***
Christmas at Thornwood Park was, by unanimous agreement, a magnificent disaster.
Lady Fordshire had arrived a week before the holiday, bringing with her enough luggage to outfit a small armyand enough opinions to overwhelm a much larger one. She had immediately taken charge of the household, reorganising the kitchens, redirecting the decorations, and offering helpful suggestions about Eleanor's upbringing that Harriet received with gritted-teeth patience.
"She means well," Sebastian said, for the fourteenth time, as they dressed for dinner on Christmas Eve.
"She means to drive me to madness."
"That too."
"She told Mrs. Patterson that Eleanor should be weaned by now. Eleanor is eighteen months old. She barely tolerates solid food."
"Your mother raised two wonderful children. She has opinions."
"She haswrongopinions." Harriet fastened her earrings with unnecessary force. "And she keeps asking when we're going to give Eleanor a sibling."
Sebastian winced. That was a sore subject.
The truth was, they had been trying with a quiet hope that another child might come. So far, it hadn't.
"She doesn't mean to be insensitive," Sebastian said.
"I know. That's what makes it worse." Harriet turned to face him, her expression softening. "I'm sorry. I'm being difficult."
"You're being a daughter whose mother is staying in her house and rearranging her silver. That's not being difficult. That's being human."
"I love her. I do. But sometimes…"
"Sometimes you want to lock her in the wine cellar until Epiphany?"
Harriet laughed, the tension breaking. "Something like that."
Sebastian crossed to her, taking her hands. "One more week. Then she goes back to Fordshire Park, and we have the house to ourselves again."
"One more week."
"We can survive one more week."
"I hope you're right."
***
Christmas dinner was chaotic, crowded, and completely wonderful.
They had invited the local gentry, Sir William and Lady Thornton, the Reverend Mr. Cole and his wife, the Hartleys from the neighboring estate. The dining room was full of candlelight and conversation, the table groaning with food, Eleanor presiding over the chaos from her high chair with the air of a tiny, tyrannical queen.
"She has your temperament," Lady Fordshire observed, watching Eleanor reject her mashed turnips by the simple expedient of throwing them at the nearest footman.
"So everyone keeps telling me," Harriet said dryly.
"It's a compliment, darling. Spirited girls become formidable women."
"I was hoping she might be slightly less formidable. Just for variety."
"Where would be the fun in that?"
The dinner progressed through multiple courses, the conversation flowing easily. Sebastian found himself relaxing into the warmth of good company, the pleasure of hosting and the simple joy of abundance shared.
