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out.’
    Charlotte slid a glance at her sister-in-law who was failing to look delighted. She already had one infant half-brother, who had displaced her from her position as heir to her father’s estate, and now here were two more. Barnard, serenely unaware of his wife’s seething resentment, proposed another toast. ‘As many of you know, my mama and my uncle are at present taking the cure on the Continent, so here’s to them too, and let us hope we can soon celebrate their return home.’
    Across the room, Kit Knightley caught Charlotte’s eye and briefly lowered his left eyelid in a fleeting wink. He and she had both been instrumental in expediting the redoubtable elder Mrs Richmond’s exile abroad after the death of Charlotte’s husband, and they were united in their fervent prayer that she should certainly never reappear at Finchbourne Manor.
    Barnard was making another speech. ‘You have already heard the Waits who are here to entertain us with their carols, and they’ll be in full voice again once I’ve said my piece. Sad to say though, the Mummers, who were to perform their play for us, have been obliged to stay away, as three of their number have gone down with the measles. Never mind that though, the wassail bowl is ready and waiting in the dining-room along with Olde English delicacies such as frumenty and … and other such,’ he finished hastily as his memory clearly failed him. He mopped his flushed forehead with a large spotted silk handkerchief and wound up his welcome address by inviting his guests to hasten to the dining-room so they might enjoy the feast and join him in raising a cup of the wassail brew to little Algy’s future happiness.
    Charlotte waited till last to allow the guests first onslaught on the mountain of food piled on the vast mahogany table. She cast an anxious glance round the room, exchanged a covert smile with the young Granville lad, and met Kit Knightley’s quizzical smile as her brows knitted in a slight anxiety.
    ‘Why are you looking so worried, Char?’ He came over to her, a broad-shouldered man, brown-haired and blue-eyed, his pleasantface shadowed by signs of anxiety that were not entirely eclipsed by his present amusement.
    ‘I’m just hoping Gran doesn’t eat too much of that rich food,’ she explained, waving a hand towards the table. ‘She has the constitution of an ox indeed, but I’ve never seen so many pies and pastries in my life and I know what she’s like where food is concerned.’
    ‘I shouldn’t worry,’ Kit laughed, as they observed Lady Frampton industriously shovelling spoonfuls of frumenty – which looked to Charlotte like a rather stodgy porridge – into her greedy mouth, at the same time as she selected sugar plums, candied fruit and other delicacies to pile high on her plate. She added a large slice of rich cake, generously topped with candied fruit, an innovation that was, Charlotte was relieved to notice, eliciting loud praise from the guests. Captain Penbury was vying with the old lady beside him as to the speed with which he crammed mince pies one after the other into his own mouth.
    ‘Oh dear, they look as though they’re having a race,’ sighed Charlotte turning away in despair. ‘The captain certainly shouldn’t be eating so much of this food, he’s very lax. He is supposed to be on an invalid diet to accommodate what he always calls his “trouble amidships” where he still carries a musket ball dating from an ancient naval engagement.’
    With her pouting attendant a dutiful three paces behind her, Lady Granville sailed across the room, with a nod to Charlotte and Mr Knightley. She brushed aside all eager questions from the other guests regarding the murder of her poor maid, and inclined her large stately head towards Miss Nightingale. That lady, with his lordship’s signature firmly on her list of promised donations, was now sitting with a group of potential benefactors.
    ‘Ah, thank you Sir, you are most