Secluded with the Rogue

16. Sixteen

Sixteen

“I ’M SO GLAD you talked us into having a secret Christmas,” Lady Trentingham told Chrystabel toward the end of their Christmas Eve supper.

So far the evening had gone even better than Chrystabel had hoped. To start, Lady Trentingham had insisted on leading a tour from room to room, exclaiming over the decorations to the point where Chrystabel had almost felt embarrassed. Halfway through the tour, Lord Trentingham had handed out goblets of wine, which had put them all in a merry mood as they’d traipsed from chamber to chamber.

Christmas spirit abounded. Everyone was dressed in their pre-Cromwell best. To complement her festive red gown, Chrystabel had added her favorites of the few jewels she owned: a small heart-shaped ruby ring, an enameled drop pendant with a single pearl, and matching single-pearl earbobs.

Joseph’s deep green brocade suit made his brilliant eyes look even greener. It was trimmed with gold braid, and with his glorious long hair loose and gleaming, he looked so delicious that the sight of him made Chrystabel’s mouth water. If only they could get their portrait painted, she imagined the two of them would make a perfect Christmas picture.

Arabel had found a necklace with tiny emeralds and seed pearls to wear with her green and silver gown, and Lady Trentingham was in gold again, having donned a second gold gown that was even fancier than the one she’d worn in the daytime. She wore two long strands of pearls, a beautiful cameo stomacher brooch, and amazing gem-encrusted earbobs that looked like swans. “I haven’t found an excuse to wear my jewels in ages,” she’d told Chrystabel. “Thank you, my dear girl!”

Creath had borrowed a lovely gown from Arabel. In white velvet with a split silver overskirt, she looked like a snow princess. Matthew couldn’t seem to keep his gaze off her, which Chrystabel took as a hopeful sign. She loved helping people, and nothing would make her happier than saving Creath from Sir Leonard by helping her wed Matthew instead. Creath seemed supportive, patient, and kind—she would make a wonderful mother for Matthew’s children, and Chrystabel looked forward to welcoming her as another sister.

A girl could never have enough sisters.

Excited chatter filled the dining room all the way up to the minstrel’s gallery, where Chrystabel had stationed the Cartwright brothers to play Christmas tunes. Supper was nearly over, and everyone had loved the Christmas pie with its turkey, chicken, bacon, and vegetables swimming in savory gravy. The fish cooked in wine and butter, the buttered cauliflower, and the cinnamon ginger artichoke hearts had been enjoyed to the last morsel. And they had all adored Joseph’s potato pudding, especially Matthew and Arabel, who, like Chrystabel, had never seen or even heard of potatoes before.

But through it all, Chrystabel had barely tasted a bite. Though she should have been exhausted after a long day of dashing about, instead she was exhilarated.

She’d finally been kissed!

And Joseph’s kisses had been divine. Sublime. Everything she had dreamed of and more.

It was unfortunate that he’d decided he was too much a gentleman to continue kissing her, but she had no doubt they’d be kissing again soon. The pull between them was too great. They so clearly belonged together, it was a wonder to her that everyone around the table couldn’t see it.

She couldn’t wait to give him her roses tomorrow. Surely those would prompt at least a few more kisses. And after that, if he felt half as in love as she did this evening, he wouldn’t countenance her leaving for Wales. Which meant the roses might also prompt a proposal.

Her heart soared at the thought.

“Chrys?” Arabel kicked her under the table. “Chrystabel, did you hear me?”

“Oh, my heavens. I’m sorry. I was daydreaming.” She dragged her thoughts from the man of her dreams and looked to her sister. “What did you say?”

“Is there something you want to tell us about the strawberry tart?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” While Chrystabel had been daydreaming, Mrs. Potter’s giant strawberry tart had been brought in. A footman was busy cutting it. “Since we haven’t any Christmas pudding, Joseph and I hid tokens in the tart. Please be careful not to swallow one, and do share what you find.”

“What a wonderful idea!” Her spoon poised over the slice that had been set before her, Lady Trentingham glanced at her son and then Chrystabel. “Thank you both.”

“It was Chrystabel’s idea,” Joseph said. “And one of the tokens is very small, so do take care.”

“Oh!” Arabel exclaimed. “I found”—she dug something out—“a wishbone!”

Chrystabel clapped her hands. “That means you’ll have luck in the coming year.”

“Strawberry tart in December feels lucky enough.” Arabel set the small wishbone aside. “But I suppose some luck in our new lives wouldn’t be amiss. I’m hoping Wales won’t feel too very different.”

“People are people,” Matthew said soothingly. “I’m sure we’ll get on with the Welsh just fine.”

If only he looked as confident as he sounded, Chrystabel might have believed him.

Lady Trentingham was the next to find a token. “A thimble!”

“A life of blessedness,” Arabel told her with a smile.

The countess nodded. “Quite fitting, I suppose, since I’m blessed indeed to still have a husband and four healthy children after the war.”

“And five grandchildren,” Creath reminded her, making Chrystabel realize how well the girl knew Joseph’s family.

“Yes, five grandchildren, too. And another on the way.” Lady Trentingham seemed perfectly content this evening. “I am truly blessed.”

“What is this?” Creath asked, plucking something from her tart. “A ring?”

“A sign of marriage, is it not?” Lord Trentingham looked pleased to have remembered the meaning.

Sympathy in her eyes, Arabel turned to Creath. “Not to Sir Leonard, let’s hope.”

“Not to Sir Leonard,” Joseph said firmly.

He appeared to be gritting his teeth.

“A silver penny!” Matthew said, holding it up.

Lady Trentingham smiled. “A fortune in the offing.”

“And heaven knows I could use a fortune these days.” Though her brother sounded light-hearted, Chrystabel feared she knew better. “Have any pirates sailed up the Severn lately?” he added. “Perhaps we should mount a treasure hunt.”

Everyone laughed except Chrystabel.

And in the end, she was the one who found the tiny anchor.

“What is that ?” Lord Trentingham asked, squinting across the table to where she held it up.

“Half of a hook-and-eye fastener,” Joseph said, sounding amused.

“It’s meant to be an anchor,” she protested. “Symbolizing safe harbor.”

“I do wish you safe harbor, my dear,” Lady Trentingham said kindly.

Safe harbor, Chrystabel thought. Ever since spotting the Dragoons, she’d seemed to be floundering.

Would Joseph be her anchor?