Christmas day dawned with an ice-blue sky, frost decorating every blade of grass in the garden and painting swirling patterns on Amelia’s window that melted as the morning fire warmed her bedroom. After breakfast and church, the whole party gathered in the drawing room to exchange presents. The fire was blazing in the grate and the Wisbechs had taken the prime seats near to it. Mrs. Wisbech was volubly complaining about The Holly and the Ivy being sung in the church service, on the basis that it was pagan nonsense. Amelia wondered if the comment was pointed at her mother. The walls in the drawing room were covered in boughs of evergreen with tiny pine cones, holly with bright red berries, and mistletoe. Wreaths with cinnamon sticks and clove oranges were hung between every picture and the scent of Christmas was in the air.

It was warm and comfortable, but Amelia couldn’t relax. Wherever she looked in the room there was the memory of her and Robert kissing under the mistletoe. It was like they were ghosts, haunting the whole house with their denied lust. She could see them in a clinch, his hands tight on her waist, her fingers in his hair. They were under every ball of mistletoe, kissing each other with reckless abandon. Every sigh and breath she heard reminded her of the little moans of delight he had made from the back of his throat.

Ghost Robert and Amelia were everywhere. When her mother unwrapped the gloves she’d given her, a shadow of Robert was stroking Amelia’s hair. When her father thanked her for the engraved pipe she’d bought him in London she had to grit her teeth to focus on him, because just at the edge of her vision was her apparition, running her hands over Robert’s shoulders.

The only place of relative escape was when she looked at Robert. The presence of Edith, who was sat on the floor next to him, thankfully kept such thoughts from her. But it didn’t help. Edith was awed by the grandeur of Christmas day. She watched intently as the adults received their presents, taking joy in every gift as well as fidgeting with anticipation for her own presents.

“Now,” Robert said when his parents had exchanged their presents. He leaned over and from under his chair drew a box, covered with floral print muslin and tied with a big red ribbon in a bow. “Who do you think this is for?”

Edith bit her lip. “Is it for me?”

Amelia looked over to the window, past Robert’s mother who observed indulgently.

“Yes.” Robert smiled and nodded, holding the box out to her.

Edith tugged at the ribbon. Thankfully the bow released immediately, otherwise probably her impatience would have damaged it. Then the fabric fell open, the lid was off the box, and Edith was staring open-mouthed for a full three seconds before grabbing up the doll inside and holding it close to her face to take in all the details.

“Oh,” Edith sighed. “She’s wonderful.” Her gaze was fixed on the face of the doll. “Where did you get it, Papa?”

The doll had a delicately painted wooden face and hands, blonde ringlets, and big blue eyes. Her dress was pale blue, like the one Edith had been wearing yesterday.

“It comes all the way from Germany.” Robert was leaned forwards in his chair, elbows on his knees, watching his daughter with barely disguised mirth.

“Did you go to Germany?” Edith asked, running her fingers across the doll’s dress.

“No, another man did and bought many dolls. I chose her for you from the ones he bought. What will you call her?” His voice was patient.

A moment of panic went across Edith’s face. “I don’t know.” She stroked the yellow curls of hair as she frowned thoughtfully.

“Do you like it?” Robert’s happiness at his daughter’s joy showed in every line of his face.

“Oh, yes.” She looked up, then threw herself into Robert’s arms.

They made a nice scene, the two of them, embracing. Him in his bottle-green waistcoat and black tail-coat, her with little green ribbons on her dress and in her hair.

Her heart throbbed. It was a kind present from a father to daughter. A German doll was the best, and expensive. Perhaps it was lavish of him, but Edith didn’t seem spoilt, just protected and loved.

She wished he were hers. She wished they both were. To be included in that, to be part of their family, would be something. But she’d always be second best to Robert, the woman he kissed because tragedy had befallen his wife. When Amelia had said she hadn’t wanted to see him again years ago, it was partly because she’d known her weak heart would thud at the sight of him and that might induce her to accept less than she deserved. Love was a dangerous thing, making a person desperate to be near a man, and Amelia did not want it.

Robert ruffled Edith’s hair and kissed her cheek as they shifted apart.

For just a moment, she could include herself in that coveted tenderness. She could pretend Edith was as beloved to her as the daughter the deepest aches in her chest longed for, but would never have.

