Chuckling, he raised his hands in surrender. “I understand. Leave the artistry to the ladies.”
The apples of Miss Price’s cheeks pinked, a telltale sign he’d been right about her motivation.
A glance in Bess’s direction reassured him that plying her with brandy was the right decision. She slouched in the chair, her eyes at half-mast and a half smile curving her plummy lips. The empty snifter sat on the side table.
“All better now, she-devil?” he asked.
“You promised Christmas carols.” She pronounced Christmas as Chrisht-mas. Whether it was from her swollen tongue or the effects of the liquor, he couldn’t say. It was endearing either way.
“Only if you sing along.” He sat at the polished pianoforte and ran through the scales to warm up his fingers. “Do you have a request?”
When she didn’t answer, he played one of three pieces he’d memorized. It was the only Christmas song in his repertoire. The other two were popular with a certain crowd he’d known at University, and inappropriate for present company. He attacked the stanza, belting out the first verse. “Joy to the world.”
Miss Price sang along, both of them serenading Bess, who struggled to keep her eyes open despite the lively performance. She did, however, applaud them at the end.
“You play beautifully,” Miss Price said. “Will you treat us to another?”
Julius admitted he hadn’t memorized any other Christmas pieces. Bess’s cousin solved the problem by retrieving a stack of sheet music from the bottom drawer of the sideboard. He scooted to one side of the bench, and she plopped beside him.
“We’ll have to look through these to find Christmas music,” she said. “Every year I intend to organize these, but I never do.”
“Don’t say that too loudly, or we will be locked in another battle to keep her in her seat.”
Bess had fallen asleep, her face soft like an angel in repose. One would never guess what a spitfire she was when she was conscious.
“I should take her to her chamber before she falls into a deep sleep and cannot be roused,” her cousin said.
Julius stopped her with a brief touch to her shoulder. “She is comfortable now. Allow her to rest. I will carry her to bed if need be.”
“Considering the contentious beginning of your association with my cousin”—Miss Price shuffled through the music sheets—“I find your offer magnanimous.”
“She would do the same for me. She did do the same.” He vaguely recalled Bess’s arm around him as they’d climbed the stairs his first night at Davensworth Cottage.
Her cousin presented the music for Silent Night; her golden brown eyebrows drifted toward her hairline, posing an unspoken question.
“A perfect choice,” he said.
She placed the sheet on the music rack, and he played softly. Lost in their own thoughts, they missed the cue after the intro. Miss Price didn’t seem to notice, so Julius kept playing. “I blame myself for her fall,” he said.
Her head snapped toward him. “Bess said it was an accident.”
“One that could have been avoided if I’d insisted on going alone.”
“Once Bess sets her mind to something, one would have more luck stopping a tempest.” Miss Price’s shoulders drooped as if defeated. “We should have stayed in London.”
His fingers froze over the keys. He didn’t know whether to look at her or pretend he hadn’t heard the sad undertones beneath her words. Her head was bowed, and she absently picked the edge of a fingernail. “I thought I would miss Papa less, but Davensworth Cottage isn’t the same without him.”
An unexpected lump formed in his throat. His own parents were the heart of Everly Manor. He couldn’t imagine the family home without picturing one or both of them in their favorite rooms. The young woman’s sorrow hung heavily on the air.
“I am sorry, Miss Price. Truly, I am.” The words themselves rang hollow, but the sentiment filled his heart.
“In London, there would have been parties to serve as a distraction,” she said. “Instead, we are stuck in this empty house, and no matter how hard Bess tries to make it feel like home, it is lonely without Papa.”
Fat tears splattered the sheet music in her lap.
Once again, he was faced with a lady’s tears, and he was no more prepared than he’d been in the past. He shot a wild look in Bess’s direction, but no help would be forthcoming. She’d slumped lower on the chair; a faint smile graced her lips as if she was wrapped in the arms of a pleasant dream.
Miss Price plucked an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve. “Forgive me. These waves of melancholy come over me without warning.”
He wet his dry lips and calculated the possible reactions he might receive if he voiced an idea.
Faith. It couldn’t get worse than tears. He stood and swiveled on his heel. “Return to Everly Manor with me—you and Bess. My parents are hosting a house party to celebrate Christmas, and it is sure to be as diverting as any party in London.”
“Oh!” She blinked and wiped her eyes again. “Wouldn’t it be impolite to arrive without an invitation?”
“I am extending an invitation, Miss Price.”
“But—"
“Is my word not good enough? I can put it in writing if you prefer,” he teased. “Retrieve a quill and paper.”
A reluctant smile tweaked her lips. “Your word is enough, my lord, but I cannot abandon Davensworth Cottage.”
“Are you worried about the young ones? Bess told me about their mother. It must be a difficult Christmas for them, too.” He smacked the top of the pianoforte as he made a decision. “We will bring them. The servants have their own celebration before leaving to visit family on Boxing Day. Robbie and Anne will have fun, and your cook will appreciate an extended holiday.”
When it appeared she might argue, he rushed to add, “If you will not agree for your own sake, do it for them.”
She cried out. “What a manipulative trick.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “When you have as many siblings as I, you learn to use whatever weapons are available to win an argument. Bess will run herself ragged to give you the perfect Christmas. Do it for her.”
“Oh, you are a rat!” She fluttered her arms like a cat trying to swipe him. He danced out of reach, both of them laughing.
“Do you call that fighting? Stand up. Every lady should know how to deliver a proper facer.”
She dropped the handkerchief on the piano keys and allowed him to drag her from the bench like he would one of his sisters.
“Raise your fists.”
She mirrored his movements. He corrected her stance. When he encouraged her to swing, her fist arched through the air.
“Put some strength behind it, Miss Price.”
She followed his instructions, throwing her fists in his direction repeatedly.
“Oof!” He pretended she landed each punch and made silly faces.
The sadness that had overtaken her earlier retreated. Her grief was still there, buried beneath her smiles, but he was pleased he could distract her from it, even temporarily. It seemed like something Bess would do.
“What happened to the music?” Her voice was husky from sleep, and she gazed at them in drowsy amusement.