barely paused between sets.
The next song was a waltz.
It was impossible to feel awkward as Jonathan led her about the floor in graceful, sweeping steps. Angelica forgot about the tree, forgot about her interminable list of things to do, and just gazed up at him gazing back down at her.
It was a good thing he intended to leave her side after this waltz. If they paid each other too much attention, people would start to talk.
And there was no sense letting them talk about something that was never going to happen.
Jonathan might be a brilliant business partner, traveling tirelessly to spread the word, but he was not someone she could rely on for anything more.
He was going to leave. That was how she had hurt her own family. Now she’d learn what it felt like to have it done to her.
She wouldn’t join him, even if it were a possibility. She had her own life, her own shop, and more importantly she was mere days away from completing her contract and being able to rejoin her family.
Jonathan’s brow creased. “You stopped smiling. You’re not thinking about work, are you?”
She shook her head.
He didn’t appear convinced.
“I hadn’t planned on staying for Nottingvale’s house party. Mostly because I don’t like Christmas,” he admitted. “But I do like you. And it will give you an extra week to design your lockets. You don’t need to work yourself to the bone. Enjoy your family while they’re here.”
Yes, she would.
Angelica’s mind turned calculating. Christmas was in four days, but one needn’t wait until Christmas morning to spread joy. She could share her Yuletide with the one man who needed it most.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll take tomorrow as a holiday... on one condition.”
He lowered his voice. “Very well, I’ll spend the whole day kissing you.”
She pretended not to hear him. “Part of Christmas is attending church, as you’ll see on Sunday when my uncle preaches.”
“I didn’t agree to go,” Jonathan said quickly.
“You also never said you wouldn’t go, and besides, aren’t you my footman?” She linked her arm with his. “The other part of Christmas is community and tradition. Let me share my family with you. They’re amusing. We’ll give you a Christmas to remember.”
His eyes had lost their luster. “I remember Christmas. It was not enjoyable.”
“Let me try,” she said softly. “That was then. You don’t have to promise me the whole day. Can you do two hours? If you’re miserable, say the word, and I’ll never mention the word Christmas to you again.”
At first, she thought he was going to refuse. Say that he was preemptively miserable, just thinking about a jolly afternoon with her family. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked. Perhaps with his past, nothing at all could make the Yuletide season festive.
“All right.” He visibly swallowed his objections. “One Christmas to remember.”
Chapter 10
Jonathan fidgeted in the middle of a blue velvet sofa in the Duke of Nottingvale’s empty parlor. He could not believe he’d agreed to spend even a single moment doing festive things. He hated being festive.
But he would agree to almost anything if it meant more time with Angelica.
He leafed absently through his notebook, pausing now and again at one of the many sketches he had made of her working, or lost in thought, or smiling to greet a customer.
His drawings had never held particular meaning before. Idle doodles to pass the time, sketches of someone or something he had no desire to hurry back to. Jonathan was always rushing off to the next thing.
These portraits, however, he suspected would have worn edges in the near future from paging through them whenever he longed for another moment with Angelica.
Even if it meant pretending to enjoy Christmas.
The butler appeared in the parlor doorway. “Caller for you, sir.”
He shoved the notebook back into his waistcoat pocket and leapt to his feet. No matter how much Jonathan had begged, Oswald had refused to allow him to stand next to the front door to wait.
“It’s Miss Parker?” Of course it was. Hadn’t she said she’d come at ten?
“Indeed.” Oswald disappeared back to his station.
Jonathan bared his teeth at a looking-glass and ran a hand through his hair. His clothes were the height of fashion—or would be, as soon the Fit for a Duke catalogue launched—but his nerves fluttered oddly whenever he knew he was about to see Angelica.
He rushed down the corridor and into the entryway to greet her.
She looked beautiful. It was her same pale pink day dress and wheat-colored pelisse, which