There was nothing he could say. No one would have heard him anyway. The coach slowed, and the door was pulled open, and his wife flew into the many welcoming arms of her enormous family.
“Rexford,” a tall, thin, dour gentleman said when he saw Jonathan descending from the carriage.
“Laughton,” Jonathan said, acknowledging his wife’s brother-in-law with a nod. He watched as her adoring relatives engulfed his wife. “Been here long?”
“A week,” Laughton said glumly. “You’re just in time. You missed the traditional family musicale, where the children show off their progress on the flute, pianoforte, and harp. Tonight they’re holding the traditional charades party. The costumed pantomime’s tomorrow night. Got an evening of dancing set for after that. Parties every night until Christmas, and then there’s the round of visiting to be done.”
“Yes, I see. So Pamela said it would be.” Jonathan didn’t have time to say more. His wife flew out of the pack of her relatives, grabbed his hand, and dragged him to them in order to reintroduce him to everyone he hadn’t seen since his wedding. With her six siblings and their spouses, their children, a covey of cousins, aunts and uncles, and old family friends to be greeted, it was snowing heavily by the time the introductions were done. No one but Jonathan seemed to notice.
“And you’ll be my king,” Pamela said as she adjusted her paste tiara.
“I should rather not,” Jonathan said, picking up his pasteboard crown and staring at it. “That is to say, I’m really not very good at pantomimes.”
“You must,” she said firmly. “Everyone will be in costume . . .” Her eyes grew wide. “I mean, I wish you would try. Please do put it on. You don’t have to act in the pantomime but you do have to look as though you’d take part.” She raised the crown and set it lightly on his head, then tilted it so it sat rakishly on his close-cropped curls. “Oh, don’t you look regal! Far better than any of the Hanovers.”
He smiled. “That’s not much of a compliment.”
“Oh, please,” she said. “It means so much to Mama. If you don’t, she’ll take it as further evidence that you don’t like her. Try as I might, I can’t convince her that is just your way.”
“What is just my way?”
“You know,” she said, twitching a shoulder, making the filmy gauze of her princess’s costume seem to float around her, “your reserved manner. We’re a convivial group, and she thinks anyone who doesn’t talk sixteen to the dozen is disapproving.” She glanced up at his reflection in the mirror before her. “You don’t disapprove, do you?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “No, I do not. What is there to disapprove of? All right, I’ll be a king. And I’ll try to talk more. Are you happy?”
She spun around and hugged him. “Oh, so very happy now, my dear! Isn’t this the best Christmas?”
He didn’t answer. It was not. It was very far from it, at least for him. But she was ecstatic, and that actually made him even less happy. This was their second day at her parents’ home, and she’d been busy from morning to evening, visiting with her family. There was room for all of them, and it was a huge family. The manor was a rambling old house, made up of rooms that had been cobbled together by her ancestors as the spirit moved them and their family increased. They had been fruitful and so the house had multiplied, until now it was a welter of styles. It was not, Jonathan supposed, uncomfortable. But neither was it the sort of place that he had ever called home, or wanted to. It lacked grace and style, both of which were things he always sought.
Though his wife was clearly thrilled to be there, Jonathan felt severely out of place. He often found himself wondering how such a bright and lovely person as his bride could have sprung from such beginnings. This made him feel guilty, because he didn’t like to think of himself as stiff, or cold, or an elitist, and everything in this house made him feel more like one.
Viscount Rexford knew he was a man of consequence, but also knew that it was a damnable thing to be aware of that consequence. So he tried to fit in, but the longer he stayed at his in-laws’ home, the more of a stranger he felt. He didn’t mind the myriad sticky-fingered infants, and actually enjoyed the time he passed with the older children. But there were so many of them, and they had so many activities and friends present, that he didn’t see them that often or for that long. Which was too bad, because they were the only ones here he could have a good conversation with, or at least conversations that didn’t involve something that had happened the last time Christmas had come to the squire’s home. And his wife had no time for him at all.