What Happens At Christmas Read Free

Charles.”
    â€œYes, but you weren’t in love with him. Nor were you in love with Lionel when you married him.”
    â€œNo.” Beryl drew the word out slowly. “But . . .”
    Camille stared. “Good Lord, Beryl, don’t tell me you’re in love with your husband.”
    â€œI might be.”
    â€œNonsense, no one is in love with their own husband.” Camille scoffed. “It simply isn’t done. You certainly didn’t marry him for love.”
    â€œNo, I married him because his ambitions matched my own. Now, however . . .” Beryl paused. “In recent months, since very nearly the start of the year, Lionel and I agreed to forgo our various amorous pursuits and restrict our attentions to one another.”
    Camille stared. Her sister’s and brother-in-law’s extramarital escapades were very nearly legendary. “And?”
    â€œAnd it’s turning out far better than I would have imagined.” She shrugged. “As it happens, I might indeed be in love with my husband.” A bemused smile curved her sister’s lips, as if she couldn’t quite believe her own words. She looked, well, content, even happy. Camille wasn’t sure she had seen a look like that on her sister’s face before. But then she was fairly certain Beryl had never been in love before. The oddest twinge of jealousy stabbed Camille. She ignored it. If her twin was happy, she was happy for her.
    â€œThat’s . . . wonderful.”
    Beryl’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Do you mean that?”
    â€œOf course I do. You know I wouldn’t say it otherwise.” Camille nodded. “Lord and Lady Dunwell have always had a certain reputation for dalliances and lovers and that sort of thing. It’s simply unexpected, that’s all.”
    â€œNo one expected it less than I,” Beryl said under her breath.
    â€œWhat will the gossips do without you?”
    Beryl laughed. “They shall have to make do.”
    â€œI am happy for you.”
    â€œThen you should consider following in my footsteps.”
    â€œWhat? Marrying a man who might run the country one day?”
    â€œNo.” Beryl’s blue-eyed gaze met her sister’s. It was, as always, like looking in a mirror. “Fall in love.”
    Camille drew her brows together. “It’s not at all like you to go on and on about love. I always thought you considered it rather silly.”
    â€œThat’s before I was in love,” Beryl said simply, then paused. “You were in love once, if I recall.”
    â€œThat was a very long time ago,” Camille said quickly. It was not something she wished to be reminded of. She had turned her back on love then, although she’d really had no choice. And if, through the years, there had been a moment or two of regret, a chance thought as to what might have been, it was pointless. She had put him completely out of her head and her heart. She had never asked after him, and her sister was wise enough never to bring up his name. Such was the way of life, after all. One did hate to be reminded of mistakes one might have made. There was nothing to be done about it, and it was best left in the past where it belonged.
    â€œDon’t you want to know that again?”
    â€œI scarcely knew it at all, but I shall,” Camille said firmly. “I fully intend to fall in love.” She picked up the teapot and refilled her cup, taking the time to sort her words.
    Why she wished to marry Nikolai wasn’t at all easy to explain without sounding quite mercenary and extremely shallow. And while she certainly had a few mercenary moments and was, on occasion, a bit shallow, she did not think herself to be mercenary and shallow, all in all. It wasn’t the prince’s fortune; she had more than enough money. It wasn’t even his title, although “Princess Camille” did have a lovely ring to it. It was, perhaps, the