Lucien hadn’t had time to say goodbye.
The harsh reality crowded in on Grace as she paced the ballroom, the crumpled note Cassandra had given her still clutched in her hand. It seemed a cruel jest that the note that had plunged Lucien into danger had been written on a page from a Dickens novel.
A make-believe London Street wound about the room, just waiting for the actors to bring A Christmas Carol to life: Scrooge and Marley’s Counting House, the merriment of Fezziwigs and the Cratchit’s humble, yet love-filled home set like jewels in the tableaux.
Yet when the lamplighter set Penelope’s clever streetlights aglow, there would be no cutthroats lurking in the shadows, no mysterious enemies hunting for prey. In the dangerous slums where Lucien was going, God only knew what peril could be waiting.
People will die…Tom O’Malley had warned.
She felt a touch on her back and wheeled around, startled. Simon stood behind her, his face red from the cold. “You’re back!” she exclaimed.
“Just in time to hear that Lucien’s gone.”
She handed him the note and he read it. His mouth set grim. “It was a damn fool thing for him to go off to the Seven Dials alone. I am sure it has been a shock to you.”
“A shock. Yes.”
“You should sit down for a bit before the guests arrive,” Simon said. “The stress isn’t good for the baby.”
Grace eyes widened in surprise. “Lucien told you?”
Simon grimaced. “No. Lucien told Cass before he left. Made her promise we would take care of you and the babe in case?—”
“He dies,” Grace bit out, her stomach twisting.
“No one is more able to take care of himself than my brother,” Simon attempted to soothe. “It’s just—fatherhood is terrifying when you’ve had an upbringing like ours. You realize just how vulnerable your wife and child would be without you.” He straightened one of the upturned barrels from which costumed vendors would serve refreshments once the guests arrived. “The moment the party is over, I swear I will find him.”
Grace threw up her hands. “By then anything might have happened to him. You have to go after himnow.”
“You know I cannot do that,” Simon reasoned. “Lucien entrusted me with your safety.”
“Who is going to keephimsafe? Fight forhim?” Grace thumped her fist against Simon’s chest. “No one ever has!”
Simon caught hold of her hands, his handsome face softening. “Until you.”
“I am completely protected here, in my own home,” she said fiercely. “I’m surrounded by family and you’ve posted guards around the premises. WeknowLucien is riding into danger.Alone.Go to the Nolans’, Simon. Help him.” Tears filled her eyes. “He has a right to know his child. Lucien deserves this chance at happiness.”
Simon’s gaze locked with hers. Held. And she knew she had won.
“Happiness…,” Simon breathed. “Yes, he does.”
The tableaux seemedspun of magic, bringing Dickens’ irresistible tale to life just as Grace had hoped it would. In the three hours since Simon had ridden after Lucien, Marley, decked in chains and cash boxes, confronted Scrooge. Bob Cratchit carried Tiny Tim on his shoulders. Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Yet To Come cast their ethereal spells, while carolers, vendors and shoppers laden with Christmas bundles wove amongst the guests, filling the chamber with music.
The lamplighter moved about the room, igniting the oil lamps Penelope had mounted on posts, the flames setting swaths of gilt-painted stars glittering.
Benches and chairs arranged at points around the room allowed guests to pause and listen to a selection from the story and drop coins into upturned top hats.
Yet despite the delight on the faces of her guests, it was hard for Grace to keep a smile on face. Her cheeks ached from the effort and she feared she might scream if one more person asked where Lucien was. But as Mrs. Camilla Aylcock swept toward her in a garish plaid silk gown, Grace was fairly certain her self-control was about to be put to the test.
“Wherever did you find these actors, Lady Everdene?” the baronet’s wife gushed, waving her fan. “I vow, I’m tempted to stick them with pins to see if I can get them to break character. And the scenes you have created are quite exquisite.”
“I hired the actors from a traveling troupe a friend recommended, and the painting was done by Lord Everdene’s sister, Lady Cassandra,” Grace said. “Captain Harcourt’s wife helped with the structures and scenery.”
“Did Mrs. Harcourt suggest positioning the barrels and kegs at different heights with the food spread upon them? It is quite effective!”
For a moment Grace’s forced smile became real. “That was actually Lady Alice Pinchbeck’s suggestion.”
“Lady Pinchbeck’s daughter?” Mrs. Aylcock scooped up a cup of ratafia from one of the keg tops she’d admired. “I own I am surprised she is even speaking to you. I must tell you, Lady Pinchbeck feels you are quite the bad influence and was most insistent that I not come here tonight. But I would not be deterred.”
