“Pray pardon?” Well, she’d certainly succeeded in distracting him. He looked as though he might rip his hair out. “We’re not celebrating Christmas, remember?”
And such thick, dark, lovely hair he had. It was the kind of hair a girl could plunge her fingers into.
“My dear boy, do calm yourself,” his mother teased. “I’m sure Lady Chrystabel was only making conversation. Weren’t you, my lady?”
Tearing her gaze from Joseph’s enticing mane, Chrystabel gathered her nerve. One oughtn’t pass up such a perfect opening. It was time to state her case.
Though she still didn’t have an actual plan for changing the Ashcrofts’ minds about celebrating Christmas, she had faith she could talk them around. Ever since she was a child, she’d always had an instinct about people. A special awareness. A way of sensing what others were thinking and feeling, of predicting how they’d react in different situations. In truth, if she trusted her instincts and really put her mind to it, she could talk most people around to most things—at least, most things that weren’t counter to the individual’s nature.
And her instincts told her that taking this risk wasn’t counter to the Ashcroft family’s nature. They’d bent the Puritan laws before—with their attire, winemaking, dancing, and other small acts of rebellion. This was only one step further.
She drew a deep breath. “Actually, Lady Trentingham, I wasn’t just making conversation. I was hoping you might allow me to plan a Christmas Eve supper, as well as a Christmas Day breakfast and a few other Yuletide activities, and to use the trimmings we brought with us to decorate your lovely home for the occasion.”
“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
