A Dukes of War Christmas
24 December, 1820
Ravenwood House
London, England
The Duke of Ravenwood strode into the entryway of his sprawling London residence to discover his wife waiting for him just inside the door.
“This flower reminds me of you.” He handed her a perfect rose he’d plucked from his greenhouse.
Eyes twinkling, Kate pointed at a spot above his head. “And this reminds me of you.”
Ravenwood glanced up to discover himself standing beneath a sprig of mistletoe. He wasted no time in slanting his mouth over hers for a kiss. In fact… by his calculation, at least half an hour remained before their friends began arriving for the Christmas Eve celebrations. If they were swift, surely there was enough time to—
“I know what you’re thinking,” Kate warned him, as she broke the kiss with a laugh.
He affected an angelic expression. “How could you possibly know?”
“Because I’m thinking the same thing.” She pressed her lips to the edge of his jaw and murmured, “Tonight. After the party.”
“Parties,” he corrected with a groan. “Remind me why I agreed to this?”
“Because you love your friends as much as you adore your sister.” She beckoned him into the front parlor, where they would soon be placing a yew tree.
He followed her into the parlor. Instead of sitting opposite her at the front bay window, he arranged himself to one side so that she could lean back against his chest as they waited for their friends.
“Are you certain this is respectable behavior, Your Grace?” she asked him with pretend shock.
He nuzzled her neck. “It’s our house. We don’t have to be respectable.”
“Thank heavens.” Kate snuggled into him. “How is your sister?”
“Unflappable,” he replied without hesitation. “Their soirée isn’t until this evening, but I’ll wager she’s already in the ballroom managing every last detail.”
“I’ll take that wager,” Kate said with a laugh. “Knowing Lady Amelia, she’ll have planned everything so well that there will be nothing left to supervise.”
Five years ago, Ravenwood’s sister had married Lord Sheffield, whose family had a long tradition of hosting extravagant Yuletide celebrations. For many, it was the fête of the Season, and absolutely not to be missed.
“Tonight is the eightieth annual Sheffield Christmas Eve ball,” he reminded his wife. “Amelia will definitely be overseeing every aspect.”
Indeed, the famous soirée was the reason all of their friends were taking a holiday in London. Ravenwood normally did his best to avoid Society crushes, but even he could not pass up an opportunity to see all of his old friends at one time.
As children, they had been inseparable. The lads had all gone to Eton together, and then Oxford. The girls stayed home to learn how to be ladies, but as soon as they were all old enough to enjoy a London Season, they’d fit together again as if no time had passed at all.
Until all the men but Ravenwood sailed off to fight Bonaparte.
“Are you thinking about the war again?” Kate murmured. “It’s Christmastide. The war is over. All of your friends are safe.”
Even after four-and-a-half years of marriage, his beautiful wife still surprised him with how perceptive she was.
“I know,” he said.
He supposed he was “lucky” that unexpectedly inheriting a dukedom had kept him from joining the military with the others.
They, too, were lucky. They’d come home. Scarred, perhaps, in ways both visible and invisible, but even the ravages of war had not stopped them from finding happiness and true love.
War had not won. Love was too powerful.
He held his wife a little tighter. “Happy Christmas, my love.”
“Not yet,” she teased him. “We can exchange Christmas wishes at midnight, once we’ve decorated the tree and successfully arrived at your sister’s ball.”
“Don’t let Sheffield hear you calling it Amelia’s ball,” he warned her with a laugh. “It’s his family’s tradition.”
“She’s a Sheffield now,” Kate protested. “And, I suspect, the primary reason the tradition has continued so brilliantly.”
“We should have had Amelia arrange our party, too. Where on earth are those footmen?” Ravenwood glanced over his shoulder at the empty place of honor across the parlor. “Our guests may find it difficult to decorate a tree that doesn’t exist.”
“It will be fine,” she assured him. “Probably fine. They have been gone a long time.”
“How reassuring,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“At least we have the Yule log,” Kate said brightly. “If all else fails…”
He burst out laughing. “We are not decorating a burning log with candles.”
“Because of the mess?”
“Because my sister would never let me live it down,” he admitted. “Besides, how will the Yule log smolder until Twelfth Night if it’s covered in wax?”
“Be honest,” she prodded him. “You want tonight to be perfect because you’re hoping it will become the First Annual Ravenwood Tree Party.”
He grinned, rather than respond. His wife already knew she was right.
