Epilogue

Bedfordshire, England Christmas, 1829 Too damned early in the morning

K it stormed in through the front door, a scarf wrapped round his face to ward away the chill. Phoebe had been watching for him through the upstairs window in the library, curled up with a book in a wingback chair, with a throw blanket draped across her lap and a steaming cup of tea upon the table beside her. He'd left perhaps a half an hour before to take a walk in the downy drifts of snow that had come down during the night, blanketing the countryside in white. He'd meant to escape the children, she knew, who had been cavorting all about the house well before dawn, in all the excitement wrought by the arrival of Christmas morning. But they'd followed. Not all of them, perhaps, but she'd counted an even dozen of them as they'd filed out of the house after him in neat little rows, just far enough behind that he hadn't noticed. Two of the Victorias, all of the Williams, a David, and she thought there had been at least one George amongst the bunch. She wasn't certain where they had gone, but she'd dashed down the stairs as soon as she'd seen him trudging back toward the house, his steps as slow and plodding as Hieronymus'. She had arrived in the foyer with only seconds to spare, gasping out, "How did it go?" as he slid through the door. Kit threw up his hands. "I was followed ." His voice emerged muffled from behind the thick fabric of his scarf. "I know. I saw." "And you didn't think to warn me?" She had. Just…not very hard. "Come now, it wasn't all that bad, surely." Kit grabbed for the ends of his scarf, unwinding it from about his neck and face. "William caught up with me first," he said. "I think it was William, at least." "Which one?" Another wild gesticulation of his hands. "How the hell would I know!" He cast his scarf aside, and it landed draped haphazardly across a coat rack. "There was a convenient hill. I pushed him down it." Phoebe choked on a shocked laugh. "You didn't!" Kit rolled his eyes. "It was covered in snow," he said. "He slid straight down to the bottom, laughing the whole way." A heartfelt sigh. "And then the rest of them descended upon me, all wanting a go themselves. I spent what was meant to be a pleasant, quiet walk pushing children down a hill." "I think you enjoyed yourself at least a little," she said. "It's not even eight." "It's Christmas morning," she said. "Everyone rises early on Christmas." " I don't. I'm meant to be asleep another four hours at least." How had he expected to manage that with the bulk of the children awake and shrieking at the top of their lungs with excitement? "I haven't even had breakfast yet!" "That's not quite true. I distinctly recall bringing you tea and scones." But not the brandy he had pleaded for. "Come now," she said. "It's not so bad, is it?" "Are you joking?" He stepped closer, pursing his lips against a grin. "I got to push a dozen children down a hill, entirely free from consequences. It was glorious ." "Good," she said. "Because I think I hear them coming." Kit's eyes went wide and panicked. "Distract them whilst I hide," he said. "And for God's sake, bring me some brandy."

∞∞∞

Chris had got the brandy eventually, though Phoebe had taken it from him once more when she'd caught him drinking straight from the decanter. Now the spirits were closely guarded, and she permitted them only if they were cleverly disguised within some other beverage. So he'd had rather a lot of hot toddies in the past several hours. Enough to almost produce an amiable disposition, or at least one that vaguely approximated amiable. Amidst the flying wrapping paper and shrieks of glee from the children, Chris held his cup firmly in both hands and sent a fervent thanks to God that Christmas came but once a year. If he had been only a little more resolute in his convictions, he and Phoebe might even now be on their way back to London. But then she'd done that thing with her tongue that she had to have learned of from Charity, since no proper lady should even know of it, and his convictions had abandoned him as if they'd never existed. He still hadn't made up his mind whether Charity was a good influence upon her, or an absolutely horrid one. Possibly he never would. Phoebe waded toward him through the thick of the discarded paper, which had reached waist-deep and promised to continue to rise. She'd wisely left him to his chair at the edge of the room, where he was largely left alone. "How are you bearing up?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the din of so many children. "I've been thanked for gifts to which I was not aware I had contributed." "I did the shopping," she said. "Emma suggested I would regret it if I left it to you." That, he thought, had been a wise choice. "Three of the little demons hugged me. Seven called me Uncle Christopher ." "I'm not certain how many gifts are left," she said. "With so many people, it's practically impossible to keep track." She crouched beside his chair, mostly obscured from view by the rising tide of the wrapping paper. "However," she whispered. "I did come down last night and rearrange the presents so that all of the ones meant for us ended up at the outer edges." "You did? Why?" "So we'd be done swiftly. We've gone through all of them already. We could just…sneak out. Go upstairs and be on our own for a little while." Chris shot to his feet as if he'd been spring loaded, shoved one of his hands through the thick layers of wrapping paper and found Phoebe's, pulling her to her feet. "We're going," he said to the room at large. "Have a lovely time of it without us." One of Phoebe's sisters—though he was damned if he could say which one—said, "Oh, but you can't! There's still so many more gifts—" "They don't require our presence," Phoebe said reasonably as Chris tugged her along in a slow slog toward the door. "But we're to sing carols after!" Laurence complained. By the low laugh that Phoebe muffled behind her hand, Chris guessed that she had felt the shudder than had slid down his spine. "Another time," she said. "But you can't —" Chris whirled, sent a glare that went right over the heads of the children and caught every adult within the room. "We certainly can," he said. "And any child that is encouraged in any way to follow us will be given a puppy and taught to gamble. Is that understood?" Laurence, who had already been on the receiving end of puppies, made a strangled sound over the succession of grumbles. "He's not bluffing," he said, his voice slightly strained. Possibly at the thought of another round of puppies for each of his six children. "Best just to let them go, yes?" "We'll be back down for dinner," Phoebe called brightly, stumbling as she tripped over a discarded toy that had ended up buried beneath a mountain of paper. "No, we damned well—" " Kit ." Hell and damnation. "All right," he groused. "We'll be back down for dinner."

