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TO JULIA’S DISMAY, her ankle took weeks to mend.
The first week was unbearable. She spent what felt like every waking minute trapped on a sofa or lying in her bed. She could hardly believe her own stupid clumsiness, which had caused them all to leave Nicholls early and miss so much of James’s company.
The second week began as badly, but then it brought a letter from James that Louisa read aloud to the family. The letter mentioned Julia’s name twice and inquired very kindly about her health. That day actually went pretty well.
Weeks three, four, and five of Julia’s convalescence brought more letters for Louisa. She no longer read them aloud to the family. She hummed through the days, wrote long letters to James, and seemed delighted when she received a reply—which she always did, promptly.
She happened to open one of James’s letters once in Julia’s presence, and Julia caught a glimpse of what looked like a list.
“Excellent,” Louisa had breathed, skimming the missive.
“What’s excellent?” Julia had been unable to resist asking.
Recalled to herself, Louisa flushed. “I just had some questions for James. Relating to, um, Nicholls.”
Julia instantly lost interest. She didn’t want to hear about Nicholls, about Louisa’s and James’s future life together. She couldn’t bear the thought of Louisa leaving her, though she knew that was illogical and inevitable.
And maybe she didn’t quite like to think of James married, either. Weren’t they all content and happy as they were? Couldn’t things just continue on like this? Why did everyone have to keep talking about him and Louisa getting married all the time?
It was six weeks and two days before Julia was able to test her ankle again. Six weeks and two days since she’d seen James, hurt herself, and left Nicholls.
Six weeks and two days of being a fool.
Usually she loved autumn, but this year, it seemed melancholy. She missed James’s face, his voice, his smile.
She missed seeing him frown at her when she said something outrageous (usually unwittingly), or making him smile when she did something ridiculous (also usually unwittingly). She just missed . . . him.
Winter began early, with a biting cold that promised to be both long and severe. Julia’s mood lifted when she was allowed back on her feet again in November, but as Christmas drew nearer, the coziness of the season didn’t cheer her as it usually did.
She tried her best to wrap herself in glee, helping her small siblings poke silver trinkets into the plum pudding that would soak in brandy for the weeks until Christmas dinner. She helped the cook bake treats—and sample them: glossy jam tarts, Yule cakes, a gingerbread full of enough sweet spices to make an Elizabethan explorer swoon. She cut strips of paper for the children to paste into links, and laughed when they coiled so many paper chains around their father’s favorite chair that it looked like a paper mill had spun a cocoon. Greenery was cut; the everyday tallow candles were exchanged for sweet-scented beeswax; warm, spicy smells filled the house.
But beneath Julia’s smile, her gloom weighed on her. She was penned inside the house by the numbing cold; she missed the company of her sister, who spent much time in the library writing letters to James.
In between crafting amusements for the children, then, she paced Stonemeadows. She tried to walk away from her dull feeling, leaving it behind in some neglected attic or cellar, but it inevitably found her again. Lady Irving finally told her in annoyance that Julia only needed a set of chains to look like the home’s resident ghost, wandering the corridors, muttering and pale.
Then in mid-December, a letter arrived that changed everything. James had written another of his long lists to Louisa, who pored over it eagerly as usual. This time, though, when she read the end of the letter, her eyebrows knit in sudden displeasure.
“No,” she said in a flat voice.
Lady Oliver and Julia looked up at her, startled, from the floor, where they were helping Elise, Emilia, Anne, and Tom put together a puzzle map of Europe. Tom was very little help, being scarcely past the age where he liked to put bright-colored objects in his mouth, and his sisters forbore his desire to work on the puzzle with grudging impatience.
“Is something wrong, Louisa?” Lady Oliver asked with concern, then immediately diverted her attention back to the four small children beside her. “Tom, don’t eat France; it’s nasty. Can you help your sisters find where France goes? Emilia, can you show him?”
With a show of effort, the girl shoved the offending country into place. Julia praised her, then looked up questioningly at Louisa.
