But through it all, Chrystabel had barely tasted a bite. Though she should have been exhausted after a long day of dashing about, instead she was exhilarated.
She’d finally been kissed!
And Joseph’s kisses had been divine. Sublime. Everything she had dreamed of and more.
It was unfortunate that he’d decided he was too much a gentleman to continue kissing her, but she had no doubt they’d be kissing again soon. The pull between them was too great. They so clearly belonged together, it was a wonder to her that everyone around the table couldn’t see it.
She couldn’t wait to give him her roses tomorrow. Surely those would prompt at least a few more kisses. And after that, if he felt half as in love as she did this evening, he wouldn’t countenance her leaving for Wales. Which meant the roses might also prompt a proposal.
Her heart soared at the thought.
“Chrys?” Arabel kicked her under the table. “Chrystabel, did you hear me?”
“Oh, my heavens. I’m sorry. I was daydreaming.” She dragged her thoughts from the man of her dreams and looked to her sister. “What did you say?”
“Is there something you want to tell us about the strawberry tart?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” While Chrystabel had been daydreaming, Mrs. Potter’s giant strawberry tart had been brought in. A footman was busy cutting it. “Since we haven’t any Christmas pudding, Joseph and I hid tokens in the tart. Please be careful not to swallow one, and do share what you find.”
“What a wonderful idea!” Her spoon poised over the slice that had been set before her, Lady Trentingham glanced at her son and then Chrystabel. “Thank you both.”
“It was Chrystabel’s idea,” Joseph said. “And one of the tokens is very small, so do take care.”
“Oh!” Arabel exclaimed. “I found”—she dug something out—“a wishbone!”
Chrystabel clapped her hands. “That means you’ll have luck in the coming year.”
“Strawberry tart in December feels lucky enough.” Arabel set the small wishbone aside. “But I suppose some luck in our new lives wouldn’t be amiss. I’m hoping Wales won’t feel too very different.”
“People are people,” Matthew said soothingly. “I’m sure we’ll get on with the Welsh just fine.”
If only he looked as confident as he sounded, Chrystabel might have believed him.
Lady Trentingham was the next to find a token. “A thimble!”
“A life of blessedness,” Arabel told her with a smile.
The countess nodded. “Quite fitting, I suppose, since I’m blessed indeed to still have a husband and four healthy children after the war.”
“And five grandchildren,” Creath reminded her, making Chrystabel realize how well the girl knew Joseph’s family.
“Yes, five grandchildren, too. And another on the way.” Lady Trentingham seemed perfectly content this evening. “I am truly blessed.”
“What is this?” Creath asked, plucking something from her tart. “A ring?”
“A sign of marriage, is it not?” Lord Trentingham looked pleased to have remembered the meaning.
Sympathy in her eyes, Arabel turned to Creath. “Not to Sir Leonard, let’s hope.”
“Not to Sir Leonard,” Joseph said firmly.
He appeared to be gritting his teeth.
“A silver penny!” Matthew said, holding it up.
Lady Trentingham smiled. “A fortune in the offing.”
“And heaven knows I could use a fortune these days.” Though her brother sounded light-hearted, Chrystabel feared she knew better. “Have any pirates sailed up the Severn lately?” he added. “Perhaps we should mount a treasure hunt.”
Everyone laughed except Chrystabel.
And in the end, she was the one who found the tiny anchor.
“What is that?” Lord Trentingham asked, squinting across the table to where she held it up.
“Half of a hook-and-eye fastener,” Joseph said, sounding amused.
“It’s meant to be an anchor,” she protested. “Symbolizing safe harbor.”
“I do wish you safe harbor, my dear,” Lady Trentingham said kindly.
Safe harbor, Chrystabel thought. Ever since spotting the Dragoons, she’d seemed to be floundering.
Would Joseph be her anchor?
SEVENTEEN
THE YULE LOG burned merrily in the great room, its dancing flames adding joyful ambiance to the evening. The two musical brothers were readying their instruments. Chrystabel had asked for couches and chairs to be arranged in a half circle before the immense fireplace so everyone could see one another while they sang carols after supper. Joseph was impressed. She’d thought of everything.
Impressive. Yet another i word.
“Mulled wine,” Grosmont said before they’d even taken their seats. “We always have mulled wine on Christmas Eve. I cannot sing without mulled wine.” The fellow looked to his sister. “Please tell me we’re having mulled wine.”
Chrystabel gave a pert little shrug. “Isn’t it illegal?”
Grosmont’s expression fell. “But—”
“You goose,” she cut him off with a laugh, “of course we’re having mulled wine! How could we celebrate illegal secret Christmas without illegal mulled wine to accompany our illegal Christmas carols? They all go together so well!”
Everyone laughed along with her.
Except Joseph. He was too busy noticing how delightful Chrystabel was. How playful. As his mother kept saying, how refreshing.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Grosmont told her. “In this one instance only, I must commend you in your disobedient ways.”
“We call that questioning convention,” Mother informed him pleasantly. “Interroga Conformationem. Our family motto.”
“Well, that’s…unique.” Eyebrows raised, Grosmont nodded politely. “I believe I’m in favor of questioning convention, so long as it involves drinking lots of brandy.”
“Joseph and I made the mulled wine, and I fear we put in far too much brandy,” Chrystabel assured him. “Just wait till you taste it.” Moving closer to Joseph, she gave his arm a friendly squeeze. “He added two secret ingredients to make our mulled wine extra special.”
Meeting her gaze, Joseph wondered if his face gave away his feelings. Did she know that she made his blood race with just a touch? That he couldn’t stop thinking about their kisses in the cellar? Could she tell how much he wanted her?
She was beautiful and alluring, but he wanted her because of so much more than that. He wanted her because she was charming, surprising, and, yes, irresistible.
But the day after tomorrow, he was marrying Creath.
Wasn’t he?
For a moment,
