“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.
But Chrystabel was trying not to think of betrothals at the moment. There was no sense making herself more nervous than she already was.
Considering that her whole future happiness would be decided within the next half hour.
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?
Chrystabel 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. Matthew hadn’t yet proposed.
“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, and who would soon—she hoped—become family.
A whole family, she thought, hugging herself with satisfaction. She’d never really had that, even before the war had turned the Trevors’ world upside down. The Ashcrofts weren’t perfect, of course, but they stayed together and took care of each other.
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
