We should have told her, Hugh’s unicorn murmured reproachfully.

You think I don’t know that? Hugh retorted in annoyance as he helped Ivy carry Hope’s wheelchair up the steep front steps and into the manor house.

He’d been fretting for the past fifty miles about how to break the news. Oh, by the way, when you meet my parents you should technically address them as Lord and Lady Hereford wasn’t exactly an easy thing to drop into casual conversation. Especially not when he’d been trying to avoid thinking about what going back home was going to mean. In the end, his mounting dread had kept him tongue-tied until the absolute last minute.

He watched anxiously as Hope and Ivy stared around the cavernous entrance hall, trying to gauge their expressions. Hope looked frankly shell-shocked. Ivy maintained a better poker face, but she had a death-grip on the handlebars of Hope’s wheelchair, as if she was having to lean on it for support.

“Now that is a Christmas tree,” Hope said faintly, staring up at the twenty-foot gold-decked monstrosity that took pride of place between the two sweeping curves of the double staircase.

“It’s too early,” Ivy muttered. “By Christmas Day, that sucker’s going to be bare twigs and a mountain of needles.”

“Oh, my dear, this one is just for show,” said a familiar voice. “We always replace it with another one for Christmas itself.”

“Mother,” Hugh said warmly, stepping forward to take her outstretched hands.

Her familiar lilac perfume enfolded him as she kissed his cheek. “Welcome home, my son.”

As always, the touch of her long, elegant fingers sent an odd vibration through his own. It wasn’t uncomfortable, precisely; just a disconcerting awareness of deeply-buried but still powerful energies, something like walking over a cold, dormant volcano.

It was probably odd to be disappointed by the fact that one’s own mother was still celibate.

Not that he wanted her to give him a migraine, but he did want her to be happy—whether it was with his father or not. Preferably not, in fact.

But judging by his mother’s touch and aura, she was still living like a nun. With a slight sigh, Hugh released her hands with a parting squeeze.

“Thank you for accommodating us at such short notice,” he said.

“This is your house as much as ours, Hugh. You’re the future fifteenth Earl, after all.” She looked past him at Ivy and Hope. “Won’t you introduce me to your…friends?”

Hugh noticed the slight hesitation, and the small crease that appeared between her eyebrows as she looked Ivy in particular up and down. He’d never brought anyone back to the estate before, let alone an undeniably beautiful young woman. Even though he hadn’t told his mother what Ivy truly meant to him, she was fully capable of reading between the lines.

His unicorn stamped a hoof in irritation. Our dam should not have to infer the truth. We should not be trying to hide our mate. She is our mate! We should proclaim that to the whole world with pride!

Oh, shut up, he snapped back. I’m not ashamed of Ivy. It’s just…private.

It would only worry his mother if he told her that he’d found his mate. She knew all too well what it meant.

Plus, it might lead to a discussion of feelings, and that was just too mortifying to contemplate.

“This is Hope, the girl that I’m treating,” he said. “And this is her sister and caretaker, Ivy.”

Damn. Despite his best efforts, his voice had softened on Ivy’s name. His mother cast him a sharp sideways glance, her eyebrows drawing down still further. Her forehead smoothed out as she turned back to her guests, though, her perfect hostess smile sliding back into place.

“Hugh mentioned that you were, shall we say, in something of a predicament,” his mother said to Ivy and Hope. “You are of course very welcome to stay here for as long as you like. Though,” she added, her gaze flicking down over Hope’s wheelchair, “I am afraid that this house is not the most accessible of buildings. I do hope you will not be too inconvenienced. Is there anything I can do to make your visit more comfortable, Hope?”

Hope stared up at his mother in tongue-tied awe. She looked as though the Queen herself had inquired after her well-being. Her wide eyes flicked to him, silently begging for rescue.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Ivy said, before he could say anything. Hugh’s heart swelled with pride at the way she lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated by either his aristocratic mother or the grandeur all around. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, uh…your…”

“Technically it’s Lady Hereford.” His mother waved a hand, brushing the title away like a fly. “But simply Margaret is fine.”

“We’ll stick with Lady Hereford, thanks,” Ivy said firmly. She hesitated. “Uh, just for future reference, what are we supposed to call your husband? The, um, Earl?”

“Hopefully, nothing,” Hugh said. “But if you do happen to cross paths, feel free to use any obscenity that happens to spring to mind.”

“Hugh,” his mother said, a shade reproachfully.

“Sorry.” Not sorry. “I take it he’s at home, then.”

“I’m afraid so. I didn’t know you’d be coming, or I would have encouraged…alternative arrangements.” She waved a hand round at the lavish swags of holly and glittering baubles adorning every pillar and beam of the entrance hall. “But as you can see, he’s needed here at the main house this week.”

“I did think the decorations were a bit much, even for us,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the appalling tree. “I take it the Christmas Ball is imminent?”

Hope’s eyes widened even further. “Shut up. An actual ball? For real?”

“For charity, in fact,” his mother said, smiling. “My husband and I hold it every year, and it’s always one of our most successful fundraisers. Even in this day and age, there are still people will pay quite handsomely for the chance to meet an Earl.”

“More fool them,” Hugh muttered.

“As you may have realized, my son has a very low opinion of his elevated position,” his mother said to Ivy and Hope, rather dryly. “In any event, you would both be very welcome to attend the festivities, of course.”

Hope looked like all her Christmases had come at once, but Ivy’s expression betrayed her dismay.

“Didn’t Hugh tell you about me?” she said. “I can’t be around crowds.”

“I understand that you share my son’s need for personal space, albeit for slightly different reasons,” his mother said delicately. She cast a significant glance at the discretely unobtrusive butler busy ferrying cases and cat carriers in from the car behind them. “I have informed the staff of your special requirements. You may rest assured that everyone here will respect your privacy.”

The butler had disappeared outside again, but Hugh lowered his voice anyway. “They don’t know about us. No shifters on the estate. And don’t worry about the ball. I’m not going either.”

His mother pursed her lips, looking slightly pained. “You know I would never ask you to put yourself in an uncomfortable situation, Hugh. But it would mean a great deal to your father if you would at least put in a token appearance.”

He cocked an ironic eyebrow at her. “You do realize that’s an excellent reason not to, as far as I’m concerned?”

“Hugh, I’m pretty sure we need to talk,” Ivy muttered under her breath.

“I too am beginning to feel that there is much my son has neglected to tell you,” his mother said, shooting him a somewhat sardonic glance. “Hope, dear, let’s go and get you settled into your rooms. Hugh, I think perhaps the Chinese Bedroom would suit Ivy.”

The Chinese Bedroom was, he noted with dark amusement, the furthest it was possible to be from his own suite without actually being in the stables. His mother had picked up on the vibe between the two of them.

He drew his mother aside under the pretext of sorting out the suitcases. “You don’t have to guard my virtue,” he murmured into her ear. “I do have some willpower, you know.”

Her gaze flicked to Ivy. “Does she?”

“More than you can possibly imagine.” He touched his mother’s stiff shoulder, wishing with all his heart that his powers could soothe her anguish. “You don’t have to fret, Mother. I’m not going to turn into my father.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Her expression was as controlled as ever, but her blue eyes betrayed her hidden sadness. “I’m worried that she might turn into me.”