What Happens At Christmas

by Victoria Alexander

“No?” His gaze slid from one cautious face to the next.

  “We have already heard it, you see,” Simon said in as diplomatic a manner as possible.

  “I imagine you hear it every year at Christmas.”

  “No, we heard it tonight.” Walter sighed. “Cousin Beryl read it to us after our baths.”

  “The skittish one? Are you sure it wasn’t her sister?”

  “Uncle Grayson, we can tell one sister from another.” Patience sounded in Thomas’s voice, as if he were the adult. “We have twins of our own.”

  “Yes, of course,” Gray murmured, rather nonplused by being put in his place by a ten-year-old. “Very well, then. We’ll find something else.” He rose to his feet, strode across the room to the shelves and studied the offerings. “This will do, I think.” He plunked the book from its spot, paged through it, then returned to his chair. “This is a story by Mr. Dickens called ‘The Magic Fishbone.’ It’s about a princess who gets one wish for anything she wants.”

  “I’d wish for a dog,” Thomas said.

  “Two dogs.” Walter grinned.

  “Three dogs,” George or Henry added. The other twin giggled. “Four dogs!”

  “And what would you wish for, Simon?” Gray asked.

  “It’s only one wish you say?”

  Gray nodded.

  “Then I should have to think about it.” Simon considered the idea. “Can I wish for more wishes?”

  “I am sorry.” Gray shook his head regretfully. “I suspect that’s against the rules.”

  “Not much of a wish if you can’t wish for more wishes,” Thomas muttered.

  “No, if I only have one, I should have to think for a long time. About what I really, truly want.” Simon’s tone was solemn, as befit such an important decision. “Not that I don’t want a dog,” he added quickly.

  Gray nodded. “That goes without saying.”

  Simon studied him for a moment. “What would you wish for?”

  Camille’s forgiveness. Her heart. Her hand. “Why, I agree with you. Something of this magnitude must be given a great deal of thought. One would hate to squander a lone wish on something of no importance.”

  “A dog is important.” Walter pointed out, and snuggled deeper under the covers.

  “A dog most certainly is. Now shall we see how the princess uses her wish?” The boys nodded their agreement and Gray began: “ ‘There was once a King, and he had a Queen; and he was the manliest of his sex, and she was the loveliest of hers. The King was, in his private profession, Under Government. The Queen’s father had been a medical man out of town. . . .’ ”

  No, he would not have to read long. He had scarcely gotten to the part where the king had arrived at his office, before the twins were asleep and the others were struggling against succumbing.

  “ ‘There he wrote and wrote and wrote, till it was time to go home again. Then he politely invited the Princess Alicia, as the Fairy had directed him, to partake of the salmon. . . .’ ”

  By the time the doll, which was really a duchess, was introduced in the story, all five children were fast asleep. They looked much like Christmas angels, although—he chuckled to himself—they were simply Christmas Carrolls. He would have to thank Win for that bit of whimsy. He stood, blew out the lamp and quietly moved to the door, closing it gently behind him.

  “How long have you been listening?” he said without turning around.

  “I heard them tell you they had already been read to once tonight.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

  He turned to face her. Camille stood far closer than expected, illuminated by the faint light of the gas sconces in the corridor. Close enough to kiss again, if he dared. “I thought Beryl didn’t like children.”

  “So did Beryl.” Camille laughed softly.

  “And you? Do you like children?”

  “I have always imagined I would like my children, although I suppose that isn’t always true. And I like these children.” She studied him curiously. “Are you surprised?”

  “That you like children?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve never really thought about it,” he said. “I suppose, I thought, assumed as you don’t have any—”

  “Life does not always turn out as one expects, Grayson. I came to tell you, dinner is nearly ready. And I should hate to insult Mrs. Fortesque by any of us being late.” She started down the hall. “I do hope to have children, you know.”

  He nodded. “Princes and princesses.”

  “Goodness, Grayson, that is what one has when one marries a prince.”

  A real prince. “Quite right.”

  She reached the stairs and glanced back at him. “You’ve been very kind to them—the children, that is.”

  “Well”—he shrugged—“I am their beloved uncle.”

  She smiled in an annoyingly satisfied manner. “And no one deserves that title more than you.”

  “I have to confess, I was not at all pleased when you aimed them in my direction. And apparently it is my lot to keep them away from the others.”

  “Who better than you?”

  He chuckled. “But I must admit as well, I’ve quite enjoyed my day with them.”

  “Excellent, as you are the beloved uncle tomorrow too.”

  “I’m not sure I have the strength.”

  “Nonsense.” Her gaze flicked over him. “You look to be in fine physical condition to me.”

  He grinned. “Is that a compliment?”

  “It’s an observation.” She started down the stairs. “I saw how you skated and the speed with which you covered the ground from the pond to the stables and the house. I would say, you are well up to the herding of five little boys.”

