“New arrivals?” Nikolai strode into the room, the others right on his heel. If nothing else, given his looks alone, he certainly did make an excellent first impression.
“The prince,” Camille whispered into her mother’s ear. She nodded in response.
“I am Count Pruzinsky.” He stepped to her mother, took her hand and raised it to his lips. “And I am at your service.”
Camille wondered if he said that to everyone he met. Odd how it was most charming a few days ago and now it set her teeth on edge.
“Count Pruzinsky?” Mother cast her a quizzical glance. “Not ‘Prince’?”
“He prefers to travel incognito,” Grayson said quickly, and Camille threw him a grateful look.
Nikolai flashed his perfect smile. “I must reconsider my traveling indulgences. Although I consider them necessary, they are proving to be somewhat awkward.” He turned his attention to her mother. “And you are?”
Mother’s eyes widened. “I . . .”
“Allow me to introduce my mother,” Grayson said smoothly. “Mrs. Elliott.”
“Yes, of course, that’s exactly who I am.” Mother beamed. “And this is my daughter, Grayson’s sister, Miss Elliott. Prudence.”
Delilah choked. “ ‘Prudence’?”
“It’s a virtue,” Beryl said, sounding a bit sharper than necessary.
“And a beautiful name.” Nikolai moved to Delilah and took her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “For a beautiful woman.”
“Oh.” Delilah stared up at him as if mesmerized. Although, admittedly, it was hard not to be taken with all that blond hair and royal charm.
Beryl turned to the others. “Mother, Uncle Basil, Delilah, look who has come to join us.”
Mr. Henderson’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“Cousin Grayson’s mother and sister, of course.” Beryl forced a smile. “Cousin Prudence and Cousin . . .” Panic flashed in her eyes.
“My dear Bernadette,” Mother said, sweeping across the room to enfold Mrs. Montgomery-Wells in her arms. “How wonderful to see you again. And thank you so much for inviting us for Christmas.”
“Why, it wouldn’t be Christmas without you.” The older woman gave Mother a warm smile. The actress seemed to be taking this new development in stride. Perhaps her perpetual fog was at last lifting. “But it’s not Bernadette, you know. It’s Anastasia.” Or not.
“Really?” Mother’s eyes widened. “I could have sworn it was Bernadette.”
“It’s quite all right, my dear.” The actress patted her mother’s arm. “These things happen when one gets older. It happens to me all the time.”
“Still,” Mother said slowly, “I am fairly certain it’s Bernadette.”
Mrs. Montgomery-Wells frowned. “I daresay, I know my own name.” She glanced at Mr. Henderson. “Goodness, Franklin, some people have no idea who they are. Lack of study, no doubt.”
“No doubt.” Mr. Henderson sighed. “And it’s Basil.”
Mrs. Montgomery-Wells threw Mother a pointed look. “What did I tell you?”
Mother smiled weakly.
“How delightful this is.” Nikolai looked around the room. “To have so many members of your family here for Christmas. First Mr. Elliott and then the children—”
“Children?” Delilah said. “Whose children?” Mother aimed Camille a pointed glance. “Another development?”
Camille shrugged in a helpless manner.
“I think we should all return to the dining room.” Beryl herded the others toward the door. “I suspect Mrs. Fortesque has a wonderful dessert and we should hate to offend her.”
“Damn fine cook,” Mr. Henderson muttered. “And you should see her dance. . . .”
“And we should retire to our rooms to freshen up,” Mother said as soon as the others had left the room. “Although I suspect our usual rooms are occupied.”
Camille nodded. “It is rather a full house, but the red bedroom, down the hall from yours, is still available,” she added quickly. “However, we shall have to put Delilah in the west wing.”
“ ‘The west wing’?” Delilah glared. “It’s cold and drafty in the west wing.”
“Nonsense.” Mother waved away her daughter’s objection. “A few extra blankets should be more than sufficient to keep you quite comfortable.”
Delilah stared. “But I don’t want to sleep in the west wing. I don’t want to be part of this at all. It’s another one of your ill-conceived schemes and, no doubt, destined to ruin us all. I still think you should send them on their way right now.”
Camille narrowed her eyes. “Or you could leave.”
Delilah gasped. “You would throw your own sister out into the cold? And at Christmas?”
“With the tinkling of sleigh bells and a sprig of holly grasped between my teeth, if necessary,” Camille snapped.
Grayson stepped forward. “You may have my room, if you wish.”
Mother glanced at Camille. She shrugged. “He’s in the room across from mine.”
“I see,” Mother said. Camille knew that tone. What exactly did she see?
Delilah cast him an entirely too flirtatious smile. Miss Murdock’s portrayal of her might be close to the truth, after all. “That’s so very thoughtful of you, Grayson.”
“But she couldn’t accept,” Mother said firmly.
“Oh, but I could.”
“Oh, but you won’t.” Mother directed her a quelling look. “Grayson can’t be expected to move his things when he is helping Camille in her farce and there are no servants to spare to move him. So we shall leave things exactly as they are.”
“Fortesque!” Camille yelled. It seemed pointless to use the bellpull, as he was no doubt listening at the door.
