The old man preened.
"Harrow for the Michaelmas term, is it?" Glenaire asked.
Lord Arthur worried his lower lip. "I fear so," he said at last.
"Don't fear it. It will serve them well," Glenaire answered.
"I can't tell you how relieved I am to send Charles off with his cousins. I went alone, and the first term felt like Hell." He and Glenaire caught eyes and let a happy memory pass between them.
"Friends matter. I agree," the marquess said. "You are blessed, both of you, to send them off with ready-made allies."
The conversation veered easily into remembered teachers, shared love—and distaste—for various subjects, and some of the happier times at school.
Will sent a footman to tell the boys they could join the family, and the three men rose. The earl felt satisfied with himself, until he put his hand to the door to the family parlor. Lord Arthur froze. He definitely had memories of the room they were about to enter, as he had made clear the last time.
Yes, now for the hard part.
Catherine enjoyed a private smile. One moment Sylvia stood, rigid and uncertain, near the doorway. The next, her son accosted her with a hug and an enthusiastic kiss. The duchess couldn't hold back a warm smile, but her expression reflected puzzlement and confusion. Charles grinned back and pointed up. Those mischief-makers hung mistletoe where it will catch anyone coming in the door.
Randy came in behind Charles. He looked apprehensive, but he stood on his toes to place a quick kiss on the duchess's cheek. "Joyeux Noël, Your Grace," he said, blushing furiously.
Freddy did the same, and the duchess allowed it.
Amazing.
Sylvia spun around, looking at Catherine as though to ask if the world had turned upside down. Before Catherine could speak, however, Glenaire came through the door.
Does a lady accost a gentleman under mistletoe? No power on earth could push Catherine to approach the aloof marquess. Her father followed behind, however, and she couldn't resist. "Happy Christmas, Papa," she said, with an affectionate kiss. The old man beamed back at her. "Happy Christmas, Daughter."
The sound of loud throat clearing came from the hallway. Lord Arthur stepped out of the way, to enable Will to enter. Catherine started to take a step back, but a firm hand took her wrist.
"Oh, no, you don't. Mistletoe rules," the earl laughed.
His mouth covered hers in a kiss that heated her to her toes, but managed to stay chaste enough for the audience. Catherine felt her world spin.
"Merry Christmas, Miss Wheatly," the earl whispered, searching her face. "I hope it is the happiest you've ever known." He released her hand, but not her heart. His eyes held hers. What an odd thing to say.
She felt relief when Will turned his eyes away to look at the dancing faces of three boys, and suggested they open gifts.
Songbird Cottage's modest gifts, framed watercolors, were well received. The duchess appeared touched by the pair of goldfinches in hers. "Chadbourn must have told you they are my favorite," she said.
"Actually, it was my idea," Charles said, proudly.
Will opened his gift to reveal a drawing of a humble English robin, head high. "I will treasure this," he murmured. Even the marquess seemed impressed with his painting of a sleek, black raven.
Once Lord Arthur thanked the earl and duchess for his pen set, all eyes turned to Catherine. "I can wait," she said. "I'm not sure the boys can."
The next moments were a riot of paper and exclamations. Freddy went into spasms of joy over a set of cavalry figures sized to match the miniature army in Charles's nursery. Randy grinned over a leather-bound copy of A Guide for Young Shepherds. Charles opened a copy of The War of the Roses and wrapped his uncle in an impulsive hug. Catherine initially suspected the duke could expect more luxurious gifts over the next twelve days, but doubt plagued her when Sylvia spoke.
"I've never known such a night in this house. Mistletoe, Chadbourn? Gifts?"
Pity filled Catherine. Could it be, this woman had never had a holiday party? Her father's next words wrung her heart.
"There never was a night like this. M'father didn't believe in celebrating. Church service, yes, but 'no pagan nonsense,' he would say." Lord Arthur sounded bitter. "I think the old man didn't want to spend a groat on family. It took my Mary to teach me how to make a family. Praise God for her." He smiled at Catherine sadly.
Silence greeted this statement. Even the boys looked at him, their expressions sad. Catherine couldn't find words. He had mourned her mother these five years, never more than at Christmas.
It was the duchess who spoke next. Her words startled Catherine. "Lord Arthur, you make her sound like a wonderful woman. Why did your father disapprove of her? Why was he so adamant we should avoid the pair of you?"
