Merry Misrule - St. Clair, Ellie Page 0,25

seated next to her, leaned in and asked something, and when Joanna obviously explained just what had her so entertained, Caroline began to snicker as well.

Elijah shot both of them what he hoped was a dark look, one telling them that they were going to face retribution for their glee.

Just what that would be, he wasn’t entirely sure yet.

Joanna had quite enjoyed watching Elijah struggle. There was obviously nothing he could do to extricate himself from his position — quite literally — but when the horses had pulled the sleighs into the yard of the Chearsley Parish Church of Saint Nicholas, he had jumped out at nearly a run, holding the church door open for the rest of them.

“Careful, Eli,” she murmured as she slipped past him, “some might get the wrong impression.”

He snorted as he followed her in, taking the end seat beside her on the pew, with Caroline on her left.

“You’re cruel.”

“I’m not,” she protested, “just having a bit of fun.”

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed that,” he muttered. “You must protect me on the way home.”

“You’re a grown man!”

“Even so,” he said with a sigh, “it caused me great suffering.”

As Joanna rolled her eyes, Christopher went running by them, but Elijah deftly stepped out of the pew and picked him up, fitting him in between him and the edge.

“Just where do you think you are going, young man?” he asked, and the five-year-old turned to him with a grin.

“To see baby Jesus!”

“All in good time,” Elijah said. “The minister is coming out now. We must wait until he’s finished to go forward.”

Christopher heaved a great sigh and Joanna’s lips twitched at what categorized such a great tragedy when one was young. How she wished it remained so for her.

“Uncle Eli?” Christopher whispered.

“Yes?”

“Were you there when I was born?”

Elijah started, and Joanna swung her head toward them, interested in just how Elijah was going to handle this conversation.

“Not in the room, no, of course not,” he said. “That is no place for a man.”

“But were you in the house?”

“I…” Elijah paused, tilting his head as though he had to think on it, “I’m not entirely sure.”

“You don’t know? I was your first nephew.”

“I…I’m sure I was,” he said now, although his features had tightened, and Joanna could tell he was not particularly comfortable with the conversation.

Another memory he had apparently lost. What had happened to cause it?

She had no more time to think on it, however, for then the first chords of Joy to the World began to resound from the organ, and she stood along with the rest of the congregation.

It was a beautiful service in the little village chapel. Their house party and Briercrest servants made up three pews, the rest filled with villagers. Joanna appreciated the moment in time of this Christmastide to be in the midst of others who were not marquesses or admirals or heirs to a title or a wife or daughter of one of them. Here, they were just people. People who had come together to celebrate Christmas in its truest form.

Christopher was remarkably well behaved, and his little sister Clementine even took a seat next to them, warming Joanna’s heart when she wiggled her way between Elijah and Joanna before taking a seat on Joanna’s lap in order to better see the service.

Joanna’s heart churned as she wondered, for a moment, whether she would ever have a child of her own. Elijah’s face flashed in the role of their father, startling her, for while she could admit that his nearness had awakened the attraction to him that she had always fought against, she had never entertained the thought that she might ever have any sort of emotional connection to him, besides one of anger or avoidance.

But now that the four of them sat here together, like a small family… it tugged at her, and she told herself to fight against it. Elijah was not the kind of man who would make a good husband, nor a good father.

Or would he?

She thought back to breakfast that very morning. She knew that most had disdained Elijah’s actions with Christopher, but she had actually been quite entertained. His voice had cut through the others down the table even before all attention had been pointed toward him, and she had been eagerly awaiting to see what else he could come up with.

He was creative, if nothing else, and knew how to entertain a child.

Whether he could be responsible for one, however, was an entirely