Vincent didn’t answer Jonathan Hale or acknowledge his presence. He didn’t want the company, but hadn’t thought to tell his butler that he wasn’t receiving visitors today. He’d been sitting there in his parlor, alone, staring at Larissa’s Christmas tree and recalling that day it was decorated, the enjoyment he’d had, the laughter . . .

He’d felt a part of something that day, rather than the outsider always looking in, as was usually the case for him. That was Larissa’s doing. She shared with everyone, excluded no one. She’d made even his servants feel that her tree was their tree, got Jonathan involved in its decoration just because he happened to be there. For her it was an event that began the sharing of the season.

He didn’t answer Jonathan, because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to get any words out without their sounding as choked as he felt. But the viscount either didn’t notice his preoccupation or chose to overlook it.

Jonathan knew Larissa was gone, that her father had taken her away, and that their whereabouts were presently unknown. He wasn’t happy about that, and Vincent was surprised he hadn’t asked, “Have you found her yet?” which was his usual first inquiry when he stopped by each day now, and had been for the last week. The painting, his reason for coming there, was rarely mentioned anymore. It had become quite secondary in importance to his pursuit of Larissa.

“Some of them had been made by her mother, you know,” Jonathan continued. “A few were even made by her grandparents, and one, that she prized the most, a great-grandfather had whittled. Seems to be somewhat of a tradition in her family, the making of Christmas ornaments. Found that rather quaint myself. Even contemplated making an ornament and giving it to her as a Christmas present, but gave up that idea quick enough. Just ain’t talented in that way.”

Vincent sighed and finally glanced at his visitor. “There is no news to report,” he said, hoping that would send Jonathan on his way.

“Didn’t think there would be. I’m just in the habit of coming by daily now. Didn’t think you’d mind, and I’ve decided to take it upon myself to cheer you up.”

“I don’t need cheering.”

“Course you don’t,” Jonathan said dryly. “You aren’t the least bit sick to your guts with missing her. It’s too bad you didn’t realize sooner that you’d been lying to yourself all along about her.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a man to jump to false conclusions, Jon.”

Jonathan chuckled. “Still lying to yourself, or just to me?”

“Go home,” Vincent mumbled.