Secluded with the Rogue

18. Eighteen

Eighteen

“L ADY CHRYSTABEL, you have outdone yourself!” The next morning, Lady Trentingham licked nutmeg and cinnamon off her lips. “A flawless Christmas Day breakfast. This panperdy could change a person's life.” She speared her last bite of the panperdy, fine manchet bread fried in eggs and spices. “I wouldn’t mind having you plan next year’s secret Christmas.”

Chrystabel wouldn’t mind, either. In fact, if her dream came true today, she’d begin planning next year’s secret Christmas immediately. She’d be happy to spend the rest of her life planning secret Christmases at Tremayne.

“Thank you for the kind words,” she told Lady Trentingham. “I’ve had so much fun that none of the planning seemed like work. Shall we repair to the great room now? I have one more surprise, and then Arabel and I have a few small gifts we’d like to bestow. To be followed by Christmas Day games, of course.”

“Oh, my heavens.” Lady Trentingham looked alarmed. “I didn’t know you were planning gifts. We normally exchange gifts on New Year’s Day.”

“As many families do, I know. But our family tradition is Christmas Day. I dearly hope you will accept our gifts in the spirit in which they’re intended. They’re very small, simply tokens of our appreciation. We’re exceedingly grateful to you and your family for hosting us the past few days.”

“I cannot even imagine what our Christmas would have been like on the road,” Arabel put in. “Spending the holiday here has been such a pleasure.”

“It’s been our pleasure,” Lady Trentingham said, rising to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I shall join you in the great room forthwith.”

When the rest of them entered the great room, the yule log was still burning, casting a merry glow to counteract the dull gray day outside the windows.

“Excellent job choosing the log,” Chrystabel told Matthew.

“I reckon it may still be burning when we leave tomorrow,” he said, sounding proud of a job well done but also somewhat dejected. When his gaze trailed to Creath, Chrystabel suspected he was already dreading saying goodbye.

That boded well. She still had most of a day to talk him into proposing to Creath. With any luck, there might be two betrothals before the day was out.

When Lady Trentingham joined them, taking the last remaining seat in the semicircle Chrystabel had arranged to face the great fireplace, the footmen were handing out goblets. The countess took one and sipped, then all but squealed with delight. “Warm chocolate! Such a treat!”

“My final surprise,” Chrystabel said. “Mrs. Potter kindly offered her little hoard of cocoa. We used every last bean, I’m afraid.”

“I cannot imagine a more fitting use for them.” The countess paused for another appreciative sip. “Thank you, my dear girl. We’ve been leading a very quiet life since the war ended, and you’ve brought such joy to us. To all of us.”

Was it Chrystabel’s imagination, or had Lady Trentingham looked to her son when she’d said to all of us ? Joseph’s mother did seem to like her. Would she approve of their betrothal? Or maybe even…encourage it?

She could only hope. She thought she could come to love the countess nearly as much as she loved the countess’s son. When she imagined Joseph’s devoted mother becoming the mother she no longer had—barely ever had, really—she felt her heart swell with joy.

“This is for you, Lady Trentingham.” Chrystabel handed her a gaily wrapped package. “From Arabel and me. We made it especially for you.”

Joseph’s mother pulled the end of the bow that secured the fabric, which fell open to reveal the bottle of perfume. “Oh, my heavens, thank you.” She uncorked it and sniffed. “It’s exquisite. Is that lavender?”

“Rosemary, actually.”

“How refreshingly unexpected!” Lady Trentingham’s eyes sparkled. “Somehow you figured out just what I like.”

Chrystabel shrugged. “I just seem to know what fits a lady.”

“For you.” Arabel handed a similar package to Creath. “We hope you’ll like it.”

Creath held the package gingerly. “I haven’t offered you hospitality.”

“You’ve offered us friendship,” Arabel said. “Go on, open it.”

Still looking uncertain, Creath slowly untied the bow. As she uncorked the bottle and waved it beneath her nose, her expression of concern changed to one of delight. “Lilac?”

Chrystabel nodded. “And vanilla and a few other sweet things. Do you like it?”

“I love it. Thank you so much.” Creath dabbed a little on her wrist. “I shall make it last as long as I can.”

Chrystabel had to bite her tongue to keep from saying she’d make her more when she ran out. Creath wasn’t matched with her brother yet.

“Lord Trentingham, this is for you.” Arabel rose to hand him a square package.

“This is unnecessary—and heavy.” He untied the bow, and as the fabric fell away, a smile spread on his face. “A set of books. Dell’istoria civile del Regno di Napoli .”

It was four volumes, bound in vellum over boards. “What does that mean?” Lady Trentingham asked.

“It’s a history of the Kingdom of Naples. Written in Italian.”

Arabel nodded. “Your son told me you’re something of a linguist. I can read only a little bit of it myself, so we hope you’ll enjoy the books more than we can.”

He laughed and assured them he would. “And I’ll teach you some Welsh before you leave, if you’d like.”

“Oh, that would be the best Christmas gift!” Arabel all but bounced back to her seat.

She was soon off her chair again, because when she opened her gift from Chrystabel she danced around gleefully, holding the marigold gown to her front as though she were wearing it to a grand ball. Even though grand balls were forbidden now.

Arabel gave Chrystabel two beautifully decorated hair combs that had belonged to their grandmother. Their fancy scrollwork tops were inlaid with seed pearls and many tiny diamonds. “I hid them when Father took the jewels to sell,” she explained.

“Since you mentioned jewels…” Lady Trentingham reached into a drawstring purse she’d brought downstairs with her. “I hope you girls will wear these in the very best of health,” she said, pulling out three long, lustrous strands of pearls.

Chrystabel gasped. “We cannot accept these!”

“Of course you can,” Lady Trentingham said, rising to hand a strand to her and the others to Arabel and Creath. “I still have a dozen or more strands of my own. Every young lady should own a nice strand of pearls. I wish I could see them on you next Christmas,” she said almost wistfully.

If Chrystabel got her way, she would. “Thank you,” she breathed as she slid the pearls over her head and settled them around her neck.

As Arabel and Creath echoed her thanks, Chrystabel smiled down at her strand. “I will treasure this always and remember how kind you were to allow me to make a secret Christmas.”

It had turned out to be her best Christmas ever. Here, among strangers who had become friends, she’d proven to herself that she didn’t need her mother to plan and celebrate a magical Christmas.

Suddenly knowing what to give her brother, she all but leapt off her chair.

As she walked toward him, he held up his hands defensively. “I need nothing,” he said. “I have nothing for you. I had plans, but then the Dragoons arrived, and?—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, slipping her hand into her pocket and drawing something out. “I want to give you this.”

The silver glinted in the firelight.

“Father’s pendant?” Matthew’s eyes widened. “He gave it to you , Chrys. It’s yours.”

Coming closer, she draped the long chain around his neck. “It’s yours now. As it should be. Passed down the generations from father to son.” She touched the lion one last time. “I was just keeping it for you.”

Silently, she bade her father goodbye. Silently, she forgave him for leaving her. She had a new man to love now, and Arabel had been right: At nineteen, she didn’t need her parents anymore. Though she’d miss her father always, she was at peace with his passing. She’d remember him every day, and she’d especially remember him every Christmas, when she honored his memory by keeping the traditions he’d loved.

The pendant looked right on Matthew, and when he tucked it beneath his shirt as their father had worn it—next to his heart—that seemed right, too. Evidently this tradition had more value than she’d thought.

“I have one gift left,” she said, swiveling to face Joseph. “Will you come with me?”