Page 1 of A Season for Christmas

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Catherine

Lady Catherine, the Dowager Countess of Cross, thoroughly disliked Christmas.

It was not that she was a Scrooge, by any means, but Christmas was a time for family, and she had none she wanted to spend time with. There were friends she could call upon, but not on the day of.

Looking out the window of her London home, she stared at the passersby who were braving the cold December day. Mayfair was much less busy this time of year, most of thetonhaving left for their country homes months ago and not returning until after the new year. Some remained, of course, mostly politicians and bachelors; others like herself who had no one to spend the holidays with.

Perhaps she should gather them all together, so they did not have to be alone.

Though she knew many of them were alone because they were detestable wretches whom no oneelsewanted to spend Christmas with. Sometimes, she wondered if she wasfooling herself and if she was the detestable wretch. But no. The wife of her late husband’s heir always sent an invitation to join them on the family estate for the holiday. Catherine had gone once and been treated as one of the family, but she’d had no appetite for returning.

She’d been treated as one of them, but she was not one of them, and being embraced in their warmth, surrounded by their children, had been… painful. Painful in its stark contrast to the Christmases of her youth, which had been full of cold ceremony, and painful in seeing what could have been hers if her husband had lived. If they’d had children.

Absentmindedly pressing her hand to her barren stomach, Catherine watched a carriage roll by the house.

The current countess would hardly send an invitation every year if Catherine was detestable, though. She was a strong-willed woman who suffered no fools. So no, Catherine was not the problem when it came to a lack of company for Christmas.

Her problems were her detestable parents and the envy that gripped her when she visited the current Earl and Countess Cross. And the lack of anyone else to spend the holiday with.

She heaved a sigh, dropping her hand away from the stiff fabric of her stomacher and resting it back on her lap.

Only a few more weeks, then Christmas would be over, and it would be January, with all its promise of new beginnings.

Refocusing out the window, Catherine blinked when she realized the carriage that had just passed by had come to a halt in front of her house. The coachman jumped down and opened the door. Blonde hair flashed from beneath a green hood as he helped the occupant down the steps from the conveyance.

Mrs. Joseph Stuart, formerly Miss Priscilla Bliss.

A friend, despite the awkwardness of how they’d met. Joseph Stuart, Priscilla’s husband, had been an intimate of Catherine’s. Not a lover. They’d never crossed that line. But she’d administered physical discipline to him during Society of Sin events both before and after his marriage to Priscilla until his wife had attended one such event and caught him out.

Somehow, rather than hating Catherine on sight—and Catherine would not have blamed her if she had—Priscilla had taken control of the situation and her husband. First, Catherine had been her mentor, and now, they were friends. Priscilla had a generosity of spirit that was unmatched by anyone Catherine had ever met.

She watched as Priscilla moved up the front stairs to Catherine’s door. Heard the knock, then her butler, Watson, answering it. A few moments later, he appeared in the doorway of the parlor.

“Mrs. Joseph Stuart here to see you, my lady,” he intoned formally. Despite his stiff demeanor, there was a hint of demand in his voice, as if he was daring her to turn company away.

Watson was very disapproving of her lonely state over the holidays.

“Thank you, Watson,” she said, getting to her feet to greet her friend, amused by his nod of approval as she answered him.

He stepped away from the doorway, and Priscilla replaced him.

“Catherine,” she said warmly, coming into the room with outstretched hands.

Watson had taken her cloak, revealing her to be in a green dress a shade lighter than her cloak had been, edgedwith cream. As she came closer, Catherine could see the tiny red berries hidden in the pattern on the fabric. It was a dress that was very much in the holiday spirit, unlike her own navy day dress.

“Priscilla.” She smiled, taking Priscilla’s hands, and they exchanged kisses on both cheeks in greeting. “I did not know you were still in town.”

Truthfully, she had not been keeping track of who was and who was not. She rarely did. If invitations arrived, she attended; if they did not, she frittered her days away, waiting for the new year.

“Oh yes, we’re spending the holiday here this year. There’s quite a bit to do, what with… well, the dukes and all.” Priscilla’s smile grew a trifle strained as she referenced the recent tragedy. At the end of the Season, eight dukes had been killed in a horrific accident involving a hunting lodge and a barrel of gunpowder.

“I see,” Catherine replied, though she did not quite see. Priscilla’s father-in-law was a marquess, but what that had to do with the dukes, she did not know. All of them had heirs and all the heirs had stepped up to the task, though their households were still in mourning. Why the Marquess of Camden might need to be in London, in relation to the dukes, was unclear, but she did not want to admit it when Priscilla seemed to assume she would know the reason.

Catherine cleared her throat, letting Priscilla’s hands go. “Please, sit. Shall I ring for some tea?”

“No, thank you,” Priscilla replied to Catherine’s disappointment. “I cannot stay long.”

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