∞∞∞

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Phoebe asked, as she settled onto the couch beside him in the drawing room after dinner and extended a glass of port, of which he had been in dire need. "I have potato mash in my hair," Chris said as he took a long drink. "Yes, well, sometimes the children can get a bit…exuberant." She took a sip of her tea, and nudged his shoulder with her own. "But truly. You can bear it for just one week out of the year, can't you?" "I have potato mash in my hair ." Another nudge, and he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Yes," he sighed. "I can bear it for a week." Since he couldn't imagine another time in which it would be deemed appropriate to shove children down hills. "You're doing all the shopping in the future, though." "Deal." Her lips touched his cheek. "I do love them," she said. "But I will be so very glad to be home. With no shrieking or caterwauling or squabbles. Just us." Thank God for that. "I can manage a week out of the year," he said. "Perhaps the occasional—the very occasional—breakfast. But for the rest of it, you, me, and a turtle is my limit." The youngest of the children had been sent off to bed, but that still left an even dozen who had been permitted to stay up, and who, in the interests of a harmonious family Christmas, had been allowed to wander about until it was time for everyone to retire. The chaos of dinner had muted to the pleasantly drowsy atmosphere—the soft chatter of conversation and the clink of glasses. "They like you," Phoebe said in a soft murmur, with a satisfied smile. "My family, I mean to say." Good God. "Even the children?" he asked in low tones of horror. "Especially the children." Chris bit back a sigh. Uncle Christopher. Well, he supposed he'd been called worse. "I suppose I could…grow to like them," he said. "Eventually." A little boy wandered over, muffling a yawn in his palm. This child was known to him; one of the little mites whom Laurence had brought to visit his sickbed, and if it wasn't the daughter, Victoria, then it had to be David. "Uncle Christopher," the boy said as he stopped before them. "David," he returned. "Grandmama says you're incorrigible." Phoebe snickered into her tea cup. "And?" Chris asked. The boy canted his head to the right. "What's incorrigible?" "Ask your grandmama." Somewhere off to his right, Chris heard one of Phoebe's sisters give a little titter of a laugh. Probably they did like him, then. Just a little, at least. A little girl scampered over. One of the Victorias, he thought, though he was fairly certain she wasn't Laurence's daughter. But he did distinctly recall tossing this one down that snowy hill an inordinate number of times. "I don't think you look incorrigible," she said. "I think you look pretty." "I don't think Tori knows what incorrigible means, either," Phoebe whispered in his ear. "Still, I think I'm flattered," Chris said. "Perhaps she'd like a puppy." "A puppy!" Tori shrieked in delight. "Absolutely not," said her father—the marquess—from across the room. " No puppies. None." There was the stamp of tiny feet as several more children skittered over. "Could I have a puppy?" asked a little boy. "Now, William, what have I told you?" Chris asked. At least, he hoped the boy was called William. It was as good a guess as any. The boy screwed up his face in concentration, to all appearances casting his memory back. "If you can't be a good example, be a dire warning?" Laurence choked. "I say!" " Never disturb Uncle Christopher when he is endeavoring to relax," Chris corrected. His gaze slid over the coterie of children he'd somehow collected, and he shoved his hand into the pocket of his coat to pull out a small pouch. There was a faint clicking sound from within as he dangled it in the air. Phoebe groaned, covering her face with one hand. "All right, children," Chris said, as he pulled open the strings to reveal a set of ivory dice. "The name of the game is Hazard."