by Lauren Royal
Including her plans for Matthew himself. She had only a short time to figure out how to make him and Creath fall in love. Gazing out the windows, she decided a brisk winter stroll might just do the trick. On Christmas Eve day, what could be more romantic than a secluded woods blanketed in pristine, glittering white? She could see it now: Creath’s cheeks would turn fetchingly pink from the chill, Matthew would move close to share his warmth, and then…
They would kiss! Chrystabel was sure of it.
She sighed with satisfaction, confident in her plan. They would kiss, and then they would fall in love. And Matthew would marry Creath, saving the girl from the odious Sir Leonard.
It could all be resolved before Christmas Eve supper.
When a knock sounded on the door, it was Arabel, looking lovely in a forest green gown with silver stars embroidered on its underskirt and silver tissue peeking through its wide, slit sleeves.
“I see you noticed how Lady Trentingham was dressed last night,” Chrystabel said with an approving smile.
“Indeed. And I see you noticed as well.” Arabel beamed back. “You look splendid, Chrys. We’re in red and green. It’s beginning to feel like Yuletide!”
“It certainly is. Mary?” Chrystabel looked to her maid. “Please inform Thomas Steward that I’d like to have all the Christmas greenery unpacked and brought here to my chamber.”
“Of course, milady.”
Taking one last look in the mirror, Chrystabel tweaked her bodice to make the wide neckline perfectly frame the swell of her décolletage. Then she turned and took her sister’s arm. “Shall we breakfast?”
As they quit the room, Chrystabel realized she was humming again, her morning bout of melancholy all but forgotten. It always helped to have plans in place.
But Arabel was frowning. “Why did you ask Mary to fetch the trimmings? You know we haven’t been given leave to decorate.” When they reached the grand staircase, she withdrew her arm to lift her skirts.
“Worry not, dear sister.” Beginning her own descent, Chrystabel swayed her hips, in case Joseph was watching. “Before breakfast is ended, we shall have leave to decorate and more.”
Arabel’s head jerked around to stare at her. “How will you accomplish that?”
Since she hadn’t quite figured it out yet, Chrystabel felt a prickle of irritation. “Persuasion,” was her vague answer.
“What makes you think you can convince them to change their minds?” her sister asked with obvious disbelief.
“You think I cannot?” Chrystabel lifted her chin. “Watch me.”
Arabel just rolled her eyes.
Alas, the entry hall was deserted; Joseph must have gone ahead without them. By the time they found their own way to the dining room, everyone else was already seated.
“Good morning,” Chrystabel sang.
A chorus of good mornings followed.
Lady Trentingham’s gaze took in their altered style of dress. “My, how festive you both look!” She was dressed rather festively herself, in gold sarcenet with lace trim that looked like perfect, delicate snowflakes clinging to her shoulders and neckline. “Add but a strand of pearls, and you two would be ready for your presentation at court—if there still were a court.”
“Oh, I adore pearls,” Arabel cried. “But we haven’t any. Father sold all our family’s best jewels to support King Charles.”
Chrystabel’s eyes involuntarily met Joseph’s. When his darted away, she knew he, too, had been reminded of their rather heated discussion last night. He looked a bit sheepish. Well, good. He ought to feel bad that his family had gone on prospering while hers had sacrificed so much. Although…
Well, he had made some good points. Perhaps Father could have been a bit more mindful of his family’s future alongside his king’s. Even after the war had taken a turn for the worse, he’d never talked about what would happen should the Royalists lose. Chrystabel suspected he’d never considered the possibility, let alone made provisions for it.
Feeling confused and flustered as she sank onto a chair, she allowed herself one deep, calming breath. There was much to accomplish during this meal. She couldn’t afford to lose focus.
Perhaps it would be best to start with the simplest item first.
Buttering a hunk of bread, she favored Creath with a friendly smile. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
“Aye.” Though still a bit pale, Creath seemed in tolerably good spirits. “It’s a perfect day for walking. I’m used to spending a good deal of time outdoors, but I’ve been stuck in this castle since I got here.”
