Page 22 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

“She should decorate Peter’s section of the tree, since they will be married,” Jac said, hands on her hips as she stared at the giant Christmas tree taking up a good portion of Peter’s room. At its base were scattered boxes of decorations filled with baubles and trinkets they’d collected over the years.

No. Nope. Rhett shook his head, arms crossed. He would concede nothing to Peter when it came to the woman he loved. He certainly would not concede this piece of family tradition. “Della needs her own section. She can have this bit next to mine.”

“If she’s going to have her own section, she should be next to Peter.”

“She can be between Peter and me.”

“But then who will decorate Peter’s section?”

Rhett laced his fingers behind his neck, taking a deep breath and trying to find the joy in his first Christmas home in years. “Peter’s section can remain bare… or you could decorate it,” he added when Jac opened her mouth to argue.

From the corner, where she sat in the armchair covered in a thick blanket, Meg tsk ed. “Everett. Jacqueline. Enough bickering. And you need to wait until everyone else arrives before you start placing anything on the tree.”

There was a cough, and Rhett looked to the doorway; Uncle Frank had a mock scowl on his face. “Where is my section?”

Jac flushed. “I hadn’t thought…” She trailed off, clearly embarrassed not to have considered their uncle in her plans.

“You don’t have one,” Meg said bluntly.

Rhett sighed. He would never understand the antagonism between the two. Meg was usually so reasonable. “Take Peter’s section of the tree, Uncle. He’s not using it.”

Frank rubbed his hands together. “That’s fine with me. Is that fine with you, Margaret?”

Meg gave a sarcastic smile. “It’s just a Christmas tree, Frank. By all means, hang a bauble.”

Jac rolled her eyes as she plopped down on the floor and started untying the string that held the decoration boxes shut. “Well, aren’t we all in a festive mood? Merry Christmas, everyone.”

“Merry Christmas,” Rhett muttered. He looked over at his brother. Peter was wearing a fresh nightshirt made of garish cotton printed with holly and mistletoe. It had taken Rhett, Andrew, and Peter’s valet a half hour to bathe and dress the duke. Rhett had seen more of his brother naked than he’d ever wanted to see.

The same shirt sat folded on Rhett’s bed, a gift from his sisters for tomorrow. They had a ridiculous vision of wearing matching outfits as they drank eggnog and exchanged gifts, which he would acquiesce to, if only from guilt. It had taken the cessation of his allowance for him to return to his family for the holiday. Now that all the siblings were under the same roof for the first time in half a decade, he wished he’d come home earlier. He wished they’d spent a Christmas together with all of them conscious, even if that meant suffering his brother’s criticism.

His imperfections—and his family’s constant reminders of them—had been all he’d thought about as he was escaping. Somehow, he’d overlooked the fact that they loved him regardless.

It felt so obvious now, even in the smallest of gestures—the way Winnie would shift her chair closer so that she could rest her head on his shoulder even while she complained that he still smelled like a sewer; the way Jac would pass him the salt, sugar, potatoes, and whatever else he wanted before he could express the need and without pausing in her conversation with Della; the way Meg squeezed his hand every time she left the room, as though she were afraid he’d be gone when she returned. It was not an unreasonable fear—hadn’t he been planning to do just that the moment he could?

And then there was Della, who loved him; he was sure of it. It was there in the way she would scan the room as she entered, and then relax her shoulders the moment her gaze met his. It was there in the way that her body was always turned slightly toward him, and every time her cautious expression softened as he spoke.

If Peter woke—when Peter woke—what signs of affection would Rhett realize he’d missed?

He reached for a string of bells that Jac had pulled from a box, and he crossed to Peter’s bed. “If you’re planning to make a dramatic return, can I suggest you do it before tomorrow’s breakfast? Mrs. Carlyle has quite the feast planned.” There was no response. He sighed and wrapped the bells around the bedposts.

The hairs on the back of Rhett’s neck rose, and he smiled. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Della in the doorway.

“Has there been any improvement?” she asked, looking hesitantly at the two brothers. It was the first time Rhett had seen her since their kiss yesterday.

She’d always been beautiful. Her blue eyes had always crackled with intelligence, and her lips had always been soft and kissable. She’d always stood with a willowy elegance that begged for his hands to slide across her waist and settle on her hips. None of that had changed.

He had changed.

His cock reacted as it always had, but now his heart also jerked, and the breath caught in his throat. A single word ricocheted through his mind. Forever. He would do whatever was needed to convince her he was serious about a relationship, that their kiss was not something for her to be afraid of. She wasn’t another conquest or fling. There was nothing temporary about his feelings for her.

“No change,” he replied.

She crossed to stand awkwardly next to him, ten inches away, her hands clasped firmly in front of her.

