After hot drinks in the drawing room, the party drifted off their separate ways. Katie and Jeremy went back to their room, Pippa and Jenna had their heads bowed together over the wedding binder, and Charles maneuvered Guy away from the whiskey bottle and into the billiards room. Nory had invited them all to the tree lighting down in the village, but it had begun to snow again as they arrived back at the castle, and they were reluctant to go out. And in fairness, the Hartmead tree lighting ceremony wasn’t exactly Oxford Street.

“Just us, then,” said Dev brightly, double wrapping his scarf about his neck before helping Ameerah with her coat.

“I guess so,” said Nory.

“I’m pleased in a way, although I wouldn’t tell the others. It’s always been our thing, you know? My family aren’t exactly big on traditions, so this was always special,” added Ameerah.

“I feel rather honored that you’re letting me tag along,” said Dev.

“You should.” Ameerah winked at him.

“What will you be doing for Christmas, Dev?” Nory asked.

“I’ll go to my parents’ place. It’s not too far from here, actually. My sisters will be down with their kids, you know the drill—too much food, crap telly, noise, board games, and then one of my nieces or nephews will spew on the sofa. Perfect!” He smiled.

“You’ve just described hell,” said Ameerah.

Nory laughed. “Don’t pretend to be all Bah Humbug. He’s just basically described Christmas with my family, and you bloody love it.”

Ameerah smiled. “All right, maybe I do. But not the spew on the sofa.”

“That is admittedly one of the more unfortunate by-products of Christmas,” Dev agreed. “I suppose your family Christmases are all caviar and polished silver?”

“Yes, they are. And my parents like to give me a slideshow of all the eligible men they know.”

“How thoughtful,” said Dev.

“It’s all very professionally done,” Ameerah continued. “There are companies you can hire to make discreet inquiries into potential partners from around the globe—what their ambitions are, what they were like at school, previous girlfriends, how much money they’ve got in the bank, how much they’ll inherit. You know the sort of thing.”

“Oh, absolutely,” agreed Dev. “My mum’s the same. Her net’s not quite as wide as your parents’, though; she usually focuses her searches within three streets of our house.”

Nory laughed.

“And she doesn’t need to hire a company to gather intel,” he went on. “My sister calls her the aproned interrogator because she can winkle out all your secrets in the time it takes you to eat a slice of her coconut loaf cake.”

“Your mum sounds like a force to be reckoned with,” said Ameerah.

“She is. She’s like Sherlock Holmes in a floral tea dress.”