“Because Miss Jane wanted it?” she asked.

Jane. He might have guessed that she would have such a name. And yet it suited her. It was quietly, discreetly pretty.

“Not at all,” he said. “This is what it is used for.” He held one sprig above the absurd hat, which Nancy had doubtless thought suitably flamboyant for the daughter of an actress, stooped down, and kissed her soft, cold little cheek. And took himself quite by surprise. Now why had he done that?

“Any gentleman has the right to kiss any lady he catches beneath the mistletoe,” he said, “without fear of having his face slapped. It is a Christmas custom. You see?” And he straightened up and repeated the action with Deborah, who giggled. “Now we have to carry all this greenery back to the house.”

“What about Miss Jane?” a grave little voice asked him.

And he knew he was caught. Caught in the act of maneuvering. For when he had demonstrated the use of mistletoe on his daughter and his niece, he had really wanted to use Miss Craggs as his model. Even though she was prim and gray and every inch the schoolteacher.Though that was not the whole truth this afternoon. Since they had left the house there had been a light in her eyes that had touched him. She was enjoying all this just like a child.

“Oh, it works with Miss Craggs, too,” he said, turning to her and raising his sprig of mistletoe again. And he felt suddenly and stupidly breathless. She was standing very still and wide-eyed.

He kissed her lightly and briefly, as he had kissed the other two.

Except that foolishly he kissed her on the lips. And ended up feeling even hotter than his excursion up the tree had made him.

She turned hurriedly away before their eyes could meet and began energetically arranging the heap of holly they had gathered into three bundles.

“Here, Veronica,” he said, “you may carry the mistletoe, since it will not prick you all to pieces. Deborah, take that bundle of holly. I’ll take this one.”

His hand brushed Miss Craggs’s as he gathered up the largest bundle and belatedly their eyes met. Her own were still large and bright. Brighter.

Was it the cold that had brought the tears there? Or was it the kiss?

Surely she had been kissed before. Surely that had not been her first kiss.

Had it? Once again he wondered about her past, about her life.

Impoverished parents and the need to go out and make her own living? But she had not been planning to go home for Christmas.

“I will send someone back with a wagon for the pine boughs,” he said.

“ ‘Deck the halls with boughs of holly,’ ” Deborah sang suddenly with loud enthusiasm and no musical talent whatsoever.

“ ‘Fa la la la la la la la la,’ ” Miss Craggs sang with her in a rather lovely contralto voice.

“ ‘Tis the season to be jolly.’ ” He joined his tenor voice to their singing and looked down at Veronica.

“ ‘Fa la la la la la la la la.’ ” She piped up with them, off-key.

“ ‘Don we now our gay apparel.’ ” Three of them sang out lustily while the fourth continued with the fa-la-las.

And the damned thing was, Viscount Buckley thought, that it could grab at one quite unawares. Christmas, that was.

Jane had never been very assertive, even as a teacher. She had never been the type who liked to boss and organize people. And yet over the next couple of days she seemed to be transformed into a wholly different person.

It was she who directed the decorating of the house-of drawing room, staircase, and hall. The viscount had suggested that the servants could do it, but she had exclaimed in horror and disappointment before she could stop herself, and he had meekly agreed that perhaps they could do it themselves, the four of them.

“But I have no eye for design, Miss Craggs,” he had told her. “You will have to tell us what you want.”

And she had told them. She stood in the middle of the drawing room giving orders like a sergeant with a company of soldiers. Boughs and sprigs and wreaths were hung exactly where and exactly how she directed, and if she did not like the look of them when the deed was done, then she directed their replacement. And everyone obeyed, even the viscount, who was given all the climbing to do. He balanced on chairs and tables and ladders in his shirtsleeves, decking out pictures and mirrors and door frames while she stood critically below him, head to one side, examining the effects of his handiwork and criticizing any slight error on his part.

She felt so happy by the time they were finished that she thought she might well burst with it. She was surrounded by Christmas-by the sights and smells of it. She could smell the pine boughs, and there were interesting smells wafting up from the kitchens. Particularly the smell of Christmas puddings.

“Oh, it is so very beautiful,” she said, her hands clasped to her bosom when they were all finished and were all standing admiring their efforts. “If only we had some ribbons for bows.”