He leaned, bumping her shoulder with his arm, trying to defuse the tension. “Perhaps there will be a Christmas miracle?”

She bumped him back, her whole body relaxing. “Perhaps.” She looked around the room. “Where is Winnie?”

“Fetching decorations from my trunk.”

“From your trunk?” Adelaide hadn’t seen decorations in there, but then again, she hadn’t gotten past a certain marble object that she had yet to return.

“Yes, my trunk, which is now safe for her to enter since you absconded with my, ahem .”

Della’s cheeks turned delightfully pink. “I have been trying to work out how to return that.”

“Don’t.” The word came out before he could consider it, but then he did, and he agreed with his instinct. “Consider it yours.” His marble penis, his real penis. She could have either, often, whenever she wanted.

“I… uh… thank you?” Her pink cheeks turned crimson, and she glanced around as though to make sure no one was listening. She flinched as her gaze landed on Frank, who was watching them closely as he hung a glass ball on a pine branch.

Jac approached and handed over a box. “We split the tree horizontally. Your row is the second from the top.”

Adelaide swallowed. “I have a row?” Her eyes took on a shine that made Rhett’s chest tighten.

“Of course you do. You’re Peter’s wife. At least, you will be.” Jac leaned over to brush her eldest brother’s hair. “He’ll wake in time for Christmas. I have that feeling.”

Peter had better wake, and quickly. Until he did, Rhett would be forced to endure his sisters’ assumptions that Della would join the family in an intolerable way. “Let’s get back to the tree,” he said gruffly.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Winnie?” Meg asked dryly from the corner.

“No,” both her siblings said in unison.

Jac looked at Della. “She would hog all the good ones. I told you she’s feral.”

Della tried not to laugh as she placed the box at the foot of the tree and lifted a painted glass bauble. “Constantinople,” she said, beaming.

“Rhett sent us decorations every year that he was on the continent.” Jac held up a delicate crepe paper festoon. “This is my favorite. It came from Italy.”

“I wanted to be here in spirit, if not in person,” he said. That had felt like an excellent compromise then. He would do it differently now.

“And that’s what Winnie has gone to collect? More baubles from your travels?”

“This year’s are exceptionally interesting. Here, place this one.” He handed Della the bauble he loved the most, a delicate glass orb he’d bought in Paris from a glassblower with a workshop on the banks of the river Seine. Five colors intricately intertwined. By happenstance, they were the Montgomery family’s favorite shades.

Their fingers brushed as he placed it in her hand, and his heart swelled. He would find another by next Christmas, one that captured the essence of her.

“I found the decorations! You started without me?” Winnie’s outraged shriek shattered the moment.

“There are still plenty of decorations, and no one has touched your row.”

She hmph ed and raced to kneel by the tree. Like a starving orphan thrown a few crumbs, she gathered baubles in the crook of her elbow, picking through the boxes to claim those she wanted.

“Are you sure you still want to join this family?” he asked, holding his breath for her response. He couldn’t add the qualifier as my wife ; not now. Not before he’d spoken with Peter. But he did his best to convey it in his expression.

“Very much so,” Della whispered.

His heart clattered like reindeer hooves on tiled roofs. “Then you’d best get hanging ornaments, or your section of the tree will be bare.”

The next few minutes were spent reminiscing about Christmases past as the five of them hung ornaments, Meg directing her sisters from the armchair where she was happily ensconced. Della was quick to laugh and comment, but she shared none of her own stories, as though she hadn’t any happy moments to talk about. Rhett would change that. He would give her another fifty years of merry holidays.

He grazed his fingers across the back of her hand. He couldn’t hold it. Not yet. Not in front of his sisters. Not until the situation with Peter was resolved. His brother deserved to be the first to know that Rhett and Della were in love. If his brother died, his family would need to mourn before they could celebrate such joyful news. So, in public, a passing graze of hands was all they could do.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he whispered.

“Me too.” She looked around the room. “Your family is—oh my God . Winnie, what are you doing?”

Rhett turned, fully expecting his sister to be accidentally setting fire to the curtains with a candle or overloading the tree with ornaments so it listed to one side. Apprehension morphed into humiliation. His whole body flushed hot, and his ears rang like the eleven pipers piping were doing so up close.

“These balloons are terrible. Brother, you were swindled.” She held the rubber sheath to her lips—

“No!” Della leapt forward and snatched it from Winnie’s hand.

“ Mean. ” Winnie scowled as Frank cackled.

“Everett Francis Montgomery.” The fury in Meg’s tone was palpable. Jac looked from sibling to sibling, her confusion clear.

“That is not a balloon, Winnie.” Rhett wished for a sinkhole to form and swallow him whole.

“Then what is it?” Winnie asked.

