Theresa Romain - Season for Temptation

She missed seeing him frown at her when she said something outrageous (usually unwittingly), or making him smile when she did something ridiculous (also usually unwittingly). She just missed. . him.

Winter began early, with a biting cold that promised to be both long and severe. Julia’s mood lifted somewhat when she was allowed back on her feet again in November, but as Christmas drew nearer, the coziness of the season didn’t cheer her as it usually did.

She tried her best to wrap herself in glee, helping her small siblings poke silver trinkets into the plum pudding that would soak in brandy for the weeks until Christmas dinner. She helped the cook bake treats — and sample them: glossy jam tarts, Yule cakes, a gingerbread full of enough sweet spices to make an Elizabethan explorer swoon. She cut strips of paper for the children to paste into links, and laughed when they coiled so many paper chains around their father’s favorite chair that it looked like a paper mill had spun a cocoon. Greenery was cut; the everyday tallow candles were exchanged for sweet-scented beeswax, and warm, spicy smells filled the house.

But beneath Julia’s smile, her gloom weighed on her. She was penned inside the house by the numbing cold; she missed the company of her sister, who spent much time in the library writing letters to James.

In between crafting amusements for the children, then, she paced Stonemeadows. She tried to walk away from her dull feeling, leaving it behind in some neglected attic or cellar, but it inevitably found her again. Lady Irving finally told her in annoyance that Julia only needed a set of chains to look like the home’s resident ghost, wandering the corridors, muttering and pale.

But in mid-December, a letter arrived that changed everything. James had written another of his long lists to Louisa, who pored over it eagerly as usual. This time, though, when she read the end of the letter, her eyebrows knit in sudden displeasure.

“No,” she said in a flat voice.

Lady Oliver and Julia looked up at her, startled, from the floor, where they were helping Elise, Emilia, Anne, and Tom put together a puzzle map of Europe. Tom was very little help, being scarcely past the age where he liked to put bright-colored objects in his mouth, and his sisters forbore his desire to work on the puzzle with grudging impatience.

“Is something wrong, Louisa?” Lady Oliver asked with concern, then immediately diverted her attention back to the four small children beside her. “Tom, don’t eat France; it’s nasty. Can you help your sisters find where France goes? Emilia, can you show him?”

The girl sighed and shoved the offending country into place. Julia praised her, then looked up questioningly at Louisa.

Louisa pressed her lips together and was silent for several seconds, her eyes unreadable. “I’ve received an invitation that I don’t wish to accept,” she finally said.

“An invitation? Who on earth from?” Julia wondered. She realized that wasn’t exactly tactful, and explained, “I mean, it’s just that we are quiet here. I didn’t mean people shouldn’t be inviting you out all the time, because they should — at least, if there were many people around.”

“I know what you mean,” Louisa assured her. “It’s. .” She trailed off, then drew in her breath. “James’s family wants me to spend Christmas with them in London.”

“Wonderful!” Lady Oliver squealed, tossing the puzzle map’s Portugal gleefully into the air.

Julia said, “Oh.”

Louisa looked appreciatively at her sister. “I can see you understand, Julia. Mama, I don’t wish to go. I’ve never spent Christmas away from home, and, honestly, I am terrified of James’s family. I haven’t spoken to them much and I’m quite sure they don’t approve of me.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Oliver replied, distracted, as she began to look under furniture for the displaced country. “Portugal, where are you?” she crooned.

“I think it is a good sign that they want to have you there,” Julia said bracingly. “It shows that they want to welcome you into the family.”

“Maybe.” Louisa looked doubtful. “But I had in my mind that I wouldn’t have to go back to London until February at least. This is just so soon.”

“But you want to see James again, right? You’ll get to see him again?” Julia asked.

“Yes, of course. Yes, he’ll be there,” Louisa said vaguely.

Julia scrutinized her. What was she thinking of? How could she not want, with every fiber of her body, to go to London and see James and his family?

Granted, she had never met James’s family, but if they were anything like him, she was sure they must be delightful.

“What if we go now?” Louisa finally spoke.

At the puzzled expressions of both Julia and Lady Oliver (who was still looking for the lost Portugal, ably assisted by her younger children, who were eager to finish their map), Louisa explained herself. “You and I, Julia. What if we could persuade our aunt to go to London now, and we could both go? I am sure you would be as welcome as I at Matheson House for Christmas. Would you like that?”

“Oh, yes!” Julia shrieked, clapping her hands together.

Louisa looked happier at once. Lady Oliver protested that she couldn’t, just couldn’t, let both of her girls go to London for Christmas; they would be missed too much. Who would hang the mistletoe? Who would lead the family in carols? But Louisa’s expression turned stubborn, and when she informed her parent that she simply wouldn’t go if Julia didn’t go with her, then everything seemed to be decided.

It remained only to persuade Lady Irving, who at first described Louisa’s idea of requiring her sister’s companionship in London as “rot.” But when presented with the alternative — Louisa not going to London, an irrevocable slight being dealt to a powerful family, the engagement being endangered — she had to recognize inevitable defeat.

“Well played, my girl,” she acknowledged the maneuver. “You’re getting more and more suited for the ton already.” She sighed with dismay. “I do hate the greasy London winters, though. And one feels so unfashionable being there year-round.”

“Viscountess Matheson never leaves London,” Louisa pointed out.

“Yes, well, that began because of her husband’s gout, and now it’s due to sheer laziness,” Lady Irving informed her. “I would rather be struck dead in my bed than have anyone think me too lazy to travel.”

