“One simply needs the proper tools,” she’d said with a smile.
The next morning, he’d discovered a parcel wrapped in brown paper outside his door. He’d undone the wrapping to find the burgundy-leather journal she'd promised, with a note tucked inside.
Dear Lord Darton,
I was saving this for your Christmas present, but then thought you might like it earlier, so as to help keep your thoughts organized. I’ve come up with a system of sorts, in my own tracking of various activities, that I would be delighted to share with you—if you’d like. Not to presume, of course! You may use this notebook however you see fit.
Except not for starting fires, for that would be a sad waste of such lovely paper.
I jest.
Mostly.
At any rate, I also want to take this opportunity to thank you for so graciously allowing my mother, my sister, and me to join you here at Darton Hall for the holidays. I hope it hasn’t been too much trouble, but even if it has (arguments over mistletoe notwithstanding) we’ve had a delightful time thus far.
My most heartfelt gratitude to you and your aunt.
Merry Christmas,
Miss Catherine Randall
He’d read the note over several times, and then, unaccountably, placed it in the drawer where he kept his important papers. She was having adelightful time. The words warmed him, and he carried them about with him all day.
Any satisfaction of spirit he felt, however, fled entirely the next afternoon. His brother Christopher, Viscount Heatherton, at last made his appearance at Darton Hall.
The butler attempted to announce him, but Christopher swept past him into the drawing room, brown hair slightly tousled and a charming smile upon his face.
“Here I am,” he said, throwing his arms wide.
“My dear boy!” Aunt Agatha rose from the table where she was fruitlessly attempting to win at Spillikens against the children. Whether she bumped the table on purpose or not, Philip couldn’t say, but the game came to a quick end.
“Your Grace.” Christopher bowed over their aunt’s hand, then glanced at the assembled company.
He greeted their cousins, even the children, then turned to Viscountess Fortnum and pressed an ostentatious kiss upon the back of her hand.
“Lady Fortnum, what an extreme pleasure to find you and your daughters here. One couldn’t want for a better Christmas gift.”
“Lord Heatherton.” The viscountess smiled warmly at him, then turned to her daughters, with whom she’d been playing cards. “You remember my girls, of course—Catherine and Abigail.”
“How could I forget two such beauties?” Christopher made them each a gallant bow, as though he were some sort of chivalrous knight. “I trust you are enjoying your visit?”
Philip’s mood darkened as he watched their interchange. His brother was all smoothness and flattery.
“Very much,” Miss Catherine said. “Though I’ve no doubt it will become even more pleasant now that you’ve arrived.”
Clenching his jaw, Philip stepped forward. “Hello, Christopher. I wasn’t sure you’d manage to make an appearance.”
“Well!” Christopher turned, laughing. “I’m pleased to see you, too, brother. How fine it is to be at Darton Hall again for the holidays, don’t you agree?”
For someone shirking their responsibilities, certainly. Now that all the work was done, he’d no doubt Christopher would have a grand time in the remaining days before Christmas.
Philip forced himself to nod in response. “Indeed.”
Not that their uncle’s will had given them any choice about it. A part of him had been hoping his irresponsible brother wouldn’t arrive at all, and thus, finally, be seen as the scapegrace he was. No such luck, however.
“You’re just in time! The Christmas Cotillion is the day after tomorrow.” Aunt Agatha beamed at Christopher as though his tardiness was something to celebrate, not deplore.
“Splendid,” Christopher said. “You must save me a waltz, Agate.”