Ha! This would be even easier than Chrystabel had realized. She’d invite Creath to walk with her after dinner. Then, later, she’d invite Matthew along as well—and ultimately find some reason to excuse herself and leave the two of them alone.
Perfect. She opened her mouth to issue the first invitation.
“Your frustration is understandable, Creath.” Joseph regarded her over the tankard of weak ale he had halfway to his lips. “But you know you cannot go outside.”
Oh, hang it. Perhaps not so easy, then.
Creath nodded, looking resigned. “I know. It’s just that this is the first nice day we’ve had in ages—but I’ll make do with looking out the window. It’s too dangerous to leave the castle,” she explained to Chrystabel with forced good cheer. “I might be seen and my whereabouts reported to Sir Leonard.”
Her mouth full of bread, all Chrystabel could manage was a sympathetic noise. She swallowed hastily. “Oh, but that seems extremely unlikely, given the dense woods all around. Why, this great big castle is scarcely visible from the road, so surely a small person—”
“It’s not just those passing on the road who are a threat,” Joseph interrupted. “The woods may belong to Tremayne, but there’s no wall to keep people out.”
Chrystabel raised a brow. “Do you often meet outsiders wandering about in your woods?”
“Never,” Lady Trentingham answered for him. She seemed to be concealing a smile.
Joseph set his jaw. “It’s still not worth the risk. Father, don’t you agree?”
“Quite so.”
Joseph’s look was triumphant, as if that settled the matter.
But Chrystabel could be stubborn, too. “What if Creath were disguised?” she pressed.
“Disguised?” Joseph’s smile was more than a little sarcastic. “It would have to be a very good disguise—”
“Never mind.” There. As far as Chrystabel was concerned, she’d got Joseph’s permission to take Creath on a walk as long as the girl wore a disguise. Now it was time for a quick change of subject—preferably something distracting—lest he catch on. She blurted the first thing that came to mind. “What does your family like to eat for Christmas Eve supper?”
“Pray pardon?” Well, she’d certainly succeeded in distracting him. He looked as though his eyes might pop out of his head. “We’re not celebrating Christmas, remember?”
“My dear boy, do calm yourself,” his mother teased. “I’m sure Lady Chrystabel was only making conversation. Weren’t you, my lady?”
Chrystabel gathered her nerve. Though she still didn’t have an actual plan for changing the Ashcrofts’ minds about celebrating Christmas, she knew she could talk them around. Ever since she was a child, she’d always had an instinct about people. A special awareness. A way of sensing what others were thinking and feeling, of predicting how they’d react in different situations. In truth, if she trusted her instincts and really put her mind to it, she could talk most people around to most things—at least, most things that weren’t counter to the individual’s nature.
And her instincts told her that taking this risk wasn’t counter to the Ashcroft family’s nature. They’d bent the Puritan laws before—with their attire, winemaking, dancing, and other small acts of rebellion. This was only one step further.
“Actually, Lady Trentingham, I wasn’t just making conversation. I was hoping you might allow me to plan a Christmas Eve s
upper, as well as a Christmas Day breakfast and a few other Yuletide activities, and to use the trimmings we brought with us to decorate your lovely home for the occasion.”
“Chrystabel,” her siblings said simultaneously—Arabel in an embarrassed groan and Matthew in a tone of warning.
Chrystabel took no notice. Her gaze was fastened on the lady of the house. Though she’d thought the countess enjoyed her company and might even approve of her proposal, Lady Trentingham didn’t smile. But she didn’t frown, either.
The woman did, however, raise a hand to keep her husband and son from interrupting. “You made a similar offer last night, Lady Chrystabel, which my husband declined. What makes you think you’ll get a different answer this morning?”
