Page 29 of Mr Winterbourne's Christmas

Poor Gwen’s face flamed scarlet at her father’s intemperate words. Nor did Sir Edmund appear pleased. His lips, which usually curled in a wry, sleepy smile, were pressed into a hard line.

“Bloody hell,” Bella muttered beside Lysander. He sent her a warning look, even as he bit his lip against laughter.

The guests all obediently drank again, andstillhis father didn’t sit down. Good lord, what next?

“I have one last toast,” the earl announced. “But before I propose it, I have to tell you all a little story.”

The earl looked straight at Lysander—Lysander’s stomach sank.

“A year and a half ago,” the earl began, “our son, Lysander, came to me and told me he wanted to run this estate. He told me he loved the land on which he had grown up and that he wanted to learn the care and stewardship needed to make it thrive. To work alongside myself, and his older brother who will inherit the earldom, to make that happen.”

Lysander stared warily at his father, wondering what was to come.

The earl sighed heavily. “I said no. I told Lysander that I would not agree to his request. His mother and I had already decided that a career in the Church would be best for him and I told him that that was the path we expected him to follow.”

The guests’ gazes shifted between the earl, standing at the top of the table, and Lysander, sitting near the bottom. Lysander felt his face heat and stared down at his plate.

There was a long pause, then the earl said, “That was a mistake.”

Lysander’s gaze snapped back up and he stared at his father in disbelief.

“It was quite wrong of us—of me—to stifle Lysander’s ambitions, and to try to force him down another path for which he had no calling. In any event, it did no good.” His smile as he gazed round the table was self-deprecating. “Lysander was offered another position as a steward by our dear friend, Mr. Freeman—and of course he took it.”

Dear friend? Lysander thought hysterically. He glanced at Adam, hoping to catch his eye. To share a moment’s amusement with him. But Adam was staring grimly at the table, while the rest of the guests were all raptly gazing at the earl.

The earl continued. “I am more grateful than I can say that Mr. Freeman gave my son the opportunity that I—to my eternal shame—refused him.” He sighed, then went on, “Over the last year and a half, Lysander has proved me wrong in every objection I had to his chosen path in life. He has been persistent, hard-working and successful. He has proved beyond doubt his aptitude and commitment and I could not be prouder of him.”

Although a lingering suspicion as to his father’s motives dogged him, those words could not but warm Lysander’s heart. He had always longed for his father’s approval as a boy.

“And so,” the earl said, smiling, “having admitted that I was thoroughly wrong in every particular”— a ripple amusement ran around the table—“there is only one thing left to do.” He turned his gaze on Lysander again. “And that is to ask you, Lysander, to take up the position I refused to give you eighteen months ago. To use your new skills to benefit the Winterbourne estate—which I know you love with all your heart—and the people who live here.”

There was a round of gasps and exclamations around the table at the earl’s words.

Lysander just stared, first at his father, who was gazing at him with the proud certainty of man who has offered a gift that will not be refused. Then at his mother, who was watching him with tears of happiness in her eyes, her hands pressed to her chest.

And finally, at Adam. Who was still staring at the table, his expression quite blank.

Lysander’s heart twisted painfully.

A year and a half ago, Lysander would have given his right arm for this. Hedidlove the Winterbourne estate with all his heart and he’d wanted nothing more than to work on it, with the people who lived here and with whom he’d spent a happy, carefree childhood.

But he didn’t want that anymore. Not if it meant losing Adam.

“Speech!” someone cried. It was Simon, Lysander realised, grinning at him and looking pleased. Lysander felt suddenly sure that Simon had had a hand in this, speaking up for Lysander with his father. “Come on, Lysander, speech!”

Lysander managed a creditable chuckle. “Absolutely not. One orator in the family is plenty.” He glanced at the earl then. “Father and I can speak privately about this later.”

“Yes, of course,” the earl said indulgently. “We’ll talk through all the details then. There’s great deal to discuss, after all. For now, let me simply propose one further toast.” He lifted his glass again and smiled around the table. “To my son. To Lysander.”

“To Lysander,” the other guests chorused, and drank again.