The Kissing Bough by Alysha Ellis Page B

hand to the vegetation in front of him. “As for this… The Germans call it Tannenbaum —a Christmas tree in English. They’re quite popular in the Americas.” That wide grin flashed out again. “They’re not unknown in England either. Queen Charlotte had one set up in the Queen’s Lodge fifteen years ago. I know your respect for the old king. Surely if it pleases their majesties, it should not offend you.”
    Edward harrumphed. “You could not know possibly what was or was not in the Queen’s Lodge fifteen Christmases past. Until you joined the army, you spent every holiday here, at Beaufield.”
    “Being very good and very bored,” James agreed. “But three years ago I celebrated Christmas with one of Queen Charlotte’s ladies-in-waiting. I was very, very good and not a bit bored.” The smile grew lop-sided and decidedly devilish. “My lady’s pillow-talk tended toward matters of nostalgia.”
    “You will not speak in such a disgraceful manner in my home!” Edward bellowed.
    James shrugged. “My mother has had thirty years to reconcile herself to my outrageous ways. I doubt if…” he broke off. His head lifted and those piercing blue eyes looked directly into Lucinda’s. “My apologies, ma’am. Clearly I have been away from England too long if I fail to notice such a vision of beauty when it is placed before me.” He took a step toward her. Lucinda’s hand fluttered to her breast.
    Edward placed himself directly in front of his brother, blocking any further progress. “My mother has invited Miss Demerham and her parents, to grace us with a short visit. I will not have your outlandish manners discomfort them.”
    James’ mouth twisted wryly. “Sits the wind in that quarter? You surprise me, Edward. There must be more to you than I knew. If I promise to conduct myself in the most exemplary fashion, may I be introduced?”
    After a brief nod, Edward performed the honors. “Mr. and Mrs. Demerham, may I present my brother, James Lymon?”
    James addressed Lucinda’s parents in meticulously correct form, but when he bent over Lucinda’s hand, he lingered a fraction longer than was polite. His eyes twinkled when Edward glared at him but he slowly released her fingers and straightened.
    “Tell me, Miss Demerham, are you, too, opposed to the celebration of Christmas? I see my brother has made no attempt at Christmas cheer.”
    Before she could speak, Edward intervened. “We do not indulge in such frivolity in this house, as you well know.”
    “Oh, I know it, brother. What I have never known, is whether your objection stems from piety or parsimony.” He turned back to Lucinda. “You have not yet had an opportunity to give me your answer. Do you object to the trappings of Christmastide?”
    “No. I quite… I like them,” Lucinda replied, at a loss to account for her sudden breathlessness. The air around James seemed to shimmer. He carried with him an aura of spices, the fresh scent of pine and the secret essence of a world far removed from this formal dining room.
    “Lucinda,” her mother whispered behind her, reaching out and pulling her daughter to her side. “It is clear there is some tension between Edward and his brother. Please don’t do anything that might upset Edward further.”
    One of James’ eyebrows rose, and Lucinda felt her cheeks heat. Her mother had spoken quietly, but he must have heard what amounted to a warning.
    He bowed in her mother’s direction and turned to the dowager countess. “You won’t object to my contribution to the celebration, ma’am.” It wasn’t a question.
    He gestured to the retinue of servants and helpers who stood waiting, and they burst into movement. Before Lucinda’s eyes, they placed the tree upright in the barrel, poured sand around it to hold it steady and, by means she could not determine, attached candles, paper flowers and apples to the branches.
    James himself took a separate branch of evergreen strung with more apples and flowers.