“I have something more for you, Edith.” She took a deep breath. “Or, more correctly, for your doll.” She drew out the shawl. She hadn’t wrapped it, as she didn’t want to make a performance out of the gift. She held it out to Edith.

Edith turned to her father for approval then approached cautiously, like a spaniel coming to take a treat. She looked at the embroidered fabric in Amelia’s hand for a second before tilting her head. “What is it?”

“It’s a shawl, so your doll will stay warm.”

A slow smile crept across Edith’s face as she picked the fabric from Amelia’s hand. She draped it over the doll’s shoulders, then set about trying to adjust it to look right.

Robert’s gaze skipped between her, Edith, and the doll. “Thank you. That’s–” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.” He stared at the doll, his throat bobbing. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. This warmth spreading outwards from her heart was enough. Watching Edith play with the little doll covered in the embroidery she’d made was enough. Seeing Robert appreciate her gift was plenty.

“And I thought you might like this.” Amelia reached behind her, her heart thudding. It felt like giving a piece of herself, passing over the copy of The Parent’s Assistant. When she’d gone into the library to retrieve the sample for Edith this morning, she’d stood in front of the bookshelf again. The impulse to give him the book was as foolish and uncontrollable as the need to kiss him last night. Their fingers touched as he took the book and she felt it like a silky burn, all the way up her arm. When she looked up, he was staring at her mouth, as if he, too, was reliving their kiss. She flushed hot under her dress.

“I was thinking I might call her Belle?” Edith said suddenly, turning to her father for approval. “Would that suit her?”

Robert’s expression dropped, his hand holding the book falling into his lap. A diminutive of her mother’s name.

“It’s a charming name.” He recovered quickly, but his voice sounded a little hoarse. “If you like, you could call her that.”

Just in case Amelia might have thought she had any role to play in their lives, there was this simple reminder. Robert Danbury had chosen Isabella. He’d not chosen Amelia, he’d chosen Edith’s mother.

“Thank you, Papa.” Edith smiled. “Will you play with Belle and me?”

“Amelia darling,” her mother called from the other side of the room. “Do see these delightful things Mrs. Wisbech gave me.”

“Has Mrs. Wisbech been too generous, as always?” She didn’t look at Robert as she rose and walked quickly away. Sometimes her mother could be remarkably perceptive. Amelia had been cast aside in favor of Isabella Garway once, and it was silly to think anything of her kiss with Robert yesterday. He might have wanted to kiss her – then and now – but he’d married another woman. It meant as little as his attention had five years ago. A kiss was just a kiss.

The wind and snow outside precluded a Christmas day walk and the whole party spent the afternoon playing cards, reading, and occasionally singing carols. Amelia sat quietly in the corner of the drawing room, focused on her embroidery. The work soothed her as she tried not to watch Robert conversing with his mother while Edith played on the floor, using several of the chairs as a doll’s house. Amelia listened as Edith and Mrs. Danbury discussed the doll’s dress and how to use the red ribbon in the doll’s hair.

Outside, the clouds turned from silver to grey to black before the maids inconspicuously lit candles and closed the curtains. Amelia focused on the roses, trying to space her stitches evenly as she listened to Mrs. Danbury pretend to pour tea, ‘accompany’ Belle the doll to the theatre, and compliment the doll’s blonde hair and blue eyes. All the things she and her mother had played when Amelia was a child. She ran a finger over a completed red rose and knew she wouldn’t be able to do the same with a daughter of hers. It was as if the embroidered petals were real thorns.

“I think I’m going to have to take a rest,” Mrs. Danbury said with a groan and a weary smile, late in the afternoon after she’d had half a dozen cups of tea with Edith and Belle the doll.

“Will you play with me, Papa?” Edith immediately asked.

“Mother.” Robert rushed to her side to lend her his hand. “Shall I help you to your room?”

“Not at all.” Mrs. Danbury stood heavily, then patted her son’s forearm. “You play with your daughter.”

“Will you play?”

Amelia jerked her head up to see Edith standing in front of her. Edith held her doll and her green dress glinted gold in the candlelight.

“Please?” Edith smiled, her little teeth milk white.

“You mustn’t bother Miss Chilson, Edith,” Robert said from the floor where he was sitting.

“It’s no bother.” Amelia slipped her needle into a stitch on the back of the embroidery to keep the thread neat, and put it aside. “I like to play.” This was no different to playing with the children at the Women’s Society of Hope. Except none of those children had fathers present who made Amelia’s heart thud.

