Before Joseph could formulate so much as a thought, his father banged into the study. “What’s going on?” he called out, thumping the door closed behind him. “Did you start the discussion without me?”
“Of course not.” Mother wiped the last traces of damp from her eyes before favoring him with a pleasant smile. “Do sit down, dear, and let us begin. When do you think our son ought to take his lovely bride to Bristol?”
ELEVEN
WHILE HANGING a wreath above the great room’s enormous fireplace, Chrystabel watched her sister artfully drape garlands along the mantelpiece. “What shall we give everyone for Christmas?” she asked the top of Arabel’s head.
“Everyone?” With quick, practiced movements, Arabel tied off a neat red bow. “I’ve only got gifts for you and Matthew.”
Careful not to trip on her skirts, Chrystabel made her way down the ladder. “Well, I haven’t even got that much,” she grumbled.
Her order for two pairs of handsomely embroidered gloves should have been delivered yesterday—to Grosmont Grange. She’d been planning to scent Matthew’s with musk and Arabel’s with rose oil. But now her lovely gifts were probably warming the hands of some blasted Roundhead and his dreary wife, while Chrystabel was forced to ransack her own trunks in search of last-minute substitutes.
And now she was adding gifts for the Ashcrofts to her lengthy list of tasks.
She must be mad. After wandering about the house for ages, she’d finally come across a harried-looking Thomas Steward to send on her errand for boy’s clothes. As a consequence, she and Arabel had begun the decorating far later than she’d intended.
“Do you think our hosts expect gifts?” Arabel asked dubiously. “They know we didn’t intend to spend the holiday with strangers.”
“I’m certain they have no expectations.” Backing up to admire her handiwork, Chrystabel smiled. Perfectly centered. Though something was missing… “But it’s Christmas! And the Ashcrofts are no longer strangers. They’ve been awfully kind to us.”
“They won’t have anything to give us in return.”
Chrystabel shrugged. “They’ve already given us their hospitality, which is more than enough.”
“Holly.”
“Pray pardon?”
Arabel held out a handful of loose sprigs. “The wreath needs more holly.”
Chrystabel grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”
Her sister helpfully gathered Chrystabel’s skirts to one side so her stockinged feet could find the ladder’s rungs. It was their usual arrangement, since Arabel disliked heights.
“I’m at the top.”
Arabel let go and stepped back. “It’s very thoughtful of you, Chrys.”
“What?” She leaned forward to tuck more holly in amongst the pine, making sure the red berries showed.
“I said,” Arabel called up to her loudly, “it’s very thoughtful of you!”
Chrystabel giggled. “I’m about three feet off the ground. I can hear you just fine. What is thoughtful?”
“Oh.” Her sister giggled, too. “Your thinking of gifts for the Ashcrofts. I do believe you’re right that we ought to show our appreciation—”
“Stop.”
Arabel immediately jumped away. “Is it the ladder? Is it breaking?”
Chrystabel rolled her eyes. “No, but I’m glad to know that if it were, you’d run instead of catching me. Can you repeat what you were saying before?”
“That we ought to show our—”
“No, before that.”
“That it’s thoughtful of you to—”
“No, after that.”
Finally getting it, Arabel groaned.
“Please? I may never get to hear you say it again.”
“Oh, very well.” Planting her hands on her hips, Arabel heaved a great, overburdened sigh. “I do believe you’re right.”
“How I love the sound of that.” Chrystabel closed her eyes in feigned bliss. “And I do believe I may be the older sister, after all.” Her eyes snapped open when something brushed her ear. “Well, that settles the question,” she added with a laugh. “Only children pelt their siblings with holly berries.”
As she backed down the ladder, another berry bounced off her arm.
“If you want to be the responsible sister,” Arabel said, “perhaps I shall leave it to you to sort out all the gifts.”
“Ha!” Safely on the ground, Chrystabel smiled up at her wreath. Now it looked perfect. “I was thinking of making perfume for Lady Trentingham and Creath.” Yet another thing to find time for today: creating two new scents. “Any ideas for Lord Trentingham?”
“I’ve been told he enjoys studying foreign languages.” Arabel seemed to be getting into the Christmas spirit. “If I can find where our library is packed away, I believe there is a set of histories written in Italian.”
“Perfect! Especially since we cannot read those books anyway.”
“Speak for yourself,” Arabel said archly. “I do read a bit of Italian.”
“Just don’t read it aloud,” Chrystabel advised. “Your accent is atrocious.”
That earned her a whole cluster of flying berries, which landed plumb in her décolletage, startling a laugh from her. It was a silly thing, but soon Arabel joined in, and then neither of them could seem to stop laughing. Chrystabel realized it had been a long time since she’d laughed this much with her sister. It felt almost like a real Christmas, like she wasn’t all that far from home.
Arabel hiccuped, then giggled some more. “I think you should wear those berries to supper. Right there where they are now.”
“With a garland in my hair.” Chrystabel wiggled her shoulders. “How could Joseph resist me then?”
“He wouldn’t stand a chance. You’d be just like a Christmas present for him to unwrap. In fact, if you haven’t found one for him yet—”
“Arabel!” Chrystabel clutched at her stomach. “I’m begging you, please don’t make me laugh any more.”
But then she thought about Joseph ‘unwrapping’ her, and the idea didn’t seem so humorous. As she fished the berries out of her bodice, a vision of his fingers plucking the little cluster from between her breasts threatened to turn her legs to jelly.
Suddenly feeling flushed, she cleared her throat. “No need to concern yourself with Joseph. I will find a gift for him.”
Her hand went into her pocket to play with her lion pendant while she thought. What should
