“Absolutely not,” Camille said staunchly, then paused. “There are perhaps a few more developments I should mention. Minor, really, in the scheme of things.” She shook her head. “All has not progressed exactly according to plan.”
“It would be a most boring production if all went according to . . . to the script.” Mother beamed. “It is the unexpected twists and turns in a plot that make a performance memorable.”
“Oh, do tell, sister dear. What could possibly have gone wrong?”
“Sarcasm, Delilah,” Mother said, “does not help.”
A knock sounded at the door an instant before it opened and Grayson entered the parlor. “Fortesque indicated you might need some assistance.” His gaze skimmed the room, met hers, and he nodded slightly. At once, he moved to her mother and took her hand. “Lady Briston, you are as lovely as ever.”
“And you are as . . .” Mother stared at him; then realization washed across her face. “Grayson Elliott? Is that really you?”
He chuckled. “I'm afraid so.”
“My God, you have lived up to the promise of your younger days. Maturity sits well on you.” She studied him in an admiring manner. “You're far more handsome than any man has a right to be.”
He grinned. “And you are as delightful as ever.”
Delilah cleared her throat and rose to her feet. “It's past time you came home.”
“Delilah?” He stepped to her and took her hand. “Is this the same girl I remember?”
She tilted her head and favored him with a radiant smile. “The very same.”
“You've grown.” He brought her hand to his lips and gazed into her eyes. “And might I say, in a most enchanting way.”
“Goodness, Grayson, you are as charming as I recall.” Delilah gazed up at him through lowered lashes.
Good Lord, was she flirting with him? For a moment, Camille saw her sister as Grayson might. While all three sisters shared the same blue eyes, Delilah's hair was a deep sable instead of blond. She was several inches shorter than her sisters, as well, and, admittedly, quite lovely, even striking. That is, if one could get past her irritating nature, although Grayson didn't seem to have any problem with that. Camille ignored a stab of what, under other circumstances, might possibly be jealousy.
“Am I to assume this is one of the minor developments you mentioned?” Mother asked.
“One of them,” Camille admitted.
“Camille, I couldn't keep them . . .” Beryl entered the parlor and pulled up short. “Mother!” Her eyes widened and almost immediately she recovered. “
Mother
is right behind me, as are
Uncle Basil, Delilah
and, um, Nikolai.”
“Beryl,” Mother said cautiously and stood. “How good to see you, my dear.”
“And you. Always.” The look on Beryl's face would have been priceless if Camille had not been busy trying to keep the same expression off her own face. She crossed the room to stand beside her mother, in case she had need of . . . prompting.
“New arrivals?” Nikolai strode into the room, the others right on his heel. If nothing else, given his looks alone, he certainly did make an excellent first impression.
“The prince,” Camille whispered into her mother's ear. She nodded in response.
“I am Count Pruzinsky.” He stepped to her mother, took her hand and raised it to his lips. “And I am at your service.”
Camille wondered if he said that to everyone he met. Odd how it was most charming a few days ago and now it set her teeth on edge.
“
Count
Pruzinsky?” Mother cast her a quizzical glance. “Not âPrince'?”
“He prefers to travel incognito,” Grayson said quickly, and Camille threw him a grateful look.
Nikolai flashed his perfect smile. “I must reconsider my traveling indulgences. Although I consider them necessary, they are proving to be somewhat awkward.” He turned his attention to her mother. “And you are?”
Mother's eyes widened. “I . . .”
“Allow me to introduce my mother,” Grayson said smoothly. “Mrs. Elliott.”
“Yes, of course, that's exactly who I am.” Mother beamed. “And this is my daughter, Grayson's sister, Miss Elliott. Prudence.”
Delilah choked. “ âPrudence'?”
“It's a virtue,” Beryl said, sounding a bit sharper than necessary.
“And a beautiful name.” Nikolai moved to Delilah and took her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “For a beautiful woman.”
“Oh.” Delilah stared up at him as if mesmerized. Although, admittedly, it was hard not to be taken with all that blond hair and royal charm.
Beryl turned to the others. “Mother, Uncle Basil, Delilah, look who has come to join us.”
Mr. Henderson's brow furrowed. “Who?”
“Cousin Grayson's mother and sister, of course.” Beryl forced a smile. “Cousin Prudence and Cousin . . .” Panic flashed in her eyes.
“My dear Bernadette,” Mother said, sweeping across the room to enfold Mrs. Montgomery-Wells in her arms. “How wonderful to see you again. And thank you so much for inviting us for Christmas.”
“Why, it wouldn't be Christmas without you.” The older woman gave Mother a warm smile. The actress seemed to be taking this new development in stride. Perhaps her perpetual fog was at last lifting. “But it's not Bernadette, you know. It's Anastasia.” Or not.
“Really?” Mother's eyes widened. “I could have sworn it was Bernadette.”
“It's quite all right, my dear.” The actress patted her mother's arm. “These things happen when one gets older. It happens to me all the time.”
“Still,” Mother said slowly, “I am fairly certain it's Bernadette.”
Mrs. Montgomery-Wells frowned. “I daresay, I know my own name.” She glanced at Mr. Henderson. “Goodness, Franklin, some people have no idea who they are. Lack of study, no doubt.”
“No doubt.” Mr. Henderson sighed. “And it's Basil.”
Mrs. Montgomery-Wells threw Mother a pointed look. “What did I tell you?”
Mother smiled weakly.
