Charlotte Louise Dolan by The Substitute Bridegroom

Elizabeth.
    He found her in the morning room, seated side by side on the settee with Dorie, and there was a flurry of giggles and a rapid hiding of items under pillows and behind backs, and his mood immediately became more festive, since it brought back memories of the stratagems he and Algernon had employed to discover where their Christmas presents were hidden.
    One year they had succeeded in finding the gaily wrapped presents and had secretly played with all the toys, before replacing the paper and ribbons. Christmas morning it had been uncommonly difficult pretending to be completely surprised. His feelings of guilt had turned it into the worst Yuletide he ever spent in the duke’s household, and he and Algy had by unspoken agreement foregone such devious behavior during subsequent holidays.
    So now he pretended not to notice the corner of a handkerchief sticking out from behind Dorie’s back—a corner embroidered with a partially completed “S”—nor did he comment on the fact that Elizabeth sat stiffly upright and showed a marked disinclination to relax and lean back more comfortably against the pillows.
    “What have you ladies been up to this fine morning?”
    “We have been discussing the wassail party the squire is giving tomorrow. You have not forgotten that we are promised to attend, have you? All the cream of loyal society will be there, and I am sure you will be amazed at what a goodly company the squire manages to collect each year.”
    “And you will be amazed at the variety of dance partners you will be introduced to,” Dorie said with a giggle. “You will be more than happy to dance with me, after you have stood up for a set with the squire’s wife. Nicholas says dancing with her is like trying to pilot a barge around a lily pond.”
    “And you will show more respect for your elders, miss, or you will spend tomorrow evening in your room with bread and water.”
    It was obvious to Darius that Dorie was not the least intimidated by this threat since she continued with scarcely a pause.
    “But the food ... Oh, Darius, you wouldn’t believe the food the squire’s wife thinks is necessary. She always says there will be dancing and a bite or two to eat, and then it is a veritable banquet. There are always lobster patties and fresh peaches that they grow themselves in their succession house and the biggest plum pudding in the whole world.”
    “And how do you know all this since you have never before visited us in Somerset at Christmastime and have never been to the squire’s party, hmmm?” Elizabeth interrupted.
    Dorie looked monetarily disconcerted. “Oh, Nicholas told me all about it, which I feel is almost the same thing as having been there.”
    Darius could no longer hold back a laugh. “It has been my experience, Dorie, that being told about food is not at all the same thing as actually eating it.”
    He immediately wished he had said nothing since he could tell by their expressions that they were now picturing him starving miserably in Spain. His impression was given more substantiation when Elizabeth suddenly declared she was famished and casually asked Dorie to ring for tea to be brought up early.
    “Let me tell you how they celebrate the holidays in Spain,” he said, wanting to give their thoughts a more pleasant turn. “One Christmas I had the good fortune to be quartered in a small Spanish farmhouse. From the outside there was nothing especially distinguished about it, but inside the family had the most elaborate nacimiento you can imagine. The original figures of the Holy Family were quite old, and the family told me that every year they tried to add at least one more figure.”
    “Oh,” Dorie blurted out, “that sounds like the creche that is described in my French book. Did they have figures of the Magi and the shepherds?”
    “And angels and sheep and oxen and every imaginable profession was represented, from a baker with loaves of bread to a shoemaker with the tiniest