Arabel looked skeptical. “But the two of you argued at supper. And he seemed awfully upset over Creath’s trouble…”
“They’re old friends, is all. He’s worried about her, and now she has to go far away to escape that nasty old brute. Although…” At first, Chrystabel had been relieved by the news of Creath’s impending departure, since the girl’s troubles were distracting Joseph. But now she had a better idea. “Did you see the way Creath and Matthew danced together, gazing into each other’s eyes?”
Her sister shrugged. “I didn’t notice.”
“Well, I did. There’s something between them, I’m sure of it. I think they belong together.”
Laughing, Arabel shook her head. “You’re seeing love everywhere today. Did you drink too much wine?”
“I drank exactly the right amount of wine, and I’m telling you Matthew and Creath belong together. And don’t you see?” Chrystabel plopped onto the chair opposite her sister’s. “If Matthew marries her before Sir Leonard returns on Saturday, Creath will be safe.”
Arabel’s mouth fell open. “You’re out of your mind.”
“But it’s the perfect solution!” Chrystabel couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Sir Leonard won’t be able to force Creath to marry him if she’s already wed to Matthew.”
“But the two of them barely know each other. Besides, they can’t be married by Saturday. They’d have to wait three weeks for the banns to be called—”
“No, they wouldn’t. Cromwell made marriage a civil matter, remember? A Justice of the Peace could wed them tomorrow, if they wanted.”
“That’s absurd—they only met today! And Matthew’s never talked of wanting to get married.”
“But he will. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Ah, now you fancy yourself a matchmaker? Chrystabel, you’ve gone mad.” Arabel leaned over the hexagonal table to place a palm on her sister’s forehead. “I think you must be ill.”
Chrystabel batted her hand away. “I’m far from ill. I’ve never felt better in my life. And yes, I think I must be a matchmaker, because I seem to know when people belong together. Matthew and Creath belong together, and I’m going to help them get together.”
Arabel dropped back onto her chair with an exasperated groan. “You cannot make them fall in love.”
“You think not?” Chrystabel smiled. She’d show her sister what she was capable of. “Watch me.”
EIGHT
WHEN CHRYSTABEL woke the next morning and realized it was Christmas Eve and she was staying with people who weren’t celebrating Christmas, she wanted to burrow back under the covers and cry.
The stars seemed aligned against her. First, she’d lost her jewels and most of her other fine things, so Father could help finance the war. Then Father, too, had been taken from her. Next, Mother had left. After that, all of Chrystabel’s favorite entertainments—plays, parties, music, and dancing—had been forbidden to her. Finally, her home had been stolen as well.
And now they were trying to take away Christmas.
It was too much. She’d given up so much already. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing even one more thing.
Somehow, she’d have to change the Ashcrofts’ minds.
Idly playing with the lion pendant she’d left sitting on her bedside table, she thought of her lovely garlands and wreaths, and all the hours she and Arabel had toiled making them. She thought about how she’d fretted over them all through their long journey. She thought about how they’d miraculously survived the harsh winds and rutted roads intact…
And how they would now be unceremoniously tossed out.
No!
Every year since she could remember, she’d made and hung Christmas decorations with her family. Now that Arabel and Matthew were the only family she had left, they had to keep the tradition alive together. Never again would she get to see Father burst into the great hall and light up at the sight of their handiwork, but she could think of him up in heaven, watching them and smiling.
And besides the wasted decorations, Yuletide simply shouldn’t be ignored. No matter what the law said, that wasn’t right. It was a tradition, and Chrystabel loved traditions—at least those that suited her—and Yuletide was her favorite tradition of all.
This was no time to stay abed and weep. Steeled by new resolve, she threw back the coverlet.
While she’d dined and danced last night, her maid, Mary, had unpacked enough of her things for a few days’ stay. Opening the wardrobe cabinet, Chrystabel grinned to find the beautiful red brocade gown she’d been hoping to wear. Mary knew her well.
Though it wasn’t a day dress, Chrystabel would wear it anyway. It put her in mind of Christmas—and if it had the same effect on others, perhaps it would help her case. Besides, she wanted the young viscount to see her in this gown, and the sooner the better; she couldn’t bear to wait until tonight. It was trimmed with several deep rows of lace ruffles and displayed a lot more décolletage than Cromwell would approve of, which meant it was perfect. She was certain Joseph would find her irresistible.
Mary helped her dress, then arranged her hair—in luxuriant ringlets and silk ribbons, a vast improvement over yesterday’s modest knot—while Chrystabel sat at the pretty dressing table with her precious store of cosmetics. Enjoying the cool sunshine filtering in through the amazing curved oriel windows, she reddened her cheeks and lips and darkened her lashes.
“The weather sure has improved,” Mary said happily.
Sometime in the night, the savage storm had calmed. Beyond the windows, sunbeams sparkled on the snow beneath a cloudless blue sky. “It’s a beautiful day for Christmas Eve,” Chrystabel replied, glad she’d already settled the matter of their remaining at Tremayne through Christmas Day. Elsewise, her brother would want to take advantage of the favorable conditions to
