Page 84 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Catriona’s plan was doomed to fail.

Will was certain of it. Yet he was at a loss to come up with anything better, so here he was.

Getting ready to play the fiddle.

“I’m afraid you’ll find my performance… disappointing.” Disappointing was a euphemism. Ear-splitting would probably be more accurate. Like three starving cats fighting over a half-eaten chicken leg was a distinct possibility.

Unlikely to fool anyone into thinking we’re having a party was all but certain.

Catriona ignored him, as she had done the previous twelve times he’d tried to object. “Ye’ll want to play some reels. That’s the sort of music we Highlanders prefer for dancing.”

“I do not know any reels,” Will explained. “Not a single one.”

Ignoring his protest yet again, Catriona reached for another pile of music. “And some Christmas carols.”

Will eyed the Christmas carols dubiously. “As I haven’t picked up a bow since I was twelve years old, I am not confident in my ability to sightread them from sheet music.”

He was about to add that the reason he had stopped playing at the age of twelve was that he had been so awful, his instructor had refused to continue teaching him. But Catriona waved a hand, looking around the room. “I said ye needed to play. I didnae say anything about needing to play well.”

“What a relief,” Will muttered.

He sighed. He might as well give it a try.

He glanced around the room. “Where will my music stand be?”

“About that,” Catriona replied. “Ye’ll also need to dance.”

“Dance?” It was chilly in the castle’s hall, but Will felt a cold sweat break out across the back of his neck. “I thought you needed me to play.”

“I need ye to do both. There’s just the two of us—three, if Morrigan puts in an appearance. And we need to make it seem like we’re having a grand party.”

It was remarkable how she had unerringly found the one activity he was even worse at than playing the violin. “I don’t dance.”

“Of course, ye do! Ye’re a viscount. What kind of viscount doesnae dance?”

“The wrong kind of viscount. Which is me.”

Catriona seemed unperturbed. “Ye’ll figure it out.” She gestured to a music stand in the corner. “I have to gather some supplies from around the castle. Work on a few songs for now. We’ll add in the dancing this afternoon.”

She left the room with a bounce in her step, and Will obediently took his place behind the stand. He recognized the opening note as a G. Uttering a silent prayer, he propped the violin beneath his chin and scraped the bow across the strings.

A hideous sound emerged, reminiscent of seagulls… or dogs in heat… or possibly seagulls in heat, except Will was fairly certain seagulls didn’t go into heat.

He made another attempt at the opening note.

They do now.

He continued sawing away on the violin. An hour later, he had made his way—hideously—through a half-dozen songs. The memory of how to read sheet music was slowly coming back. It helped that the songs were popular melodies he had heard many times before.

Still, his renditions bore only the most fleeting resemblance to the actual songs.

Catriona skipped into the room, a bundle of clothing clutched in her hands. “How are ye progressing?”

Will figured she might as well know the worst. “Listen and see.”

He performed an execrable rendition of “Here We Come a-Wassailing,” expecting Catriona to stop him after the first few notes. Strangely, she did not, so he kept going, ignoring his bleeding ears.

When he finished, she clapped her hands. “That’s marvelous, Will!”

He squinted at her, certain he had misheard. “Marvelous? My tone quality was atrocious, I can’t seem to get the instrument in tune, and I missed a good quarter of the notes entirely.”

She waved a hand. “It sounded all right to me. As I said, it doesnae have to be perfect.”

He laughed nervously. “That’s good because I assure you, it was not, nor is it going to be by tonight.”

She gave him a brilliant smile, and his heart did a strange gurgle in his chest. He was unaccustomed to a woman smiling at him in a way that seemed so…

sincere. Before he’d come into the title, he’d been a poor scholar, and he’d grown accustomed to young ladies looking right through him.

To be sure, during his brief time in London after inheriting the viscountcy, a handful of women had sought him out.

But during those interactions, he had never been able to shake the feeling that those women were smiling at him and holding their noses at the same time, so to speak.

Catriona, on the other hand, looked genuinely delighted. With him.

It was… odd.

But pleasantly so.

She gestured to the pile of music. “Do ye think ye’ll be able to memorize a few of them by tonight?”

“I think so.” Will had always had a natural talent for remembering dates, quotations, and the like. There would be many flaws in his performance, but they wouldn’t be on account of memorization. “It won’t be what you would call good.”

