“A few years later, I wrote asking to come home. She refused to allow it. I wrote continuously after that, every few months, but she was adamant. And so the years passed.” He tossed back the rest of his whisky and held out his glass. Gray fetched the decanter and returned to fill the other man’s glass. “Can you understand how it feels to know you have made the biggest mistake of your life, and the one person you pray will forgive you refuses to so much as speak with you?”

Gray shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I have an idea, sir.”

“I have kept abreast of their lives, though. I see Basil frequently, in various parts of the world. In addition to my letters, he has acted as a courier of sorts. Spoken on my behalf and all. He thinks I am the worst sort of coward.”

“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He’s right, you know.” Lord Briston smiled ruefully. “I have been. Still am, I think. But you come to a point in your life when you realize the days in front of you are fewer than the days behind, and you realize, as well, how much of your life you have squandered. And somehow you find the courage you have lacked.”

“So you’re here now.”

“That I am. Here to win my family back. God help me. Or them.” He raised his glass. “And we shall see. It should be an interesting Christmas.”

“In more ways than you can imagine.” Gray paused. “There are a few things you should know about this particular Christmas before you see anyone else.” Gray quickly explained about Camille’s plan, which actor was playing which part, the addition of small children, the unexpected arrival of Ladies Briston and Hargate, as well as how he and Beryl were certain Pruzinsky was a fraud.

Lord Briston chuckled. “I’m not sure why, but none of this surprises me.”

“Well, there is an element of amusement that—”

“There you are, Grayson.” Beryl swept into the room. The two men jumped to their feet. “Camille needs your assistance and I—” She caught sight of her father and stopped short. “Uncle Basil, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not pleased to see you. It is Christmas, after all. But your presence is not merely unexpected, but . . .” Her eyes widened and her face paled.

“Beryl.” Lord Briston stepped forward.

She stared for a long moment. “You’re looking remarkably good for a dead man.”

“How did you know?” her father asked.

“I found some of your letters a few years ago.” Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come home,” he said simply.

“For Christmas?”

“For good, I hope. One never knows how much time one has left and I have wasted entirely too much.”