He fell silent for a long moment. “He was free to wander the world and live a life filled with adventures and excitement, whereas I felt trapped. Can you understand that?”
“I can understand feeling that the circumstances of one's life are not especially fair,” Gray said slowly, choosing his words with care. “I'm afraid I can't understand allowing your family to believe you were dead.”
“That was not my decision, but I am getting ahead of myself.” He stared into the fire, obviously gathering his memories. “Basil found himself in a bit of trouble in India, the details of which scarcely matter now. I felt I had no choice but to go to his aid. He was my twin, after all. Bernadette agreed with my decision and even encouraged me to go. It took some time to extricate Basil from his difficulties, but I had expected that and had made certain Bernadette had all the legal authority she needed to make decisions about property and finances and life here. We had been married, oh, a dozen years or so by then.
“One thing led to another, and . . . I was a very stupid man, Mr. Elliott, and selfish, thinking only of myself. I was consumed with what I was missing rather than grateful for all that I had. I wrote and told my wife that while I loved her and the children, I would not be coming home for the foreseeable future. She was, needless to say, furious and hurt as well, I suspect, although she never said that. Pride, no doubt.”
“Understandable.”
“Of course it was.” He heaved a deep sigh. “She wrote and told me she would not allow her daughters to believe their father would abandon them. She'd rather they think he was dead.”
“I see.”
“A few years later, I wrote asking to come home. She refused to allow it. I wrote continuously after that, every few months, but she was adamant. And so the years passed.” He tossed back the rest of his whisky and held out his glass. Gray fetched the decanter and returned to fill the other man's glass. “Can you understand how it feels to know you have made the biggest mistake of your life, and the one person you pray will forgive you refuses to so much as speak with you?”
Gray shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I have an idea, sir.”
“I have kept abreast of their lives, though. I see Basil frequently, in various parts of the world. In addition to my letters, he has acted as a courier of sorts. Spoken on my behalf and all. He thinks I am the worst sort of coward.”
“Oh, I'm sure he doesn'tâ”
“He's right, you know.” Lord Briston smiled ruefully. “I have been. Still am, I think. But you come to a point in your life when you realize the days in front of you are fewer than the days behind, and you realize, as well, how much of your life you have squandered. And somehow you find the courage you have lacked.”
“So you're here now.”
“That I am. Here to win my family back. God help me. Or them.” He raised his glass. “And we shall see. It should be an interesting Christmas.”
“In more ways than you can imagine.” Gray paused. “There are a few things you should know about this particular Christmas before you see anyone else.” Gray quickly explained about Camille's plan, which actor was playing which part, the addition of small children, the unexpected arrival of Ladies Briston and Hargate, as well as how he and Beryl were certain Pruzinsky was a fraud.
Lord Briston chuckled. “I'm not sure why, but none of this surprises me.”
“Well, there is an element of amusement thatâ”
“There you are, Grayson.” Beryl swept into the room. The two men jumped to their feet. “Camille needs your assistance and Iâ” She caught sight of her father and stopped short. “Uncle Basil, what are you doing here? Not that I'm not pleased to see you. It is Christmas, after all. But your presence is not merely unexpected, but . . .” Her eyes widened and her face paled.
“Beryl.” Lord Briston stepped forward.
She stared for a long moment. “You're looking remarkably good for a dead man.”
“How did you know?” her father asked.
“I found some of your letters a few years ago.” Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“I've come home,” he said simply.
“For Christmas?”
“For good, I hope. One never knows how much time one has left and I have wasted entirely too much.”
“That's all very well and good, but what about last Christmas? And the Christmas before.” She folded her arms over her chest. “And all the Christmases that have passed?”
“There is nothing I can do to make up for the past. To make amends to you and your sisters and your mother.” He shook his head. “But I am here now.”
“Don't expect us to fall all over ourselves greeting you with open arms.”
He smiled. “I never imagined that was a possibility.”
“It isn't.” She looked at Gray. “You understand Camille cannot be told. Not yet.”
“You never told her?” Gray studied her.
