Free The Christmas Secret by Julia London Page B

specimen of a bird I’ve ever seen. But year after year, Old Tom eluded us. It became my father’s fondest wish that he grace our Christmas table.”
    “What happened?” Erin asked.
    Henry chuckled. “We sighted him last Christmas and knew where his hens had made their nests. We tracked that old bird for two days, but he remained one step ahead of us. We were desperate to bag him after four years of hunting him, and one morning, just as the sun began its ascent, we heard his call. My brother Thomas saw a flash of copper tail, and he fired. My father, who was in the woods nearby, bellowed so loudly that we believed we had finally bagged Old Tom. We could taste his flesh, we were so confident of it.”
    “Oh,” Lady Donnelly said, looking horrified.
    “Do not fear for that old tom, madam. What my brother shot was my father’s hat, right off his head. His new hat, I might add. We decided then that Old Tom had won, and I believe he still wanders the woods along the Hudson River.”
    “And your father?” Mrs. Sullivan asked.
    Henry laughed. “He suffered the loss of one fine hunting hat, but little else. It was my brother’s pride that suffered worst of all.”
    “I am rather heartened for the old tom,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “Have you any other traditions?”
    “Sleigh rides, if there is snow. Before my mother passed away, she would play Christmas hymns on the pianoforte.”
    “Hymns?” Donnelly said. “Hymns are for the elderly and the infirm. Prepare to dance on the first day of Christmas, laddie,” he said. “We do not squander our celebration on hymns.”
    “Oh, Declan,” Lady Donnelly said laughingly. “He’ll think he is among heathens.”
    “Do not pretend you are not a heathen, my love,” Donnelly countered easily. “Bristol, we believe Christmas should be celebrated properly, aye? We begin on Christmas day with a few friends and family to celebrate, and hope that at the end of the twelve days of Christmas, our neighbors will join us for a ball.”
    “You say that as if that has been your practice all along, darling,” Lady Donnelly said. “This will be your first ball in quite a long time, and it is only because I insisted.”
    “Aye, of course, muirnín, ” Donnelly said with a smile full of affection for his wife. “My life did not begin until I met you.”
    “There you have it, Mr. Bristol. From the man’s own lips,” Lady Donnelly said.
    “As I recall, Keira,” Erin said with a fond smile, “it was only a few weeks ago you wrote me that you feared no one would receive you at all, aye?”
    “Aye,” Lady Donnelly agreed. “But come one, come one hundred, we shall celebrate properly.” She put her hand on her belly and smiled. “We will never let a wee bit of scandal keep us from a happy Christmas. Speaking of which, we should all get some sleep.” She stood from her seat at the settee. “I shall bid you all good night,” she added, smiling charmingly at Henry. “I want to be fresh for tomorrow’s feast.”
    “As should we all,” Mrs. Sullivan agreed.
    Twelve days of Christmas, Henry mused as he made his way to his room. He only hoped it did not grow tedious. He could not abide long days spent in parlors with a lot of small talk. Only so many Christmas candles could be lit before one was rendered unconscious.
    But the next morning, Henry was awakened not only by the sound of rain but also by the voices of servants calling out across the courtyard to one another. It sounded as if they said something like nully honey dit.
    He saddled a brown stallion he was thinking he might purchase from the earl, and rode out in the wet weather, his hat pulled low over his brow. He meant to concentrate on the horse, but his thoughts kept wandering to Erin. The image of her lovely face, her sparkling eyes, invaded his every thought. He had relived the moments of the walk he’d taken with her through the woods to the cliffs. He adored her sense of humor, and the fact that she was