  “I do hope so. I should hate for my epitaph to be: ‘Small children were his undoing.’ ”

  She laughed. He’d never forgotten how much he’d liked her laugh. But then, he now appreciated the passion of her anger as well. He couldn’t recall her ever being angry with him in their youth. They reached the first floor and she turned in the direction of the public rooms. He stayed a step behind her for a moment, enjoying the way her hips swayed beneath her bustle. With very little effort, he could reach out and pull her hips back against his. How much more passionate would she be when she was in the throes of desire? When she was naked and writhing beneath him? When his hand caressed the curves of her—

  “It’s almost a shame they are only here for one night.”

  “What?” He stepped up beside her. “Who?”

  “Pay attention, Grayson, we were talking about the boys.” She slanted him a curious glance. “What were you thinking?”

  “Me? Oh. Nothing, really.” Except picking you up in my arms, carrying you to the closest bed and making mad love to you until you begged for more and screamed my name and admitted that we belong together. “Pity they fell asleep, though. I rather wanted to see how the story ended.”

  “Oh no, it’s better that they don’t hear it.”

  He drew his brows together. “Why not? Don’t they live happily ever after?”

  “The princess and her family do, but the magic fishbone, having lost its power, is swallowed by the nasty little pug dog that lived next door. How did Mr. Dickens put it?” She thought for a moment. “Ah yes, ‘he expired in convulsions.’ ”

  Grayson stared. “The dog dies?”

  “He snapped at children.”

  “Dickens killed the dog?”

  “He was a very unpleasant little dog,” she said firmly.

  “Nonetheless, with proper training . . .”

  “It’s nice to know you like dogs and children.”

  “Why?”

  “If you didn’t, I would think you had changed beyond all recognition.”

  “I haven’t changed at all,” he said staunchly, knowing that wasn’t entirely true, although he had grown more than changed. “I am very much the same person I was eleven years ago.”

  “In some ways, perhaps.” She paused and studi
ed him. “But there is a strength in you now, a determination that you did not have as a youth. You have, as well, a look of responsibility about you, and the air of a man who refuses to give up, who fights for what he wants.”

  He grinned. “It’s irresistible, isn’t it?”

  “For the most part, it’s annoying.” She raised her shoulder in a casual shrug. “Although, I suppose, if you and I were to meet as strangers, it might well be the tiniest bit—oh, I don’t know—intriguing.”

  “Do I intrigue you?”

  “No, Grayson. As I said, you annoy me.” She turned and continued on. “The others have gathered in the parlor to await dinner.”

  “I would wager Miss Murdock finds me intriguing,” he said casually.

  “I daresay, there are few handsome, charming men Miss Murdock does not find intriguing.”

  “You think I’m handsome and charming?”

  “Fishing for another compliment?”

  “Always.”

  “Admittedly, you can be most charming, when it suits you, and most would consider you attractive, even handsome. You always were. Of course your arrogance does tend to overshadow your finer qualities.”

  “But don’t forget, I like children and dogs. Surely, that overcomes my arrogance?”

  “That’s one wager I wouldn’t take if I were you.” They reached the parlor doors and she stopped and turned toward him. “I must confess, I am curious, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “What would you wish for, if you had only one wish? What do you really, truly want?”

  “You,” he said without thinking, but it was the right answer.

  She stared at him for a moment. “Do you?”

  “I always have.”

  “Hmph.” She turned away and stepped toward the parlor. “Now you are being ridiculous. In that, you haven’t changed.”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Today you said what lay between us was both love and war. You know, they say there’s a fine line between love and war.”

  “No, they don’t.” She shook her head. “They say there’s a fine line between love and hate.”

  “Do you hate me?”

  “Of course not.” She pulled out of his grasp. “I have been very, very angry with you, but I have never hated you.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how I feel about you.”

  “Camille—”

  “But for a man who says there’s only one thing he wants, one thing he’s always wanted, you have a poor way of showing it.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “It’s eleven years too late, Grayson.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” His gaze caught hers and he stared into the blue eyes that had haunted his dreams since the moment he’d left her. His tone softened. “What can I do, Camille?”

  “I have no idea. I wish I did.” She turned toward the parlor, took a step, then swiveled back. “Perhaps you should be the man you’ve become.” She nodded and walked into the parlor, leaving him to trail behind.

  What in the name of all that was holy did she mean by that? Be the man he’d become? He was the man he’d become; she just didn’t realize it yet.

  By God, Gray fully intended to fight for her. But the man he was now was smart enough to know he had best tread carefully and not leap headfirst without thought and due consideration. That was exactly how he’d ruined everything in the past.

  If he hadn’t been so young and stupid, he would have fought for her then. Fought for them.

  He drew a deep breath and stepped into the parlor, just in time to hear Fortesque announce dinner was served. Good. He hadn’t realized it, but he was famished. Obviously, that was the result of being with children all day.

  They proceeded into dinner amidst a fair amount of chatting and laughter. Before he knew it, he found himself with Beryl on his arm, escorting her into the dining room.

  She leaned close and spoke low into his ear. “I do not know what you are up to, Grayson Elliott, but if you muck it up or hurt my sister again, so help me, I will make it my sole purpose to make certain you are not long for this life.”

