“We’ve decided we need snowflakes,” shouted Maeve from over the railing. Maeve shared the same fiery orange hair as Tilly, though she was much shorter like their mother, and her face was dotted with freckles.
“Loads of ‘em,” Daniel added, popping his head around Maeve. At fourteen, Daniel was losing the rounded facial features of boyhood much too quickly. He made up for it with a head of wild chestnut curls and an impish grin.
The twins, Bridgid and Fiona, twirled down the hallway toward Tilly carrying an armful of ivy sprigs for the windows. “Yes, coming through. It’s time to decorate, Sister.”
“But why is it raining paper in my front hall? And more importantly,” she said, fighting off a smile as Ethan raced down the stairs in a crooked paper crown, “why are you decorating without me?”
The twins, tall and lean like Tilly, fussed with the ivy and red ribbon. Tilly had been so busy, she had only baked oranges and poked them with cloves. She hadn’t done much planning otherwise. She had spent her time at the theater far too much lately.
Ethan threw his arms around her waist.
Tilly sank down, dropping a kiss on top of his curly blond hair. “How are you, love?”
“They won’t stop singing,” he said, pointing to Bridgid and Fiona. They both spun around and stuck out their tongues before breaking into giggles.
She laughed. “Yes, well they do that sometimes.”
“Up here, Ethan,” Daniel called. “I need your help pasting these snowflakes.”
“It looks wonderful.” Tilly stood with her hands clasped in front of her, sorry for her absence of late. Sorry she couldn’t be there as her siblings needed her to be. Patrick and Imogen were too occupied with their own families to help. And Imogen especially didn’t wish to tangle her reputation with that of her sister. Having an actress in the family was shameful to her.
Which is probably why she had married a vicar and lived in the north now.
And while Tilly felt a little sorry for herself, she was thankful her younger siblings reliably made her life chaos. She drove herself because she wished to provide them with a fine life, with fine schools, and the best social connections possible.
“Miss,” Mrs. Tufts interrupted. She was a mouse of a woman, petite, and silvered hair under her cap and her gold-framed glasses were always dirty and sat askew her short nose. “Children, this mess must be cleaned up. It’s too early to decorate. It’s bad luck.”
“I’ve told them so.” Tilly glanced toward the housekeeper, and her stomach sank. The woman’s green eyes were filled with worry, and Tilly knew without a doubt who was behind it.
“He’s here to see you,” she whispered. “I tried telling him you weren’t home.”
“But I see that you are, and I guess I am correct once again.” Roger strutted into the room in a large black overcoat, and removed his top hat, smiling at Tilly as if he had just arrived out of her dreams to whisk her away.
She felt sick.
The merriment was instantly sucked out of the room, and the Brennan siblings quieted.
“Morning calls exist for a reason, Roger.”
“Have you been practicing?”
“She’s been trying,” Ethan shouted from upstairs.
Daniel muttered a comment she didn’t hear, but the tips of Roger’s ears reddened so perhaps he had.
“Let’s leave them.” Maeve gathered the others and quickly ushered them upstairs and out of sight, just as Tilly preferred. No sense in letting Roger terrify everyone in the Brennan household.
Roger Haskett was tall, and probably considered handsome if his personality wasn’t so horrid. He walked with his broad chest puffed out and his tawny hair slicked back, and he always smelled of cigars.
Another reason why her stomach always turned as soon as he was near. The smell made her sick.
“Are you going to offer me a seat or some tea?” He tossed his top hat to the table in the hallway under a large gilded mirror. It knocked against the potted poinsettias.
“Why are you here?”
He narrowed his blue eyes on her, then stalked closer. “You left after the opera last evening without coming to see me. We had arranged for you to see me.”
“I had a headache.”
“We should see a doctor, then. Seems you suffer a lot from them.”
Tilly wrapped her arms around her waist and shifted her body away. Running off to Dublin and placing the Irish Sea between them still wouldn’t be enough distance.
“Well, don’t beg off from what I’m about to ask of you. You better find some miraculous cure for your headaches. I have arranged for you to attend a Christmas house party that the Duke of Maitland is hosting at Haddington Court. Lots of deep pockets in attendance. You will be performing for him and his friends.”
“I’ll be away? For Christmas?”
He reached out and snatched her wrist, squeezing to make his point. “You will be there, or I will expose you. I will ruin you.”
“You have said that for a few months now, Roger.” She yanked her wrist away, rubbing at the red bruise blooming on pale skin.
“Do you want to test me, dove? Want to see how warm a Christmas is out on the streets?”
“It’s not as if I am without family. I could return to my parents.”
“And you’ll dirty your pretty hands will you, with the sheep farming? Your father is frail enough as it is.”
Tilly lifted her nose at the ugly man.