As wonderful as it was that he and his friends had found love and settled down, Ravenwood could not help but miss them. Although he would never admit it aloud, he happened to think an annual Tree Party a splendid idea. It would be like picking up where they had left off.
When the friends were younger, they had gathered every year at Christmastide. As neighbors, it had been nothing but a short walk from one house to the next. The tradition had ceased when most of the group left for battle. Now that the war was over, perhaps it was the perfect time to start a new tradition.
Kate shot upright. “Someone’s here.”
Ravenwood’s heart thumped faster at the telltale sound of carriage wheels on the street outside. First a team of matched greys, then a gleaming black coach, came into view.
“Oliver and Grace!” they said in unison at the sight of the Earl of Carlisle’s family crest upon the carriage.
“Should we let the butler answer the door?” he asked.
“Absolutely not.” Her eyes sparkled. “We have to make certain every guest respects the bough of mistletoe above the door.”
“As you wish.” He helped his wife from the window seat and offered her his elbow. “To the mistletoe.”
“We should test it again, too,” Kate whispered. “To make sure it’s still working.”
Ravenwood’s lips quirked. His wife always did have the best ideas.
Five minutes later, they opened the door flushed with color and displaying a remarkable shortness of breath.
The Carlisles met them with warm greetings, each carrying a white candle in their hands.
“I can’t wait to decorate the tree,” Grace exclaimed in her charming American accent. “I hadn’t heard of the custom until I came to England. News of Queen Charlotte’s Christmastide habits didn’t make it to my small town.”
“You’ll have to wait at least one moment,” Kate said mischievously, and pointed above their heads.
The Carlisles glanced up, grinned at each other, and immediately busied themselves with a kiss.
“Now may we see the tree?” Grace asked when she came up for air.
“It’ll be here soon,” Kate promised. “Let the footmen take your outer garments, and let’s head to the parlor. I’ll show you where we plan to place it.”
“Where are Lord David and Lady Abigail?” Oliver asked, glancing about.
“In the nursery,” Ravenwood answered. “You can drop in to see them, but it’s best not to let those two get too close to candles.”
“Or to cups of tea,” Kate added. “Or rocks. Or grass. Or marmalade.”
“Someday you’ll find out,” Ravenwood promised Oliver, with a tone of dire warning. “Hide everything you don’t wish to be chewed, thrown, or slobbered upon.”
As she settled their guests in the parlor, Kate turned to Grace. “Did your mother receive our invitation?”
“I’m afraid not,” Grace said. “She and Captain Blackheart are off on another adventure.”
Oliver slanted her a look. “Please use his Christian name.”
“His pirate name is more romantic,” Grace protested.
“‘Captain Blackheart’ sounds romantic?” Ravenwood said doubtfully.
“See?” Oliver grinned. “I’m not the only one.”
“Men,” Kate stage-whispered to Grace in mock disgust. “Now tell me. Where are the romantic duo off to?”
“I’m not certain,” Grace admitted. “All Mother said was that a Royal Navy captain has positively identified Antarctica as a land mass. And then they were off.”
“To Antarctica?” Ravenwood said in disbelief.
“Probably not,” Grace admitted. “Adventure tends to find them before they get very far.”
“They’re probably swashbuckling in a Caribbean cave somewhere,” Oliver agreed. “Old habits, and all.”
More carriage wheels sounded from outside.
Ravenwood and Kate sprang up from their seats. So did the Carlisles.
“At ease,” Ravenwood said. “We’ll be right back.”
“Not on your life,” Grace said with an impish smile. “One ought to witness the magic of mistletoe.”
They raced to the entryway just as the butler swung the door aside, revealing Edmund and Sarah Blackpool. They had come to London from Maidstone, where most of the group had grown up.
In one hand, each carried a candle for the tree… and with the other, held hands with one of their identical twin sons.
“Nursery,” Sarah begged. “These adorable demons have been stuffed in a carriage far too long and desperately need to play.”
Grace pointed overhead. “First things first.”
Edmund glanced up and chuckled. “Don’t you know that kissing is exactly how all this starts?”
“House rules,” Kate said firmly, not even bothering to hide her mirth. “Or none shall pass.”
They exchanged a kiss hotter than the flames of a Yule log.
Sarah wagged her finger at Kate. “I hope you have twins.”
“How could you,” she gasped, clutching a hand to her chest. “I thought we were friends.”
