“No, if I only have one, I should have to think for a long time. About what I really, truly want.” Simon’s tone was solemn, as befit such an important decision. “Not that I don’t want a dog,” he added quickly.

Gray nodded. “That goes without saying.”

Simon studied him for a moment. “What would you wish for?”

Camille’s forgiveness. Her heart. Her hand. “Why, I agree with you. Something of this magnitude must be given a great deal of thought. One would hate to squander a lone wish on something of no importance.”

“A dog is important.” Walter pointed out, and snuggled deeper under the covers.

“A dog most certainly is. Now shall we see how the princess uses her wish?” The boys nodded their agreement and Gray began: “ ‘There was once a King, and he had a Queen; and he was the manliest of his sex, and she was the loveliest of hers. The King was, in his private profession, Under Government. The Queen’s father had been a medical man out of town. . . .’ ”

No, he would not have to read long. He had scarcely gotten to the part where the king had arrived at his office, before the twins were asleep and the others were struggling against succumbing.

“ ‘There he wrote and wrote and wrote, till it was time to go home again. Then he politely invited the Princess Alicia, as the Fairy had directed him, to partake of the salmon. . . .’ ”

By the time the doll, which was really a duchess, was introduced in the story, all five children were fast asleep. They looked much like Christmas angels, although—he chuckled to himself—they were simply Christmas Carrolls. He would have to thank Win for that bit of whimsy. He stood, blew out the lamp and quietly moved to the door, closing it gently behind him.

“How long have you been listening?” he said without turning around.

“I heard them tell you they had already been read to once tonight.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

He turned to face her. Camille stood far closer than expected, illuminated by the faint light of the gas sconces in the corridor. Close enough to kiss again, if he dared. “I thought Beryl didn’t like children.”

“So did Beryl.” Camille laughed softly.

“And you? Do you like children?”

“I have always imagined I would like my children, although I suppose that isn’t always true. And I like these children.” She studied him curiously. “Are you surprised?”

“That you like children?”

She nodded.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” he said. “I suppose, I thought, assumed as you don’t have any—”

“Life does not always turn out as one expects, Grayson. I came to tell you, dinner is nearly ready. And I should hate to insult Mrs. Fortesque by any of us being late.” She started down the hall. “I do hope to have children, you know.”

He nodded. “Princes and princesses.”