Greetings of the Season and Other Stories Read Free Page A

without giving offense. Vincent had done well again, presenting the earl with a choice between an exquisitely filigreed fan and a pearl-studded jewel box. He selected the fan, which Belinda could carry at the ball, indicating her approval of his suit, instead of the jewel box, lest she and her father get the notion he was bound and determined to fill it with the family betrothal ring, now in the vault in Wiltshire. He wrote about looking forward to her visit, then considered the next and last pile of gifts.
    Miss Petra Sinclaire. Now there was a problem indeed. The earl went back to his desk and refilled his glass. Then he paced between the desk and the table, undecided. Petra was an employee. She was also an old friend, the orphaned daughter of his old tutor. When Vicar Sinclaire passed on, Bevin had paid for her schooling. Then it was natural for Petra to take up residence at Montravan, where the countess could take her around and find her some likely parti among the local gentry. She had no other connections, no great beauty to attract suitors, and only the modest dowry the earl insisted on providing. Only Petra had not accepted any of the offers and refused to live on charity. She threatened to accept a paid position in London, until Bevin was forced to hire her on as his mother’s companion, a position she’d been filling anyway, as well as mentor to his hoydenish sister, surrogate chatelaine of Montravan Hall for the vaporish countess, and general factotum in Bevin’s absence. If Vincent was indispensable in London, Petra Sinclaire was the earl’s lifeline in Wiltshire. Still, he was determined to see her established in her own household before she was more firmly on the shelf than her five and twenty years dictated. When she accompanied Allissa to London for the Season, Miss Petra Sinclaire was also going to find herself presented to every respectable gentleman Bevin knew, whether she wished it or not. He owed her that much, and more.
    Unfortunately he could not express his gratitude for her loyalty and calm good sense in his Christmas gift. It simply wasn’t done. He was already paying her the highest wage she would accept, and money would only place her more firmly among the ranks of servitors. He looked at the heap of rejected jewels from his mother’s and mis tresses’ gifts, even the pearls for Allissa’s comeout, and had a mad urge to fill the pearl jewel box with the pirate’s treasure, for Petra. She was the only one of the bunch deserving of his largesse, the only one without a relative or other protector to satisfy her every whim, the only one not expecting an exorbitant present. And the only one he must not be lavish with.
    Vincent had selected carefully: a volume of Scott’s ballads, because Petra was of a serious mind, and a set of mother-of-pearl hair combs, which would look well in her long brown hair. Perfectly acceptable, perfectly tasteful, and perfectly awful.
    Bevin paced some more, then sat at his desk, thinking that a warmer greeting might better express his appreciation, since his gift could not. He disarranged his hair by threading his fingers through it in thought as he crumpled one card after another. Finally, just as the dinner gong reverberated through the halls, he had a message that met with his approval. He waved the card about to dry the ink, then put it on top of the combs. No, the book.
    “Hell and the devil take it!” he swore, putting the combs and the book together and slamming his card and Petra’s name on top of both so there was no mistake.
    Satisfied, the Earl of Montravan went in to dinner, whistling. This Christmas shopping was child’s play.

3
    “Christmas gifting should be just for children,” Lady Montravan declared. “Gingerbread and shiny pennies and no bother to anyone else. This fustian of bestowing presents on everyone for miles around is too fatiguing for words,” she stated from her reclining position on the love seat, a pillow under her feet, a