“I didn't know how. To tell her now, before this Christmas farce of hers is over, would be a disaster of monumental proportions.” There was the oddest tremble in her voice, as if she were drawing on all her strength and it was not quite enough. “I don't think Delilah should be told either. I have no idea how she might take the resurrection of her dead father, but as she was very young when he
died
âI daresay, she can't remember a time when she had a father.” She looked at her father. “As for you . . .” She shook her head. “I don't know. . . .”
Gray had never imagined Beryl to be at a loss for words. She was right, though: Camille should not be told yet. If coming face-to-face with the father she knew wasn't dead did this to Beryl, he couldn't imagine the effect this revelation would have on Camille.
“I understand and you're quite right.” Lord Briston nodded. “No need to complicate this Christmas any further. There will be plenty of time to set things right afterward.”
“Or you could save us all the trouble and leave,” Beryl said sharply. “Again.”
“I could.” His gaze met his daughter's. “Would you prefer that I do so?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “But I doubt that my preference makes any difference whatsoever. Besides, you have two other daughters, and I shall not make this decision for them.”
“Good, as I am here to stay.” Determination sounded in the older man's voice.
“You shall have to allow Camille to think you're Uncle Basil until after Christmas. Dear Lord, we'll need to explain you somehow. Oh, and you'll have to play a part.” She cast Gray a helpless look. It was as frightening as seeing her at a loss for words.
“He could play my father, I suppose,” Gray said slowly. “I can't think of anything else. Although, as your mother is playing the part of my mother, I'm not sure if it's especially wise.” He glanced at Lord Briston. “But then, I suppose, it's possible Lady Briston won't realize who you really are.”
“Goodness, Grayson.”
All eyes immediately turned to the doorway and Lady Briston.
“I should think I would recognize my own husband.” Lady Briston's gaze met her husband's. “Good afternoon, Nigel.”
“Bernadette.” He nodded. “You look as lovely as I remember.”
“You look considerably older.” She studied him for a moment. “I don't recall inviting you here. In fact, I distinctly remember telling you never to step foot in this house again.”
“And yet here I am.”
“Yes, indeed.” She released a long breath. “And it's about bloody time too, isn't it?”
He stared in obvious shock. “What?”
“Mother.” Beryl stepped toward the older woman. “Are you all right?”
“Quite. Indeed, I have never been better.” She directed her words to her daughter, but her gaze stayed on her husband. “Camille has been looking for you both. The children have been collected by their parents and have gone. Oh, and boy number two?” She glanced at Gray.
Gray nodded. “Simon.”
“He left you a message. A Christmas gift, he said. What was it?” Her brow furrowed. “Ah yes. He said you could have his wish.”
Gray smiled. “Thank you.”
“Might I suggest you use it wisely.”
Gray nodded. “I intend to.”
Her gaze narrowed and shifted back to her husband. The man may not think he had courage, but he stared back without flinching and even seemed to stand a bit straighter. “Now, then, children, do run along. And I quite agree that neither Camille nor Delilah should know anything about this newest development, except that Basil has returned. There is no need to create further chaos. We shall sort it all out after Christmas.”
“Of course, Mother,” Beryl said, but made no effort to move.
Gray grabbed her arm and fairly pushed her out of the library; then turned to close the doors behind him. His gaze met Lady Briston's.
“Thank you, Grayson.” She nodded. “You may well do, after all.”
He smiled and pulled the doors closed. Beryl rested her back against the wall, with her eyes closed, looking as though she were about to melt into a puddle on the floor.
“Are you all right?”
“Do try not to be so blasted nice, Grayson.” She opened her eyes and glared at him. “It makes it exceedingly difficult to dislike you. And I much prefer to dislike you.”
“Why?”
“Because, if I don't dislike you, I might possibly feel compelled to forgive you and even encourage my sister to forgive you as well.” She sighed. “Although I think I have lost that battle.”
“She's forgiven me?” Hope sounded in his voice.
“It's not for me to say, and I really don't know.” She sniffed. “I don't know what's wrong with the women in this family. You're gone for eleven years, and he's gone for twenty, and now that you're both back . . .”
“Perhaps . . .” He chose his words with care. “It all comes down to love.”
“Dear Lord, I hope not.”
He laughed. “Why not?”
