“I’ve been thanked for gifts to which I was not aware I had contributed.”
“I did the shopping,” she said. “Emma suggested I would regret it if I left it to you.”
That, he thought, had been a wise choice. “Three of the little demons huggedme. Seven called meUncle Christopher.”
“I’m not certain how many gifts are left,” she said. “With so many people, it’s practically impossible to keep track.” She crouched beside his chair, mostly obscured from view by the rising tide of the wrapping paper. “However,” she whispered. “I did come down last night and rearrange the presents so that all of the ones meant for us ended up at the outer edges.”
“You did? Why?”
“So we’d be done swiftly. We’ve gone through all of them already. We could just…sneak out. Go upstairs and be on our own for a little while.”
Chris shot to his feet as if he’d been spring loaded, shoved one of his hands through the thick layers of wrapping paper and found Phoebe’s, pulling her to her feet. “We’re going,” he said to the room at large. “Have a lovely time of it without us.”
One of Phoebe’s sisters—though he was damned if he could say which one—said, “Oh, but you can’t! There’s still so many more gifts—”
“They don’t require our presence,” Phoebe said reasonably as Chris tugged her along in a slow slog toward the door.
“But we’re to sing carols after!” Laurence complained.
By the low laugh that Phoebe muffled behind her hand, Chris guessed that she had felt the shudder than had slid down his spine. “Another time,” she said.
“But youcan’t—”
Chris whirled, sent a glare that went right over the heads of the children and caught every adult within the room. “We certainly can,” he said. “And any child that is encouraged in any way to follow us will be given a puppy and taught to gamble. Is that understood?”
Laurence, who had already been on the receiving end of puppies, made a strangled sound over the succession of grumbles. “He’s not bluffing,” he said, his voice slightly strained. Possibly at the thought of another round of puppies for each of his six children. “Best just to let them go, yes?”
“We’ll be back down for dinner,” Phoebe called brightly, stumbling as she tripped over a discarded toy that had ended up buried beneath a mountain of paper.
“No, we damned well—”
“Kit.”
Hell and damnation. “All right,” he groused. “We’ll be back down for dinner.”
∞∞∞
“That wasn’tsobad, was it?” Phoebe asked, as she settled onto the couch beside him in the drawing room after dinner and extended a glass of port, of which he had been in dire need.
“I have potato mash in my hair,” Chris said as he took a long drink.
“Yes, well, sometimes the children can get a bit…exuberant.”She took a sip of her tea, and nudged his shoulder with her own. “But truly. You can bear it for just one week out of the year, can’t you?”
“I havepotato mashin myhair.” Another nudge, and he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Yes,” he sighed. “I can bear it for a week.” Since he couldn’t imagine another time in which it would be deemed appropriate to shove children down hills. “You’re doing all the shopping in the future, though.”
“Deal.” Her lips touched his cheek. “I do love them,” she said. “But I will be so very glad to be home. With no shrieking or caterwauling or squabbles. Just us.”
Thank God for that. “I can manage a week out of the year,” he said. “Perhaps the occasional—theveryoccasional—breakfast. But for the rest of it, you, me, and a turtle is my limit.”
The youngest of the children had been sent off to bed, but that still left an even dozen who had been permitted to stay up, and who, in the interests of a harmonious family Christmas, had been allowed to wander about until it was time for everyone to retire. The chaos of dinner had muted to the pleasantly drowsy atmosphere—the soft chatter of conversation and the clink of glasses.
“They like you,” Phoebe said in a soft murmur, with a satisfied smile. “My family, I mean to say.”
Good God. “Even the children?” he asked in low tones of horror.
“Especiallythe children.”
Chris bit back a sigh.Uncle Christopher.Well, he supposed he’d been called worse. “I suppose I could…grow to like them,” he said. “Eventually.”
