According to Jack, Annie had not missed a single monthly tour since her first experience four years ago.
“Do you think you might like to be an astronomer someday?” Désirée asked her.
“I would if I could have an orrery. Mrs. Pringle has an orrery.” Annie turned to her father. “Can I have a mechanical solar system?”
“No.” He pointed to her plate. “Eat your snails.”
“Escargot,” she corrected sweetly, then winked at Désirée. “And that was theapéritif.”
It was hard not to snicker.
“I want to be famous someday,” Frederick announced.
Jack arched his brows. “Famous for doing what?”
Frederick frowned. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Famous for being the slowest eater in the world.” Annie stoleasperges mauvesfrom her brother’s plate. “Make haste, or we’ll be late.”
“You know all the stars already,” Frederick grumbled. “And the first half of the tour is make-believe.”
But before long, they were bundled in hats and coats and scarves, and heading outside into the chilly night air.
“Where are the geese?” Annie cried when they came to the edge of the stream.
“It’s cold,” Jack said gently. “Perhaps they’ve migrated to—”
“There!” Frederick pointed up ahead at six white geese, crouched beneath an enclave of bushes in sight of the water.
Désirée squinted her eyes. “What are they doing?”
“Laying eggs,” Annie squealed, clasping her mittens together and spinning around. “They’re going to have a bigger family, too!”
Désirée shot a quizzical glance at Jack.
He lifted a shoulder and herded his children forward. “Come along. Nobody likes to be stared at when they’re trying to lay an egg.”
As they stepped from the private Skeffington property into the castle’s public park, a couple Désirée did not recognize smiled at them as they crossed paths.
“Happy Christmas!” they sang out.
Tourists, then, enticed to Cressmouth by the promise of eternal Yuletide.
“Happy Christmas,” Jack and his children cheerfully chorused back.
The couple looked expectantly at Désirée.
Very well. She would play along. “Happy Christmas.”
“Ooh,” cooed the woman. “How exotic. Where are you from?”
Désirée clenched her teeth. No matter how hard she tried, something about herRs never failed to give her away.
“Scotland,” Annie replied before Désirée could answer. “We’re Highlanders.”
The woman blinked in confusion as her husband hurried along down the path.
“It’s not nice to lie to strangers,” Jack chastised his daughter quietly.
