Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  “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 she give her future husband? It would need to be something truly special for their first Christmas together.

  “Very well, I’ll leave Joseph to you. Is that everyone, then?” Arabel ticked off the names on her fingers. “Lord and Lady Trentingham, the viscount, Creath, and then you, me, and Matthew.”

  Arabel was easy, since Chrystabel knew exactly which of her gowns—the marigold silk satin embroidered with golden swirls—her younger sister most coveted. She had only to wrap it up for her. “I still need something for Matthew.”

  “What can you possibly give Matthew that you didn’t bring along? He owns everything we have with us.”

  “I’ll think of something.” Sighing, Chrystabel stepped back into her red-rosetted shoes and pulled another wreath off the stack. “I always do.”

  Twelve

  “WAIT.” STANDING IN Tremayne’s entry hall, Chrystabel tucked a strand of Creath’s bright reddish-blond hair back under her dull brown cavalier hat. Or rather, under Matthew’s dull brown cavalier hat. “There. You’re perfect.”

  Creath smoothed her palms on the brown breeches Chrystabel had borrowed for her. “Do you really think I look like a lad?”

  “From afar, you certainly do. And if someone looks closer, they’ll see the rest of us are strangers to the area, so they’ll have no reason to suspect you’re one of the party. Besides, we won’t be straying from Tremayne property—Lady Trentingham has assured me we’ll be able to find a perfect yule log in their woods. Let’s go.”

  Watkins opened the door with a bow, and Chrystabel stepped into the chilly fresh air. It was beautiful outside. Sunshine sparkled off the light dusting of snow in the inner courtyard, and the sky was a pure blue.

  She’d been so cold when they’d arrived that she hadn’t paid any attention to the layout of the castle—she’d just wanted to get inside. Now she saw the courtyard was bordered by three long connected buildings that formed a U-shape. The gatehouse with its portcullis was in the middle of the center building, with the upper floors spanning the area above it. She could tell which wing her family’s rooms were in and figured the Ashcrofts must sleep in the third wing. The obviously unfinished portion of the castle would be where Joseph’s conservatory was located.

  The far end of the courtyard was open to the fields and woods. She headed toward the trees, her siblings following.

  “Hold on,” Creath called from where she still stood in the entry. “Since Arabel is coming along, shouldn’t we invite Joseph, too?”

  “No.” Chrystabel turned back. “If he’s with us and anyone sees us, they might connect you with him.”

  “But you said we’re staying on Tremayne property. And that I look like a boy from afar.”

  Chrystabel sighed. “Very well, I’ll ask him.” Before the girl could say she’d ask him herself, she hurried back inside.

  Not really knowing where she was going but wanting to look like she did, she headed into the third wing, following the path she’d seen Joseph and his parents take last night when they went off to bed. Once she was hidden around a corner, she waited a minute, then another minute, and a third minute to be safe. Then she turned and retraced her steps.

  “Joseph is busy,” she told Creath. “Working with his father. Let’s go.”

  “All right,” Creath said, apparently happy enough to go without him as long as he’d been invited.

  Chrystabel celebrated silently, glad her ploy had worked. She had a sneaking suspicion that Creath and Matthew wouldn’t fall in love with Joseph watching over their shoulders. Well, more than a sneaking suspicion, really. She was sure of it.

  Joseph was far too protective of Creath.

  Lifting her pretty red skirts to keep them from dragging in the snow, Chrystabel kept up a stream of happy chatter as they all tramped through the courtyard, across a field, and into the woods.

  “Which is the widest tree trunk?” she asked. “Which will make the best yule log? We want it to burn through tomorrow at least.”

  “We didn’t bring a saw,” Matthew pointed out. “How on earth do you expect to cut a yule log?”

  “Ladies don’t saw down trees,” she shot back. “And I don’t suppose you’d like to manage it alone? We’ll choose a tree and then go fetch a few brawny servants to cut it and haul the log back.” She shivered theatrically. “My, it’s cold, isn’t it? Much colder than I expected.”

  Her eye catching Matthew’s, Creath flushed and huddled into her borrowed brown cloak. “I’m warm enough.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Chrystabel faked another shiver, hoping she was giving a more convincing performance than Arabel had yesterday. “Why didn’t I choose my heavier cloak? I believe I shall return to the castle for it.” She looked to her sister. “Arabel, would you be so good to as to accompany me?”

  “I’d rather not—”

  “Thank you, sister,” she said, seizing her by the arm. “I’ll feel much safer with a companion.”

  “My pleasure,” Arabel said without grumbling, because she truly was quite a kind sister. And she never grumbled.

  “You two go on searching without us,” Chrystabel called to Matthew and Creath as she dragged Arabel off. “We won’t be gone long!”

  “You’re not shivering anymore,” Arabel pointed out when they were well on their way. “And it’s not especially cold, not like it’s been these past few days. Are you sure you want to walk all the way back and then all the way out here again?”