  He inclined his head toward her, his voice as low as hers. “Are you threatening me, Beryl?”

  Her eyes widened in feigned innocence. “Does it sound like a threat?”

  “Very much so.”

  “Excellent,” she said through her smile, which wasn’t the least bit legitimate. “Then you understand.”

  “I do, indeed.” It was pointless to assure Beryl he had no intention of hurting Camille. Quite the opposite. He fully planned to spend the rest of his life making her happy.

  Camille threw them a curious look and Beryl laughed as if he had just said something worth laughing at. “Goodness, Cousin.” Her fingernails dug into his arm, hard. “You are so very amusing.”

  “I live to amuse you, Cousin.” He placed his hand on hers and squeezed. She bit her lip to keep from wincing and he tried not to grin. She might never trust him or like him, for that matter. Once again he realized that, if he was successful in winning her sister, Beryl would be part of his life, part of his family, until the day one of them died. They would no doubt drive one another mad.

  All in all, a small price to pay.

  Camille was not at all a superstitious sort, under most circumstances. But the moment she looked around the dinner table—noting the prince occupied in animated conversation with her sister on one side and Miss Murdock on the other; Mr. Henderson and Mrs. Montgomery-Wells trading absurd tales; Grayson joining in, with obvious amusement—the thought struck her before she could banish it: Things were going well.

  She knew better. It was like a curse destined to bring disaster down around her head. And she would prefer to avoid disaster, thank you very much. Still, there were only two days left to survive until Christmas; and at the moment, while she refused to be completely confident, she couldn’t vanquish an annoying ray of hope.

  Nor could she get Grayson out of her head, where he seemed to have taken up permanent residence. He was perhaps the most confusing man she had ever met. One minute he was quite sweet and directing all that charm, which seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing, toward her; and the next he was trying to steal her cook and ruin everything by hiring orphans. Orphans, for goodness’ sake! Whatever had possessed him?

  And then there was all that nonsense about love and war and fine lines, and if he had one wish he’d wish for her—not to mention the way he had grabbed her and kissed her last night. She ignored the thought that he hadn’t kissed her this morning, when she had rather hoped he would. But then she was never quite as strong in the morning as she was during the rest of the day. Yes, that was why she had, perhaps, a tiny bit, wanted him to kiss her.

  If the man wanted her, he needed to do something about it. He needed to prove it, although she wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. Wasn’t at all sure how she felt about him—at least not here and now. She’d been angry at him for so long; now that he was so abruptly back in her life, feelings she thought were long in the past seemed to simmer just below the surface.

  She’d agreed they needed to talk about the past. Perhaps once they did, they could put it all behind them. But to what end? To resolve matters between them and finally lay the past to rest? Or to start anew?

  “Psst.” A faint voice sounded behind her.

  She stifled a groan. She didn’t need to look behind her to know who was hissing. Obviously, something was amiss. Otherwise, wouldn’t Fortesque simply have come into the room? Of course something was wrong. Hadn’t she just been thinking how well things were going?

  She quickly excused herself and left the dining room. Fortesque waited just outside the door.

  She clenched her teeth. “Did I not tell you, butlers do not ‘psst’!”

  “I had no other way of attracting your attention, and I thought it best not to enter the dining room.” He h
anded her a glass of brandy. “You might wish to drink this.”

  She accepted the glass and narrowed her gaze in suspicion. “Why?”

  “Isn’t it a butler’s duty to anticipate the needs of his employer?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You will need that.”

  “Very well.” She took a sip. “Now, Fortesque, why did you think it best not to come into the dining room? And why do I need brandy?”

  “Because if I entered the dining room, I would lose sight of the parlor doors.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “And should there be pounding at those doors, I might not notice.”

  “Why would there be pounding?”

  “Because I took the liberty of securing the doors to forestall anyone from wandering about freely. I assumed you would wish to prevent that.”

  She stared in confusion. “Who would wander about freely?”

  “The new arrivals who are currently awaiting you in the parlor.”

  What had Grayson and his cousin come up with now? She bit back a groan. “It’s not orphans, is it?”

  “No, my lady.” He shook his head. “These are most certainly not children.”

  “That’s something, at any rate.”

  Fortesque cast her what could only be called a look of pity.

  “Out with it, then, Fortesque. Who is it?” she demanded, trying and failing to ignore an impending sense of doom.

  “They said they wished to surprise you and I was not to give you their names.” His gaze slid from side to side as if concerned as to who might be listening. “They were quite confused when they arrived and I informed them that the family was at dinner. Then they were somewhat irate and, well, they threatened me with bodily harm if I spoiled their surprise. I don’t mind telling you, Lady Lydingham, they look like the sort that would carry out their threat. Although, if you were to guess . . .”

  “I would much prefer not to play games. I do not wish—” The most horrible thought occurred to her. She took a deep swallow of the brandy. “Tell me, these new arrivals. . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Male or female?”

  Again, he gave her that look of pity. “Most certainly female.”

  “Good Lord.” Of all the things that might go wrong, she had never expected this. “And you locked them in?”