Page 32 of Stick to the Deal (Friendship Springs Romance #3)

Ghosts of Christmas Past

T he evergreen garlands and white lights fail to cast a cheery glow on the ever frosty front steps of Silverbrook Hall.

I glance over at Nic beside me as her eyes dart over the monstrous facade of my parents’ house.

There is no shock or awe—after all, Nic grew up in this world for half her life—but there is a glint of appreciation.

I guess it’s pretty, though I’ve always found it constricting rather than beautiful. The architects aren’t to blame as much as the occupants.

Nic’s hazel eyes are still on the carved details of the exterior when she speaks. “This is where you grew up? It’s lovely, but a bit cold.”

I take her gloved hands in mine and squeeze them. When she parrots my inner thoughts back to me, it is like the sun coming out of the clouds. Like she absolutely sees me like no one else.

The grand front doors open and Foster opens the door with a smile. “Good to see you, sir.”

I clap him on the shoulder with a genuine smile as he takes my coat. “Happy Christmas, Foster. This is my wife, Nic.” I slip her red wool coat off her slim arms and hand it over.

Up to now, Nic has been studying the foyer with her artist’s eye, but at the introduction she turns to us, slipping under my arm and wrapping hers around my waist. In an instant, she smiles at Foster, not her social one, her real one. I find I can easily differentiate between all her smiles.

Foster’s eyes crinkle as he beams at her. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, ma’am.”

“You as well. Merry Christmas, Foster.” She squeezes his arm with her free hand.

He clears his throat as emotion glistens in his eyes. “The family is in the ballroom with their guests. Your mother has already asked after you.” The last is added quietly.

I groan internally. Of course she has. In years past, I’ve been a most dutiful son and arrived hours early to listen to Mother’s lectures on who will be attending and ensure I’m standing by Father’s side when the first guest entered.

Our original flight from JFK was canceled because of snow and we only landed in London a few hours ago.

We’d crashed as soon as we got to my flat and woke in a rush.

The roar of people talking greets us before we enter the ballroom at the rear of the house. Nic falters as we approach the threshold and I squeeze her hip encouragingly.

“Holy shit,” she whispers in my ear. “I thought this was a family Christmas party.”

“Oh, it is, plus our close family friends. My mother does this every year. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

We make our way through the crowd, stopped repeatedly by acquaintances of my parents who want to wish us a happy Christmas and congratulations on our recent marriage.

Mother shoots pointed looks our way from her spot by the fireplace and storm clouds are practically brewing overhead by the time we reach her.

“Mother.” I stoop for the required kiss to the cheek. “Happy Christmas.”

“Where have you been?” she seethes through gritted teeth. “I expected you hours ago.”

“Weather cancellation. We got out on the first available flight.”

The explanation does nothing to quell the anger in her eyes. “Why did you wait until the last moment? You should have been here days ago.”

“I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Nic says. “Radio City Music Hall asked me to do the Christmas photos for the Rockettes this year.”

“Oh, hi, Nicolette.” Mother gives Nic a once-over, her lips pinched.

“Now that you’re married, I imagine you’ll be giving all that up.

” Nic stiffens next to me, but her face reveals none of her inner turmoil.

She opens her scarlet-painted lips to answer, but Mother cuts her off.

“Where is your grandmother? I invited her but didn’t hear back. Quite rude, actually.”

Of course she did. Vivienne Atherton is a pillar of society. She’s headed more charities than anyone else—there are more hospitals, museums, and libraries with the Atherton name than any other. It doesn’t matter that my mother is titled and the Athertons are not, having her attend would be a coup.

“Grandmama sends her regrets, she has other obligations for the holidays. We’ll have to arrange a tea after the new year.” Her best social smile is pasted on her face, but there’s a sadness in Nic’s eyes. Something is going on there.

“We’d better circulate. I see Lord Firth at the refreshments table and must congratulate him on his recent award.

” With a nod to my mother, I anchor my hand on the small of Nic’s back and guide her away.

I pick a few items from the buffet and hand them to her as I sidle up next to the older gentleman.

“Lord Firth, congratulations on your recognition for the conservation efforts at Pemberley. It is wonderful to see such modern advances at a historic estate.”

“Ravenscourt, my boy, thank you. Most of it is my grandson’s doing, but it is quite exciting. Congratulations to you on your recent marriage. Is this lovely young lady your bride?”

“Yes, let me introduce my wife, Nicolette.” I hold her close to my side.

“Of course, Edgar’s granddaughter. Good to see you, girl. Your grandfather was a very good friend of mine. Is your grandmother here tonight? I’d like to pay my respects.”

Again, at the mention of her grandmother, Nic stiffens. I squeeze her hip, wishing I could do more when she’s so obviously in distress. Her smile never falters, though her eyes pinch the slightest bit.

“Unfortunately, no, but I will pass on your wishes.”

“Firth, there you are.” My father blusters as he stumbles up on Nic’s other side, visibly drunk.

“Silverbrook, I was congratulating the happy couple.”

“Reginald is the lucky one. The boy has nothing to offer but sour grapes. Don’t know how he got this one to agree to marry him.” He grabs at Nic in an awkward half-hug with his hand entirely too close to her breast.

My vision tinges red. Tightening my own grip on her, I propel her in front of me and to the other side, far from my father. My chest puffs out as I stand at my full height and glare down at him. Not that he notices .

Lord Firth continues as if nothing happened. “So, Ravenscourt, your mother says you’ve been spending a lot of your time in New York. What’s been keeping you so occupied in America?”

“We bought a flat there. Nic is a gifted photographer with many clients in New York. You probably saw her work in the latest issue of Time magazine.”

“So you’re a house husband?” Father snorts like he’s made a joke.

“Actually, Reginald has been making connections within the publishing world of New York. He’s got a great eye for editing.”

“Yes, well, hobbies are important, I suppose. There’s Winston.” Without another word, he stumbles off towards another portly gentleman in the corner.

The night blurs in a string of meaningless conversations, none nearly as pleasant as the interaction with Lord Firth. Empty congratulations. Thinly veiled inquiries as to why we eloped so quickly. Nic handles it all with grace and poise. Redirecting the old biddies and charming the codgers.

It is probably the best Christmas Eve gathering I’ve ever had.

As the party winds down, my father disappears into his study with a few gentlemen—most likely to play cards. Nic hides a yawn, and I take that as our cue to leave.

I approach Mother where she sits with Lady Wentworth. “We’re going to say goodnight now, Mother. Happy Christmas.”

She turns briefly to glance at us both. “Yes, yes, dear. Happy Christmas.” She returns to the conversation before we’ve even stepped away.

Foster is waiting with our coats by the door. Nic gives him a quick squeeze as she takes hers. The older man beams as I help her slip the red wool on. Feeling bold, I grab her hand and interlace our fingers.

Without hesitating, she leans her head onto my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go home.”