“Because I love my husband,” she snapped. “And I should hate to think that I would allow him to break my heart and then forgive him as if nothing had happened.”
He shook his head. “It's not quite that easy.”
“No?” She nodded toward the closed doors. “Do you hear that?”
The low murmur of voices coming from the library rose in volume.
He winced. “It doesn't sound good.”
She cast him a disgusted look. “You are an idiot.” She shook her head and started off; then turned back to him. “If you wish to win my sister, if you want her forgiveness, then do something about it.” She nodded at the closed doors. “Do you know what my father is doing right this very moment?”
“Arguing with your mother?”
She nodded. “And with a great deal of passion. The passion of anger is not so very different from the passion of . . . Well . . . need I say that by the time my parents are finished . . .” She sighed. “I suspect my sister has a passionate nature as well, one that has never truly been unleashed.”
He stared.
“Stop being her friend and stop being so bloody nice. Tell her why you're really here. And what you really want.”
“Are you giving me advice?”
“Apparently.” She rolled her gaze heavenward. “I can't believe it myself. But know this, Grayson Elliott.” She pinned him with a hard look. “If you have insinuated yourself into my sister's life, only to leave again, I shall track you down myself and rip your heart out with my bare hands. Now.” She nodded. “Let us return to the others before something else happens.”
“One does wonder what else that could possibly be.” He stifled a grin and followed her.
Beryl was right. He had been Camille's friend long enough. It was time to make a stand. Of course Camille still intended to marry Pruzinsky, and that needed to be dealt with. But, thus far, he and Beryl were doing an excellent job of keeping an eye on her; and in the process, keeping her and Pruzinsky apart as well.
Past time they had that talk Camille kept postponing. Past time to tell her straight out how he felt and what he wanted.
And past time to make her admit she wanted exactly the same thing.
Nineteen
“I
daresay, if my purpose was to get the entire family here at the same time, it would have been next to impossible.” Camille sipped her tea and glanced around the small ladies' parlor that had long been her mother's private sanctuary.
Mother had invited her daughters to join her for tea, although
invite
was not entirely accurate, as there was no possibility of refusal. Mother tended to do that on occasion, when she was feeling particularly sentimental or there was something of a serious nature to discuss. Grayson had gallantly volunteered to keep an eye on the others. He really was trying to help. It was most endearing of him. Perhaps it was time to tell him she was no longer trying to garner a proposal from Nikolai but rather avoid one. Perhaps he had earned that. And then, who knew what might happen?
“Now that it is most awkward to have everyone here,” Camille said, “you tell me Uncle Basil has arrived as well.”
Beryl and her mother traded glances.
“Unfortunately,” Mother began. “Basil is not feeling quite his usual selfâ”
Beryl choked on her tea.
“And he thinks it's best if he takes the next day or so to rest and recover his strength.” Mother continued. “I suspect he may not join us until Christmas.” Mother smoothed her hair. She had seemed a bit disheveled this afternoon, which was decidedly odd as she rarely had a hair out of place. While it could be attributed to her assistance in the decoration of the house, it was not at all like her. “Besides, given the current circumstances, he thought it might be wise not to add yet another player to your cast.”
“Oh, dear.” Camille frowned. “I do hope it's nothing serious.”
“I doubt it. He has always been a hardy sort.” Mother waved off the comment. “Although, for now, he has taken to his bedâ”
Beryl coughed.
Mother cast her a sharp look. “Only as a precaution, mind you. It's no doubt nothing more than the strain of travel.”
“I hope so, as there is no additional staff to attend to him,” Camille said. “But I would like to spend some time with the dear man as soon as I can reasonably absent myself from the others. Even now, I'm not at all pleased at having left Nikolai in Grayson's charge.”
“I'm sure Grayson is more than up to the task,” Mother said.
“I can do that. See to Uncle Basil, that is,” Delilah said. “You already have a great deal to juggle without having to worry about him as well.”
“That's very thoughtful of you.” Camille smiled at her younger sister. “And most appreciated.”
“Well, if your deception isn't successful, we shall all suffer the consequences,” Delilah added with an offhand shrug.
“I think it's a splendid idea.” A thoughtful note sounded in Mother's voice. “You've scarcely spent any significant time with your uncle at all since your marriage. Not like when you were a child. You can take the opportunity to . . .”
