“It’s just… a lot of change. And Christmas is upon us, and it will be my first without my family.” Katherine’s answer was small, sorrowful. I had not considered that she might be having difficulty adjusting. Surely that would ease with time.
“Will Kit not be joining you?”
“I had not asked,” Katherine said. “Lady Grayson certainly would not approve.”
“Surely she could not object to you including your brother in the festivities.”
“She objects to everything I do.”
Certainly, that was a falsehood. Obviously, Mother had not yet warmed to Katherine. But she could not possibly object to the small changes my wife had made to the house.
“I am positive that is untrue. Who could object to you? Perhaps she is having difficulty adjusting herself. It must be quite a change for her, to go from mistress of her home to a guest in it. Have you tried to include her? Seek her advice on matters?”
I quite liked this friend, all very sensible suggestions.
“I suppose I should try to do that. Enough about me. How are your efforts to prepare for your Season?” Katherine asked.
Did ladies not discuss the marital bed? At least in careful euphemisms? Feedback would have been appreciated.
“As well as can be expected. I will never finish all my tailoring and improvements in time.”
The conversation never returned to our marriage. I lingered, listening through a mind-dulling discussion of sewing notions and embroidery techniques. Hovering until long after all speech had ceased and Katherine’s friend had taken to casing the bookshelves, punctuated only by brief expressions of delight at whatever she found.
At last, I turned to the shelf where I stored the drinks, pouring the scotch with a heavy hand. I was certainly not brooding while I sat behind the great wooden desk, feet propped atop, wondering why Katherine had directed her friend away from questions about our marriage with such determination.
* * *
KATE
Juliet’s visit was such a relief. Even though she confirmed what I already knew about the unfortunate nature of the gowns and nightdresses that my aunt had insisted on. She was a breath of fresh air.
Unfortunately, she also provided me with a source of some sympathy for Lady Grayson. It would be difficult to watch the home I’d decorated and loved, full of things I had carefully cultivated, ransacked for parts. Of course, now I was left with the actual task of trying to include her while still carving a place for myself in a house that seemed to have no space for me.
That was the chafing feeling I hadn’t been able to identify. Not until now. Nothing here was mine. Not my bedroom, slightly improved by new bedding, but still not mine. Not my closet, still filled with unflattering colors, itchy lace, and tangled ribbons.
I hadn’t noticed, not until Jules eased the ache that had formed, but I missed my family. I longed for my home. These were unproductive feelings. This was my new family and my new home. I just had to find a way to make both of themfeellike mine.
Between over-small bites of partridge—the first thing that Mrs. Hudson had made that was not to my taste—I threw the question to my companions. “Lady Juliet reminded me that Christmas is nearly upon us. Do you have any particular family traditions?”
It was Hugh who answered, distractedly pushing the partridge around on his plate—we won’t be having that again, then. “Tom will join us on Christmas Eve and stay until Boxing Day.”
“That’s wonderful. Does Michael join as well?”
The dowager choked on the overdry bird, but Hugh gave a curt, “no.” As if that were all there was to the discussion. Did the man have anywhere else to go? It was not as though he chose his parentage.
Since Jules put the idea in my head this afternoon, I was desperate to host Kit for Christmas. In retrospect, I probably should have left the infamous Michael out of the discussion to ease the way for my own ends. “Do you suppose there might be room for one more? I would like to invite my brother while he remains in town.”
Both responded at the same time. The dowager’s insistent, “absolutely not, there will be no room at all,” overshadowed her son’s more measured response.
“I see no reason why you should not. It is Christmas after all.” It was the first time my husband had sided with me over his mother. It warmed something inside me, all the way to my toes. Distracted with my delight, I took a normal-sized bite of partridge and had to choke it down.
She was undeterred by her son’s response. “The servants will want time off for the holidays. They cannot be feeding and caring for the whole of Lincolnshire whilst understaffed.”
Hugh swallowed hard against his bite of poultry. Without looking at me, he responded, “Apologies, Mother would know better than I what the staff can manage. I should defer to her superior expertise. Perhaps it would be better if you did not invite him.”
At once the few bites I had managed to choke down turned hard and cold in my stomach. Quickly, I buried my gaze in my plate, fighting back tears. His answer was all the crueler for the previous “yes”—more hateful for the seconds of hopeful cheer that had begun to rise.
Biting comments ran through my mind. To the dowager, “Is the staff not well trained enough to handle a single additional visitor?” “Would my brother be more welcome if he had a title?”
