Season's Regency Greetings by Carla Kelly

help our uncle?”
    â€œ Leave him to me,” Cecilia said. “I know he does not want you to know about Jimmy Daw, or he would have told you long before now, Janet. How can I get time alone with him?”
    Davy was on his feet then. “Lucinda, do you remember how fun it was last Christmas to spend it in the stable?”
    â€œ What?” Cecilia asked. “You probably needn’t be that drastic!”
    â€œ You know, Miss Ambrose,” Janet said. “There is that legend that on the night of Christ’s birth, the animals start to speak.” She nudged her brother. “What did Davy do last year but insist that he be allowed to spend the night in the stable! Mama was shocked, but Papa enjoyed the whole thing.” She looked at her younger brother and sister. “We will be in the stable. The footman can light a good fire, and we have plenty of blankets.”
    The other children nodded, and Cecilia could almost touch the relief in the room. Precious ones, she thought, you will do anything to help your uncle, won’t you? No, you most certainly do not require fixing. “Very well,” she said. “Janet ….” She stopped. “Oh, I should be calling you Lady Janet.”
    â€œ I don’t think that matters … Cecilia,” the young woman replied. “I will make arrangements with Mrs. Grey, and we will go to the stables after dinner.” She looked at her siblings. “Cecilia, we love him. We hope you can help him because I do believe you love him, too.”
    They were all quiet that afternoon, soberly putting Christmas treats and cakes into boxes for delivery to other great houses in the neighborhood on Boxing Day, arranging holly on mantelpieces, and getting ready for their parents’ return on Christmas. After an hour’s fruitless attempt to read in the sitting room, Cecilia went for a walk instead. How sterile the landscape was, with everything shut tight for a long winter. Little snow had fallen yet, but as she started back toward the dower house, it began, small flakes at first and then larger ones. Soon the late afternoon sky was filled with miniature jewels, set to transform the land and send it to sleep under a blanket of white. She stood in the modest driveway of the dower house and watched the workers leave the manor for the final time. Some of them called happy Christmas to her. She looked at the house again, wondering why it was that the most joyous season of the year should cause such pain in some. With a start, she realized that her preoccupation with Lord Trevor and his personal nightmare had quite driven out her own longing for her family in far-off India. “Tonight, I hope I remember all the wonderful things you taught me,” she said out loud. “Especially that God is good and Christmas is more than sweets and gifts.”
    Before dinner, she went to the book room, squared her shoulders, and knocked on the door. When Lord Trevor did not answer, she opened the door.
    He sat probably as he had sat all day, staring at his case files, which Davy had alphabetized and chronologized. Everything was tidy, except for his disordered mind. When she had been standing in the doorway for some time, he looked at her as though for one brief moment he did not recognize her. She thought she saw relief in his eyes, or maybe she only hoped she did.
    â€œ Dinner is ready, Lord Trevor,” she said quietly. “We hope you will join us.”
    He shook his head, then deliberately turned around in his chair to face the window. She closed the door, chilled right down to the marrow in her bones.
    Dinner was quiet, eaten quickly with small talk that trailed off into long pauses. A letter had come that afternoon from York with the good news that the marquis and marchioness would arrive at Chase Hall in time for dinner tomorrow. “I wish they were here right now,” Davy said finally, making no attempt to disguise his