“That’s all very well and good, but what about last Christmas? And the Christmas before.” She folded her arms over her chest. “And all the Christmases that have passed?”

“There is nothing I can do to make up for the past. To make amends to you and your sisters and your mother.” He shook his head. “But I am here now.”

“Don’t expect us to fall all over ourselves greeting you with open arms.”

He smiled. “I never imagined that was a possibility.”

“It isn’t.” She looked at Gray. “You understand Camille cannot be told. Not yet.”

“You never told her?” Gray studied her.

“I didn’t know how. To tell her now, before this Christmas farce of hers is over, would be a disaster of monumental proportions.” There was the oddest tremble in her voice, as if she were drawing on all her strength and it was not quite enough. “I don’t think Delilah should be told either. I have no idea how she might take the resurrection of her dead father, but as she was very young when he died—I daresay, she can’t remember a time when she had a father.” She looked at her father. “As for you . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. . . .”

Gray had never imagined Beryl to be at a loss for words. She was right, though: Camille should not be told yet. If coming face-to-face with the father she knew wasn’t dead did this to Beryl, he couldn’t imagine the effect this revelation would have on Camille.

“I understand and you’re quite right.” Lord Briston nodded. “No need to complicate this Christmas any further. There will be plenty of time to set things right afterward.”

“Or you could save us all the trouble and leave,” Beryl said sharply. “Again.”

“I could.” His gaze met his daughter’s. “Would you prefer that I do so?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “But I doubt that my preference makes any difference whatsoever. Besides, you have two other daughters, and I shall not make this decision for them.”

“Good, as I am here to stay.” Determination sounded in the older man’s voice.

“You shall have to allow Camille to think you’re Uncle Basil until after Christmas. Dear Lord, we’ll need to explain you somehow. Oh, and you’ll have to play a part.” She cast Gray a helpless look. It was as frightening as seeing her at a loss for words.

“He could play my father, I suppose,” Gray said slowly. “I can’t think of anything else. Although, as your mother is playing the part of my mother, I’m not sure if it’s especially wise.” He glanced at Lord Briston. “But then, I suppose, it’s possible Lady Briston won’t realize who you really are.”

“Goodness, Grayson.”

All eyes immediately turned to the doorway and Lady Briston.