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But the earl’s words were seized by the viscount. It was not long before a large bowl was brought in filled with a concoction of cider and spices.

“I’m sure the apple trees won’t mind if we sing them a little song in here,” the viscount said, clearing his throat, as the bowl was placed ceremoniously before him.

The other guests gathered around, and Amelia took her mother’s hand, urging her to join in the fun.

“Come along, Mother. You know the song, don’t you?” she said, and her mother smiled.

“You go ahead, Amelia. I’ll sit here,” she said, as Lady Turner came to sit next to her.

Amelia nodded, stepping forward to stand with Clara and Isobel, who had reluctantly agreed to the viscount’s demands. Mrs. Bennett was poised at the pianoforte. Edgar and Hugh were nudging one another and sniggering, while Edmund stood behind. The cups for the wassail now passed around.

“Everyone sing now,” the viscount said. Together, they joined in a rousing chorus as they toasted the apple trees for providing them with their sweet bounty.

“Now Christmas is comin’

And New year begin

Pray open your doors

And let us come in.

O Master and Mistress

Sitting down by the fire

While we poor wassail boys

Are traveling the mire.

This ancient house

We will kindly salute

It is an old custom

You need not dispute.

We are here in this place,

Orderly we stand

We’re the jolly wassail boys

With a bowl in our hands.

We hope that your apple trees

Will prosper and bear

And bring forth good cider

When we come next year.

With our wassail, wassail,

Wassail, wassail,

And joy come with our jolly wassail.”