He couldn’t form the words. He knew what they were, but his mouth would not speak, probably because his sister would tear him apart.

“It’s a French letter,” Della said when no one else would.

Winnie’s confusion gave way to horror. As she sputtered, Jac joined her uncle in hysterical laughing.

“Ew! Rhett, how could you? I touched that. I put my mouth to it.”

Rhett winced. “It was unused, if that helps.”

“No, it does not help. Oh my God, I am never going to forgive you for this. I swear, you’d better lock your door every night, because I am going to get you.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You were the one who took it from my trunk.”

“I thought it was for decoration! If it was for you know what , why do you have so many?” She picked up the box he stored his French letters in and tossed it at him. The lid was not on it, so the rest scattered in a line as the box flew through the air. Rhett caught it before it could thwack him in the head. As he crawled on the floor to pick the French letters up, Frank’s laughing doubled.

“Here,” Della said, also on her hands and knees. She gave him what she’d collected. He couldn’t even respond, just gave an embarrassed nod.

“Lord, I wish Peter had been awake for that,” Jac said. “He would have been mortified.”

“Perhaps he can sense what’s happening,” Meg said.

“No. If he knew what was happening, he would wake just so that he could reprimand Rhett.”

“You know, this isn’t actually my fault. Wearing protection during sex is the responsible thing to do. Peter might actually approve.”

Della went around the room, pressing ornaments into everyone’s hands. “Did you know French letters are banned in America? They have the most peculiar laws, don’t you think?”

Grateful for the slight shift in conversation, Rhett nodded.

“All countries have peculiar laws,” Frank said, setting a star upon the highest bough of the tree, an honor that usually belonged to the youngest Montgomery. “In fact, there’s a debate in parliament about steam trawlers and the idea that they should have letters and numbers painted on their hulls. Some say it would make our waters safer, and others say it’s a government overreach. What are your thoughts on the matter, son?”

Rhett froze, keenly aware of everyone’s eyes on him. “I wasn’t aware of the debate.”

“So, you have no thoughts on it? That’s a shame given you may be the one voting on it. What are your thoughts on the proposal to pass all responsibility for roads, bridges, and poor relief to county councils and boroughs?”

It wasn’t embarrassment that made Rhett’s ears burn hot now. It was shame. “I don’t know… I haven’t heard anything about that.”

“And what about the Housing of the Working Classes Act? Have you paid any attention to what’s happening there?” Frank’s usually jovial tone had hardened. For the first time in their entire relationship, Rhett sensed disdain from his uncle.

“No, I haven’t.” A lump formed in his throat.

“Those are things a duke should be on top of, don’t you think? There is no greater responsibility than running a country. One should, at the very least, be aware of the discussions being had.”

Della moved to stand between Rhett and Frank. “If it should come it to, Rhett will inform himself and make honorable choices. He is more than capable of being an excellent duke. You should see him with the townspeople. He’s a natural.”

Frank shook his head. “There’s more to the title than placating individuals on a single estate. Millions of lives depend on the duke’s willingness to read the information given to him. He needs to do that while managing all of his estates, not just this one.”

Rhett tried to imagine the number of people that would be. The number of lives counting on him making the right decisions. He hadn’t even visited most of Peter’s estates in decades. Not since he was a child.

“You’re right,” he said, hoping his sisters didn’t notice how choked the words were, how terribly humiliated he was at his deficiencies being laid bare in front of them all.

Uncle Frank clapped a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right to be daunted, son. Being a peer is not for everyone. Especially not for those who crave adventure. It’s a lot of paper, and people, and difficult decisions.”

Rhett clenched his jaw to stop himself from snapping, I know . The past few days had been a trial by fire. Andrew had practically buried him in paper and warned him of worse to come. The House of Lords was that worst.

Uncle Frank smiled. “Don’t fret over it. I’ll be there. I can’t be your proxy in the House of Lords, but plenty of men don’t take their seats, and I can be your proxy everywhere else.”

A small part of Rhett felt relief at his uncle’s words. Frank was older, wiser, and knew more than Rhett ever would. He could step into Peter’s shoes without stumbling over them. But the rest of him was frustrated. Something had settled over Rhett these past few days, wrapped around him like armor, steadying and strengthening him. He might not have a fucking clue how to be a useful member of the House of Lords, but he had the capacity to learn. He was not destined to fail.

The furious, mulish glare Della was currently sending in his uncle’s direction was the strap buckling his armor together. She’d had faith in him when no one else had. She would be a good wife, a good duchess if needed, just as he would be a good husband, if she would have him.

“Everett doesn’t need a proxy.”

Rhett’s heart gave way, and his ears rang at the sound of Peter’s hoarse voice. “Brother, you’re awake.”