*
Dinner was morefun than Max had expected. Olivia’s friends were lively, and dinner conversation was full of stories and teasing banter. Max sipped his wine as the dessert course was served. He glanced down the long table to where Olivia sat at the opposite end. Mr. Galey seated at her right. The two were deep in conversation. Julien laid a hand on hers and laughed at something she said. Max’s vision turned green around the edges.Why was he always touching her?You know why. You just don’t want to admit it. A man and a woman cannot be so familiar without being intimate.
Max took in a calming breath. He was being unreasonable. He knew it. But damn it, besides the brief moments in the drawing room before the guests arrived, he hadn’t a chance to talk with Olivia all evening. Not that his dinner companions were dull. Susanna Ashby was quite entertaining. And Lord and Lady Hornsby were an exuberant older couple full of gossip and good cheer.
“Lady Hornsby is famous around these parts for throwing extravagant parties. Two summers past, she had a fire-eater at her mid-summer fete. He could swallow fire and then blow it out from his mouth!” Susanna said.
“And he set the whole bloody dessert table on fire,” Lord Hornsby exclaimed. “That man was a waste of my money.”
“Dear, I told you, he was meant to dramatically set the rum pudding on fire, but the cook had doused it with too much alcohol, and the blaze was far bigger than it was supposed to be.” Lady Hornsby laughed.
Max raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It certainly sounds dramatic.”
“Well, I will admit I am always jealous of Belhaven’s Twelfth Night parties. I was simply trying to create an experience for my guests. Now, Henry always went all out for Twelfth Night. One year they had all the characters from the song ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ here to entertain guests at the party. Everything from pipers piping to swans a-swimming.”
“Yes, I remember that one.” Lady Markham spoke from mid-table. “One of those geese kept trying to eat the beads off the hem of my dress.”
Olivia’s lips curled up into a smile. “Yes, Henry wanted it to be as authentic as possible, even though I warned him that the birds would be trouble.”
“Henry always had great enthusiasm for Christmastime,” Lord Dearborn said. “Even if his ideas were over the top.”
A sudden pang of regret pierced Max’s heart. He hadn’t ever gotten the chance to know the man that Henry had grown into. It was his fault. He could have been part of his cousin’s life but had ignored his overtures of friendship the past eight years. With sadness thick in his throat, Max raised his glass. “To Henry, may we all live with the spirit of the season all year-round.”
Lucius Grisham raised his glass. “To Henry.” And the rest of the table followed with a chorus of “To Henry.”
Max met Olivia’s gaze down the long table. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but her smile was genuine. She raised her glass to him before taking a sip. Max took a long swallow from his, trying to regain his composure. “Everyone, let’s adjourn to the drawing room for games and music. My sister is excited to lead us on the pianoforte for the caroling.” He stood and offered his hand to Susanna Ashby, effectively dismissing the usual tradition of hosting the men in an after-dinner brandy. He had no interest in it tonight, and it was his party after all.
Susanna’s eyes widened, but she took his hand and rose. After a moment, everyone else rose and followed him and Lady Ashby out of the dining room.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“That will certainlycause a stir. My father lives for time away from the womenfolk.” Susanna Ashby whispered as they walked up the stairs. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. It’s far more entertaining to be in mixed company.”
Max shrugged. “I’m not in the mood for smoke and politics.” It wasn’t a lie. He intended tonight to be lighthearted and fun for Olivia. He had already ruined that by getting morose at the end of dinner. Time to get thefrivolity, as Livvy called it, back on track. “Do you like to sing, Lady Ashby?”
“Oh no, I have no talent for it, but the Westons are both accomplished musicians. I have very few skills except for my horsemanship.”
“Indeed? Tell me, do you hunt?” he asked politely.
“I do when the occasion calls for it. But what I enjoy most is training horses. This past spring, I went to see a show at Astley’s Amphitheatre in London, and I have become obsessed with trick riding. I have been training with my two best mares to learn some tricks.”
“Trick riding? Interesting. I have seen a Cossack regiment in Russia perform some impressive trick riding. It was a highlight from my trip to St. Petersburg.”
“You have? You must tell me every single detail.” She gripped his arm. “Perhaps we can plan an excursion, and you can tell me all about it.”
Max nodded. Her forwardness typically would have put him off. He didn’t want to be chased by young debutants looking for titled husbands. But he had a feeling the offer had little to do with her interest in him and more to do with her interest in hearing more about the Cossack riders.
Ginny took a seat at the pianoforte and began a lively rendition of “Here We Come A Wassailing.” Guests filtered in and were offered wine and punch by efficient footmen. Max glanced around the room. Despite the change in protocol, everyone appeared in good spirits, conversing and singing along to the music. Lord Weston stood next to Ginny at the pianoforte and sang along in a deep baritone, his wife, seated nearby, joined in as well.
Farther down the room toward the large stone fireplace, another seating area welcomed guests to gather. The long wall to the right had three tall windows dressed with red and gold bunting. Lord Hawksridge stood alone by one, frowning into his glass of brandy.
Max leaned over. “Lord Hawksridge doesn’t look like he is having any fun,” he murmured to Lady Ashby.
“Oh pish, Hawksridge wouldn’t know fun if it bit him,” she said.
“Perhaps I should go talk—” Max began.
“Wait, stop right there.” Lucius Grisham and his wife Eleanor were the last to enter the drawing room. He pulled her to a stop in the doorway. His wife gave him a quizzical look, but Mr. Grisham pointed up with a grin. “I simply cannot pass up an opportunity to kiss you under the mistletoe.” Then he bent and kissed her with no small amount of heat.