“Perhaps if I had a mother who didn’t fill the house with every lost European exile who came along, not to mention a parade of lovers,” Camille said sharply, “someone whose behavior was more fitting of her position, then I wouldn’t have had to hire a proper family in the first place!”

Mother huffed. “They’re scarcely an improvement. Why, your Mr. Henderson made a most improper suggestion—”

“When you were being Juliet to his Romeo, no doubt.” Camille sniffed. “What do you expect?”

Mother continued as if Camille hadn’t said a word. “And if Miss Murdock is sleeping alone at night, it’s not by choice.”

“This is not Mother’s fault, Camille.” Beryl rose to her feet. “You’ve done what you always do. You’ve jumped into something without due consideration. I told you it was absurd!”

“Yes, yes, you told me, and God knows, you will never let me forget—”

“It’s Brighton all over again,” Delilah muttered.

“It’s not the least bit like Brighton,” Camille snapped. “And you needn’t keep throwing that in my face!”

“Perhaps, dear”—Mother stood—“if you learned from your past mistakes—”

“Brighton!” Beryl fairly shot the word.

“Stop that!” Camille cast an angry look at her family. “All of you! What I don’t need at the moment is recriminations and accusations. It does no good, whatsoever.” She drew a calming breath. “I am well aware that acting without due consideration has on occasion—”

“ ‘On occasion’?” Delilah scoffed.

“Proven to be a problem,” Camille finished.

Mother snorted.

“The irony of all this”—Beryl’s narrowed gaze met her twin’s—“is that the one time in your entire life when you should have thrown caution to the wind, you should have acted without thinking, you should have surrendered to impulse, and you didn’t, is when Grayson told you he loved you!”

Camille gasped. “So everything that has gone wrong in the past eleven years is my fault?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Mother said sharply. “That’s not what she said!”

“But this . . . this Christmas pageant of yours, which we are trapped in, the specter of scandal now hanging over our heads”—Delilah’s voice rose—“is indeed your fault!”

Camille clenched her fists. She couldn’t remember ever having been this angry with her family. Indeed, she couldn’t remember ever having been truly angry with them at all. Certainly, they had disagreements and even quarrels on occasion, but they were usually such a congenial group.

Not today.

“If you will excuse me, there are matters I need to attend to before dinner.” She nodded and swept out of the parlor.