“Very well.” Something like panic went across Robert’s face. “But only for a little while, though.”

“Where shall we go?” Amelia stood. She’d been sitting for too long and she couldn’t ‘drink tea’ and exchange pleasantries with Belle.

“On an adventure.” Edith bit her lip in anticipation. “Deep into the forest.”

“I don’t know if we can do that today,” Robert said ruefully as he came to join them.

“Of course we can.” Amelia turned to Robert. “Do you have your book?”

He fetched it wordlessly and passed it to Amelia, who knelt and placed it on the floor. “There, that’s the carriage. Would Belle like to make herself comfortable?”

Edith nodded, a little confused, and sat the doll on the book.

“Perfect. Now. The horses are quite beautiful and winged, but unfortunately invisible. You ensure Belle holds on tight, and we shall take her to the forest.” Gently, Amelia pushed the book forward on the carpet, then held the edges and lifted it up.

The ‘clip-clop’ noise of a horse trotting came from behind her and Amelia turned to see Robert. He was snapping and clapping to make the impression of a horse’s hooves on road.

Edith giggled. “Papa’s a horsey!”

Robert nodded ruefully but didn’t stop the sound effects.

Amelia didn’t restrain her grin as she turned away. “To the forest!” She moved the book slowly so Edith could keep up and the doll didn’t over-balance.

“I’m looking forward to seeing this forest,” Robert murmured into her ear, so Edith didn’t hear.

“It’s not far now.” Amelia moved them towards the fireplace. “Over the sea-carpet.” They went around the Wisbechs and Amelia’s parents to the side of the fire. “Around the mountains. And here’s the forest.” She landed the book next to the basket of logs placed by the fireplace for the convenience of the maid tending the fire.

“Oh, I see!” Edith stood the doll up while Robert took out several small logs from the basket and stood them on their ends to make the ‘forest’. They hunted for animals, counted tree rings, then moved to the other forest of the fir boughs across the mantelpiece. Amelia was constantly aware of Robert near her, his deep voice only occasionally interjecting when Edith needed him.

When the clock chimed in the hallway. Robert frowned and reached into his pocket, drawing out a watch. “Is that the time already? Edith, it’s time to get ready for bed.”

“But Papa…” Edith’s bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

“We’ll play again another time,” Amelia reassured her. A lie, of course. A prick of disappointment that they were finished playing was ridiculous.

Robert rang for Edith’s nurse and Edith rushed to Amelia first, her little arms clutching at her as she said goodnight.

“Thank you.” Robert settled into the chair next to Amelia’s after Edith had gone with her nurse. They sat slightly away from the rest of the party, who had moved to the card table. “For playing with Edith and for her present.”

“You’re welcome.” There was so much they weren’t saying. A hundred questions hung between them. But for now they were just two people having a Christmas afternoon together and it was as warm and sweet as eggnog. Talking was an excuse to look at him and take in every familiar and yet unfamiliar plane of his face.

“Thank you for the book, too,” he said. “I’ve been looking for more stories to read to Edith. Perhaps you know some?”

His question opened a simple subject that had nothing to do with any of the past they ought to discuss. She suggested he try Aesop’s Fables, and from there they meandered across all the novels and poetry they’d read recently from the most popular writers like Byron, Shelley, Keats, and Wordsworth. It was just like when they’d been young. Amelia might have believed that nothing had changed if it weren’t for the latent sadness around Robert’s mouth whenever he was in repose and the heaviness in her heart that reminded her it was all too late. They were just in the middle of debating the merits of I wandered lonely as a cloud, when a gong sounded.

“Is that the signal for dressing for dinner?” Robert frowned and was out of his seat as he spoke.

“That’s the dinner gong,” Mrs. Chilson replied from the card table across the room. “We don’t change for dinner on Christmas day.”

“Ah.” Robert rubbed his chin with one hand and stood. “Well, I usually change quickly and manage to read a story to Edith before I come down for dinner. Could you excuse me? I missed yesterday’s story and I can’t disappoint her two days in a row. I’ll be a little late.”

“Not to worry.” Mrs. Chilson waved one hand in dismissal. “We’ll wait for you.”

“There’s no need.” Robert hesitated by the door.

“Oh, but we shall. Another few minutes before food won’t do us any harm.” Mrs. Chilson assured Robert and he left the room.