The actor appeared at once. “Yes, my lady.”
“My mother and sister will be joining us as Mr. Elliott’s mother and sister,” Camille said with a sigh. “Please have rooms made up. They’ll show you which ones.”
The actor raised a brow. “Two more, then?”
She clenched her teeth. “Is that a problem?”
He heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “Of course not, my lady.” He paused. “Will there be any others? Are there any additional family members unaccounted for?” His voice rose. “Shall there be more guests, perhaps wandering in off the roads?”
Delilah sucked in a sharp breath.
“As I did not expect these new arrivals, at this point, I really cannot say.” Camille leveled him a threatening look. “However, I am certain you are more than capable of handling this new development as you have so ably handled everything else thus far!”
“Mr. Fortesque.” Mother’s eyes widened with feigned surprise. “You’re not a real butler then? You are one of the actors?”
He drew a calming breath. “Yes, my lady.”
“Why, I never would have known.” Admiration sounded in her voice. “You’re very good.”
“Oh.” He paused, then smiled modestly. “Thank you, my lady. I do work hard at my craft.”
“And it’s obvious.” She studied him for a moment. “Have I seen you on stage before? In a London theater, perhaps?”
“Well, I have had a few roles—”
“How fascinating. I want to hear all about it.” She favored him with a brilliant smile. “Why don’t you arrange to have our bags brought up and we will show you what rooms we’ll be staying in. And while we do, you shall tell me all about your theatrical credits. I have always been fascinated by the theater.”
“As you wish.” He glanced at Camille. “If there is nothing more?”
“Dear Lord, I hope not,” Camille murmured.
“Now then, Mr. Fortesque . . .” Mother escorted him out the door, tossing a conspiratorial smile back at Camille. “Do tell me . . .”
“For whatever absurd reason, and God knows what goes on in her head, Mother has obviously decided to embrace this deception of yours fully. I shall do my part as well, as there seems to be no other way to save us all from
scandal.” Delilah’s eyes narrowed. “But I am most distressed about it, Camille, most distressed.”
Camille stared at her sister for a long moment; then adopted her brightest smile. “And Happy Christmas to you too, dear sister.”
Fury blazed in Delilah’s eyes. “I would not—”
“Prudence, dear, come along,” Mother called from the hall.
Delilah sent a last, scathing look toward her sister, turned to Grayson and smiled apologetically. “Do forgive me, Grayson. I do not deal well with unexpected developments like, oh, discovering my family has been replaced by actors, and having to sleep in a cold, drafty room, and, oh yes, being called Prudence.”
“To be expected, of course,” Grayson said with a smile.
“Thank you.” Delilah raised her chin and marched out of the room, like the brave little soldier she was.
“She doesn’t seem to like you very much.” Grayson studied Camille.
“She never has.” Camille sighed. “She’s not fond of Beryl either.”
“That I can understand.” He chuckled. “It must be difficult for her, though.”
“ ‘Difficult’?” Camille drew her brows together. “What do you mean?”
“Well, being five years younger than twin sisters, who were lovely and sought after and did very nearly everything together. I would think one might feel left out, not important enough to include, that sort of thing. It might be difficult, that’s all.” He shrugged. “It’s just an observation.”
“Yes, I suppose.” She had never thought of Delilah’s position in that manner before.
“Although . . . this is a perfect example. This is your scheme, but Beryl is right by your side. You never considered Delilah might wish to be part of it.”
Camille bristled. “She would never wish that. She is entirely too proper for something like this.” Admittedly, she had never been asked. “Besides, she was out of the country with Mother, who, I might add, asked Delilah to accompany her, not Beryl or me.”
“As I said, it was just an observation.”
Still, she had never considered why Delilah might behave toward her sisters as she did. Why, it had never even crossed her mind that her younger sister might feel left out. And in Delilah’s shoes, wouldn’t Camille feel the same? She winced. “I haven’t been very nice to her, have I?”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t say.”
“Well, I haven’t. Or, rather, we haven’t. We never considered that she might feel overlooked. We thought she didn’t like us.”
“I can’t imagine she’s overly fond of you.”
“No, she’s not. And it now appears, we deserve it.” She sighed. “This is the second time today I’ve felt ashamed of my behavior.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t especially like it.”
“It’s most becoming,” he said in a teasing manner.
“Only you would say such a thing.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Obviously, I—well, Beryl and I—should make amends in some manner. I would much prefer to spend the rest of my life with a younger sister who does not detest me—although I doubt it will be easy.” She shook her head. “This rift has been years in the making.”
“Making amends is never easy.” He met her gaze directly. “Apologies for one’s mistakes—those errors in judgment that we all make because of youth or selfishness or pride—are often difficult. Particularly when one realizes one’s own behavior was unreasonable and even stupid.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Are we still talking about Delilah?”
“I don’t know.” He stepped closer; his gaze still locked with hers. “Are we?”
“I know I agreed that you and I should talk about what passed between us all those years ago, but not now, Grayson, please.” The last thing she needed tonight was a discussion of the past—especially since she was not the least bit certain how she felt about anything, about him, now. It was all most confusing. “I simply cannot dredge up the past when the present is in such chaos.”
