Page 16 of Joy to the Earl

Chapter 4

Christmas Day

“A toast!” said Donald exuberantly. “In celebration of our Lord’s birth, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas.”

After raising her glass, Rosalind drank deeply of the warmed mulled wine. Cook had outdone herself this year—the blend of spices was slightly sweeter than usual, and absolutely delicious. “Merry Christmas.”

“Mama, can me and Wellington play with my toy soldier in the nursery now?”

“Yes, my baby, you can,” she said with an indulgent smile, her eyes meeting Jack’s across the table. He’d fashioned the foot-high wooden soldier from a piece of oak branch, carved the detail in, right down to hair and buttons and boots, and painted it. Fliss had shrieked like a banshee when she unwrapped it, all her other toys forgotten as she clasped it to her chest. Eventually she’d deigned to show Wellington, who batted at with a half-hearted paw then returned to her Christmas saucer of cream. “Unless you want something else to eat?”

“I can’t fit anything else in, I’m full to the top. Farewell, then,” said Felicity as she happily left the room with a stoic Wellington under one arm, and the toy soldier under the other.

“I’m full to the top, too,” said Claire, sitting back in her chair and rubbing her stomach with a faint groan. “I shouldn’t have eaten that extra helping of plum pudding.”

“Nonsense, gel,” said Donald. “’Tis the height of rudeness to not have at least two serves.”

Phillip looked up from his bowl. “Then I’m pleased to confirm I’ve been very polite.”

“I second that,” said Jack. “Actually, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to look at another plum again. Or roasted nuts for that matter.”

May leaned forward and waggled a finger at him, almost overturning a pitcher of parsley sauce. “Roasted nuts mean you are standing too close to the fire, my lad. That’s a fact.”

Biting her lip to halt an inappropriate laugh, Rosalind stole another glance at Jack. Thus far he appeared to be tolerating her aunt and uncle’s theatrics rather well, but then again it was only two o’clock in the afternoon, and May had barely started her second mulled wine decanter. Actually, Jack had played along very sportingly, accepting several glasses of the wine when May poured them for him.

“Perhaps you could sing for us, uncle?”

“Be glad too, my dear.”

As Donald launched into a rousing baritone version of “Joy to the World”, enthusiastically supported by Claire in a sweet soprano, Rosalind relaxed. For the first time in forever she felt a measure of peace, like finally everything was exactly as it should be.

Well, almost.

They’d been so busy with Christmas preparations, visiting the village for supplies and shopping, organizing baskets of food and drink for the servants and tenants, and readying the house, everyone had fallen into bed at the end of each day exhausted. But now that matters had been settled to her satisfaction, she and Jack could revisit their scorching interlude in the stables, and the raw kiss in the clearing. How many times had she reached for him in the morning, after dreams so erotic she’d woken wet and aching?

“Excuse me, Lady Nelson, do you want some more mulled wine for the table?”

Rosalind blinked and smiled at the kitchen maid waiting at her elbow. “Yes, please.”

“Only thing is, ma’am, there ain’t none of that green spice left. We sprinkled it all over the first two decanters.”

“Green spice?” said May, an odd look crossing her face.

“Yes, Lady Kilburne. The one you were working with the other day. Cook said it had a right nice taste.”

“Without is fine,” said Rosalind, and the maid bustled away.

Abruptly Jack stood, the awkward movement rattling the crockery on the table. “Forgive me, everyone, but I’ve eaten far too much delicious food and find myself in desperate need of some fresh air.”

Rosalind frowned in concern. It wasn’t an invitation by any means—Jack looked a little flushed and uncomfortable. “Of course. Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, no. Just think I tied my cravat a little tight, damned thing is nearly choking me.”

“The balcony is through those curtains. The door needs a little shove, but it will be cold enough to refresh out there.”

He bowed, and limped away. Yet it was an odd limp, not the slight dragging shuffle of his weaker leg, but almost like…

Oh God.