Page 34 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

“Yes, they will.” When she opened her mouth to reply, he cut her off by quickly adding, “But only at first, and then they simply won’t care anymore once the next scandal rocks theton, once the next event on the Continent makes the papers…once Beau Brummell decides to insult the prince regent again.”

Her chest tightened, so much she could barely breathe. “You think my situation is a laughing matter?”

“Not at all. What I think is that society is easily bored and will grow tired of staring and whispering after a few short weeks, and then they’ll pay you not one whit of attention after theirs has moved on.” He leaned in and lowered his mouth to her ear as if sharing a secret. “But your true friends—and you have many—have not abandoned you and never will.”

“It isn’t that simple.” Her eyes stung. “How do I navigate even something as common as a dinner party?”

“You can be carried into the dining room before the guests go in so you’ll already be sitting at the table when they arrive.”

“A breach of etiquette.” She tossed out, with more frustration than sarcasm, “And shall the men leave for the drawing room while the ladies remain behind for port and cigars?”

“They could.” He shrugged. “Your party, your rules. Besides, no one will care. They’ll be too busy enjoying your company.” He gave a thoughtful pause. “But youwillmake all the duchesses and dowagers jealous, I’m afraid.” He gently nudged her arm with his. “They’ll all have to come to you to be acknowledged.”

Despite the anguish swirling inside her, a short laugh bubbled from her lips at his teasing.Thatwould never happen!

“You can host all the charity boards you belong to, as well, so you won’t have to be carried into someone else’s house.”

An image of her brother surrounded by the dozens of matrons and dowagers who belonged to her charity groups flashed across her mind, and another laugh fell from her. “I don’t think Anthony would appreciate that!”

“Then you can host them at my London house whenever you’d like. I’ll make certain my housekeeper gives you a key so yours can come and go as she needs.”

Agrandbreach of etiquette. England’s most eligible bachelor giving his house key to an unmarried miss… If anyone found out, Clara would be more than unable to walk; she’d also be completely ruined and ostracized by society. It was a bad idea. For many reasons.

So she undermined the suggestion by teasing, “And you won’t mind opening your townhouse to hoards of dowagers, reformers, and bluestockings, all of whom would love to introduce you to their unmarried female relatives?”

“Of course not.” He added deadpan, “I won’t be there.”

She rolled her eyes. Then, her amusement at his teasing faded, and she slid him a dubious sideways glance. “What does it matter to you what I do?”

“Because I care about you. I always have.” He covered her hand with his as it rested on the bench between them. “It breaks my heart to think of you unhappy.”

“Not unhappy.”Devastated.And more so with each moment she spent in his company. “Realistic.”

Regretfully, she slipped her hand from his. The loss of his warmth shivered through her.

“ThenI hope you’re a little less realistic from now on,” he murmured. “You’ve been out of your room for the last few days, interacting with the children, the servants…me. You seem happier now than when you arrived.” He paused, then admitted, “I want you to be happy, Clara. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

She didn’t know how it was possible, but her already wounded heart tore even more.

A brush of greenery at her ear caught her attention. She turned toward him, surprised, and saw the concern in his eyes.

“I don’t want that happiness to end when you leave Northbourne.” He frowned. “I want you to have back as much of your old life as possible.”

But I’ll never have that life, or you, ever again.“This isn’t London. There’s a world of difference between the two.” Her voice turned hoarse with emotion. “Please, Michael—stop asking me to do things I can no longer do. That includes hosting parties and charity boards.”

He said nothing for a long moment, silently contemplating the sprig in his hand as he turned it over in his fingers. Finally, his lips stretched into a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Mistletoe,” he said and held up the bit of greenery for her to see.

“The children didn’t gather any of that.” Mistletoe grew too high up in the trees for them to reach.

“I asked the gardeners to fetch some. The servants usually hang it in their hall over the holidays.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “The Druids thought mistletoe held magical powers that could keep evil spirits from entering a house at the darkest time of the year when the curtain between our world and the spirit world was at its weakest.”

“I’ve had Eads’s tea,” she teased, relieved to have the conversation move on to something other than her. “You’ll need a wagonload to string up in the kitchens to keepthoseevil spirits away.”

He chuckled. “Poor Eads. The man would starve if he didn’t have Cook and Mrs. Hansen to provide for him. But that’s not why they hang it in the servants’ hall.”

“Oh?”