“Friends don’t let twins out of the nursery,” Edmund put in with a chuckle. “Ravenwood, if you don’t mind, I remember the way.”
He shook his head and motioned for a couple of maids to lead the four-year-olds to the toys. “Come into the parlor. We have wine.”
“A lot of wine?” Sarah asked hopefully.
“So much wine,” Kate assured her. “Spiced and warm. Come, let me pour you a glass.”
But before any of them could quit the entryway, wheels sounded outside once more.
When the butler opened the door, Edmund’s mirror image stepped over the threshold, one arm linked with his wife’s.
“Bartholomew! Daphne!”
The greetings were chaos, each person talking over the other, until Kate pointed out the mistletoe over the new arrivals’ heads.
Daphne wrapped her arms about Bartholomew’s neck, and he arched her backwards in a sweeping kiss.
“See?” Edmund whispered. “That’s how people kiss before they bear children.”
His brother burst out laughing. “Did we miss the twins?”
“They’re in the nursery,” Sarah answered. “We won’t send them to bed until after we decorate the tree, so you’ll have plenty of time to see them.”
“Where is the tree?” Daphne asked.
Ravenwood cleared his throat. “It’ll be here soon.”
He hoped.
“There’s spiced wine,” Kate informed the new arrivals. “As well as pastries, and bowls of almonds and raisins. Right this way.”
“Where have you been these last few months?” Edmund asked his twin brother.
“Where haven’t we been?” Bartholomew answered with a laugh. “Daphne has so many worthwhile causes to champion, I’m surprised she allowed us a brief holiday for Christmas.”
Daphne surreptitiously elbowed him in the ribs before turning to Ravenwood. “I’m looking forward to seeing Lady Amelia at the ball tonight. Her help has been instrumental with the Portpatrick Harbor situation.”
Ravenwood blinked. “I cannot imagine what my sister has to do with a Scottish harbor.”
“Most likely, ‘everything,’” Kate teased. “You lads think you run Parliament.”
When Bartholomew joined his wife Daphne on a chaise longue, she placed a hand on his leg and murmured, “How is it going?”
He grinned. “Since you are the first to inquire, I should say it’s going swimmingly.”
Edmund’s jaw dropped. “Did you get a new leg?”
“One that doesn’t make the horrid clapping noise every time I take a step,” Bartholomew said proudly. “This one has a quieter joint mechanism.”
“It wasn’t ‘horrid,’” Daphne scolded him.
“You cannot deny the loud clapping,” Bartholomew reminded her. “Unequivocally horrid.”
“Well, you look wonderful,” Kate said. “I’m thrilled that you can sneak about once again. Not that it’s ever stopped you.”
“I don’t ‘sneak,’” he protested. “That plate of lemon cakes was begging to be consumed. How was I to know they were for your Aunt Havens?”
“Now, now, children,” Grace interrupted with a stern glance. “Time to forgive and forget.”
“Not his lemon cakes,” Kate muttered. “I’ve been forced to provide a double batch ever since.”
“Excellent.” Bartholomew tapped his fingers together. “Everything is working according to plan.”
Carriage wheels crunched on the frozen dirt outside.
Ravenwood jumped to his feet. “It might be the tree!”
“It’s not the tree.” Kate peered out the window. “It’s Jane and Xavier, all the way from Chelmsford.”
“Even better!” Grace sprang up in delight. “Plus, I can finally give back the book I borrowed from her.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Oliver said with a wicked twinkle in his eye.
Sarah straightened with interest. “Is it a Gothic romance?”
“It’s… an illustrated primer with no words at all.” Grace fished a small volume from her reticule and tossed it to Sarah. “I recommend starting with page seventeen.”
Sarah thumbed the pages rapidly, then turned the volume sideways. Her mouth fell open and a bright blush colored her cheeks. “That’s—”
“—definitely something we should try.” Edmund plucked the book from her hands and tucked it safely inside his jacket pocket. “We’ll bring it back to Jane next Christmastide. Unless we ‘accidentally’ forget.”
“The mistletoe!” Kate exclaimed.
The entire party leaped up from their seats and raced into the entryway as the butler was opening the door.
Xavier and Jane crossed the threshold with their three-year-old daughter between them.
Jane immediately cupped her free hand to Xavier’s face and pressed a kiss to his lips.
“How did you know there was mistletoe?” Kate demanded.
“She assumes every doorway has mistletoe,” Xavier said with a straight face. “Even in July.”
