty of clothes! Some in our rooms and much more in our luggage. After our walk, we’ll find you a pretty gown to wear for Christmas Eve.” Luckily, Creath looked to be a similar size. A bit shorter than the Trevor girls, perhaps, but she could always just lift her gown elegantly to walk.
“Oh, would you? You’re so very kind, Lady Chrystabel!”
“Pish, it’s nothing.” She waved the hat. “Breeches and a warm cloak, then. I’m off in search of that slippery Cartwright boy.”
Surely she’d find him soon. Or find someone else who could find him. And then she’d start decorating.
TEN
“WHERE’S CREATH?” Joseph asked when he entered his father’s linenfold-paneled study and closed the door behind him. Glancing about, he frowned. “And where’s Father?”
“Your father will be along any moment, dear.” His mother waved him into the overstuffed leat
her chair beside hers. “As usual, Creath is in the library. The poor thing still seems shaken up from her narrow escape. I thought it best not to disturb her without reason.”
“Without reason?” Joseph’s frown deepened as he lowered himself to sit. “Then are we not discussing—”
“We are discussing, you and I. Your father will join when he arrives, and Creath will surely go along with whatever decision we make. Such an obliging girl, that one,” Mother added in a different tone.
A tone that made Joseph rather suspect she hadn’t meant it as a compliment.
Which made no sense. Creath’s obliging nature was one of the things he liked best about her—she was so easy to get on with. He must have mistaken Mother’s meaning. In any case, she was right about one thing: Creath would happily go along with whatever he and his parents decided.
Shrugging, he leaned back and relaxed into the comfortable chair. “I gather you wish to settle on my wedding date, now that the weather has broken. My preference is Friday, in order to see the deed done before Sir Leonard returns on Saturday. Better he finds us married rather than missing, don’t you think? At that point he’ll have no recourse.”
“There’s a third option,” his mother said, tapping her chin.
“Oh?”
“Sir Leonard returns to find you neither missing nor married—and Creath, he never finds at all.”
“I…pray pardon?” He lurched upright in his chair, thinking he couldn’t have heard her right. “Are you suggesting we postpone the wedding, or—”
“I’m suggesting you forget it altogether.” Mother released a heavy sigh. “The truth is I’ve had doubts about this scheme ever since you announced your betrothal. I know you wish to save Creath. We all want to help her. But this isn’t the only way. Why sacrifice your own happiness when instead—”
“I won’t be sacrificing my happiness,” he said through gritted teeth. Why did both of the women in his life think he’d be sacrificing his happiness? “I’ve known Creath since I was ten years old. We’re the best of friends.”