“Get to know him?” Beryl suggested.
“Reacquaint herself with him,” Mother said. “I daresay, he has all sorts of fascinating stories he has yet to tell. He's lived quite an adventurous life, you know.”
“No doubt,” Beryl said in a dry tone.
“Delilah,” Camille began slowly. If she truly meant to make things right with her younger sister, there was no time like the present to begin. “I fear I owe you an apology.” She shot a pointed look at Beryl. “We both do, don't we?”
“Yes, yes.” Beryl sighed in surrender. “We've been dreadful.”
“What are you talking about?” Delilah's eyes narrowed. “What have you done?”
“Nothing, really,” Camille said quickly. “And therein lay the problem.”
Delilah's suspicious gaze shifted from Camille to Beryl and back. “What problem?”
“Perhaps it's simply that it is Christmas,” Camille began. “Or the fact that I have invented a family or that my own family is now here, orâ”
“Grayson,” Beryl muttered.
“Beryl,” Camille said sharply. “What on earth is the matter with you today? You are even more ill-tempered than usual.”
“Well, perhaps it's to be expected,” Beryl snapped. “Given thatâ”
“Beryl,” Mother warned.
“Given that nothing is quite going as planned.” Beryl huffed. “Although I suppose I can try to be more pleasant.”
“That would be most appreciated.” Camille studied her twin curiously. Beryl did have a tendency to be overly sharp, but this wasn't at all like her. Still, she was right. Nothing was going precisely as intended, and it did make one tend to be a bit snippy. Camille turned her attention back to her younger sister. “As I was saying, Beryl and I have come to the realization that we haven't been the sisters we should have been and we have resolved to change that.”
“Have you?” Suspicion sounded in Delilah's voice. “Why?”
“Because one never knows how much time one has.” An adamant note sounded in Beryl's voice. “Because one minute there is someone you have paid no attention to whatsoever, because they have always simply been there, and you always expected they would, and the next minute they're gone. And there is nothing you can do about it, because it's entirely too late.”
Camille stared. Beryl was certainly taking this reconciliation with Delilah far more seriously than Camille had expected. Their younger sister stared as well. Mother reached out and patted Beryl's hand. “Well said, dear.”
“What if it is too late?” Delilah said slowly. “What if what is done cannot be undone?”
“Death is the only thing that cannot be undone,” Mother said firmly.
“One would think,” Beryl said under her breath; then her eyes widened as if she were surprised by her own words. “Just a thought, nothing of significance.”
Mother continued without pause. “Which is not to say you should not make your sisters earn your forgiveness and your friendship.” Mother's gaze slid from Delilah to Beryl. “Being willing to forgive is not the same as being weak. Indeed, it takes a great deal of strength to accept someone else's acknowledgment of their mistakes. Especially if said mistakes have hurt you deeply. To allow amends to be made is not at all easy.” Her gaze shifted to Camille. “One must decide whether one wishes to hold on to one's pain and anger or release it. And is the cost significant or little more than pride? It can be an enormous relief to at last let go of anger that one has harbored for a long time. Forgiveness can, as well, be the rekindling or even the beginning of something worth having.”
For a long moment, the three younger women stared at their mother. Forgiveness was one thing their mother had never especially embraced. Still, she was right. Wouldn't Camille gain so much more from forgiving Grayson than she did by holding on to her anger? If, of course, she hadn't forgiven him already.
“One must also consider one's own culpability in another's mistakes,” Mother added. “Would something that has grown so large have been relatively minor if one had only acted at the time?”
Indeed, if Camille had gone after Grayson, instead of expecting him to return for her . . . If she had told him of her own feelings . . . If she had taken the next step. Certainly, her mistake was far less significant than his, but nonetheless it was a mistake.
“I haven't been very nice to you either,” Delilah said abruptly. “Why, I've never invited either of you to my house. I've never included you in a dinner party or a soirée or anything of that nature.”
Beryl's brow furrowed. “You have dinner parties and soirées?”
“Quite lovely ones too,” Mother said in a confidential manner. “Her parties are most delightful. You have no idea what you're missing.”