“I should be forever mortified if I were to miss an opportunity to kiss my husband,” Jane agreed with a lascivious wink. “Where are the others? Leticia has been demanding to see them all day.”
Oliver’s brow furrowed. “Can three-year-olds demand?”
“Worse. Leticia can read.” Xavier gave a long-suffering shudder. “Instead of, ‘No! Mine!’ she gives well-thought-out speeches on why every item in the house belongs to her.”
“She’s welcome to pontificate at will in the nursery.” Ravenwood motioned for a maid to fetch Leticia from her mother’s arms and deliver her to the other children. “Although, to be honest, David’s responses will only consist of, ‘No! Mine!’”
“Perfect.” Jane handed her daughter to the maid and her outer garments to a footman. “They’ll be the best of friends in no time.”
The entire party grinned at each other.
“I think they will be great friends,” Ravenwood admitted.
’Twas perhaps his true reason for wishing to start a new holiday tradition. Not just to reunite more regularly with the entire group at once, but to give his offspring a group of their own.
Jane clasped her hands together. “Now that we’re all here, it’s time to decorate the tree!”
Everyone looked at Ravenwood.
“There’s no tree.” At their shocked faces, he cleared his throat and began again. “There will be a tree. Soon. Probably. In the meantime, we have wine and treats in the other room.”
Two glasses of mulled wine later, Ravenwood was ready to pick up an axe, chop down the closest tree regardless of size or variety, and drag it into the parlor.
Just as he was pushing himself to his feet to ring for his outer garments, grunts and rustles outside the room indicated the footmen were arriving with what was indeed the grandest evergreen on the entire property. The topmost tip nearly reached the vaulted ceiling.
He let out a long sigh of relief.
Ravenwood’s guests fawned over the majestic tree as the footmen placed it in a large tub packed with soil in the center of the room.
“It’s beautiful,” Grace breathed in wonder. “I cannot wait to see it with candles.”
Kate leaned over and kissed Ravenwood on the cheek. “It is a gorgeous tree, darling. Well worth the wait.”
“Now what?” Grace asked. “Do we all affix our candles to the tree at once?”
“No,” Ravenwood commanded. For a tradition to last, it needed to be special.
“I agree,” Kate said. “Decorating would be over too quickly.”
Bartholomew tilted his head toward his brother. “How did we do this before?”
Unconsciously, Edmund cocked his head at the same angle to reply. “Didn’t we make it a game?”
“We did!” Daphne jumped to her feet. “I’ve the best idea. Let’s play ‘I love my love.’”
Grace’s eyes widened. “What’s that?”
“It’s a thinking game,” Daphne began.
Jane held up her cup. “And a drinking game.”
Conversation halted for an impromptu toast before the instructions could continue.
“The first person starts with ‘A,’” Daphne explained. “Something like this: ‘I love my love with an A, because he is adorable. I hate him because he is addled. I took him to Andover and treated him to apples and his name is Albert Adams.’”
“And then the next person takes ‘B,’” Jane put in. “‘I love my love with a B, because he is brainy.’”
“She’s definitely not talking about me,” Xavier said, sotto voce.
Sarah clasped her hands together. “That’s a great idea!”
Xavier narrowed his eyes. “What’s a great idea?”
“Instead of A, B, C, we’ll use our real loves,” Sarah said, eyes shining. “As each couple finishes, we’ll place our candles on the tree. Ready? I’ll go first.”
Everyone scrambled to refill their glasses and plates, then arranged themselves in view of the empty tree, the Yule log, and Sarah.
She took a deep breath and began. “I love my love with an E, because he is even-tempered.”
“Edmund?” Bartholomew interrupted with faux shock. “He broke my hobby horse when I wouldn’t share. While I was still on it.”
“Adults don’t hold grudges,” his twin said firmly. He turned to his wife. “Go on, darling. Tell everyone why I’m so wonderful.”
“‘Hate’ is next,” Bartholomew reminded him. “I can’t wait.”
Edmund shot a startled look toward Sarah. “Skip that one.”
She gave him a stern look. “One must play the game. I hate Edmund because he is… energetic.”
Oliver affected a lewd tone. “By ‘energetic,’ do you mean—”
“In every sense.” Sarah’s cheeks were bright pink. “I’m the mother of twins! Sometimes a woman wants to fall asleep, but no, it’s ‘let me fulfill your every desire all night long.’”