After finishing up their game they all relocated to the dining room. Unfortunately, Mrs. Chilson’s insistence on waiting for Robert meant there was no food served for almost three-quarters of an hour. During which time, the whole party sat around the table and drank wine. Amelia listened to the conversation, feeling like a hollow automaton with no idea how to act. After being so happy talking to Robert, the loud chatter of the dinner table was too much. She just had to survive Christmas politely for her mother.

With the empty seat for Robert opposite her and Mr. Wisbech flirting with Mrs. Harris next to her, Amelia had little to do but sip the rich red wine. Despite her determination to overcome her shyness, she still found conversation at dinner tables difficult. Ballrooms were impossible and she eschewed them. But dinner was unavoidable. She always felt like she was the one left out of the discussion. Even here at her parents’ home, she’d rather be in the library, sewing. Her hands felt empty, itching for a needle and thread as they all waited at table for Robert, and she toyed with her wine glass.

As she watched the married couples chuckle and tell tales where they finished each other’s sentences a cloak of rosehips seemed to settle on her shoulders, overly warm, sweet, and itchy. Why wasn’t she one of these happily married people? Why hadn’t Robert asked her to marry him? It was her own choice to make the best of her situation, and to protect her heart, but it hadn’t been her fault that Robert had courted her then let her down. He’d stolen her heart, and she wanted an answer in return. Why?

It was only when she began to feel a bit light-headed that she checked her wine glass. Still almost full. She couldn’t have drunk that much then, as she didn’t think the footman had filled it more than once. Had he?

Robert rejoined the party after reading The Purple Jar from The Parent’s Assistant to Edith. She had listened, entranced, then said that she would have bought the shoes.

Everyone sat in the same places as lunch for the light-supper and as promised, the food was being served when he took his place at the table.

He glanced across at Amelia. She was pink-cheeked. Something pulled taut between them as their gazes met. His heart expanded like a seed in water before it cracked open to grow. He stomped it down and looked away. He’d learned when Amelia had rebuffed him that it didn’t do to hope she would return his affection. Even if he wanted to see her presents to Edith and himself as a sign, what could come of it? He couldn’t lose another wife in childbirth because he couldn’t risk the pain to himself or Edith.

Amelia’s laugh at something Mrs. Harris said snapped his regard back to her. Amelia wasn’t just rosy-cheeked, she was foxed. Her eyes were too bright, her laughter too loud. She took a sip of her almost empty wine glass. Without food, the wine could have gone straight to her head while they’d all been waiting to eat.

He tried to focus on the conversation and eating the creamy leek and potato soup. Breaking a piece of bread, he knew he ought not to be staring across the table at Amelia. But after sitting next to her yesterday, their kiss in the library, and this morning’s presents all made him feel that across the table was much too far away. He paid only half attention to Mrs. Wisbech next to him, unable to keep his attention from Amelia.

It must have been his wishful fancy that her gaze kept returning to him, even as the soup was cleared away. She wasn’t interested in him, she had her life in London. He’d obtained a kiss and a partial explanation, but it wouldn’t do any good. It was too late. He couldn’t risk marrying, for her sake as well as his. She deserved a full marriage, if that was what she chose, not a husband who would rather drive himself mad with longing than allow himself marital relations that could ultimately kill her.

This was all just a seasonal flirtation he told himself as the meal was cleared away. Their kiss had just been her forbearance of his nostalgia. The surge of regret he’d felt earlier that he couldn’t immediately reciprocate her present with one of his own, perhaps a sapphire ring that would match her eyes, was Christmas goodwill and nothing more.

“Ah, wonderful! Here’s the Snapdragon!” Mrs. Chilson beckoned in the footman, who was shuffling nervously in with an enormous glass bowl.

Snapdragon. Oh, this was a terrible idea. They could burn the house down with this idiocy.

The bowl had a smattering of dried fruit and blanched almonds in the bottom, all covered with potent brandy, the scent of which wafted across the table.

“Now, does everyone know how to play?” Mr. Chilson twinkled across at them.

“You snatch the raisins from the burning brandy,” Mr. Harris interrupted Amelia’s mother as she had been about to explain.

Most of the party had drunk more than they ought. Someone could get terribly burnt. In particular, Amelia could get hurt. Her expression was glittering with intent, like she might do something rash. “I really don’t think–”

“The person who retrieves the most raisins gets a boon,” Mrs. Chilson added.