“Aunt, you are in no danger of having anyone think you the tiniest bit lazy,” Julia replied truthfully.

“We’ll have to stay through to the season.” Lady Irving nodded, tapping her chin in thought. “Julia, you’ll have to have an entire wardrobe made before you’re fit for the young bucks to look at. And you, Louisa, have to put together a trousseau. And plan the wedding. Maybe even go through with the blasted thing, if one can be permitted to utter those words in this house,” she grumbled. “Yes, it’s quite a good idea at that. London’s where you’ll both need to be for the time being.”

Louisa looked taken aback, but Julia hardly noticed. She could scarcely believe how much the world had changed today. This morning, months of cold, gray, quiet days had lain between her and the season. Now she was going to London, and better still, she would get to see James.

At last, Christmas cheer bubbled up within her.

Christmas Eve dawned crisp and lovely. However, none of the inhabitants of Lady Irving’s stately town house were aware of the weather at dawn, as they were all still sleeping following a day of travel. In fact, Julia, exhausted from a sleepless night, only awoke when Louisa shook her gently and told her that James was downstairs.

She sat upright in an instant, sleep abolished. “What!” she shrieked.

Louisa laughed. “It’s past noon. There’s nothing very unusual about him coming by at this hour.”

“Why didn’t anyone wake me?” Julia frantically tossed her bedcovers aside and began hunting for something to put on. “Where are my clothes? Why the devil did I sleep so late?”

“Julia,” Louisa gently reproved her.

“Sorry; of course I meant, ‘why the deuce did I sleep so late,’” Julia dutifully replied, rolling her eyes.

She paused in her frenzied attempt to find where her trunks were stowed, and took in Louisa’s appearance. The tall girl’s hair was glossy and well dressed; her pale primrose gown was simply cut but elegant, and trimmed with intricate silk knots and a row of bugles.

“Why, you look wonderful,” she squeaked. “Even for you. I mean, your general appearance has a pretty high level of wonderful, but today it is especially so.”

To her surprise, Louisa blushed. “Oh, well, thanks,” she said dismissively, but she smiled all the same. “I. . I suppose I didn’t want to be a discredit to James when I met his family. Actually, we are going to meet his family.”

Louisa’s expression turned guilty, and she admitted, “I’ve never met the viscountess before, but I know James thinks she’s rather intimidating. So if you don’t mind, we’ll all go together. I feel I could use the support of your presence. James has already agreed that it sounds delightful. And of course it would be nicest to spend Christmas Eve all together, don’t you think?” Her voice sounded hopeful, wheedling.

Julia didn’t need to be wheedled at all. “Of course! I’m absolutely rabid to meet the woman who was girlhood friends with Lady Irving.” She grinned mischievously. “Do you think they’ll have a fight while we’re there?”

She was only teasing, but Louisa looked worried. “I hope not. I want our visit to go as well as possible. Do you think my aunt would be offended if I asked her to be calm and not provoke anyone?”

“Not a bit, but she’ll probably decide to be on her worst and most flamboyant behavior if you do,” Julia decided. “Better not to say anything. She wants this to go well, too, you know. We all do,” she added self-consciously.

Louisa nodded her understanding, and then looked around the room. “They can’t have unpacked your clothing without your hearing, can they?” She looked in the wardrobe, and was greeted by a neat arrangement of garments.

She shot a skeptical look at Julia. “I know Simone is very good at what she does, but no one is that good. How could you not hear her unpacking you?”

“What? Those can’t be my clothes.” Julia came over to examine them. “Well. They are my clothes. I’ll be—”

“Julia,” Louisa said again, reprovingly.

“I’ll be delighted,” Julia finished. “Actually, I really am pretty delighted to see them unpacked. And I’m surprised. I guess I was sleeping more deeply than I realized.”

She shooed Louisa out and asked her to send in Simone to help her dress and make herself presentable. “Don’t let James leave until I see him,” she warned.

“Silly.” Louisa smiled. “We’ll be over there for an early supper and will see him all evening.”

“But I don’t want to wait that long,” Julia exclaimed. Then, embarrassed at her unguarded tongue, she busied herself sorting through her dresses for something fit to wear to meet a viscountess.

More quickly than she would have imagined possible, Simone’s deft fingers had teased the snarls out of her hair and selected one of her myriad white gowns.

“This is nothing special,” the Frenchwoman explained dismissively of the garment as she helped Julia into it, “but at least it will not offend the fashionable. When we are able to visit a modiste, then we will choose beautiful garments for you.”

At Julia’s look of interest, she clarified, “They will naturally be dresses that are also appropriate for a young woman who is not married. Yes, I know that expression of joie; you are truly your aunt’s niece. You must trust in Simone for couture, if you please.”

Julia looked at herself in the glass. Pale, plain, boring. Lank hair. White dress. Circles under her eyes. Cheeks flushed from hurry. It was all rather discouraging. But James might get tired of waiting if she didn’t appear downstairs soon.

“Can I at least wear ostrich plumes with the dress?” she asked hopefully. “Louisa said they are shockingly expensive, so they must be all the rage.”

“They are very wrong for today, when you are to spend Christmas Eve with one who is like a relative,” Simone explained as she coiled Julia’s hair into a simple, neat chignon.

“How do you do that?” Julia breathed, gingerly touching the roll of hair. “I always have to use about a hundred pins to make it stay in place.”