Everyone burst out laughing.
“You poor thing,” Daphne said with mock solemnity. “How ever do you cope?”
Sarah grinned and continued, “I took Edmund to the Egyptian Hall.”
“Did you really?” Jane asked. “How was it?”
Edmund’s eyes shone in remembrance. “The hieroglyphs were stunning.”
“I found the tomb disturbing,” Sarah admitted. “I couldn’t sleep for a week.”
“We know the real reason why,” Jane stage-whispered. “It takes time to fulfill every desire.”
“And then, I treated Edmund to eternal love.” Sarah sent a tender glance toward her husband. “Or perhaps eternal exhaustion.”
“Both,” he agreed with a laugh. “I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
“Good,” Kate told him. “You’re next.”
He cleared his throat. “I love my love with an S, because she is sweet.”
“Not very sweet,” Sarah admitted. “I did run away from the wedding.”
“That’s because you were standing there with Ravenwood,” Edmund told her. “Who would want to marry a duke?”
“So true. Being a duchess is dreadful. I suffer every single day.” Kate snuggled into Ravenwood’s side and wagged her fingers at Edmund. “Carry on.”
Edmund slid a sidelong glance at his wife. “I hate her because… she snores.”
Sarah gasped. “I do not!”
“You started right after the twins were born,” he said with a put-upon expression. “It’s the real reason I wake you up every night.”
She burst into giggles. “At least there’s a happy ending.”
“I took Sarah to…” Edmund narrowed his eyes in concentration. “The Sans Pareil Theatre.”
Grace shook her head. “It’s called The Adelphi now.”
“We went last year when it was still Sans Pareil,” Edmund assured her.
“So did we!” Grace lit up. “What did you see?”
“An amusing burletta about—”
“I love my love,” Sarah cut in, “but he is never going to finish his turn if we keep interrupting.”
“And finally,” Edmund concluded with a grin, “I frequently treat her to fine sherry.”
Jane raised her glass in a toast. “That is indeed how it all starts.”
Sarah snapped her gaze toward Ravenwood. “Candles?”
He nodded. “Candles.”
Together, Sarah and Edmund lit their tapers and affixed them to the tree.
“I love it,” Grace said when they finished, “but I’m not sure I have it all memorized yet. Can Oliver and I be last?”
“Of course.” Kate lifted herself up from Ravenwood’s side. “Here’s mine. I love my love with an R, because he is romantic.”
“Ravenwood?” Oliver snorted. “In the House of Lords, he seems more like an automaton.”
“Lovely,” Ravenwood murmured. “Thank you.”
Kate squeezed his hand. “For everyone’s information, my husband has the heart of a poet.”
“In a jar under his bed,” Bartholomew whispered to the others.
Edmund looked over with interest. “Does that work?”
“No dismembering,” Daphne scolded. “It’s Christmastide.”
Kate slid Ravenwood a droll look out of the corner of her eye. “I hate him because he is… rational.”
Ravenwood tried to hide his laughter. Kate was so spontaneous, he was surprised she’d managed to celebrate Christmas on the right date.
“I took him to Wigley’s Royal Promenade Rooms,” she continued.
Jane leaned forward. “How was it?”
“Fascinating! We saw Mr. Theodon’s Mechanical and Picturesque Theatre, which was marvelous, but not as wonderful as the Traveling Automaton.”
“Did you visit the Spring Gardens?” Xavier asked with a sly look in his eye.
Ravenwood’s lips quirked. “You should have heard her shriek when the water splashed her.”
“I didn’t know hidden machinery controlled the fountain,” Kate protested. “No one told me I was about to step on the trigger hidden in the walkway.”
“That’s why it’s called the Spring Gardens.” Bartholomew’s eyes were merry. “It makes everyone ‘spring’ out of the way.”
“You’re all terrible.” Kate lifted her chin. “Back to the game. This year, I treated Ravenwood to a race down Rotten Row.”
Ravenwood nearly had an apoplexy just remembering the occasion. “Remind me never to wager against you again, woman.”
She snuggled back into him. “Your turn.”
“I love my love with a K,” he began slowly, “because she is courageous.”
Jane choked on her wine. “What? That doesn’t start with a K.”
“I have the heart of a poet,” he reminded her. “I’m using poetic license.”
“Can everyone?” Xavier asked.
“Just me,” Jane said. “X is hard.”
