“How delightful this is.” Nikolai looked around the room. “To have so many members of your family here for Christmas. First Mr. Elliott and then the children—”

“Children?” Delilah said. “Whose children?”

Mother aimed Camille a pointed glance. “Another development?”

Camille shrugged in a helpless manner.

“I think we should all return to the dining room.” Beryl herded the others toward the door. “I suspect Mrs. Fortesque has a wonderful dessert and we should hate to offend her.”

“Damn fine cook,” Mr. Henderson muttered. “And you should see her dance. . . .”

“And we should retire to our rooms to freshen up,” Mother said as soon as the others had left the room. “Although I suspect our usual rooms are occupied.”

Camille nodded. “It is rather a full house, but the red bedroom, down the hall from yours, is still available,” she added quickly. “However, we shall have to put Delilah in the west wing.”

“ ‘The west wing’?” Delilah glared. “It’s cold and drafty in the west wing.”

“Nonsense.” Mother waved away her daughter’s objection. “A few extra blankets should be more than sufficient to keep you quite comfortable.”

Delilah stared. “But I don’t want to sleep in the west wing. I don’t want to be part of this at all. It’s another one of your ill-conceived schemes and, no doubt, destined to ruin us all. I still think you should send them on their way right now.”

Camille narrowed her eyes. “Or you could leave.”

Delilah gasped. “You would throw your own sister out into the cold? And at Christmas?”

“With the tinkling of sleigh bells and a sprig of holly grasped between my teeth, if necessary,” Camille snapped.

Grayson stepped forward. “You may have my room, if you wish.”

Mother glanced at Camille. She shrugged. “He’s in the room across from mine.”

“I see,” Mother said. Camille knew that tone. What exactly did she see?

Delilah cast him an entirely too flirtatious smile. Miss Murdock’s portrayal of her might be close to the truth, after all. “That’s so very thoughtful of you, Grayson.”

“But she couldn’t accept,” Mother said firmly.

“Oh, but I could.”

“Oh, but you won’t.” Mother directed her a quelling look. “Grayson can’t be expected to move his things when he is helping Camille in her farce and there are no servants to spare to move him. So we shall leave things exactly as they are.”

“Fortesque!” Camille yelled. It seemed pointless to use the bell pull, as he was no doubt listening at the door.

The actor appeared at once. “Yes, my lady.”

“My mother and sister will be joining us as Mr. Elliott’s mother and sister,” Camille said with a sigh. “Please have rooms made up. They’ll show you which ones.”

The actor raised a brow. “Two more, then?”

She clenched her teeth. “Is that a problem?”