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Estelle, still as vibrantly beautiful as Stephanie remembered her from that London ballroom six years ago, was smiling warmly at Mama and reminding her of that occasion when they had met all too briefly.

But the moment had come. That face-to-face moment.

Stephanie had steeled herself for it all autumn. She had imagined it, planned for it, rehearsed exactly how she would look at him and what she would say.

The bright smile with which she had been greeting everyone else was frozen on her face. He was inclining his head courteously. He was still breathtakingly, intimidatingly gorgeous. But what had she expected? That he would have changed in less than five months?

“How do you do, Lady Stephanie,” he said. His words were perfectly polite and quite, quite icy.

“Oh, very well, indeed,” she said in a voice that sounded loud and juvenile and overhearty. She winced inwardly.

His sister came to her rescue by stepping forward to hug her and remind her too of their one meeting in that London ballroom.

“Six years ago,” Stephanie said.

“Can it really be that long?” the countess said. “But it is lovely to see you again and on such a joyful occasion. Was it not a lovely wedding? Winnie, bless her heart, looks very pretty indeed in her usual understated way, and your brother looks stunningly handsome in his uniform.”

“You are not about to weep again, are you, Estelle?” her husband said. “I must warn you that I am all out of dry handkerchiefs. Do you have one, Bertrand?”

“Oh, what nonsense,” she said, tapping her brother’s hand as he patted his pockets and grinned at her. “Don’t all women cry at weddings? Did you weep, Lady Stephanie? And you, Lady Stratton?”

“Guilty,” Mama said. “But I claim particular status as mother of the groom.”

Three older ladies had moved up, and the others went on their way to greet Sir Ifor and Lady Rhys. The new arrivals introduced themselves as sisters of the late Earl of Stratton and former sisters-in-law of the Marchioness of Dorchester.

The initial ordeal of coming face to face with Viscount Watley again was over, and Stephanie was free to enjoy the rest of the wedding and Christmas and, indeed, the rest of her life. Though perhaps she still owed him an apology.

She smiled at the older ladies and concentrated upon learning names and relationships. It was not easy, but sort them all out she must. She and her family were to spend Christmas with most of these people.

The eldest sister was Lady Dirkson. Then came the Dowager Duchess of Netherby. The youngest was Lady Molenor. Behind them came Viscount Dirkson and Lord Molenor, both of whom smiled at Stephanie and her mother and shook hands with Matthew while the ladies exclaimed with satisfaction over the husband Winifred had found for herself.

Finally, they all took their places at the long tables. Stephanie found herself in a preassigned seat between Lord Hodges on her left and Peter Wayne, son of Lord and Lady Molenor, on her right. He stood to introduce himself and hold back her chair, a pleasant-looking young man about her own age. She reveled in the festive scene about her and the delicious banquet laid out before them and the conversations she had with the two gentlemen, both of whom were interesting and amiable.

It really was not going to be easy to sort out the Westcotts and their relationships. It was a complex family, as Winifred had explained to her during the summer. But it was fascinating to meet them all now in person. She tried to remember names and the faces to which they belonged. Peter Wayne helped and was able to add a few details. Mr. Bennington, for example, formerly Lieutenant-Colonel Bennington, husband of the former Abigail Westcott, was also the natural son of Viscount Dirkson, born before his first marriage. Viscount Dirkson also had children of that marriage, none of whom were here today. Peter also explained something Winifred had already told her last summer: that the three senior Westcott sisters, his mother included, were often affectionately referred to within the family as the triumvirate because all too often they tried to organize the lives of their family members even when they did not need organizing and to matchmake when the two persons concerned had no wish to be matched with each other.

“They fail far more often than they succeed,” Winifred had said fondly. “And they can leave a great deal of embarrassment in their wake. But those facts do not deter them.”

“My brothers and I have so far evaded their clutches,” Peter said. “Boris, my elder brother, met his wife without any help at all from our mother or our aunts. Yet it appears to be a perfectly happy marriage. Ivan and I hope to be as fortunate when the time comes.”

They both laughed, but the three ladies seemed perfectly ordinary, amiable ladies to Stephanie. She liked them.

She looked forward to getting to know the family better over Christmas. Uncle Charles and Aunt Marian Ware and Clarence and Charity were to return home early tomorrow to join their families for Christmas, as were Uncle George Greenfield, Mama’s brother, and Aunt Kitty. They wished to spend Christmas with Grandmama and Grandpapa, whose advanced age and frail health had prevented them from coming to the wedding. Sir Ifor and Lady Rhys would also return home in time for Sir Ifor to play the organ for the Christmas services in Boscombe.

But the immediate family was to gather at the Cunningham home to celebrate Christmas, though they were not staying there. Devlin had taken rooms for them at one of the best hotels in Bath. A number of the Westcotts were staying at another. The house was going to be very crowded during the daytime, however, especially when one considered all the children, of whom there were hordes. And by next Christmas, there would be two more. Lydia, Harry Westcott’s wife, was noticeably increasing. And Gwyneth was too. She was hoping the new baby would be a son and a spare for Gareth, the heir to Ravenswood, though Devlin always reminded her that he had perfectly worthy brothers to step into the breach if it ever became necessary, as heaven forbid it would.

It was going to be a crowded, busy, potentially bewildering Christmas, then. But Stephanie looked forward to it. She loved crowds, and she loved children. Most of all, though, she loved Christmas. As for the fact that Viscount Watley would be there too, well, that much-dreaded first meeting was behind her, and surely they could be civil when they could not avoid each other altogether.

She shivered inwardly, however, at the remembered ice in his voice when they had spoken earlier. She wondered if anyone else had noticed.

She laughed over a story Lord Hodges had just told her and looked along the table to catch Nicholas’s eye. He smiled back at her and winked. She had never seen him look so happy.

Soon after the meal and the speeches were done, Nicholas and Winifred left to walk to the house on the nearby Royal Crescent that the Reverend Michael Kingsley, brother of the Marchioness of Dorchester, had owned since the passing of their mother a year or so ago. He lived somewhere in Dorsetshire, where his longtime parish was situated, but he had been staying at the house here for the past few nights. Tonight and for the next two, however, he and his wife were going to take Winifred’s room at the Cunningham home so the bride and groom could have the house on the Crescent to themselves.

Everyone else stayed for another hour or so before going their separate ways until tomorrow, when they would converge upon the Cunningham house to help prepare it for Christmas, which Mrs. Cunningham declared they had not even thought of until now, Winifred’s wedding having consumed their every waking moment for at least the past month. Yet tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and it usually took her a week—at least—to get everything ready.

Stephanie liked those members of the Westcott family she had met already, and she believed she had been introduced to or had introduced herself to all of them. The Duchess of Netherby and Lady Hodges, her particular friend, had invited Stephanie and Pippa to go shopping with them on fashionable Milsom Street tomorrow morning before they went up to the house.

“Some last-minute window shopping is all it will be, I promise,” Lady Hodges had said with a twinkle in her eye. “Unless, that is, I should happen to see a bonnet I cannot resist.”