“How delightful this is.” Nikolai looked around the room. “To have so many members of your family here for Christmas. First Mr. Elliott and then the childrenâ”
“Children?” Delilah said. “Whose children?”
Mother aimed Camille a pointed glance. “Another development?”
Camille shrugged in a helpless manner.
“I think we should all return to the dining room.” Beryl herded the others toward the door. “I suspect Mrs. Fortesque has a wonderful dessert and we should hate to offend her.”
“Damn fine cook,” Mr. Henderson muttered. “And you should see her dance. . . .”
“And we should retire to our rooms to freshen up,” Mother said as soon as the others had left the room. “Although I suspect our usual rooms are occupied.”
Camille nodded. “It is rather a full house, but the red bedroom, down the hall from yours, is still available,” she added quickly. “However, we shall have to put Delilah in the west wing.”
“ âThe west wing'?” Delilah glared. “It's cold and drafty in
the west wing.
”
“Nonsense.” Mother waved away her daughter's objection. “A few extra blankets should be more than sufficient to keep you quite comfortable.”
Delilah stared. “But I don't want to sleep in the west wing. I don't want to be part of this at all. It's another one of your ill-conceived schemes and, no doubt, destined to ruin us all. I still think you should send them on their way right now.”
Camille narrowed her eyes. “Or you could leave.”
Delilah gasped. “You would throw your own sister out into the cold? And at Christmas?”
“With the tinkling of sleigh bells and a sprig of holly grasped between my teeth, if necessary,” Camille snapped.
Grayson stepped forward. “You may have my room, if you wish.”
Mother glanced at Camille. She shrugged. “He's in the room across from mine.”
“I see,” Mother said. Camille knew that tone. What exactly did she see?
Delilah cast him an entirely too flirtatious smile. Miss Murdock's portrayal of her might be close to the truth, after all. “That's so very thoughtful of you, Grayson.”
“But she couldn't accept,” Mother said firmly.
“Oh, but I could.”
“Oh, but you won't.” Mother directed her a quelling look. “Grayson can't be expected to move his things when he is helping Camille in her farce and there are no servants to spare to move him. So we shall leave things exactly as they are.”
“Fortesque!” Camille yelled. It seemed pointless to use the bell pull, as he was no doubt listening at the door.
The actor appeared at once. “Yes, my lady.”
“My mother and sister will be joining us as Mr. Elliott's mother and sister,” Camille said with a sigh. “Please have rooms made up. They'll show you which ones.”
The actor raised a brow. “Two more, then?”
She clenched her teeth. “Is that a problem?”
He heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “Of course not, my lady.” He paused. “Will there be any others? Are there any additional family members unaccounted for?” His voice rose. “Shall there be more guests, perhaps wandering in off the roads?”
Delilah sucked in a sharp breath.
“As I did not expect these new arrivals, at this point, I really cannot say.” Camille leveled him a threatening look. “However, I am certain you are more than capable of handling this new development as you have so ably handled everything else thus far!”
“Mr. Fortesque.” Mother's eyes widened with feigned surprise. “You're not a real butler then? You are one of the actors?”
He drew a calming breath. “Yes, my lady.”
“Why, I never would have known.” Admiration sounded in her voice. “You're very good.”
“Oh.” He paused, then smiled modestly. “Thank you, my lady. I do work hard at my craft.”
“And it's obvious.” She studied him for a moment. “Have I seen you on stage before? In a London theater, perhaps?”
“Well, I have had a few rolesâ”
“How fascinating. I want to hear all about it.” She favored him with a brilliant smile. “Why don't you arrange to have our bags brought up and we will show you what rooms we'll be staying in. And while we do, you shall tell me all about your theatrical credits. I have always been fascinated by the theater.”
“As you wish.” He glanced at Camille. “If there is nothing more?”
“Dear Lord, I hope not,” Camille murmured.
“Now then, Mr. Fortesque . . .” Mother escorted him out the door, tossing a conspiratorial smile back at Camille. “Do tell me . . .”
“For whatever absurd reason, and God knows what goes on in her head, Mother has obviously decided to embrace this deception of yours fully. I shall do my part as well, as there seems to be no other way to save us all from scandal.” Delilah's eyes narrowed. “But I am most distressed about it, Camille, most distressed.”
Camille stared at her sister for a long moment; then adopted her brightest smile. “And Happy Christmas to you too, dear sister.”
Fury blazed in Delilah's eyes. “I would notâ”
“Prudence, dear, come along,” Mother called from the hall.
Delilah sent a last, scathing look toward her sister, turned to Grayson and smiled apologetically. “Do forgive me, Grayson. I do not deal well with unexpected developments like, oh, discovering my family has been replaced by actors, and having to sleep in a cold, drafty room, and, oh yes, being called Prudence.”
“To be expected, of course,” Grayson said with a smile.
“Thank you.” Delilah raised her chin and marched out of the room, like the brave little soldier she was.
“She doesn't seem to like you very much.” Grayson studied Camille.
“She never has.” Camille sighed. “She's not fond of Beryl either.”
“That I can understand.” He chuckled. “It must be difficult for her, though.”
“ âDifficult'?” Camille drew her brows together. “What do you mean?”
“Well, being five years younger than twin sisters, who were lovely and sought after and did very nearly everything together. I would think one might feel left out, not important enough to include, that sort of thing. It might be difficult, that's all.” He shrugged. “It's just an observation.”