Page 43 of How the Duke Ruined Christmas

Only after the remaining houseguests took their leave did we learn more. Noah had the tale from his valet and conveyed it to Elizabeth, Jonathan, and me as we were gathered to make our own farewells. It seems while the footmen transported our Honorable cousins’ baggage downstairs, one of Mrs. Chase’s cases sprung open—and what do you think fell out?

Why, nothing but a cache of our best silver! Can you imagine?

That would have made an end of the matter—and all association with the Lakefield branch of the family—if not for servants’ gossip. At least, I assume it’s the castle servants who circulated the news, since my siblings and husband all vow they spoke to no one.

At any rate, word of the thwarted crime seems to have spread like wildfire, for when Noah arrived here yesterday, he brought with him a very embarrassed letter from our cousin the viscount! Dispensing quickly with felicitations on Lady Claire’s brilliant match, his lordship dwelt far longer on apologies for his son and daughter-in-law’s disgrace. He laments this younger son has always sought his fortune through schemes and speculations, rather than a profession, and begs us not to paint the whole family with the scoundrel’s brush, for all his other children are infinitely Nathaniel’s superior.

Lastly, below the signature, the viscount had added a hopeful postscript: due to the very public shame of this latest indiscretion, Nathaniel had at last been prevailed on to take orders. The proud father now sat in happy expectation of seeing his wayward son installed as vicar of a respectable country church by midsummer.

(5) A life of blessedness, indeed!

For pity’s sake, do I hear Jonathan calling me again? Does the man never tire?

Half past three. — Hmph. It wasn’t Jonathan after all, but only Kippers mewing at the door. After letting him in I peeped into the bedroom—and found Jonathan fast asleep!

Though I ought to leave him be, he looks so adorably tousled (the hair!) that I can’t resist curling up next to him until the others return. I shan’t wake him, of course—though he is a light sleeper. Oh, piffle. Well, I’ll do my best, but should some accidental jostling occur…

I’m sure I can make it up to him somehow.

Before I bid you farewell, my treasured friend (who I mean to revisit often, by frequent perusals of your joy-filled pages), I have just one more incident to share.

This morning brought yet another caller to our door: the Dowager Duchess of Rathborne. No one else was yet abroad, so I received her alone in the saloon. She paid her respects to the bride, inquired after her son, and accepted a dish of tea. I in turn asked after Rousseau, who is evidently laid up with a cold, and extended my sympathies. After exactly a quarter of an hour—the proper length for an introductory visit—she took her leave.

All in all, a promising start.