Season for Temptation by Theresa Romain Page B

did something ridiculous (also usually unwittingly). She just missed . . . him .
    Winter began early, with a biting cold that promised to be both long and severe. Julia’s mood lifted somewhat when she was allowed back on her feet again in November, but as Christmas drew nearer, the coziness of the season didn’t cheer her as it usually did.
    She tried her best to wrap herself in glee, helping her small siblings poke silver trinkets into the plum pudding that would soak in brandy for the weeks until Christmas dinner. She helped the cook bake treats—and sample them: glossy jam tarts, Yule cakes, a gingerbread full of enough sweet spices to make an Elizabethan explorer swoon. She cut strips of paper for the children to paste into links, and laughed when they coiled so many paper chains around their father’s favorite chair that it looked like a paper mill had spun a cocoon. Greenery was cut; the everyday tallow candles were exchanged for sweet-scented beeswax, and warm, spicy smells filled the house.
    But beneath Julia’s smile, her gloom weighed on her. She was penned inside the house by the numbing cold; she missed the company of her sister, who spent much time in the library writing letters to James.
    In between crafting amusements for the children, then, she paced Stonemeadows. She tried to walk away from her dull feeling, leaving it behind in some neglected attic or cellar, but it inevitably found her again. Lady Irving finally told her in annoyance that Julia only needed a set of chains to look like the home’s resident ghost, wandering the corridors, muttering and pale.
    But in mid-December, a letter arrived that changed everything. James had written another of his long lists to Louisa, who pored over it eagerly as usual. This time, though, when she read the end of the letter, her eyebrows knit in sudden displeasure.
    â€œNo,” she said in a flat voice.
    Lady Oliver and Julia looked up at her, startled, from the floor, where they were helping Elise, Emilia, Anne, and Tom put together a puzzle map of Europe. Tom was very little help, being scarcely past the age where he liked to put bright-colored objects in his mouth, and his sisters forbore his desire to work on the puzzle with grudging impatience.
    â€œIs something wrong, Louisa?” Lady Oliver asked with concern, then immediately diverted her attention back to the four small children beside her. “Tom, don’t eat France; it’s nasty. Can you help your sisters find where France goes? Emilia, can you show him?”
    The girl sighed and shoved the offending country into place. Julia praised her, then looked up questioningly at Louisa.
    Louisa pressed her lips together and was silent for several seconds, her eyes unreadable. “I’ve received an invitation that I don’t wish to accept,” she finally said.
    â€œAn invitation? Who on earth from?” Julia wondered. She realized that wasn’t exactly tactful, and explained, “I mean, it’s just that we are quiet here. I didn’t mean people shouldn’t be inviting you out all the time, because they should—at least, if there were many people around.”
    â€œI know what you mean,” Louisa assured her. “It’s . . .” She trailed off, then drew in her breath. “James’s family wants me to spend Christmas with them in London.”
    â€œWonderful!” Lady Oliver squealed, tossing the puzzle map’s Portugal gleefully into the air.
    Julia said, “Oh.”
    Louisa looked appreciatively at her sister. “I can see you understand, Julia. Mama, I don’t wish to go. I’ve never spent Christmas away from home, and, honestly, I am terrified of James’s family. I haven’t spoken to them much and I’m quite sure they don’t approve of me.”
    â€œNonsense,” Lady Oliver replied, distracted, as she began to look under furniture for the displaced country. “Portugal, where