  “Yes, I’m sure I want to walk all the way back. After that, I think I will decide I’m exceedingly busy.” Which was true; they were still behind schedule.

  Arabel stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m not going back out there.” Chrystabel tugged on her sister’s arm again to get her moving. There was no time to waste. “I mean I intend to leave Matthew and Creath alone in the woods so they will fall in love.”

  “You’re out of your mind, Chrys. I swear, you’d feel right at home in Bedlam!” When Chrystabel walked faster, Arabel struggled to keep up with her. “Sir Leonard will be back for Creath three days from now—do you really think you can get these two to fall in love and wed before then?”

  “I really think so, yes. I think they’ll take their time choosing a tree for the yule log, and then take even more time getting to know each other before they realize we aren’t returning. And then I think they will kiss, and I hope they will fall in love. Or maybe they’ll fall in love and then kiss,” she added, unsure of the order in which these things happened.

  Chrystabel had yet t
o be kissed. To her great distress, in all of her nineteen years the opportunity had never arisen. Most of the suitable young men back in Wiltshire had left years ago to fight for King Charles. And many of the unsuitable ones had gone to fight against the king, while the remainder seemed too gutless to even talk to an earl’s daughter, let alone kiss one. Which was a shame, because Chrystabel liked talking to all sorts of people, and might have liked kissing them, too, if given a chance.

  From her older sisters’ accounts and her own daydreams, she just knew that kissing would feel glorious. And kissing Joseph would be the best Christmas present imaginable. She could already feel his long arms enfolding her, smell his mouthwatering fresh scent, taste his…well, as it happened, taste was one area where her imagination failed her. She wondered how Joseph would taste—besides delicious, of course. Lips as full and soft-looking as his couldn’t be anything less than delicious. She couldn’t wait to taste them.

  Just like when she was small, she wanted to open her Christmas present now.

  Where would it happen? Since she did feel a little cold, she decided to imagine him kissing her for the first time before a roaring fire, perhaps in the great room. Heat from the flames warmed her skin, while heat from the kiss warmed—

  “You’re awfully confident for your first day as a matchmaker,” Arabel grumbled even though she never grumbled.

  Indignant at being yanked from her lovely Christmas daydream, Chrystabel raised her chin. “I ought to be confident. I’m good at this, Arabel. You’ll see.” She glanced back as they crossed the field, pleased to note that the young couple appeared to have vanished into the woods. Her plan of dressing the fugitive all in brown had worked. Creath wouldn’t be at risk.

  Everything was going perfectly.

  “I don’t like it.” Apparently Arabel didn’t think everything was going perfectly. “It feels wrong to desert them when we said we would return.”

  “But you said nothing of the sort.” The snow crunched beneath their shoes. “I will take the blame. You’ve no reason to fret, Arabel.”

  Arabel continued to fret anyway. “Matthew will be furious. They might be out there for hours, waiting for us, worrying that something might have happened to us. We have to go back!”

  Instead of turning around, Chrystabel walked even faster. “I’m not going back, and I’m not letting you go back, either. There’s far too much to do. We need to finish decorating before we can make perfume for the ladies. I need you to add garlands to the grand staircase while I hang wreaths in the dining room and library.”

  And she’d also take a wreath to Joseph’s conservatory, she added silently. Not that his indoor garden needed decorating, but now that she knew where it was, she was eager to pay a visit. And who could fault her for mistakenly wandering into the wrong part of the castle in the midst of her wreath-hanging fervor?

  Nobody. It would look like a perfectly innocent blunder.

  Would he kiss her in his conservatory?

  “Chrystabel, are you even listening?” When they reached the inner courtyard, once more Arabel rudely interrupted her thoughts. “You cannot leave Matthew and Creath out there alone!”

  “You think not?”

  “Let me guess,” Arabel groaned. “You want me to watch you.”

  Thirteen

  JOSEPH WAS PLANTING flowers when Chrystabel walked into his conservatory.

  In the diffused light from his parchment-covered windows, wearing her government unapproved red gown, her cheeks flushed with holiday excitement, she suddenly looked different.

  She suddenly stole his breath away.

  Holy Hades, had his mother been right?

  No. She’d put ideas into his head, that was all. Ideas he needed to reject.

  Chrystabel was carrying a Christmas wreath. Determined not to betray his thoughts, Joseph restricted his reaction to a single raised brow. “Surely you don’t need to decorate in here.”

  “No, no.” Her smile was entirely too charming. “I arrived in here mistakenly.”

  And he was the Royal Gardener. “You wandered into this half-built wing thinking it was part of our living quarters?”

  “Yes,” she said, a brazen lie that he found inexplicably charming as well.

  He needed air, and he needed to come to his senses. Even though he’d gathered enough pots for his seeds already, he crossed to the wall where he kept stacks of them and fetched an empty one back to his bench, using the time to draw several deep, steadying breaths.

