And it seemed Sir George was right. There were no rumors from Werlatton that Matthew Slythe’s missing daughter had been seen in Lazen and, as the days passed, Campion forgot her conviction that Faithful Unto Death had spotted her, and even laughed at it.

And, indeed, there was much laughter at Lazen, something there had never been at Werlatton, and it seemed to reach its peak at Christmas when Sir George, lured from his books, supervised the dragging of the yule log to the great hall. The heartbeat of Lazen, that had slowed for winter, quickened in anticipation of the feast that would be held on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day was reserved for the church, though the celebrations were resumed the next day and would last through to Twelfth Night. Christmas was an occasion of grand style at Lazen Castle.

Guests came on Christmas Eve. The Earl and Countess of Fleet, their differences with the Lazenders forgotten for the festival, arrived with Sir Simon and Lady Perrott, Lazen Castle’s closest neighbors to the north. A dozen more of the local gentry were present with their families, and the villagers, tenants and servants were invited so that the great hall would be full. It was a night for everyone to enjoy, a night of feasting, laughter, old jokes, drink, and a night that always ended with Sir George singing in the servants’ hall.

Campion was excited at the prospect. She wished Toby could have been at the castle, but even without him she was determined to enjoy this Christmas Eve. She chose the blue dress, her favorite, and Lady Margaret came into her room late in the afternoon as Enid, Lady Margaret’s own maid, dressed Campion’s hair. Lady Margaret looked critically at the dress, then smiled.

“You’re looking very lovely, Campion.”

“Thank you, Lady Margaret.”

“Don’t thank me, child. Thank your parents.” Lady Margaret watched as Campion’s hair was drawn back and the candlelight showed the line of her jaw. It was remarkable, she thought, that such clods as Matthew and Martha Slythe should produce this beauty, for Campion was truly exquisite. Lady Margaret had seen the heads turn. She frowned, unable to let a compliment pass without an attendant criticism. “Your bust is still too small.”

“You won’t let me do anything to remedy that.” Campion smiled at Lady Margaret in the mirror.

“It’s your own predicament, child. You shouldn’t have married that dreadful man. Don’t be shocked tonight.”

“Shocked?”

“George always gets drunk at Christmas. It’s a family tradition. He then goes to the servants’ hall and sings extremely dubious songs. I can’t think where he learned them, they’re certainly not in any of his books.”

Enid, her lips holding pins, muttered something about Sir George’s father having handed the songs down to his sons.

“I can believe that, Enid.” Lady Margaret sniffed. “Men always get drunk at Christmas. I’ve no doubt that Joseph was extremely tiresome when our Lord was born.” On that imperious note she left the room, summoned by loud shouts that announced the arrival of more guests.