“Oh, yes,” Deborah said. “Red ones and green ones.”

Viscount Buckley sighed. “Ribbons and bows,” he said. “And bells, too, I suppose? Doubtless you will find what you need in the village, Miss Craggs. Go there if you must and purchase whatever you need and have the bill sent to me.”

“Oh.” She turned to him with glowing eyes. “May I? Oh, thank you, my lord.”

He looked at her and made her a little mocking bow. And she remembered the earth-shattering feeling of his lips touching hers and wondered if he realized what an enormous treasure this Christmas was going to be to her in memory. The most precious treasure of her life.

Veronica was tugging at her skirt. “May I come too, Miss Jane?” she asked.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, hearing in some surprise the unexpected endearment she had used. “I will need you to help me choose.”

“And I will come too, Craggs,” Deborah said. But she flushed suddenly and added, “Miss Craggs.” And then she extended both arms and twirled into the steps of a waltz. “Uncle Warren,” she said, “do you think we may dance on Christmas Day?”

Deborah had completely changed since the visits she had paid with her uncle during the morning. She had come rushing into the house on their return home to announce to Jane that she was to have a party of her very own on Christmas Day. Fifteen young people were to come during the afternoon for walks and games and were to stay for the evening while their parents-and her uncle-engaged in an adult party at the home of the Oxendens. Even the seventeen-year-old and very dashing George Oxenden had decided to come to Cosway, though his parents had agreed to allow him to attend the adult party if he wished.

Jane saw the viscount grimace. “A dance?” he said. “And who is to provide the music, pray?”

But Deborah made it instantly clear that the idea had not come to her on the spur of the moment. “Mr. George Oxenden told me that his aunt plays the pianoforte rather well,” she said, “and that she would be only too pleased to be with the young people rather than with the adults on Christmas Day.”

Her uncle looked skeptical. “I will have to see what can be arranged,” he said.

“Oh, thank you, Uncle Warren,” she said, darting back across the room to hug him. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever, after all, I just know it.”

The viscount raised his eyebrows and looked at Jane.

Jane could only agree with his niece.

But there was work to be done. The village shop had to be visited and yards of the widest, brightest ribbon to be chosen and measured. Jane felt guilty when she was told the total cost, but she did not change her purchases. Viscount Buckley was a wealthy man, was he not? When Veronica gazed admiringly and rather longingly at some porcelain bells, she even added three to her purchases, a dreadful extravagance. But they would look lovely hanging from the holly on the mantel in the drawing room.

And then she discovered during a visit to the kitchen that the servants were murmuring over the fact that there was to be no Yule log. The head gardener was only too delighted to go in search of the largest one he could find when Jane insisted that they must have one. A Yule log! She had not even thought of it. She knew so little about Christmas.

During the same visit she learned that one of the grooms was skilled with his hands and loved to whittle on wood whenever he had a few spare moments. When Jane admired a spoon he was carving for his girl in the village, he offered to carve a small crib for the drawing room. And that other detail of her dream returned to Jane. Time was short, but the groom agreed to try to carve a baby Jesus to go inside the crib, and a Mary and Joseph to kneel beside it, and perhaps even a shepherd or two and an animal or two to worship and adore.

The decorations would be complete, Jane decided, standing alone in the drawing room after the ribbons and bells had been added to all the greenery, if only there could be a Nativity scene in the window.

Oh, Christmas would be complete. She twirled around and around rather as Deborah had done and thought of the little bonnet and muff for Veronica and the small bottle of perfume for Deborah she had had set aside in the village shop as Christmas gifts. They would take all the meager hoard of money in her purse, but she could not resist. She had never bought Christmas presents before. She had nothing for Viscount Buckley, but it would be inappropriate anyway to give a gentleman a gift.

For Deborah’s sake she was going to make this a wonderful Christmas. And for Veronica’s sake. Veronica was quietly obedient, but Jane knew that the child was still hiding inside herself. And she knew from long experience how that felt. She was going to do her very best to see that Christmas brought the child out of herself again, even if it was only to a realization of her grief and her insecurity. At least then she could be properly comforted.