by Anne Perry
Amelia glared at her. She seemed for a few moments to be on the edge of denying it, of fighting back. Then her eyes filled with tears and she bent her head and wept.
Vespasia waited a moment or two, uncertain, then followed her own feelings and took Amelia in her arms and held her very gently. Had Amelia known all about Cavendish, or feared something like it? Or had she been blind to it until today?
The maid brought in the tea and, at a nod from Vespasia, left again.
Vespasia poured two cups and put honey in them both. She waited a few moments for it to cool, then spoke.
“Amelia, take a sip of tea. It will help. You have much to face, but you will not have to do it alone.”
Amelia blinked several times. Her handkerchief was wet with tears already, but she wiped her eyes with it.
“How long have you known?” she asked.
“Not until tonight,” Vespasia answered.
“That’s not like you,” Amelia said with a bleak half smile.
Vespasia hunted for words that would not add to the pain. There was more than enough of that already. “You will miss him.”
“Yes. It is…a shock…but I will be all right!” Amelia said it with a surge of resolve, as if she had suddenly realized she could make it true.
“Of course you will,” Vespasia agreed.
“I…thank you.” Amelia was suddenly awkward.
Vespasia smiled. “Not at all.”
A few minutes later Vespasia met Georgiana in the hall. Neither said anything; an exchange of glances was sufficient. She, too, was ill at ease. She must have realized Dorian’s role, or perhaps he had even had the sense to tell her.
“Go back to Lord Narraway,” Georgiana said. “I will stay with Amelia.”
* * *
Vespasia did not demur when Victor asked her about leaving that night. Cavendish Hall was now a place of mourning, and, in the circumstances, their presence would not help. In fact, it might only add shame and embarrassment to the grief that could not be avoided. Cavendish had died attempting to kill Victor, for a reason many would understand, possibly even forgive, but too much else was changed and it was Cavendish who had lost.
Vespasia sat beside Narraway in the hastily harnessed carriage, and footmen were called to assist. Cases were repacked and stowed on the back, and food was brought for Victor to eat along the way. The night was very dark, but their own carriage lamps were sufficient, and soon they came to the outskirts of London, where the roads were lit.
“I’m sorry,” Narraway said gently. “This is not what Christmas is meant to be. We’ll have no goose, no Christmas pudding, no red candles or decorated tree.”
Vespasia took his hand between hers. “That is not what Christmas is meant to be. It’s nice, but it’s not important.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Not in the least. In fact, it sometimes gets in the way. Christmas is about accepting that we all make mistakes, for which we will be forgiven, but first we must forgive others. And then when the knot slips undone and lets go, we can forgive ourselves as well.”
The carriage stopped and Vespasia saw they were home. She could hear church bells filling the air with music.
It was Christmas Day.
To all who aspire to give mercy, and to receive it
THE CHRISTMAS NOVELS OF ANNE PERRY
A Christmas Journey
A Christmas Visitor
A Christmas Guest
A Christmas Secret
A Christmas Beginning
A Christmas Grace
A Christmas Promise
A Christmas Odyssey
A Christmas Homecoming
A Christmas Garland
A Christmas Hope
A New York Christmas
A Christmas Escape
A Christmas Message
A Christmas Return
A Christmas Revelation
A Christmas Gathering
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anne Perry is the bestselling author of sixteen previous holiday novels, as well as the William Monk series, the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt series, the Daniel Pitt series, and the new Elena Standish series. She has also written five World War I novels and a work of historical fiction, The Sheen on the Silk. Anne Perry lives in Los Angeles.
anneperry.co.uk
To inquire about booking Anne Perry for a speaking engagement, please contact the Penguin Random House Speakers Bureau at [email protected].
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