  His head felt clearer when he returned. She was still standing there smiling. She’d set her wreath on the floor. “You have an enormous space here.”

  “Indeed.” Entire wings tended to be enormous. “Shall I show you back to the main house?”

  She glanced about, her wide-set chocolate-brown eyes bright with curiosity. “Would you mind if I have a look around first?”

  He wanted to say, Hell yes, I’d mind, but that would be impolite. So instead he said, “By all means.”

  Through gritted teeth.

  In an effort to take his mind off her, he went to one of the fireplaces and chucked another log inside. She’d said she wanted to look around, but she wasn’t looking around. She was looking at him. He wasn’t looking at her, but he could feel her gaze on his back.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Building up the fire to keep my plants warm.”

  “I meant, what were you doing before that? When I came in.”

  “Oh.” With a sigh, he turned to face her. “I was planting chrysanthemums.”

  “Chrys—what?”

  “Chrysanthemums. My favorite flower.” She wasn’t letting him take his mind off her, damn it. And he didn’t have the fortitude to rebuff a girl who might be interested in his flowers. “Come, I have mature chrysanthemums over here.”

  She followed him to the other end of his conservatory, where dozens of them were growing in wooden boxes. “Oh, they’re beautiful!”

  “Thank you,” he said, her obvious delight making him smile. He was very proud of his chrysanthemums. He had pinks and whites and greens and reds and purples and oranges. A few were two-toned; those were his favorites.

  “I’ve never seen anything like them,” she breathed, circling the boxes to examine each color.

  “They’re very uncommon here—in fact, I may be the only one growing them. They just recently arrived on the Continent from China.”

  “How did you get them?”

  She looked truly interested, which made him eager to tell her. “My uncle left England years ago, when King Charles first went into exile. Even as a small child I loved growing things, and he never had a son of his own, so he indulges me, sending me plants I cannot find here. I’m very fortunate.”

  Finished with her circuit, she knelt beside him to inhale the flowers’ fragrance, her elegant red gown pooling around her. “Oh, their scent is strong, quite earthy and herby. Perfect to temper the sweeter flowers.”

  He swallowed hard. His position above her treated him to a view down the front of her close-fitting bodice. The sight of two half-moon swells of smooth, ivory skin was almost more than he could bear. On her slender frame, those breasts looked soft and devastatingly feminine.

  He wished he could see more of them. His heart was pounding, and he was beginning to feel hot. For a moment he felt nearly as out of breath as he had dancing the volta last night. Remembering the huge, dowdy Puritan collar he’d wanted to rip off her, he longed for its return.

  Because now he found himself wanting to rip off her entire gown.

  Bloody hell, what was happening to him?

  When she sighed, her bosom rose and fell in the tight bodice. His whole body clenched. “I wish I were going to be here long enough to make some of these into essential oil,” she said wistfully.

  He backed away a step, struggling to refocus on the conversation. “Make chrysanthemums into oil? Why would you do that?”

  “So I can use the oil to make perfume.” She l
ooked adorable looking up at him. “I’m a perfumer.”

  “That’s right, you mentioned it at supper. I’d never thought about someone creating all those fragrances people wear.”

  He wasn’t thinking about that now. In fact, he was having a hard time thinking about anything but her enticing décolletage, and how it would feel to—

  No. He was not having these thoughts. He was marrying Creath in two days, for heaven’s sake. He could not allow himself to be consumed by lust for another woman.

  Unable to stand the tempting sight a moment longer, he found her hand and pulled her to her feet. A little frisson of excitement bolted through him at the contact, but he determinedly ignored it. “Did your mother teach you how to make perfume?”

  “My mother taught me very little.” She frowned momentarily but quickly brightened. “My father’s sister lived with us when I was a girl. Aunt Idonea taught me how to distill oils from flowers and mix them to make perfumes.”

  The discussion involved flowers, so even though he desperately wanted her to leave, he couldn’t help but continue it. “Which flowers do you use?”

  “Every type I can find—all of those that are scented, I mean. Plus some plants that have scent but don’t flower. My favorite scent is rose, though.” She glanced around. “I don’t see any roses. I guess you can only grow roses outdoors?”

  “I think I could probably grow them indoors in winter, but we haven’t any roses here at Tremayne.” Happily, he felt more in control with her standing. She was tall enough that he couldn’t see down her bodice. “We do have roses at Trentingham. Or at least we did—I have no idea what Trentingham’s beautiful gardens look like now.”

  An adorable frown appeared on her brow. “Surely your caretakers are sustaining your roses for you.”

  “We have no caretakers at Trentingham anymore. Once we left, Cromwell commandeered it to use during the war.”

  “Blackguard,” she muttered in a decidedly unladylike way.

  She was refreshingly outspoken. And he was intrigued to find she not only loved flowers as much as he did, she actually used them for her pastime. Her enthusiasm for perfuming seemed to be as strong as his for growing things.