bed, she would never finish her work at all. Even after years of marriage, those gorgeous blue eyes of his were too tempting indeed.
‘I only have a few more invitations to write and they must go out with the morning post,’ she said, her pen scratching over her creamy paper. ‘We are going to have the grandest Christmas house party Barton Park has ever seen! We will have carols and wassail, and sleigh rides...’
Hayden laughed. ‘Sleigh rides? What if there is no snow, my love?’
‘Then we shall make some. It’s the first Christmas we’ve all been together at Barton in ages.’ They spent most of their time now in London, or at Hayden’s earldom seat. But Barton, where her own parents had once been so happy and raised Emma and herself in a golden childhood, was always home. ‘When Emma and I were children, our parents made the holidays so magical. Such games and music, and wonderful sweets on the tables. Green wreaths and dancing. I want it to be just like that now for the children.’
‘And so it shall be, if you will it so. Everything you create in our lives is magic, my love.’
She looked over at him and smiled. ‘Our lives are magical—now. If I can help someone else find the same thing...’
‘Ah, I see.’ His tone was full of smug satisfaction and he crossed his arms behind his head as he laid back on the pillows. ‘Trying a bit of matchmaking, are you? Who do you and Emma have in mind now?’
Jane pursed her lips. ‘No one at all, of course. If people just happen to meet at our party and just happen to like each other—well, how can that be a bad thing? Magical things do happen at Christmas.’
‘So they do. Who are you inviting, then?’
Jane glanced over her list and named a few of their London friends she thought might enjoy Barton. Her old family house was small compared to Hayden’s grand seat and there was not space for very many. There was definitely no space for Hayden’s old rakish friends, from the dark days before they mended their marriage and started their family.
‘Also, Mr and Mrs Hewlitt, though I’m not sure he can be spared from his clerical duties for the holiday,’ she said.
‘That is too bad. I remember when they became betrothed at Barton.’
‘I know, wasn’t it terribly sweet?’ Jane said. ‘I also asked her sister, Miss Rose Parker. I’m sure you remember her, too.’
‘Of course. A most sensible and cheerful lady. Her performance of Beethoven at the pianoforte was impressive.’
‘I hope she is still sensible and cheerful. She has been working as companion to Sylvia Pemberton.’
‘Oh, that poor girl!’ Hayden exclaimed. ‘Will the kraken release its captive to come to Barton?’
‘I am afraid I performed a bit of a subterfuge, since I know how proud Rose is and how their family has been brought so low of late. I told her we would need a governess for the children while Miss Essex is gone for the holidays and that Eleanor shows a proficiency for music, which she does.’
‘Jane! You’ve just moved her from working for one monster to four.’
Jane laughed. ‘Hayden! They are very well-behaved children, everyone says so.’
‘Well behaved in public, maybe,’ Hayden muttered, but Jane could hear the affectionate pride in his voice.
‘The nursemaids will all still be here. I did have to lure Rose here somehow, or she wouldn’t leave Aunt Sylvia and would have a miserable Christmas.’ And there would be no chances for her to meet eligible young men if she didn’t come to the party.
‘Quite right. Who else have you invited, then?’
Jane hesitated as she looked down at the last invitation on her desk. ‘The St George brothers, at Hilltop.’
‘Is that quite wise? Harry has not been home long, and he has not received any visitors yet. He might not be quite—recovered.’
‘When Dr Heath called last week, he told me he found Captain St George’s health to be much improved last time he was at Hilltop, though not entirely as he once was, of course. A Christmas party might be just the chance to cheer him up! After all he has been through—being wounded and losing Miss Layton...’
‘You mean Lady Fallon?’ Hayden said quietly.
‘The Dowager Lady Fallon now, not that it matters,’ Jane answered. That sudden marriage, after Captain St George left for Sicily, had surprised everyone. But if Jane had learned one thing in life, it was that everyone had secrets they hid deep down inside. Everyone deserved a second chance. ‘If the Captain does not yet feel like a party, he can always refuse. But I am inviting him, as well as his brother, Charles, who I hear is back from the Continent now.’ And Charles had always been such fun; maybe Rose Parker could use a bit of that fun in her life.
‘You must do what you think best, my love. Yet now it really is time to come to bed. It grows much too late.’
‘And much too cold, with you so far over there,’ she said with a laugh, thinking how lucky they were indeed to have had their own second chance. Their life together.
She sealed up the last invitation, the one bound for Hilltop Grange, and snuffed out the candles before she hurried into the warm haven of her husband’s loving arms.
‘Aye, ’tis a pity. Hilltop Grange was once so grand. Now look at it. Falling to bits.’
‘Some who has it all haven’t the sense to appreciate it. Fritter it all away. Shameful.’
‘Oh, you two,’ the barmaid tsked to the two old men as she plopped fresh pints down on their sticky, scarred table. ‘Always grumbling ’bout something and not doing a thing about it. Now that the Captain is back...’
‘Will he be any better than that brother of his? Or the father?’ one old man muttered. ‘Been gone for years, ain’t he?’
‘He has to care, doesn’t he? Hilltop is his estate now,’ the barmaid said as she turned away, wiping her hands on her apron. The two old men returned to the weather, to the threat of snow in the air.
None of them seemed to notice Harry sitting quietly in the darkest corner of the pub, the new owner of Hilltop Grange, nursing his ale and pondering what he had to do next.
He took a long drink from his tankard, but even that did not warm him. A few snowflakes drifted past the grimy windows, landing lightly on the cobbled streets of the village outside. A few people hurried past, stepping out of the greenery-bedecked shops, their arms laden with Christmas packages, laughing together in holiday cheer, brushing the snow off their cloaks and hats.
It wasn’t the grey winter sky that made him feel so cold, or the joy in the coming holiday that he saw in others but barely remembered ever having himself. It was a numbness at his very core that had probably always been there, ever since Waterloo, when he realised the true ugliness of life.
No, he thought in sudden, startled remembrance. It hadn’t
