A Winter Wish (The Read Family Saga #1) - Christi Caldwell

Prologue

Winter 1822

Not much had changed in the Read household.

That was, in the three years Miss Merry Amaryllis Read, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Maldavers’ steward and housekeeper and soon-to-be new housekeeper for Lord and Lady Maldavers, had been sent off to receive proper training for her future role.

At that very moment, Merry’s two younger siblings were seated in the main gathering room of their peak cottage as she prepared her tea, she listened on while they engaged in the activity they were most noted for—one-bettering.

Somewhere around her tenth and eleventh year, she’d grown tired of the boy-girl twins’ bickering. Somewhere around her thirteenth year, Merry had become quite adept at blocking it all out.

“…oh, and of a sudden, you, with every hour of every day spent training to one day be steward, also find yourself in possession of the latest London scandals?” Matilda, her younger sister, challenged.

This time, there was something altogether different about the stories and challenges flying back and forth.

This time involved the unlikeliest of subjects: Lord Lucas Grimslee, the earl’s stuffiest, stodgiest, most-well-behaved son… which, given that all the Holman boys—now men—were notoriously proper, was saying a good deal indeed.

“You think you’re the one in accurate possession of the gentleman’s goings-on?”

“Hardly, I’m just in possession of more information.” Matilda launched into an impressive list of all the ways by which she’d become an aficionado of the subject at hand.

Her twenty-four-year-old sister leaned forward in her carved-walnut armchair and spoke in a loud whisper. “I heard he broke out into song in the middle of a Covent Garden performance he was attending.”

“What?” Merry blurted. Apparently, she had been adept at ignoring their sparring.

Matilda whipped her attention over to Merry. By the pleased little smile that split her face, Merry’s reaction had been reward enough. “Indeed. He was… singing in the middle of the performance.”

“Luke Holman… singing?” She knew it was an echo of what her sister had said, but it was just too far-fetched. The gentleman, who couldn’t manage more than a polite—albeit curt—greeting whenever she was near, had sung aloud… in public?

Matilda nodded. “From what I read, it was quite an exuberant performance, at that.”

“And here I’d believed he’d not even hum a happy tune in the privacy of his own company,” Merry said without malice and earned another round of giggles from her sister.

“It has been wildly shocking. All of it.”

“That was surely the first time in the whole of a lifetime that anyone has ever charged the Holman family with being even remotely out of step,” Merry noted, eyeing the confectionary treats her mother had prepared before plucking another gingerbread.

“Yes, but much has changed since you’ve been gone,” Diccan intoned.

“Everything,” Matilda added with a nod, for good measure.

“First”—Diccan stuck a finger up—“Lord Lathan Holman, a perfectly respectable clerk at the Home Office, was accused of high treason.”

When Merry only took another bite of her treat and didn’t indulge her brother with any questions, Diccan frowned. “Surely, you must wonder what he did.”

After Merry finished chewing and then swallowing her bite, she carefully dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “No,” she said simply.

Diccan bristled. “And whyever not?”

“Because it is impossible.” Not many years younger than she, the youngest Holman brother had been bookish, without even a hair out of order in his life. “Not a single Holman would ever do something as shameful as to betray King and Crown.” In an effortful display of nonchalance, Merry rearranged the tray of goodies her mother had set out. “And what of Lord Ewan?” He had been the only Holman child to play with her as though she were equal in birthright.

Her brother eyed her peculiarly. “What of him?”

Snatching up the nearest pastry, she set it on her plate. “Has Lord Ewan become as pompous as the rest?” If he had, it was going to be utter misery serving in that household.

“Hardly.”

She released the breath she’d not realized she was holding.

“Either way, returning to the more interesting Holmans. Mr. Lathan Holman was cleared,” Matilda confirmed. “Though some say strings were pulled and that the Crown will ultimately have their vengeance.” She made a garish slashing motion across her throat and hung her head sideways.

“Matilda,” she chided.

Their brother grunted. “All nobles are invariably cleared of wrongdoing,” he pointed out, not inaccurately. “Even the guilty ones like Mr. Lathan Holman.”

Their mother, the former housekeeper who’d been employed by the Holmans, ducked out from the kitchens. “Hush,” she whispered.

Alas, the former head of the female staff, who’d