A Christmas Odyssey (17 page)

Lucien sat stiff and afraid, but he did not argue.

It was not a long ride to Kensington, where James Wentworth lived, but to Henry, who was exhausted and very sore, it seemed to take ages; Only now, on the brink of impossible success, did he actually wonder if Wentworth really wanted his son back to forgive him. Perhaps it would instead involve some harsher discipline, some price for his disobedience and the family’s shame.

When they stopped they had to fish between them for enough coins to pay the fare and offer the cabbie a bonus fit for Christmas Eve. They climbed out stiffly, helping each other, until they stood on the freezing pavement. The hansom jingled and rattled off into the distance.

The street was lit as far as they could see in both directions. There were wreaths and garlands on the doors. Somewhere far away church bells were ringing out across the rooftops.

Henry walked up the short distance to Wentworth’s door, lifted the brass knocker, and then let it fall.

The door was opened almost immediately and the liveried butler stared in undisguised disbelief.

Lucien stepped forward. “Happy Christmas, Dorwood. Is my father at home?”

The butler gasped and his eyes filled with tears. “Yes, Mr. Lucien,” he said gravely. “If you care to come in, sir, I shall tell him you are here.” He did not even bother to ask who his companions were.

Inside, the magnificent hall was decked for Christmas, as if they had been expected. The Yule log was burning in the open hearth. There were garlands of holly, ivy, and mistletoe, with colored ribbons. Red wax candles glowed. There was mulled wine in a large bowl on the sideboard, and cakes and pies and candied fruit in dishes.

A door flew open. James Wentworth came out, his eyes wide, his face shining with joy. He went straight to Lucien and threw his arms around him, too filled with emotion to speak.

Then he let him go and turned to Henry, the tears wet on his cheeks.

“Nothing I can say is thanks enough.” He all but choked on the words. “My son was lost, and you have found him for me—you and your friends. My home and all that is in it are yours.” He looked questioningly at each of them.

“My friends,” Henry introduced them. “Dr. Crow, Mr. Robinson, and Bessie.”

Bessie curtsied, with a slight wobble. Crow stood beaming the widest smile of his life, and Squeaky bowed, really rather gracefully.

“How do you do,” Wentworth replied. “Happy, happy Christmas.”

Anne Perry is the bestselling author of seven earlier holiday novels—
A Christmas Promise, A Christmas Grace, A Christmas Journey, A Christmas Visitor, A Christmas Guest, A Christmas Secret
, and
A Christmas Beginning
—as well as the William Monk series and the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt series set in Victorian England; the Byzantine historical epic
The Sheen on the Silk;
and five World War I novels. Anne Perry lives in Scotland.

www.anneperry.net