She sounded interested, not accusing, which Chrystabel took as a positive sign. That left conservative Lord Trentingham and the overcautious viscount as her main obstacles. The earl’s resistance seemed to come more from an unthinking instinct for prudence than from genuine opposition, so she decided to see to him first. He ought to be easier to convince, and once both parents were on her side, they could help sway Joseph.
“Two reasons,” Chrystabel told the countess, then turned to address Lord Trentingham directly. “The first being that I expressed myself poorly the first time. Last night, my lord, I spoke like one who eschews convention, respectability, and good sense for the sake of trifling frivolities.”
Though he was too polite to agree, the earl mumbled something that wasn’t a denial.
“Well, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I take the law quite seriously, and my rejection of it is not senseless but deliberate. I disobey out of respect for tradition and principle, just as you do by continuing to operate the vineyard you inherited from your father and continuing to dress in a manner that reflects your lineage and beliefs. Celebrating Christmas might be fun, but more importantly, in my opinion, it’s our duty as Christians and an important way we honor and celebrate our faith and our families.”
Everyone including Lord Trentingham looked a little stunned. After a protracted moment of silence, Joseph was first to find his voice. “I care about duty and tradition, too, but it’s foolish to ignore the risks. One must strike a balance. The way you flaunt the law—”
“Who’s flaunting?” Arabel wanted to know. “In public, Chrystabel dresses modestly and follows all the other restrictions. Even in private, she never drinks to excess and she hardly swears. And the small rebellions she does allow herself are always conducted discreetly in her own home—or the home of one she trusts. What’s foolish about that?”
Pleased and touched, Chrystabel shared a smile with her sister. It felt good to have Arabel come to her defense. For once, her scholarly little sister had chosen to praise her judgment rather than challenge it.
But Joseph wasn’t convinced. “What’s foolish is taking unnecessary risks when we’re already under scrutiny. Having Sir Leonard breathing down our necks increases both the odds of getting caught and the likely severity of retaliation. It’s not a good time to push our luck.”
“I agree,” Chrystabel announced, and for a second time, everyone looked stunned. “That is, I agree lawbreaking should be avoided any time Sir Leonard is apt to show up unannounced—which is why I propose strictly limiting our observance to Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I would make all of the arrangements myself and personally ensure the evidence is disposed of by midnight tomorrow, more than twenty-four hours ahead of Sir Leonard’s return.” When she locked eyes with the viscount, her heart gave its usual stutter despite their rivalry. “A brief, modest celebration would mark the holiday while incurring very little risk. Does that sound like a fair balance, Joseph?”
It was the first time she’d availed herself of his invitation to use his given name. Though she’d been calling him Joseph in her head since last night, hearing herself speak it aloud felt different and odd. But in a good way.
She wondered if he’d enjoyed hearing it. He certainly looked less belligerent than a few moments ago. Now he appeared surprised and intrigued, among other emotions she couldn’t distinguish.
She liked the notion that he found her surprising. And he certainly seemed more interested in her now, though she wondered if that was partially thanks to the red gown. More than once, she’d seen his gaze lingering, well, not exactly on her face.
Could those other, indistinguishable emotions indicate burgeoning love?
Her heart gave a longer, harder stutter at the thought.
And when it became obvious he wasn’t going to answer her question, she forgave him immediately. A man falling in love was bound to get a bit tongue-tied, after all.
Turning back to the others, she saw victory in her grasp. Creath and Arabel beamed, Lady Trentingham nodded eagerly, and Matthew shrugged his approval. Even Lord Trentingham looked a little excited. “All in favor?” Chrystabel asked.
When five voices said, “Aye!” Joseph seemed to come awake.
A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “Aye.”
“Excellent!” Lady Trentingham dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and rose. “Lady Chrystabel, I’ll leave you to planning our secret Christmas while my family discusses some issues of significance. Henry, shall we meet in your study in an hour?”
Nine
THERE WAS NO time to waste.