Louisa pressed her lips together and was silent for several seconds, her eyes unreadable. “I’ve received an invitation that I don’t wish to accept,” she finally said.
“An invitation? Who on earth from?” Julia wondered. She realized that wasn’t exactly tactful, and explained, “I mean, it’s just that we are quiet here. I didn’t mean people shouldn’t be inviting you out all the time, because they should—at least, if there were many people around.”
“I know what you mean,” Louisa assured her. “It’s . . .” She trailed off, then drew in her breath. “James’s family wants me to spend Christmas with them in London.”
“Wonderful!” Lady Oliver squealed, tossing the puzzle map’s Portugal gleefully into the air.
Julia said, “Oh.”
Louisa looked appreciatively at her sister. “I can see you understand, Julia. Mama, I don’t wish to go. I’ve never spent Christmas away from home, and, honestly, I am terrified of James’s relatives. I haven’t spoken to them much and I’m quite sure they don’t approve of me.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Oliver replied, distracted, as she began to look under furniture for the displaced country. “Portugal, where are you?” she crooned.
“I think it is a good sign that they want to have you there,” Julia said bracingly. “It shows that they want to welcome you into the family.”
“Maybe.” Louisa looked doubtful. “But I had in my mind that I wouldn’t have to go back to London until February at least. This is just so soon.”
“But you want to see James again, right? You’ll get to see him again?” Julia asked.
“Yes, he’ll be there,” Louisa said vaguely.
Julia scrutinized her. What was she thinking of ? How could she not want, with every fiber of her body, to go to London and see James and his family?
Granted, she had never met James’s family, but if they were anything like him, she was sure they must be delightful.
“What if we go now?” Louisa finally spoke.
At the puzzled expressions of both Julia and Lady Oliver (who was still looking for the lost Portugal, ably assisted by her younger children, who were eager to finish their map), Louisa explained herself. “You and I, Julia. What if we could persuade our aunt to go to London now, and we could both go? I am sure you would be as welcome as I at Matheson House for Christmas. Would you like that?”
“Oh, yes!” Julia clapped her hands together.
Louisa looked happier at once. Lady Oliver protested that she couldn’t, just couldn’t, let both of her grown girls go to London for Christmas; they would be missed too much. Who would hang the mistletoe? Who would lead the family in carols? But Louisa could be stubborn. When she informed her parent that she simply wouldn’t go if Julia didn’t go with her, then everything seemed to be decided.
It remained only to persuade Lady Irving, who at first described Louisa’s idea of requiring her sister’s companionship in London as “rot.” But when presented with the alternative—Louisa not going to London, an irrevocable slight being dealt to a powerful family, the engagement being endangered—she had to recognize inevitable defeat.
“Well played, my girl,” she acknowledged the maneuver. “You’re getting more and more suited for the ton already.” She sighed with dismay. “I do hate the greasy London winters, though. And one feels so unfashionable being there year-round.”
“Viscountess Matheson never leaves London,” Louisa pointed out.
“Yes, well, that began because of her husband’s gout, and now it’s due to sheer laziness,” Lady Irving informed her. “I would rather be struck dead in my bed than have anyone think me too lazy to travel.”
“Aunt, you are in no danger of having anyone think you the tiniest bit lazy,” Julia replied truthfully.
“We’ll have to stay through to the season.” Lady Irving nodded, tapping her chin in thought. “Julia, you’ll have to have an entire wardrobe made before you’re fit for the young bucks to look at. And you, Louisa, have to put together a trousseau. And plan the wedding. Maybe even go through with the blasted thing, if one can be permitted to utter those words in this house,” she grumbled. “Yes, it’s a good idea at that. London’s where you’ll both need to be for the time being.”
Louisa looked taken aback, but Julia hardly noticed. She could scarcely believe how much the world had changed today. This morning, months of cold, gray, quiet days had lain between her and the season. Now she was going to London, and better still, she would get to see James.
At last, Christmas cheer bubbled up within her.