A Yuletide Invitation. Christine Merrill
It does not matter what he meant to do. I do not need an invitation to visit my own home.’ And it would serve Harry right if she chose to put in an appearance without warning him. ‘It is not as if we need to go for the duration of the party, after all. A day or two …’
‘All three of us? Under the same roof?’ Tremaine shuddered. ‘Thank you, no. Your idea is even worse than his. But if you wish to visit Harry, you are free to go without me.’
‘If I visit Harry alone, then people will have the wrong impression,’ she insisted.
‘That you have seen the error of your ways and are returning to your husband?’
‘Exactly. But if we visit as a couple then it will be understood. And we will not go for the holiday. We need stay only a few hours at most.’
He covered his brow with his hand. ‘You would have me traipsing halfway across England for a visit of a few hours? We would spend days on the road, Elise. It simply is not practical.’
‘All right, then. We will stay long enough to win Harry’s silly bet and gain his promise that he will seek a divorce.’ She tapped the letter with her hand. ‘Although he probably meant the offer in jest, he has put it in writing. And he would never be so base as to go back on his word if you win.’
If Harry was willing to lose without a fight, then she had been right all along: their marriage was of no value to him, and he wanted release as much as she wished to set him free. But she would never know the truth if she could not persuade Nicholas to play along.
Then a thought struck her, and she gathered her courage along with her momentum. ‘And afterwards we will return to London, and I will give you your Christmas present.’
‘I have given you my opinion of the holidays, Elise. It will not be necessary to exchange gifts, for I do not mean to get you anything in any case.’
‘I was thinking,’ she said, ‘of a more physical token of gratitude.’ She hoped that the breathiness in her tone would be taken for seduction, and not absolute terror at making the final move that would separate her permanently from the man she loved. But if her love was not returned, and there were no children to care for, then there was no reason to turn back. She ignored her rioting feelings and gave Nicholas a slow smile.
Nicholas stared at her, beginning to comprehend. ‘If we visit your husband for Christmas? You cannot mean …’
‘Oh, yes, darling. I do.’ She swallowed and gave an emphatic nod. ‘I think it is time to prove that my marriage is every bit as dead as I claim. If you are convinced that Harry carries a torch for me, or that I still long for his attention, then see us together. I will prove to you that your ideas are false. And if it is true that he wants me back, your presence will prove to him that it is hopeless. We will come away from Lincolnshire with everything sorted. And afterwards we will go somewhere we can celebrate in private. I will be most enthusiastically grateful to have the matter settled.’ And she leaned forward and kissed him.
There was none of the careful planning in this kiss that had been in the others, for she had taken him unawares. She took advantage of his lack of preparation to see to it that, when their lips parted from each other, his defences were destroyed and he was quite willing to see her side of the argument.
When he reached for her again, she pulled out of his grasp. ‘After,’ she said firmly. ‘We cannot continue as we are with this hanging over our heads. After we have settled with Harry, we will come back to town and make a fresh start. You may not enjoy Christmas, but I shall make sure that the New Year will hold pleasant memories.’
CHAPTER THREE
HARRY crossed the threshold of Anneslea Manor with his usual bonhomie. It had always been his way to treat everyone, from prince to stablehand, as though he were happy to be in their presence and wished them to be happy as well. If Rosalind Morley had not been in such a temper with him, she could not have helped but greet him warmly. She could feel her anger slipping away, for it was hard not to be cheerful in his presence.
Although his wife had managed it well enough.
‘Dear sister!’ He held out open arms to her, smiling.
She crossed hers in front of her chest and stood blocking his entrance, in no mood to be charmed. ‘Half-sister, Harry.’
‘But no less dear for it.’ He was not the least bit dissuaded, and hugged her despite her closed arms, leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Did you receive my letter?’
‘I most certainly did. And a very brief missive it was. It arrived three days ago, missing all of the important details, and strangely late in the season. I wish to know what you are about, sending such a thing at such a time.’
He tipped his head to the side. ‘Sending plans for Christmas? I should think this would be the most logical time to send them. It is nearing the day, after all.’
‘Aha!’ She poked him in the chest with a finger. ‘You know it, then? You have not forgotten the date?’
‘December twentieth,’ he answered, unperturbed.
‘Then you do not deny that in the next forty-eight hours a horde will descend upon us?’
‘Hardly a horde, Rosalind. I invited a few people for Christmas, that is all.’
‘It will seem like a horde,’ she snapped, ‘once they are treated to what is in the larder. You said to expect guests. But you cannot tell me who, or when, or even exactly how many.’
‘It was a spur-of-the-moment invitation, to the gentlemen at the club,’ he said, and his gaze seemed to dart from hers. ‘I am not sure how many will respond to it.’
‘And what am I to give them when they arrive? Napoleon had more food in Russia than we have here.’
‘No food?’ He seemed genuinely surprised by the idea that planning might be necessary before throwing a two-week party. If this was his normal behaviour, then Rosalind began to understand why his wife had been cross enough to leave him.
‘With Elise gone, Harry, the house has been all but shut up. The servants are airing the guest rooms, and I have set the cook to scrambling for what is left in the village, but you cannot expect me to demand some poor villager to give us his goose from the ovens at the baker. We must manage with whatever is left. It will be thin fare.’
‘I am sure the guests will be content with what they have. We have a fine cellar.’
‘Good drink and no food is a recipe for disaster,’ she warned, trying not to think of how she had learned that particular lesson.
‘Do not worry so, little one. I’m sure it will be fine. Once they see the tree they will forget all about dinner.’
‘What tree?’ She glanced out of the window.
‘The Christmas tree, of course.’
‘This is some custom of Elise’s, is it?’
‘Well, of course.’ He smiled as though lost in memory. ‘She decorates a pine with paper stars, candles and gingerbread. That sort of thing. I have grown quite used to it.’
‘Very well for you, Harry. But this is not anything that I am accustomed to. Father allows only the most minimal celebration. I attend church, of course. And he writes a new sermon every Advent. But he does not hold with such wild abandon when celebrating the Lord’s birth.’
Harry rolled his eyes at her, obviously amused by her lack of spirit. ‘It is rather pagan, I suppose. Not in your father’s line at all. But perfectly harmless. And very much fun—as is the Yule Log. You will see.’
‘Will I?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘I doubt I shall have time to enjoy it if I am responsible for bringing it about. Because, Harry, someone must find this tree and have it brought to the house. And there is still the question of finding a second goose, or perhaps a turkey. If I am to feed a