She was already halfway to the door. “It doesnae have to be note perfect,” she called over her shoulder. She gestured toward the music. “Keep practicing. I’ll be back in a bit!”

Will continued his execrable screeching for another hour, managing to memorize four songs, more or less.

He was taking a break, stretching out his neck, when Catriona burst through the door. “What do ye think? Is it time for luncheon?”

He set down the instrument. “Yes, please.”

“Excellent!” She looped her arm through his and led him toward the back of the castle. “What will ye be preparing?”

He laughed. “I’m doing the cooking, am I?”

She peered at him, abruptly somber. “If ye don’t mind. I dinnae ken the first thing about it.”

“I don’t know much. But if you don’t mind simple fare, I’m happy to throw something together.”

Catriona showed him to the kitchen, then wandered off to continue her mysterious preparations.

He found some ham, along with some root vegetables.

It seemed like a good day for soup, so he chopped the ham into pieces and threw it in a pot with some cabbage, leeks, and carrots.

While it was bubbling over the fire, he sliced some bread, which was starting to go stale, but would be all right for dipping.

Catriona returned just as he was ladling the soup into bowls. “That smells grand!” She pulled a stool out from the wooden table where the servants took their meals. “Let’s eat in here where it’s nice and warm.”

Will took the seat diagonal to hers. They ate in companionable silence for a moment before Catriona asked, “So, tell me about this not-betrothed that ye didnae murder.”

Will tore some crust off his bread and dipped it in his soup. He supposed he might as well explain, if only to put this Sussex Shovel Slayer nonsense to rest. “She’s my cousin, Daphne. Her father is the uncle from whom I inherited the title.”

Catriona swallowed a mouthful of soup. “Were the two of ye intended to marry since birth?”

Will snorted. “Not at all. I believe I mentioned that prior to inheriting the title, I was the proverbial poor relation. My aunt Mathilda made it clear that the only way I could rectify the horrific offense of ascending to the title was by marrying one of my cousins.”

“Ooh!” Catriona leaned forward. “How did ye feel about that?”

Will stirred his soup, considering. “Surprised. Fellows at Oxford are not permitted to marry. It’s a condition of our scholarships. Marriage had therefore not crossed my mind as more than a distant possibility, if I should be lucky enough to be appointed to a professorship someday.”

Will felt a pang, speaking the word professorship.

For years, this had been his dream—to be appointed to the Camden Professorship of Ancient History.

It hadn’t been likely, but it hadn’t been outside the realm of possibility.

He, like his father before him, was the type of student commonly referred to as a quiz—a bookish, unfashionable, awkward-looking sort of fellow who would rather spend an evening curled up with a two-thousand-year-old Greek manuscript than attending a ball or fête.

Academically, Will was well-qualified for the professorship, even at the relatively young age of twenty-seven.

But so were a handful of other men. Whenever Professor Cardwell decided to step down, Will would be on the short list of men considered.

Or at least, he would have been prior to inheriting his uncle’s title.

What almost anyone else would have considered a stroke of tremendous good fortune had been a disaster for Will, because it meant he’d had to give up his fellowship.

Every position at the university, from fellowships to professorships, was granted based not only on academic merit, but also financial need.

It was unbecoming for a man in possession of a fortune to deprive another man of a living.

By becoming a viscount, Will had guaranteed that he would never hold the Camden Chair.

The highest credential Will could hope to attain as a historian was gentleman dilettante.

And so, Will had done what everyone expected him to do and had resigned his fellowship.

He was pulled from his ruminations by a bony elbow nudging his arm. “So?” Catriona gave him an expectant look. “What did ye tell yer aunt?”

Will wiped his mouth. “I offered to spend some time with my cousin, Lavinia, to see if perhaps we might suit. Out of my four female cousins, Lavinia seemed to be the one whose temperament was most similar to mine.”

This was to say that Lavinia was the most bookish of the four.

Will hadn’t felt any particular affinity for Lavinia, but he was given to understand that was the usual way of ton marriages.

She seemed kind, quiet, and her preferred way to spend an afternoon was with a novel.

Although he did not delude himself that she found him appealing, he thought it might be possible for the two of them to muddle through a marriage together.