“Very well,” Ravenwood agreed. “Jane and I have poetic license. Next. I hate Katherine because she is… charismatic.”
At that, Daphne shook her head. “Charisma isn’t a bad trait.”
“I want her all to myself,” he protested. “She’s always flitting about, making people like her. Having conversations and such.”
“I shudder,” Bartholomew said with a straight face. “Carry on.”
Ravenwood continued, “I took her to the Curiosities at St. Paul’s Cathedral—”
“You’re not even trying for Ks.” Oliver shook a finger in reproach. “For shame.”
“I’d like to see the Curiosities, too.” Daphne leaned forward. “What was the best part?”
“The Whispering Gallery,” Kate answered without hesitation. “You can whisper with your mouth near the wall at one end of a great circle, and a person on the other side, one hundred and forty feet away, can hear you quite clearly.”
“All the people can hear.” Ravenwood gave her a stern look. “My cheeks were quite red.”
“What did you say?” Jane whispered in glee.
Ravenwood continued before his wife could answer. “I was forced to treat her to… kisses.”
“Now you know what I said,” Kate whispered back.
“Candles!” Sarah called out. “Well done.”
Ravenwood offered his wife his elbow. They walked arm-in-arm to the tree.
“Come around to the other side,” she murmured. “They won’t see you kiss me.”
“We can hear you, though,” Xavier called out. “We’re right here.”
Jane giggled. “I doubt Ravenwood had the only flushed cheeks at the Whispering Gallery.”
Ravenwood gave up on propriety and kissed his wife before all and sundry.
His friends erupted in a wholly improper cheer.
When they retook their seats, he motioned to Jane. “I pass the torch to the next poet.”
Jane immediately brightened. “I love my love with an X, because he is experienced. The things I could tell you…”
“Please don’t,” Xavier said. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
She kissed his cheek. “You always do. I am the luckiest woman I know. I hate him because… he’s exuberant.”
“What?” the entire room burst out at once.
“Xavier is the opposite of exuberant,” Oliver protested. “He is so non-exuberant that he was unconscious for six months.”
“He’s making up for lost time,” Jane said primly. “This year, I took him to the Exeter Exchange—”
“How was the menagerie?” Daphne asked.
Jane’s eyes widened. “The roar of the lions frightened horses passing in the street!”
“She means it frightened her,” Xavier said with a grin. “I told you it was safe.”
Jane shivered. “I much preferred the kangaroo. It never once roared at me.”
“Go on,” Xavier prompted. “Or I’ll roar at you.”
“Right.” She tilted her head in thought. “And last, I treated him to… ecstasy.”
“My turn,” Xavier announced before any of the laughing friends could ask for clarification. “I love my love with a J, because she is joyful.”
“Is that poetic license for ‘incorrigible?’” Kate asked.
“I’ll allow it,” Ravenwood said. “Jane is incorrigible, with a silent J.”
“Janecorrigible,” she said with a nod. “I like it.”
Xavier tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. “I hate Jane because… she’s a genius.”
She shook her head. “That doesn’t start with J.”
“See?” He tickled her side. “She always has to be right.”
“Ravenwood?” Jane demanded. “A ruling, please?”
“I’ll allow it,” he said again, unable to stop his mouth from curving. “What’s next?”
Xavier straightened. “Every year, I take her to every subscription library in London—”
“None of that starts with J!” Jane protested.
“You only visit libraries,” he pointed out.
She conceded the point. “Fair enough.”
“And this year, I treated her to a gift from… John Arpthorp’s shop.”
Jane placed a hand to her chest and gave a meaningful look to the ladies. “Arpthorp’s corsets and unmentionables are divine.”
“You just mentioned them,” Xavier whispered. “You promised.”
“Well done.” Sarah pointed to the tree. “Candles!”
While Jane and Xavier hunted the perfect bough for their tapers, Kate leaned over to Ravenwood to whisper, “Shall we plan a visit to John Arpthorp?”
“Definitely,” he whispered back. “I cannot wait to strip you of whatever we’re about to buy.”
“My turn,” Daphne announced with a soft smile at her husband. “I love my love with a B, because he is brilliant.”
“A wise man never argues with his wife,” Bartholomew agreed solemnly.
Daphne continued, “I hate him because he is… brawny.”
“What?” everyone choked out. “What’s wrong with muscles?”
“All the women stare at him!” Daphne said, affecting the mien of a woman incensed by jealousy. “He’s mine!”
