Regency Christmas Wishes(117)

Janet shook her head, then looked at Cecilia shyly. “Not now. I think I will go find Lucinda and David. Did they mention where they were headed?”

“Your sister said something about the south orchard.”

“Oh, yes! There is wonderful holly near the fence.” She left the room as quickly as she had come into it.

“Someone needs to do these letters,” Cecilia told herself when the house was quiet. She sat down at the desk and looked at the last one Janet had written. She picked up the pen to continue, then set it down, with no more desire to do the job than Lady Janet, evidently. She decided to go below stairs, and see if Lord Trevor had carried out his threat to find silver to polish.

She laughed out loud when she entered the servants’ dining room to see Lord Trevor, an apron around his waist, sleeves rolled up, rubbing polish on an epergne that was breathtaking in its ugliness. He looked up and grinned at her. “Did ye ever see such a monstrosity?” He looked around her. “And where are my nieces and nephew? Isn’t this supposed to be the time I have ordained for my prosy talk on gratitude and sibling affection?” He put down the cloth, and leaned across the table toward her. “Or is this the time when you scold me roundly for abandoning you to the lions upstairs?”

“I should,” she told him as she found an apron on a hook and put it around her middle. “Now don’t bamboozle me. Did you leave me to face Lady Janet alone when that letter came from her dearly beloved?”

“I cannot lie,” he began.

“Of course you can,” she said, interrupting him. “You are a barrister, after all.”

He slapped his forehead. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“You did,” she agreed, picking up a cloth. “For a man who fearlessly stalks the halls of Old Bailey, defending London’s most vulnerable, you’re remarkably cowardly.”

“Guilty as charged, mum,” he replied cheerfully. “I could never have soothed those ruffled feathers, but it appears that you did.” He turned serious then. “And did my graceless niece apologize, too?”

“She is not so graceless, sir!” Cecilia chided. “Some people are more tried and sorely vexed by holidays and coming events than others. We did conclude that Sir Lysander is still the best of men, even though he dares not brave epidemics. We have also resolved to make some amends to Lucinda.” She dipped the knife she had been polishing into the water bath. “I, sir, have freed you from the necessity of a prosy lecture! May I return to Bath?”

“No. You promised to stay,” he reminded her, and handed her a spoon.

“I’m not needed now,” she pointed out, even as she began to polish it. “Hopefully, Lord and Lady Falstoke will be here at Christmas, which will make the dower house decidedly crowded, unless the repairs at the manor can be finished by then. You will have ample time to get to know your nieces and nephew better, and do you know, I think they might not be as ungrateful as you seem to think.”

He nodded, and concentrated on the epergne again. She watched his face, and wondered why he seemed to become more serious. Isn’t family good cheer what you want? she asked herself.

It was a question she asked herself all that afternoon as she watched him grow quieter and more withdrawn. When the children came back—snow-covered, shivering, but cheerful—from gathering greenery, she watched uneasily how he had to force himself to smile at them. All through dinner, while Davy outlined his plans for the holly, and his sister planned an expedition to the kitchen in the morning to make Christmas sweets, he sat silent, staring at nothing in particular.

He is a man of action, she decided, and unaccustomed to the slower pace of events in country living. He must chafe to return to London. She stared down at her own dinner as though it writhed, then gave herself a mental shake. That couldn’t be it. Hadn’t he told her earlier that both King’s Bench and Common Pleas were not in session? He had also declared that was true of Magistrate’s Court, where most of his clients ended. Why could he not relax and enjoy the season, especially since he had come so far, and met with pleasant results so easily? Even after she told him before dinner that Janet had seemed genuinely contrite and willing to listen, he hadn’t received the news with any enthusiasm. It was as though he was gearing himself up for a larger struggle. She wished she knew what it was.

Once the children were in bed, she wanted to ask him, but she knew she would never work up the nerve. Instead, she went into the sitting room to read. He joined her eventually, carrying a letter. He sat down and read through the closely written page again. “Maria writes to say that my brother is much better now, and will be home on Christmas Day,” he told her.