“Yes, do sit down,” added Margaret.
“You’ve been racing about this entire week, you deserve a proper breakfast at least,” put in Lucy from the end of the table.
Viola put a hand on the empty chair. Hot tea sounded divine, but… “I still have so much to do.”
“I’ll watch out for Uncle Winterton,” offered Justin, divining what made her hesitate. Viola gave the young man a grateful smile, and he grinned back. He jumped up from his chair and loped to the door, followed by his young cousin Tom, quietly begging to be allowed to keep watch, too.
As Viola slid into the chair, the other ladies sprang into action. “Freddie, bring her some toast,” Lucy told her husband. Mr. McPherson obediently went to the sideboard while Anne poured a steaming cup of tea and Grace, her youngest daughter, passed the milk and honey.
“Thank you all.” Viola took a sip, her eyes flickering closed in pleasure. “I must hurry, though.”
“You must also eat,” said Margaret firmly. “Catherine, dear, pass the butter.”
“And the strawberry jam.” Catherine gave Viola a jaunty smile as she slid the butter and jam across the table. Viola grinned back; she and Anne’s second daughter both loved their butter and jam.
“Is all ready?”
“Nearly,” replied Viola buttering her toast. “Thanks to Freddie and Sir Thomas.”
Freddie McPherson and Sir Thomas Steventon both protested, but Viola insisted. “I could not have done it without your help—everyone’s help,” she added, looking around the table.
“It was our pleasure, my dear,” Margaret assured her.
“And the least we could do.” Mary shifted three-year-old Mary Anne from her lap to the chair beside her, and gave Viola an affectionate glance. “After you invited us all for Christmas.”
A chorus of “Thank you, Aunt Viola!” sounded around the table from the younger family members. Sir Thomas raised his coffee cup in salute, and Freddie winked at her. Both Wes’s brothers-in-law had been invaluable, but even the children had been willing conspirators, once she explained what she wanted to do.
“Uncle will be so astonished!” Jane, Anne’s eldest daughter, bounced in her chair with glee, acting more like a child than a young lady on the verge of making her debut.
“Only if we all keep the secret,” piped up her cousin George.
Freddie ruffled his son’s hair. “Which we shall, eh, lad?”
“Of course we shall!” he answered stoutly. “It’s a great lark. All the fellows at school will be amazed that Aunt Viola pulled off such a prime prank.” George had just finished his first term at Eton.
“’Tis not a prank,” scolded Catherine. “’Tis a gift.”
“And a surprise,” chirped her sister Grace. “The best kind of surprise!”
From the hall came the sound of the clock, chiming the hour. “Oh goodness, I must hurry!” Viola drained her tea cup. “Wes is such an early riser.”
“He always has been!” Margaret shook her head. “The trouble that boy got up to, rising before anyone else in the house…”
“Did he?” demanded George, interested. “Tell, tell, Granny!”
Viola smiled at the chatter as she took her last bite of toast and rose from the table. “He’s coming!” yelped Justin from his place at the door. “He’s descending the stairs!”
Viola seized her notebook and dashed for the opposite door, which young Tom sprinted to open. Silver and china clattered as everyone resumed eating, and she just heard Justin say, “Good morning, Uncle!” as the door closed behind her.
Wes had become accustomed to finding someone at breakfast—the house was full of people these days—but he also usually found find Viola.
Today he found his entire family. A dozen faces looked up at him and cried, “Good morning!”
He paused warily. Not only his mother but all three sisters, both brothers-in-law, and their children. “Good morning.”
“Come in!” His mother beckoned him. “Such a lazy one you are this morning!”
Wes started. He, lazy? The clock had chimed eight as he came downstairs. “I didn’t think to see you waiting for me this morning.”
A burst of laughter greeted this. “Waiting!” cried his mother. “How silly. We were just hungry. Cook has made poached eggs, your favorite.”
He looked at her strangely. He’d never liked poached eggs.
“There’s rashers of bacon, too,” piped up his nephew George. “Good and hot, too, not cold like at school.”
“And butter buns!” added his niece Grace.
“Buns!” crowed little Mary Anne, waving her hands so hard, the bun she held flew right across the table, where her father Sir Thomas neatly caught it.
“Excellent,” said Wes after a moment. He went to the sideboard and filled a plate, his brain working furiously. Why were they all here? So early? And where was Viola?
He took his plate to the head of the table. “Has anyone seen Viola?”
“No, not at all!”
“Viola? I’ve no idea.”
“Not this morning, Uncle.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
Wes stared in amazement at Justin, who advanced on him with the coffee pot. He glanced around the table. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing! Coffee?” Justin lifted the pot aggressively. Mary Anne let out a giggle and clapped her hands over her mouth when Mary shushed her.
“And no one has seen Viola at all today?”
“Not a glimpse,” said Margaret calmly. “Were we supposed to keep an eye on her?”
Wes frowned and stabbed at his bacon. “No. It’s just odd that she’s not here.”
“She must be extremely busy,” said Anne. “Preparing for Christmas.”
“She’s done so much,” added Mary. “You must be prepared to make allowances, when guests are in the house.”
“Such a wonderful party it is, though, Uncle,” gushed Catherine.
“She’s an angel to have us all here for Christmas, you do know that, don’t you, Wesley?” That was Lucy, bouncing baby Maggie in her arms.
“I do.” But he was less and less pleased about it. Moodily he ate as his family chattered about neighborhood gossip. If it were such a lot of work, surely Viola should have breakfast, shouldn’t she? “Was she here earlier?” he asked abruptly.
His mother blinked at him. “Who, dear? The vicar and his wife? They’ve gone into Derbyshire to see their daughter.”
“Viola,” he said through his teeth. “Has anyone seen her this
