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“Oh dear,” Abby Bennington said. “What now?”

Mrs. Cunningham jumped to her feet and clapped her hands to draw everyone’s attention. She addressed the whole room when she had it.

“We must have some entertainment this evening,” she said. “Not card playing or charades, though. We will have an impromptu concert in the music room instead. Nothing too elaborate. Nothing to make anyone panic or protest a lack of time to prepare. There are enough of us here to provide a variety of types of entertainment, and there is surely plenty of talent. I know there are several musicians among us. Lady Stephanie, for example, sings. There can be vocal and instrumental pieces, dance, recitation, magic, comedy—whatever will provide a few minutes of enjoyment, in fact. Do not be shy. None of us are professionals or professional critics. There are several different musical instruments in the music room. No one is confined to using just the pianoforte. They are used by the various music groups that come here to hold workshops and retreats, but they belong to us, so feel free to use any of them.”

There was a small smattering of applause. There was a somewhat larger chorus of groans.

“It will be fun, Camille,” the Earl of Riverdale said. “Provided none of us expect perfection, that is. I know I do not.”

A few grumbles mingled with murmurs of assent.

“Do we have to, Cam?” her brother Harry asked.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “We do. That does not mean every single one of us must perform, but there must be a significant number. The rest of us can provide the enthusiastic audience.”

“I volunteer for that role,” Lord Molenor said. “You will never have seen enthusiasm to compare with mine, Camille.”

“You have not seen me be enthusiastic yet, Thomas,” the Reverend Kingsley said. “I excel at it. I would win an award for it if there were a contest.”

“I will draw up the program, Camille,” Lady Dirkson said. “All of you who are willing to share your talents may let me know. As soon as possible, please.”

“May there be dancing afterward, Mama?” Sarah Cunningham asked hopefully. “The music room is big enough, and it is Christmas Day. Oh, please, please say yes. Papa? May there be?”

“Yes!” Josephine Archer’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Dancing. May I dance too, Aunt Camille? It is going to be forever before I am allowed to dance at a ton ball. Oh, do put your quizzing glass down, Papa. It makes your eye look hideously distorted.”

The Duke of Netherby raised his eyebrows but refrained from either reprimanding his daughter or lowering his glass.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Cunningham said. “And everyone will be allowed to dance. Even the toddlers if they wish. We do not observe any strict rules of etiquette in this house.”

“That sort of statement coming from Camille is music to my ears,” Stephanie heard the marchioness murmur to her mother. “No one was a higher stickler than Camille was before her father died and she lost everything with the discovery that she was not his legitimate daughter. No one could ever have dreamed at the time that such a disaster would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to her.”

“Now.” Viscountess Dirkson had come to stand before their group, a pad of paper already held in one of her hands, a pencil in the other poised above it. “Do you have any particular suggestions, Camille? Or did you think that far ahead before conceiving your impulsive idea for our mutual entertainment?”

Mrs. Cunningham laughed. “Well, you can begin your list with Lady Stephanie Ware, Aunt Matilda,” she said. “Everyone simply must hear the voice I heard all too briefly at Ravenswood last summer. I have not given any thought to who will accompany her, but there must be any number of people here who will be willing to oblige. Perhaps you have a suggestion of your own, Stephanie.”

Stephanie drew breath to suggest Nicholas, though she had had no opportunity to ask if he would be willing. He had been a talented pianist when he was a boy and probably still was. If not Nicholas, then Jennifer. Or almost anyone else in her family. They had all learned to play, some more successfully than others.

But Viscountess Dirkson spoke up before she could. “Might I recommend Bertrand?” she said as she wrote Stephanie’s name at the head of her list. “I have heard him play. And look, he is right here to give an answer.”

He was standing at the sideboard, well within earshot, pouring coffee into two cups from the large urn standing there.

“Oh, but I—” Stephanie said.

She was too late. Viscount Watley had indeed heard and turned his head sharply. Their eyes met, his unsmiling.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said, his tone surely giving the lie to his words.

“Splendid. That is one item settled,” Lady Dirkson said briskly, writing his name on her pad. “I have heard that you play the harp, Lady Stratton. I do not doubt it is true. You are Welsh, after all. There is a harp in the music room, is there not, Camille?”

“There is indeed,” Mrs. Cunningham said. “Though it rarely gets played, alas.”

“I will be delighted to play it,” Gwyneth said.

“Splendid,” Lady Dirkson said again after adding to her list. “As soon as I have my list made, I will draw up a schedule for those who will need to practice in the music room. All the musicians, that is. Everyone else can find a private room elsewhere.”

She moved on to another group.

“Matilda can resist any temptation except the impulse to organize,” the marchioness said fondly, shaking her head. “The family has been at her mercy for as far back as I can remember. Her benevolent mercy, I must add. Louise and Mildred have always been her willing cohorts.”