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Seasonalgreenery with gold and scarlet ribbons adorned the elegant entry, filling the air with a pleasant pine aroma. A stunning Spode porcelain urn overflowing with cedar, holly, and fir stood majestically atop a marble-topped rosewood half table. Kissing boughs, heavy with white mistletoe berries, hung suspended from doorways by silver and gold ribbons, awaiting stolen kisses.

Hisheels echoed hollowly on the black and white Italian marble as he ventured forward a few more steps, unable to keep from craning his neck and gawking like a child at a circus.

Unlikemany aristocrats, Leonidas wasn’t a pretentious prick and had never hinted at his family’s wealth. The manor fairly oozed grandeur and opulence, but his friend stood there, looking for all the world like an ordinary chap happy to see his long-time friend.

Yes, indeed. I’m as out of my element as an engorged tick on KingGeorgeIV’s broad arse.

“Simms, our butler, is dealing with a situation in the kitchen. A kerfuffle regarding too much sampling of brandied fruit and tipsy maids. I believe there might’ve been tossing of said fruit involved.” Still smiling as if Leonidas had triumphed in a coup d'état, he shook his dark head. “I admit, I had doubts, and I swear a couple of minutes ago, you contemplated diving back in that miserable excuse of a coach.”

Leonidasjutted his chin toward the rickety equipage trundling down the drive before turning and disappearing onto the main track.

So, he had been watching Owen.

“I did, in truth.” A raspy chuckle escaped Owen. “But then I remembered you mentioned your cook made exceptional cinnamon buns, gingerbread men, Christmas pudding, and sugared almonds.” He patted his flat stomach with his free hand. “I do like my sweets.”

“Aye, I recall that about you, yet you never appear to gain weight. Must be your gargantuan size.” Leonidas stepped farther into the grand entry. He gave a mischievous wink. “I’d say the brandied fruit ought to be quite the thing too.”

“Don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure.” Owen shifted his bags.

“Come in and meet the family,” Leonidas urged. “You’re just in time for afternoon tea, and Mrs. Tastespotting, our cook, made several special holiday biscuits and tarts. This time of year, there are always extra treats to sample.”

Mamaonly ever made shortbread during the holidays—a tribute to her Scot’s ancestry and a testimony to Beauford’s parsimony. Though the earl paid their basic expenses, he hadn’t been generous with his purse. They’d managed by skimping and economizing, habits that Owen had carried into adulthood and still served him well.

Speakingover his shoulder, Leonidas shut the door with a firm snick. “We don’t eat supper until eight o’clock, which isn’t typical country hours, so tea is generally quite substantial. I’m sure you’re famished after the journey.”

AsOwen ate when he felt hungry and had never adhered to specific hours for mealtimes, he lifted a shoulder. Regardless, his stomach did gnaw rather persistently at his backbone at the moment. A sensation he’d grown accustomed to since hunger was a regular bedfellow.

Efficient, polite footmen in crisp crimson and gold livery took his two shoddy bags, treating the baggage with the reverence and consideration worthy of HisMajesty’s luggage.

“PerhapsI ought to tidy up a jot first.” Owen hadn’t a doubt the servants’ crisp livery was far costlier than his rumpled suit. However, the clothing the servants presently toted upstairs was only slightly better than the travel suit he wore.

He’dnever cared about current fashion, fancy waistcoats, expensive fabric, and assuredly didn’t give two farthings whether he tied his cravat in a waterfall or a ballroom knot.

“Nonsense. No need to change.” Leonidas shook his dark head again, still wearing that infuriatingly pleased-with-himself smile. “We don’t stand on formality around here, and you are expressly forbidden to address me or my brothers as my lord.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Besides, Grandmama doesn’t like her tea to grow cold.”

Affectionand a trace of awe leached into Leonidas’s voice when he mentioned his grandmother.

Owennever knew his grandmothers.

Rubbinghis nose, Leonidas chuckled. “She’s quite an eccentric old bird. I probably ought to have warned you. I beg you, don’t be surprised at anything she might say or ask. She’s quite beyond the pale and enjoys shocking people.”

“Yourparents are a duke and duchess.” Owen quirked a sardonic eyebrow and clasped his hands behind his back. A practice he’d developed in order to do something with his oversized hands. “I find it hard to fathom that they don’t strictly abide by all decorum. You are positive they won’t take exception to me addressing you with such familiarity?”

“Not at all, and I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised, my friend.” Leonidas slapped Owen’s shoulder. “My parents are genuinely warm people. You’ve nothing to fear or be ashamed of. No need to worry about their approval and all that trite rot that the ponces in London are so fond of.”

Leonidasknew Owen’s scandalous origins, that he was the by-blow of a governess and an earl.

Though, to the Earl of Beauford’s credit, he’d done the honorable thing and acknowledged his bastard son by paying for Owen’s upbringing and education. No more than he ought to have done after seducing an innocent girl and then dismissing her when her condition became known to the countess, who had only ever managed to produce three daughters.

Howthat circumstance had aggravated the old codger.

Beaufordfinally had his son, but Owen would never—could never—be his heir.

“I have the one thing Beauford covets above all else.” Mouth bent into a poignant smile, Mama would hug Owen before ruffling his thick, unruly hair. “You, my precious boy.” She’d kissed his cheek, the essence of lavender wafting from her pale skin. “AndI love you above all else.”

Nevertheless, the shame of her circumstances and the ostracism by her family had shattered her spirit, and she’d died just after his seventeenth birthday, leaving him alone in the world where bastards were as numerous as rats and mice and treated with the same abhorrence as the detested vermin.

Owenhad rebuffed Beauford’s overtures to visit and become acquainted with the man. He hadn’t shed a tear when the old sod died four years ago, ironically or perhaps aptly, on Owen’s fourth and twentieth birthday.