Chrystabel’s schedule for the day quite suddenly seemed at least a mile long. Somewhere between her first bite of bread and her last sip of ale, she’d gone from having nothing to do to wondering how she could possibly get everything done.
After the meal, her first stop was the kitchen, where she surveyed what was available to plan her menus for Christmas Eve supper and Christmas breakfast. She squealed with delight when she found a basket of red fruit in the pantry.
“Strawberries?” she asked Mrs. Potter, the Ashcrofts’ rosy-cheeked cook. “In the winter?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Potter said with a smile. “Lord Tremayne grows them in his conservatory.”
“Does he?” Thinking she needed to see strawberries growing in winter, Chrystabel mentally added a visit to Joseph’s conservatory to her long list of things to do today. “I think we should have a big strawberry tart. What else in your pantry can we use?”
Finding that the Ashcrofts had turkey, chicken, and bacon, she decided to have them baked into a large Christmas pie. Usually Christmas pie also included goose and pigeon at a minimum, but she was certain the one she planned would be just as delicious.
She also found fish, cauliflower, and a basket full of small artichokes. Mrs. Potter had a number of fine ideas for employing those items, so Chrystabel left them to the cook’s creativity. Fresh white manchet bread and a large sallet would complete the meal.
For Christmas breakfast, she examined the larder again and planned panperdy, buttered eggs with bacon, and hot pan cakes with butter and sugar.
“Do you have any red wine?” she asked Mrs. Potter. “Or do the Ashcrofts drink only the Tremayne wine here?”
“Oh, we have plenty of red wine in our cellar.”
“Excellent. I hope you won’t mind me invading your kitchen later this afternoon, because I’d like to make the mulled wine myself.”
“You’re quite welcome here, my lady,” Mrs. Potter assured her. “We all have to look at each other most every day of the year, so we’re always glad of a new face.”
Chrystabel chuckled. “My heartfelt thanks.” It took some tinkering and lots of tasting to make a perfect batch of mulled wine. She preferred not to risk leaving that task to a kitchen servant.
The mulled wine would be for tonight. What to prepare for a morning drink? Something sweet and delicious, as it was the most special of holidays.
“I don’t suppose you have cocoa beans?” she ventured, her fingers worrying her lion pendant. Parliament had banned chocolate as a sinful pleasure, but…
“I certainly do,” Mrs. Potter admitted, proving Christmas was the season for miracles. “It’s a modest little hoard,
but I’m not saving it for anything in particular. Shall I have the beans ground for you?”
“Oh, that would be marvelous!” Chrystabel loved chocolate nearly as much as she loved secretly ignoring ridiculous Puritanical laws. “I’ll have all our kitchen staff fetched here to help you. Thank you once again, Mrs. Potter. Until this afternoon,” she said as a way to excuse herself.
Now it was time to start decorating. Although first, she needed to stop by her brother’s chamber.
On her way upstairs, she wondered if Lady Trentingham was holding her family meeting yet. She was insanely curious to know what the countess meant to discuss with her husband and son, because the lady’s carefully offhand manner had made her suspect it was something quite serious. And she’d long ago learned to trust her instincts in matters such as this.
Could the Ashcrofts be meeting to talk about Chrystabel and her siblings? Were they unhappy to have the Trevors foisted upon them? Maybe…but last night Lady Trentingham’s invitation to stay had seemed sincere, and today she’d agreed to let Chrystabel plan a secret Christmas in their home. It didn’t make sense.
So she had to keep wondering.
When she knocked on the door of Matthew’s chamber, he came to greet her with a quill in his hand. Glancing past him, she saw several open account books on a table. His hair was sticking up in places, as though he’d been running his fingers through it.
Was he anxious about their finances? She hoped everything was all right—but she had no time to worry about anything like that today.
“May I borrow a hat?” she asked, craning around him to try and spot one. “Or are they all still packed away in the wagon?”
“I think John brought up one or two.” John was his valet. “But why do you need a hat?”
“For Creath. I mean to tuck her hair up under it.”