Thorn looked at Olivia, who shrugged.
“It’s not Christmas yet,” Sheridan said.
“Then we’ll call it an early Christmas present,” Gwyn said. “Joshua? Do you want to do the honors?”
Now they could see he was carrying something in his left hand. It looked like a newspaper. “This is a very special copy of The Chronicle of the Arts and Sciences.”
Thorn caught on first and began to grin. But as Joshua came over to give it to her, Olivia looked bewildered. “Why, thank you,” she said and put it in her lap. “I do enjoy that paper.”
“Dearling,” Thorn said, “open it to the science section and read it.”
When she did so, she gasped. “They took it! They took my article!” She jumped up to hug Joshua. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” She ran around the table to hug Gwyn.
“Well?” Sheridan said, exchanging a fond look with Vanessa. “At least tell us the title.”
She held the paper in front of her and read aloud. “‘The Use of Hydrogen Sulfide and Hydrochloric Acid Forensically to Detect the Presence of Arsenic in a Corpse.’ By the Duchess of Thornstock.” Then, in typical Olivia fashion, she beamed at everyone. “Thank you, everyone, for helping bring me to this moment.”
Everyone clapped and cheered at her success, which brought tears to Vanessa’s eyes. The family had been through so much, and yet they could still care so deeply for each other . . . and each other’s spouses.
Olivia walked over to tug on Thorn’s coat sleeve. “Now tell them your news.”
“Nonsense,” Thorn said, in an uncharacteristic gesture of humility. “It’s your moment.”
“Then I will tell them,” Olivia said. “Thorn has written a play. It’s a very clever, very witty tale of two warring playwrights. And it will be produced under his own name.”
“So,” Vanessa called out, “you’re not publishing under Juncker’s name anymore?” She and Sheridan had scarcely been married a week when her husband had told her about Juncker’s and Thorn’s “arrangement.”
“How did you know—” Thorn scowled at Sheridan. “You told her.”
“Only because I realized that everyone else already knows,” Sheridan said.
“Mother?” Thorn asked.
“Sorry, son, but all it took was me seeing one play to know you wrote it,” she said.
“Grey?” Thorn asked.
Grey laughed. “Did you really think Beatrice and I didn’t notice your behavior that day we discussed ‘Juncker’s’ plays in the carriage?”
“And you already know that I knew,” Gwyn said. “Which means Joshua knows.”
“Good Lord,” Thorn said, shoving his fingers through his hair. “Juncker is going to kill me.”
“You pay him,” Joshua said. “He shouldn’t care.”
“Exactly. I am his main source of income. And he really likes being the author of the Felix plays.”
“I suspect he’ll recover,” Olivia said with a laugh. “Last time I talked to him, he was working on something new. Besides, we’re your family. We’ll keep your secret.”
When Thorn eyed her askance, everyone else laughed.
“Where is Juncker, anyway?” Vanessa asked. “He was invited.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Sheridan said. “He couldn’t come until closer to Christmas.”
Vanessa narrowed her gaze on her husband.
Sheridan lifted his hands. “I swear! He won’t be here until next week.”
Grey approached to stare down at the table. “What is all this, anyway?”
“We’re making kissing boughs,” Olivia said as she returned to take her seat at the table. “Vanessa wants them everywhere.”
“Good idea,” Thorn said, and came over to sit next to his wife. “I’m all for the kissing boughs. So how does this work?”
“You’re going to make a kissing bough,” Vanessa’s mother-in-law said skeptically.
“Why not?”
The other men looked at each other. Grey said, “Why not, indeed?”
Then they all crowded in around the table with their wives and started picking up sprigs and wire and ribbon. They were short a chair, so Vanessa rose and said, “I have some hostess matters I must take care of anyway.”
Besides, she could feel the tears gathering in her eyes, and she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of the others. She hurried from the room but didn’t get very far down the hall before Sheridan came out after her.
“Vanessa, are you all right?” he asked when he caught her blotting her eyes with her handkerchief.
“I’m fine,” she managed to get out through her tears. She came back to where he was standing just outside the drawing room. She looked inside. “It’s just so beautiful. I’ve never had a family like this.”
“And now you do,” he said, smiling as he took her hand in his.
She blotted her eyes some more. “You don’t mind having to endure Mama for my sake?”
“Not a bit. You’re worth it.”
They stood a moment, absorbing the scene.
“You were right, you know,” he went on. “Depriving oneself of love to avoid pain is indeed like refusing to ride for fear of falling off. Some things are just worth whatever pain or discomfort they give. Because what they offer is better than we can imagine.”
And as he slipped his arm about her waist, she smiled at her new family.
Definitely better.
Be sure not to miss Juncker’s story in “When We Finally Kiss Goodnight,” Sabrina Jeffries’s novella, included in . . .
A YULETIDE KISS
Three holiday novellas by
New York Times bestselling authors
Sabrina Jeffries
Madeline Hunter
Mary Jo Putney
On sale in the fall of 2021
Sabrina Jeffries is the New York Times bestselling author of over 50 romance novels and works of short fiction (some written under the pseudonyms Deborah Martin and Deborah Nicholas). Whatever time not spent writing in a coffee-fueled haze is spent traveling with her husband and adult autistic son or indulging in one of her passions—jigsaw puzzles, chocolate, and music. With over 9 million books in print in 21 different languages, the North Carolina author never regrets tossing aside a budding career in academics for the sheer joy of writing fun fiction, and hopes that one day a book of hers will end