“Apparently.” Beryl stared at the younger woman.
Delilah beamed at her mother's praise.
“We certainly cannot take offense, as we have not invited you to our gatherings either. However, that is now in the past,” Camille said. “If, of course, this is something you wish to pursue as well.”
Delilah looked at one twin, then the next.
“Go on, dear,” Mother urged. “Tell them you accept their offer of friendship, their olive branch, as it were.”
“Well, yes, I suppose,” Delilah said thoughtfully. “I daresay, it won't be easy. I haven't been at all fond of either of you for as long as I can remember.”
“How perfect, then, as we are all starting in much the same position.” A weak smile curved Beryl's lips.
“Excellent.” Camille smiled at her younger sister. She didn't actually dislike Delilah; she simply hadn't given her any particular thought throughout the years. “You should know I am most grateful for your assistance in carrying out my little Christmas farce.”
“It seems to me, you need all the assistance you can get,” Delilah said in a wry manner.
“She is perceptive.” Beryl gave her younger sister a reluctant smile. “I'll give her that.”
“Do you know”âDelilah took a sip of teaâ“on occasion, while I don't look the least bit like you twoâ”
“Oh, you have the same eyes, dear,” Mother said. “All of you.”
“I have been told that I remind people of you.” She looked at Beryl.
Beryl sniffed. “Nonsense.”
“You poor dear.” Camille bit back a laugh. “You shall have to work on that flaw in your character.”
Delilah's eyes widened slightly, as if she couldn't believe one twin was sharing a joke with her at the other's expense then smiled. “I'm not entirely sure it's a flaw. I took it as something of a compliment.”
“Very well, then.” Beryl heaved a dramatic sigh. “I suppose we can be friends, as she has such exquisite taste.”
Delilah laughed. “I still don't entirely trust you, you know.”
“As we don't entirely trust you either, it does seem like a good foundation to build upon.” Beryl flashed her a genuine smile. “May I confess something too?”
“If you wish.” Caution sounded in Delilah's voice.
“I have always rather envied your spirit of independence.”
The younger woman's brows pulled together. “My what?”
“We have always depended upon one another, Camille and I. You have always depended upon no one but yourself.” Beryl gestured absently. “I find it most . . . admirable.”
Delilah stared. “You do?”
“Well, I daresay I couldn't do it, so yes I do.” Beryl huffed. “Now, do not expect me to utter any more sentimental nonsense. I have had quite enough for one day.”
“No, of course not,” Delilah said. “One can't hope for too much at once.”
“I want you all to know how very pleased I am,” Mother said. “I have not been unaware of the differences between you, and I have found them most distressing. However, I have felt it was something you would eventually take steps to rectify.” She picked up the teapot and refilled her cup. “I do try not to interfere.”
The sisters exchanged glances. Apparently, this was one subject in which they were in total agreement.
“Might I ask you a question?” Delilah said to Camille.
“Of course.”
“You went to all this trouble to extract a proposal from this prince.” Delilah chose her words with care. “Yet, now you say you are avoiding a proposal. I find it somewhat confusing.”
“Welcome to Christmas at Millworth Manor,” Beryl murmured.
“There are a number of reasons that failed to occur to me before I began all this,” Camille said. “It seemed like such a brilliant idea. . . .”
“And, as ideas go, Camille, it was indeed brilliant,” Mother said. “I would be hard-pressed to come up with anything more clever.”
“Unfortunately, I had not given it as much thought as I should have before leaping into it.” She thought for a moment. “You must understand, there was a myriad of details to attend to, and I fear I was thinking about those rather than about whether I truly wanted to marry a man I had to deceive about my family. A man who spends much of the time smiling and nodding. And, upon further consideration, I'm not at all sure I wish to live in a castle in a country whose name I can't remember.” She wrinkled her nose. “Then, of course, I don't love him, and while I didn't love Harold, I was quite fond of him. I did think I would love Nikolai one dayâ”
“After all, what's not to love?” Beryl cast her an innocent smile.
She ignored it. “But ultimately, as I certainly don't need his fortune, it seems wiser to marry someone I already love.”
“Well, you're not getting younger, dear,” Mother murmured.