“Well . . .” He thought for a moment. “She wants to hire Mrs. Fortesque as her new cook. I might be able to arrange that.”

“Good Lord, Gray, a cook is entirely too practical a gift.” He rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “It’s like giving her wool socks.” Win sighed. “Is there anything else she might want?”

“She did want a prince.” Gray shrugged.

“Yes, well, she can’t have one.”

The most absurd idea struck him and he stared at Win. “Why not?”

Confusion shone in Win’s eyes. “Why not what?”

“Give her a prince.”

Win shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Nor do you have to.” Gray chuckled. “But if a prince is what she wants”—Gray raised his glass—“a prince is what she’ll get.”

“I remember these.” Delilah smiled with delight and unwrapped a delicate glass ornament in the shape of a strawberry. “When I was a child, I would stare at these and think they were real strawberries turned to glass by fairies determined to keep them perfect forever.” She wrinkled her nose. “Rather fanciful, I’m afraid.”

“Not for a child, dear. And not for anyone at Christmas,” Mother said with a smile. “Indeed, I have always thought they were a bit magical myself.”

Camille’s mother and sisters had offered their help in the decorating of the tree, which had been set up in the main gallery late in the morning. The gardener had done an excellent job. The fir was impressively large and nicely shaped. The ladies were surrounded by the scent of evergreen and the boxes Camille and Grayson had found in the attic. No one had brought up yesterday’s argument, but there was an air of fragility around them all. As if one wrong word would shatter the tentative peace. Still, their offer to help had seemed to Camille to be in the way of making amends. Not that she didn’t have amends of her own to make. She intended to say something at the first opportunity; but for the moment, they were all awash in recollections of Christmases past. With each box opened, each fragile glass ornament unwrapped from its tissue, each silver star or angel crafted from lace discovered, came gasps of delight and smiles and memories.

“It’s much like seeing old friends—unwrapping these ornaments, that is,” Beryl said with a smile. “Good Lord.” Surprise sounded in her voice. “When did I become so sentimental?”

“We are all sentimental at Christmas. It’s not merely permitted but expected, even encouraged.” Mother studied the contents of a newly opened box. “It is the one time of year we can all behave like children and not be chastised for it.” She glanced at Camille, which did feel somewhat like a chastisement. “Where are the rest of your players this afternoon? Shouldn’t they be here joining in the Christmas merriment?”