“I trust you slept well?” he asked her. His expression seemed as though he really cared about the answer.
“Mm. And yourself?” she asked. She had lain awake for an hour, the memories of the charades game playing around her mind. She had feared she might lie awake all night with the same lovely memories dancing through her thoughts, but she had fallen abruptly asleep.
“I slept well, thank you,” the duke replied, his voice sounding as though his throat, too, was tense with emotion.
Rosalyn smiled. “Good,” she managed to say, shyness making her cheeks flare red. She reached for a pastry from the basket, not paying much attention to what she took. She was too busy focusing on the duke. “How does your horse fare?” she added, remembering the coughing horse.
“Buttercup? She is much better. The draft of herbs that the apothecary gave her seems to have helped a great deal. Thank you,” the duke replied. He smiled warmly at her.
“Have you...” she began, wanting to ask if he thought snow was likely—thick, heavy clouds hung over the hillside—but before she could finish, his mother clinked her spoon on her teacup, clearing her throat to make an announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen! After breakfast, you are invited to the ballroom, where we will assist in decorating the room with Christmas boughs. Then we will retire to the drawing room for early tea.”
“Oh!” someone exclaimed, a woman’s voice. “Oh, how grand!”
“What a splendid idea,” Lady Bronham commented.
The room was instantly loud with excited chatter as people discussed the idea. With only a week before Christmas Day, the excitement was growing considerably. Rosalyn leaned back, smiling to herself. Christmas had always been one of her favourite celebrations.
“You seem to be thinking of something happy,” the duke commented. Rosalyn jumped.
“Yes. I was. I was recalling Christmas in my childhood home,” she said with a smile. “I recall opening my Christmas gift in the drawing room. My sisters would be shrieking with joy, and Sebastian would usually already have opened his gift. Mama and Papa would be eating breakfast while they watched us. We were all so happy.” She sniffed, trying not to cry.
“That is a beautiful memory,” the duke said softly.
Rosalyn swallowed hard. She had not expected her sorrow for her mother to surface just then. It was the prospect of decorating the hall that reminded her. The kissing bough had been something that all the children had helped to make, decorating it with ribbons and apples. Once it was completed, Papa would hang it up, always making a little charade of placing it where it might catch Mama unawares. Of course, she had always known where it was, her surprise just a sweet act that Papa, laughing, would dismiss, and they would share a tender kiss.
Rosalyn blinked back tears at the memory and focused on her pastry, feeling a little shy. It was a fond and intimatememory of her family, and she was not sure how he would take it. She gazed at him, sneaking glances as they ate. He caught her eye on him and smiled. Rosalyn blushed.
As the rest of the guests stood, she and the duke followed them downstairs to the ballroom.
Excited exclamations filled the room as the guests entered. Rosalyn craned her neck to see what was causing the agitation, and she, too, let out a sigh as she saw the vast bundles of greenery set out for them to work with. There was ribbon in red and white, and piles of holly, ivy, fir branches and other evergreens.
“Rosalyn! Look! Oh, isn’t this so diverting?” Georgina asked, pressing close as they stepped into the ballroom.
“I hope we can make a kissing bough! We must ask her grace who is to make it!” Isabel said excitedly.
Rosalyn nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes,” she replied.
The duke smiled at her. His grey eyes sparkled. “This will be quite a task,” he said with a grin. “And I am afraid that I will require your assistance. I have no notion of how one proceeds with decorating a hall.”
Rosalyn giggled. He sounded so serious. She looked around the room.
“I think the staff have given us some ideas,” she replied, looking over to where hooks had already been set out at regular intervals around the walls, some of them already supporting boughs or bunches of greenery.
“Quite so,” the duke replied. “Ought we to make bunches, do you think?”
Rosalyn shrugged. “That is a good way to begin. And be certain to put enough holly and ivy in each one.”
The duke frowned, looking puzzled. “Why is that, pray, Miss Rothwell?”
She chuckled. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and began her explanation. “The holly represents Christ, and the ivy His mother, the Holy Virgin. We should try to put equal amounts of both into every bunch. That will ensure a harmonious festive season.”
“Mm.” The duke inclined his head. “Whatever you say, Miss Rothwell. Well, then. May I choose whatever ribbon I like, or is there a tradition regarding those as well?” He went to the trestle table, where ribbon, wire and other things had been set out to assist them in the making of bunches. His lips tugged upwards at the corners a little, showing he was teasing. Rosalyn followed him.
She giggled. “I shall let you choose whatever ribbon you like. Though I shall tie mine with both red and white ribbon.”
“Does that ensure a harmonious season?” he asked.
