Secluded with the Rogue

9. Nine

Nine

T HERE 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 was available to plan her menus for Christmas Eve supper and Christmas breakfast. She squealed with delight when she found a basket of 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 can we use?”

Finding that the Ashcrofts had 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 do the Ashcrofts drink only the Tremayne wine 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. 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 worrying 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. “It’s a modest little hoard, but I’m not saving it for anything 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 her family meeting yet. She 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 Chrystabel and her siblings? 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 had 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 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 young woman, who didn’t seem to notice anyone was there, so involved was she in her book. “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 book 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?

The girl’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 Creath 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 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.

And so 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.

“Wonderful.” Chrystabel had to resist shoving her whole fist in her mouth to stifle a 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 this 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.” Luckily, Creath looked to be a similar size. “After our walk, we’ll find you an elegant gown to wear for Christmas Eve.”

“Would you? Lady Trentingham’s gowns are too small and short for me. You’re so very kind, Lady Chrystabel.”

“Oh, 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.