Sometimes Chrystabel was almost glad Father hadn’t lived to see the outcome of the war. He would have chafed at the dull, colorless existence prescribed by the Commonwealth government. Even more than she did, he would have hated seeing beauty and joy constrained.
“What a lovely tradition,” Lady Trentingham said, sounding genuine.
Chrystabel nodded. “Arabel and I were on our own with the trimmings this year, but we did our best to keep our tradition alive.”
Even after Martha and Cecily had married and moved away, they’d always come home for the Yuletide season—until this year. Reluctant to incur the new regime’s displeasure, the two eldest Trevor siblings and their families had kept their distance.
“I’m sure your decorations were magnificent.” Lady Trentingham’s smile was wistful. “It’s a shame nobody will get to enjoy them.”
The sisters shared a look. “Actually…” Arabel began, then bit her lip.
“We brought them with us,” Chrystabel blurted.
Joseph’s expression turned wary. “Oh?”
Ignoring him, she carried on addressing the countess, trying not to sound too eager. “This storm doesn’t seem to be letting up,” she began. As if to underscore her point, a mighty gust of wind rattled the leaded windows.
“We’re in the midst of a dreadful freeze,” Lady Trentingham said. “Even if it clears, you ought to stay a few more days.”
Matthew nearly spit out a mouthful of wine.
“Don’t you agree, dear?” the countess asked her husband.
Lord Trentingham shrugged. “I wouldn’t travel in this weather, but if our guests want—”
“My thoughts exactly,” his wife interrupted, then looked to the Trevor siblings. “You’ll stay through Christmas Day, at least?”
“It would be our pleasure,” Chrystabel rushed to say, thinking Matthew wasn’t the only one who could answer for all of three of them. Though he’d doubtless avenge himself later, he was far too polite to contradict her in front of their hosts.
The countess nodded with satisfaction. “It’s settled, then.”
“And I know just how to express our gratitude,” Chrystabel said. “With your permission, my lady, Arabel and I would be delighted to make you a gift of our Christmas decorations.”
“Absolutely not,” Lord Trentingham protested. “It’s far too risky.”
Chrystabel wasn’t giving up. “Surely a few garlands carry no more risk than a winemaking operation—my lord,” she added deferentially.
“The wine is different.” Chrystabel could see why he’d want to think that: The earl was on his second glass already. “It stays hidden in the cellars. Your garlands would festoon the whole place. Anyone entering the castle could see.”
“But surely no one can really threaten your family.” Chrystabel watched Lord Trentingham exchange a look with his wife. “Only the House of Lords can convict a peer, and the House of Lords has been abolished.”
The man shook his head. “Everything’s changed. The old king is dead, and the new king is exiled. The war is over. We Royalists lost. We don’t have the power we once did.”
“But you’re an earl.”
“I’m an earl, too,” Matthew unhelpfully pointed out, “and Cromwell just confiscated my home. There’s no telling what will happen going forward. It would behoove us all to be careful.”
Chrystabel scowled at her brother. He’d never raised these concerns before, not even when they’d been roaming the countryside with their Yuletide greenery peeking out from beneath their baggage wagon’s tarpaulins. It seemed Matthew had chosen the manner of his retribution.
“There will be no Christmas celebration,” Lord Trentingham declared. “Not in this house.”
And that was that, Chrystabel supposed. For now. And at least they’d secured an invitation to stay a few more days.
Which should give her plenty of time to make Joseph fall in love with her.
As the next course was served, scents of roasted chicken made Chrystabel’s mouth water. Having dined at inns for the length of their journey, she was grateful for the excellent meal. But when a footman offered her a dish of creamed spinach, she took just a dollop, wanting to look dainty and feminine in front of the viscount.
How could she get him to touch her?
Lady Trentingham served herself a far more generous helping of creamed spinach. “Do you enjoy any pastimes, Lady Arabel?”
“I like to read. To study, really.” Arabel waved the footman on; she’d never cared for spinach. “I enjoy learning new things.”
Creath likewise refused the spinach. “I enjoy reading, too.” She would make a nice friend for Arabel, Chrystabel thought. The two were just the same age, and they both liked to read and disliked spinach.
“Enjoy reading strikes me as rather an understatement,” Joseph said, bestowing a fond smile on Creath. “If I leave you alone for two minutes, I always come back to find you with your nose buried in a book.”
Chrystabel wanted him to smile at her, not Creath. “Perfuming is my pastime,” she volunteered. “Making and mixing scents, mostly from flowers and other plants. I noticed you have a wonderful Tudor garden here at Tremayne.”
“That’s my son’s garden,” Lord Trentingham told her proudly.
She’d known that, of course, but she turned to his son with feigned surprise. “How extraordinary! I’ve never met a viscount who gardens.”
Joseph shrugged. “It’s something I’ve always enjoyed.”
“You’ve a true talent,” she told him sincerely. “Even with the snow cover, I could tell your garden is exquisite.”
He blushed faintly. “You’re far too kind. It’s not much to look at, really, this time of year.”
“You must long for the summertime,” she said, thinking of her dream.
“I prefer summer,” he allowed, “but I garden in the winter, too. Indoors, in an unfinished wing of the castle. I call it my conservatory.”
“An indoor garden? That’s fascinating.” She saw an opportunity to get him alone. “Will you show me?”
“Perhaps tomorrow, when it will be light,” Lady Trentingham suggested. “He can give you and your sister a tour.”
Oh, bother. Now Chrystabel would have to find an excuse to leave Arabel behind. And she’d have to wait until