“It can wait.” He smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“This time,” she said without thinking.
He nodded.
She stared at him for a long moment. “Thank you. For your assistance tonight,” she added quickly. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He looked as though he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it. Instead, he offered his arm. “Shall we join the others?”
“Before it’s too late, you mean?”
He laughed and she took his arm, hard and solid beneath her touch. The arm of a man one could depend on. A man who could be relied upon when needed. Not that it mattered at the moment. Still, it was something to keep in mind. “Who knows what might be happening without us?”
“Who knows, indeed?” He glanced down at her. “In spite of the unexpected difficulties you’ve encountered thus far, I suspect you will somehow manage to triumph in the end.”
“Goodness, Grayson, at this point I no longer care about victory.” She cast him a rueful smile. “I am just hoping for survival.”
Seventeen
Camille had planned games for this evening, but no one seemed interested at the moment in anything more than conversation and brandy. It struck her that everyone was somewhat subdued tonight, apparently worn out by the day’s activities. Except perhaps for her mother.
Camille surveyed the gathering in the parlor. Mother flirted with Nikolai in a manner that might have been excessive—had she been anyone else’s mother—but for her was simply her nature. Miss Murdock more than matched her in spirit and enthusiasm. Whereas the young actress’s penchant for flirtation had been annoying at first, now Camille appreciated her steadfast determination. Nikolai certainly seemed to enjoy it. Grayson chatted with Mrs. Montgomery-Wells and Mr. Henderson while trying, as well, to charm, if not outright flirt with, Delilah. Indeed, her younger sister did appear to be reluctantly enjoying herself.
Beside her, Beryl, too, studied the group. “I must say, even with our surprise arrivals, it’s all going—”
“Don’t say it!” Camille grabbed her arm. “Whatever you do, do not say it.”
Beryl stared in confusion. “Don’t say what?”
Camille grimaced. “Obviously, I can’t say, but you know what I mean.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” Beryl’s brows furrowed. “All I was going to say was—”
“Stop.” Camille shook her head. “If you say it’s going well, it won’t. Such a declaration is like a curse. So I would be most appreciative if you kept any such observation to yourself.”
“Very well.” Beryl thought for a moment. “May I say it’s going poorly then? That this house of cards you’ve built is likely to collapse at any moment, bringing it all down around your head? May I further add that I told you so?”
“No. But I do appreciate how difficult it is for you to restrain yourself.”
“Oh, I’m certain the opportunity will yet be presented.” Beryl studied her. “I have never known you to be superstitious before.”
“I am clinging to any advantage that might avail itself at the moment, including superstition.” Her gaze settled on her younger sister. “And you and I need to do something about Delilah.”
“My thoughts exactly. What did you have in mind? Lock her in the attic? As we did when she was a child?”
“We’re not proud of that; it was dreadful of us. And we will certainly not do it now or ever again.” She glanced at her twin. “We need to be nicer to her.”
“Why?”
“Because she is our sister, our only sister, and we have treated her abominably.”
“No worse than she’s treated us.”
“Perhaps, but . . .” Camille searched for the right words. “It has been brought to my attention that it’s entirely possible that Delilah might behave the way she does toward us because we have not included her in our lives.”
“A
nd?”
“And we should,” Camille said firmly. “We should make more of an effort to see her.”
“We went to her wedding. And her husband’s funeral.”
“We need to see her when it’s not a wedding or a funeral or a family occasion that we are required to attend. We should invite her to join us at the Ladies Tearoom when we meet there, or when we attend gallery openings or lectures or museum exhibits.”
Beryl stared. “Why?”
“Because we should, that’s why. We have never made an effort to include her or really even get to know her better. Why, she’s practically a stranger.”
“No doubt because we were grown and had our own lives before she was of an age to be interesting. Not that she is now.”
“Nonsense. I’m certain she is quite interesting. And, as I said, she is the only sister we have, and we should treat her as such.”
“I still don’t see. . . .” Beryl’s eyes widened. “Oh, now I understand.” She cast Camille an admiring look. “How very clever of you.”
“What is very clever of me?”
“If we befriend our dear younger sister, she will be much more inclined to embrace your deception.” Beryl’s gaze shifted to Delilah. “As it is, she looks as if she has eaten something that has disagreed with her.”
“I think she looks like she is enjoying herself, albeit reluctantly.” Delilah laughed at something Grayson said and Camille’s stomach lurched. She ignored it. “Thankfully, Grayson is making an effort to entertain her.”
Beryl raised a brow. “Jealous?”
“Don’t be absurd,” she said coolly. “He is simply trying to be helpful. And I am most grateful.”
“Don’t be too grateful,” Beryl warned. “Don’t forget what he—”
“I won’t.” Camille’s tone was sharper than she had intended. “I have not forgotten anything, nor do I intend to. He is simply doing what he said he would do. He is being my friend.”
“Well, I still don’t trust him.”
“Beryl, dear.” She smiled. “You don’t have to.”
What Happens At Christmas (Millworth Manor series Book 1) Page 22