BooksBarbecue
Back What Happens At Christmas Save as PDF
Chapters (32)
  1. Also by
  2. Title Page
  3. One
  4. December 21st
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. December 22nd
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. December 23rd
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-one
  27. December 24th
  28. Twenty-two
  29. Twenty-three
  30. December 25th
  31. Twenty-four
  32. Copyright Page

Lady Briston considered her daughter closely. “You look dreadfully tired, dear. A good night’s sleep will do you a world of good.”

“Yes, well . . .” Camille’s gaze caught Gray’s; then she quickly looked away. A firm note sounded in her voice. “That is my intention. A good night’s sleep. In my own bed. Alone.”

“I do hope that wasn’t for my benefit,” Lady Briston said.

Gray hoped it was for his. Nice to think that Camille wanted him to know she was not sharing a bed with Pruzinsky—even if Beryl had already told him as much. Still, Camille wanting him to know, as well, struck him as a very good sign. Was she coming to her senses about the man? And, more important, about Gray?

Camille ignored her. “Tomorrow shall be very nearly as busy as today. What with decorating the house, and the children, and all.”

“Who are these children everyone is talking about?” Lady Briston frowned in annoyance.

“Lovely little boys from the village. Here just for the night. You shall meet them tomorrow.” Camille smiled sweetly. “Their presence was Grayson’s doing.”

“But Winfield procured them,” he said quickly. “They’re the butcher’s children.”

“Goodness.” Her gaze shifted between Camille and Gray. “The two of you sound like children again. The butcher’s children, you say?”

Camille nodded, obviously aware of what was coming. Gray grinned.

“Mr. Carroll? Then we have Carrolls at Christmastime?” Lady Briston chuckled. “My, my, Grayson, how clever of you. And Winfield, of course.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Mother.”

Camille shot him a startled glance.

“Camille, darling, this just gets better and better.”

Camille sighed. “Thank you, Mother.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a compliment, dear, simply an observation. Although . . .” She cast a considering glance at the rest of the gathering. “It does seem to be going well.”

Camille winced.

“You should be pleased,” Lady Briston continued. “Why, this is really quite a triumph, darling.”

“It’s not Christmas yet, Mother.”

And the day after, Camille intended to leave with Pruzinsky. She’d challenged Gray to be the man he had become, and he intended to do just that. One way or another, he’d keep Camille from making the worst mistake of her life and convince her to forgive him for the worst mistake of his.

The man he had become would not lose the love of his life. Not this time.

Not this Christmas.

December 23rd

December 23rd

Eighteen

Eighteen

“You there, boy number two,” Mother called to Simon, who was perched halfway up the main stairway. “Move that branch a bit to your right, if you please.” She sighed. “No, dear, your other right.”

Gray felt a tug on his pants and glanced down. Walter stared up at him. “Yes?”

“If she puts those branches and leaves and ribbons all over the banister, it wouldn’t be any good to anyone, you know.” Walter stared accusingly up at him.