Christmas Delights by Heather Hiestand

works, you’re going to have nothing to do but pay calls and embroider.”
    She swore under her breath, not caring that her father could hear. It was his fault for saying such things in her earshot all these years.
    “You weren’t married long enough to have earned your freedom, Victoria. And you were robbed of children by the situation. Let’s remedy that in 1890, shall we?” He patted her knee and stood, then walked out without looking back.
    He wanted grandchildren . This torturing of her could have no more reason than that. But all she wanted was a little adventure before settling back into Liverpool. Really, the only thing being married would get her was a household to manage on her own. Other than that, it would be calls, good works, and embroidery regardless.
    “Blast it,” she said aloud. In the end, she probably would want children, if only to distract herself. But 1890 was only a few days away.
    Realistically, a Scottish baron would not be a suitable son-in-law for an English manufacturer, as he presumably had lands in the north, but to her, anyone would be better than the Liverpool suitors. And Lewis Noble . . . she had not gotten anywhere with him, not even as a successful partner in trysting. Those Dickondells were a problem, but she wasn’t prepared to avoid their company for fear of proposals quite yet. One of them might possibly become her lover. However, she was probably safe from an offer of marriage there, exactly as she wanted to be.
    She stood and searched for the Rubens, finally finding a Venus in the center of the far wall, opposite the fireplace. Caught by the image’s flowing hair, she realized the goddess had the same hair color and curls as Lewis Noble. Compared to the other men here, he was a god, though a much more physically spare one than this fleshy and bejeweled creature made from imagination and oil. Even Venus would probably want to toy with Lewis Noble.
    One more chance: that was all she would permit herself. One more chance to see if she could make her way past Lewis’s resolve. Then she would find an alternative.
     
    The countess had seen fit to seat her unmarried guests by alternating the sexes. Her Boxing Day feast must be a matchmaking party. Victoria found herself between Mr. Dandy-Willow and Mr. Parker-Bale, not the men she would have chosen. Lady Barbara was on Mr. Parker-Bale’s other side, her other dining partner the senior Dickondell son. Lady Rowena had Dickondell’s left, demonstrating the countess’s interest in the young man for one of her daughters. Seventeen-year-old Adela Dickondell had the earl as her first dining partner, and Lewis was far down the opposite end of the table, dining with Lady Florence and Maud Wilson. The countess must be trying to distract Clement away from Maud. She could hardly see Lewis over a clove-studded orange topiary.
    As a plate of raw oysters on crushed ice was placed in front of her, Victoria felt her left foot nudged and—for lack of a better word—tickled by, presumably, Mr. Parker-Bale. She kept her expression neutral as she slurped her first briny oyster. Her lack of notice emboldened the man, whose shoe dipped under her skirts and began to travel up her calf. He had never been so bold back home, but she didn’t want him as a lover.
    She bent forward slightly, trying to catch Lady Barbara’s eye in the hopes that she would distract the man. But her friend was deep in a conversation about cocker spaniels with Clement.
    Mr. Parker-Bale’s questing foot reached her knee. She jerked away. Her right elbow moved, cashmere landing in one of Mr. Dandy-Willow’s oysters.
    “I say,” he said.
    She whipped her head toward him, gasping a horrified apology.
    “Lady Allen-Hill, if you wanted to converse with me, all you had to do was ask,” Mr. Dandy-Willow said, his eyes dancing merrily under those absurdly bushy brows.
    “Perhaps you are quite a nice man,” she said aloud without meaning to.
    A grin appeared and widened. Oh,