It was Christmas, after all.
And somehow, despite his earlier protests, tonight he felt fortunate and grateful to be celebrating. It would have been a shame to miss this. Being here among family and friends on this blessed evening was a gift, and a tradition worth fighting for.
As he sang “Love and joy come to you, and to you your wassail too,” he wondered if he might have misjudged Chrystabel’s schemes. Could it be that she wasn’t as irrational and irresponsible as he’d thought?
“This mulled wine is uncommonly good,” Lady Arabel said when the song ended. “You must tell us, Lord Tremayne—what are your secret ingredients?”
He couldn’t help flashing Chrystabel a triumphant smile. “Lemon and orange.”
“Are they imported from Spain?” Lady Arabel asked.
“I grow them in my conservatory.”
“When Joseph suggested the additions, I must own I had my doubts.” A gracious loser, Chrystabel inclined her head and smiled at him. “But he was right. The fruit complements the liquor and spices perfectly. Ours must be the only mulled wine with this flavor in all of history,” she declared grandly.
“And it’s delicious!” When Lady Arabel gulped more, she sloshed a bit down the front of her dress and giggled.
“And you weren’t jesting about the brandy,” Grosmont said pointedly, passing his youngest sister a handkerchief. He raised his cup to Chrystabel and Joseph. “My compliments.”
“Mine, too,” Mother put in. “The fruit is a brilliant innovation. How lucky I am to have such a talented son.”
“And I, to have such a talented…friend,” Creath finished weakly, making Joseph realize she’d been about to call him something else. Had she nearly said ‘betrothed’ in front of their guests? When her wide, worried eyes sought his, he sent her a reassuring smile, and she looked instantly at ease.
He’d always been able to reassure her. Four years younger than he, she’d looked up to him as an older brother and protector since they were children. When her family took ill last year, she’d run to him first and relied on him utterly. When her parents and little brother had slipped away, one by one, he’d held her as she cried and promised her he would always take care of her.
Looking at her innocent, vulnerable face now, guilt hit him like an arrow to the heart.
Puncturing all his fledging hopes and dreams and what-ifs.
Because here was another what-if: What if he took an unnecessary risk with Creath’s future, and she paid the price? What if he broke their betrothal for selfish reasons, and she fell into Sir Leonard’s hands?
How could he have thought there might be other possibilities? There was just one possible way to ensure her safety, keep his promise, and do right by her. Of course anything less wouldn’t be good enough.
Anything less was impossible.
He drained his cup of mulled wine and held it out for a refill.
“What shall we sing next?” Chrystabel asked the circle. Without waiting for an answer, she turned to the musicians. “Do you know ‘Joseph Dearest, Joseph Mine?’ It’s my favorite.”
Lady Arabel hiccuped. “Since when is it your fav—”
The music resumed, and they all began singing.
Joseph couldn’t help his gaze straying to Chrystabel. Couldn’t help noticing she was watching him, too. Couldn’t help wondering if she’d chosen the carol for him.
The warmth in her smile gave him his answer. As their eyes held, the air between them fairly vibrated with pent-up emotion and words left unsaid. Pressure seemed to build in his chest until he thought his ribs might crack.
“Joseph dearest, Joseph mine,
Help me cradle my child divine…”
He squeezed his eyes shut against the unbearable truth: he would never be her dearest Joseph. And she would never be his Chrysanthemum.
He wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her senseless, and never let her go. He wanted to, but he couldn’t.
He loved her, but he couldn’t.
He had to tell her he couldn’t.
But how could he?
EIGHTEEN
“LADY 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 dreams 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
