Page 59 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
“Bedeviling the duke, no doubt,” he replied offhand.
Emma frowned. “Yes, well… as to that… I do wish the duke had gone already. He’s spoiling Christmas.”
“For you?” Andrew asked without turning.
“For all of us!” she declared.
Andrew cast her the strangest expression. “It seems the holiday has become all the rage. Apparently, Queen Victoria celebrates with great vigor at Buckingham Palace.”
“I supposehetold you that?”
Andrew busied himself adjusting his contraption. “I remember when scarce anyone else celebrated,” he said. “Though I have always thought of Christmas time as a time for kindheartedness, forgiveness and charity and it seems that others must as well. Don’t you agree?”
Of course she did, but she knew precisely where he was going with this line of reasoning and she wasn’t in the mood to be quite so forgiving. “What are you doing?” she asked.
He turned to grin at her, that same boyish grin she remembered from their youth. “It’s a secret!”
Emma’s brows collided. She had always been privy to Andrew’s schemes, no matter how outlandish they might be. He had never kept secrets from her… though apparently, he did now.
Eyeing his contraption with a bit of irritation, Emma wandered to the hearth to inspect this year’s crèche, which was filled to tipping with new straw. On a small blanket near the crib, she spied milk and cookies—a fine meal forle petitJésus. Andrew would no doubt enjoy them immensely later this eve. It was a tradition they had begun only recently, but one Andrew seemed to enjoy with relish.
She stood, staring down at the little crèche and felt a little sorrowful over the thought that she may never see her own child lying in a crib. She had for so long now envisioned sons with hair the color of their father’s and daughters who waited with bated breath for Papa to regale them with tales—as she had with her father.
Andrew couldn’t possibly understand because he had a family of his own and Emma was destined simply to be a family relation with nowhere else to go for the holidays.
This had once been her house, but now it was her brother’s—something that had never bothered her more acutely than it did at the moment. In fact, with Lucien in residence, she didn’t feel at home at all right now. Though why that should be true she didn’t know. It left her feeling empty somehow—as though someone had set her in the most delightful fairy tale and then had plucked her up and cast her into hell. A bit melodramatic she supposed, but there it was. That was how she felt. And the worst of it all was that she couldn’t even truly blame Lucien. As determined as he had been to rid himself of this engagement, she saw something in his eyes that still called to some part of her, making her long to place her arms about him and enfold him to her breast. There was something sad in his eyes… something quite confused. And it had never seemed more apparent than it had this morning.
She heard the front door open and close.
Laughter spilled into the hall—deep, rich laughter that could only belong to Lucien. The children tittered at something he said, and the voices all headed in their direction, chattering endlessly—mostly the children asking this question or that.
Andrew glanced up at her, smiling, and Emma felt like a fox in the middle of a hunt.
Perhaps they wouldn’t stop here in this room, she hoped, but that was not to be, because within scant moments, the duke came sauntering in, hauling in a massive fir tree over his shoulder. The children trailed behind him, laughing and picking up needles in his wake.
“We found a big one!” Jonathon said to his father.
“Aunt Em!” Lettie exclaimed, spying Emma by the hearth. “Guess what!”
“Queen Victoria celebrates with a Yule tree!” Samantha finished for her.
“I was going to tell her,” Lettie said plaintively.
“Prince Albert brought it all the way from Germany!” Jonathon added, ignoring his sister’s argument and peering up adoringly at the duke, who smiled down at him. “Right?”
“Something like that,” Lucien answered with a wink.
His dark hair and coat were still covered with a dusting of snowflakes, and he carried the tree alone, slung over one shoulder as though he’d been accustomed to labor all his life. The children wore smiles from ear to ear as they remained close to his coattails. Emma’s heart tripped at the sight of them together.
She didn’t want to share her family, but she had to confess that he looked far more at ease than she had ever known him to be. Despite that he must have been raised with far more sobriety, he seemed at home with her very unconventional family.
She blinked back tears and cast a glance at her brother who was peering up at her solicitously.
Emma felt completely at sixes and sevens.
What now? Was he simply going to come and usurp their traditions? Was he never going to leave?
As she watched, Lucien hauled the fir tree over to Andrew and the two of them together hoisted the trunk into Andrew’s strange contraption and adjusted the tree to their satisfaction. Apparently, it was a device to hold the tree upright, but Emma remained nonplussed. “Why on earth would anyone bring a tree into the house?” she asked. “I have never heard of such a thing!”