“They weren’t staring at my brawn,” Bartholomew consoled her. “They were trying to figure out why my leg kept applauding them.”
“Lies,” she said immediately. “They still stare, even with the new leg. But they shan’t have you. That’s why I take you to bed and treat you to bliss and intend to keep you very, very busy—”
Bartholomew cut off her tirade with a kiss. “I love my love with a D, because she is both daffy and devoted.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You say the sweetest things.”
“It’s true,” he said. “I have never met anyone more passionate about helping people in need. Oftentimes, your sense of humor is the only light in their lives.”
“That… is incredibly sweet,” Daphne admitted. “I love you, too.”
Bartholomew continued, “I hate her because she is… determined.”
“I thought you liked my determination,” she protested.
“You bullied me into becoming your fiancé,” he reminded her.
“Only the first time,” she said with a straight face. “I turned you down the second time, which makes you the determined one.”
“True,” he conceded. “This year, I took Daphne to… dinner.”
Grace arched her eyebrows. “Dinner?”
Daphne nodded. “We’re gone most of the year. By now, we’ve been to every hotel and pub in England. I’ll write a guidebook if I ever run out of charities.”
“Which means no guidebook,” Bartholomew said. “Which is too bad, because I always treat Daphne to dessert.”
“Excellent.” Kate clapped her hands. “To the tree with you and your candles.”
“Last couple,” Ravenwood said gruffly. His heart warmed. The evening was turning out perfectly after all. “Grace, are you ready?”
“I think so.” She took a deep breath and turned to Oliver. “I love my love with an O, because he is observant.”
Oliver raised his brows. “Bartholomew gets ‘brawny,’ and I get ‘observant?’”
She nodded shyly. “Whenever you see someone in trouble, you rush in to help. It’s why I fell in love with you.”
“I’ll take it,” he said quickly, and kissed her on her forehead.
Grace continued, “I hate Oliver because he is… organized.”
“You should see my sister,” Ravenwood murmured.
“What’s wrong with putting things in order?” Oliver protested.
“When you tidy my things, I can’t find them anymore,” she shot back. “This year, I took Oliver to the Opera House—”
“I took you,” he said between laughter. “It’s my box.”
“‘Our’ box,” she allowed. “And then I treated him to… er… orgeat?”
Edmund frowned. “I thought Oliver didn’t like orgeat.”
“Oliver does not,” Oliver agreed. “It’s rubbish.”
“It starts with O,” Grace said.
“So does ‘orange marzipan,’” he pointed out. “And ‘oats.’ And ‘olives.’”
“And ‘outrageously arrogant about the letter O during his wife’s first game-play,’” Grace added, and stuck out her tongue.
“I promise to make it up to you later.” He whispered something into her ear that made her cheeks flush bright red.
“Deal,” she said faintly.
“I wish we’d had a Whispering Gallery for that one,” Kate murmured to Ravenwood.
He rather agreed.
Oliver straightened and began his turn. “I love my love with a G, because she is gifted. Grace makes her loved ones feel very loved.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” He squeezed her hand. “I hate her because… Grace is grouchy whenever she’s hungry.”
Bartholomew leaned forward. “How grouchy is grouchy?”
“You should hear the rude things she says when her stomach starts growling.” Oliver widened his eyes in shock. “I fear for my safety. This is my cry for help.”
Grace swatted him with a sofa pillow. “You cad, I’m growing a baby in there!”
“You are?” All the friends jumped up to embrace them at once. “Congratulations!”
“I took her to Gunter’s Tea shop,” Oliver managed, from somewhere deep within the pile, “and treated Grace to great quantities of everything.”
“I said I’m expecting!” came Grace’s muffled protest.
“Expecting twins?” Sarah asked slyly as they all resumed their seats.
Grace covered her ears. “Can’t hear you.”
“Triplets?”
Ravenwood tapped a spoon against his wine glass to stop the commotion.
When he had everyone’s attention, he grinned. “Shall we do this again next year?”
“Absolutely,” Sarah said. “I can’t wait to meet Grace’s quintuplets.”
Grace tossed a pillow at her. “There’s just one.”
“Which makes six so far for the new generation.” Jane’s eyes turned dreamy. “Do you think they’ll be proper, or will they turn out just like us?”
“Proper,” Ravenwood said, at the same time Kate said, “Just like us.”
He grinned at his wife. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
And with that, the First Annual Ravenwood Tree Party was born.
The End