Promptly his objections were mown away. A thought grew into his mind with strong suckers like ivy. If he won, he could claim a kiss. He could claim another kiss from Amelia to try to sate the growing need inside of him.

With a flourish, Mr. Chilson struck a match and touched it to the brandy. A blue flame licked its way across the bowl.

Next to him, Mrs. Wisbech squealed, “How strange it is!”

Across the table, Amelia’s brow was furrowed. She looked otherworldly in the blue light. She was already leaning over the bowl, picking out raisins with nimble fingers. Mr. Harris and Robert’s father were laughing and blowing on their fingers.

Robert set to with both hands, pulling out fruit even as his skin yelled at him not to. Having drunk a bit too much was an advantage in this game that Robert didn’t have. But he didn’t pause, grabbing at the increasingly hot raisins until the fire died out and Mr. Chilson clapped his hands and announced the end of the game.

“There’ll be plenty of time to eat the rest of the juicy brandy raisins, don’t you worry.” Mr. Chilson beamed at his guests. “How did we all do?”

Mrs. Wisbech and Mrs. Harris confessed to neither having managed any at all, whereas their husbands had retrieved seven and five respectively. Mrs. Chilson proudly showed six. His parents managed four each.

“Amelia, how many did you get?” Mr. Chilson asked.

“Twelve.” Her mouth pulled into a sly smile and she popped a raisin from her pile into her mouth. She looked over at him as her mouth slightly opened, eyes narrowed. Probably from the burn of the raisin. Or a taunt that she was going to win the boon.

“How many did you manage, Mr. Danbury?”

“Thirteen.” He nudged his plate forwards.

Beside him, Mrs. Wisbech counted the raisins on his plate. “Lucky thirteen,” she reported gleefully.

Amelia’s expression had sunk to thunderous disappointment. She’d been certain she was going to win. She’d had a boon in mind, just as he had. And suddenly, knowing what she’d wanted badly enough to burn herself, was imperative. Perhaps she wanted a kiss from him.

“Well, you win easily.” Mr. Chilson winked at him. “What boon will you choose?”

“I’ll give my boon to Miss Chilson. As a Christmas present.” He could have asked her later what her boon would have been, but by then she’d have censored herself. This was the only true way to find out. And he owed her a gift.

“How generous.” Mrs. Chilson nodded happily. “Well, what do you choose, Amelia?”

The other guests were munching their sweet treats and laughing as they compared the pink marks on their fingers.

Amelia was drunk and burnt. A trickle of unease went down his back. He ought to have taken his boon and asked everyone to compliment him, or something uninteresting like that. He should have gone with his impulse earlier to send her expensive jewelry when she was safely back in London.

“Why did you marry her?” Amelia stared right at him, her ferocity as strong as the Snapdragon fire.

He gaped, unable to move, the question pinning him. The rest of the party hushed then shared sidelong glances or looked awkwardly into their hands. Mrs. Chilson smothered a gasp and exchanged a horrified glance with Mr. Chilson.

“I don’t know,” he said into the unbearable silence. That wasn’t the right answer. He ought to have said because he loved her, but that hadn’t been strictly true. And saying the truth, that Isabella had kissed him and snared him in the parson’s mousetrap, was beyond ungentlemanly.

“Indeed.” Mrs. Chilson said lightly, having recovered herself. “Which of us knows why we do anything. I think the ladies should retire and the gentlemen ought to have a cigar and brandy.”

“Oh yes, a much better use of fire and brandy,” said Mr. Harris. Mr. Wisbech nodded and Mr. Chilson guffawed a little too hard.

“We’ll go to the drawing room.” Mrs. Chilson rose. “A game of whist will round off the evening admirably. Amelia, you can be dealer.”

The ladies followed Mrs. Chilson out, leaving the gentlemen to busy themselves pouring brandy and fussing with cigars. Amelia left with them, not even casting a glance over her shoulder at him.

Robert absently agreed to a question someone asked and found an unlit cigar in his hand and a large glass of golden alcohol on the coaster at his elbow.

Amelia’s eyes had been round and accusing. He’d thought all this time that she didn't care about him, disliked him maybe. He’d thought she had toyed with his affections when her own heart was untouched, as evidenced by the denied mistletoe kiss, refuting any love for him, her mother not confiding any partiality to his mother, and Amelia ultimately never wanting to see him again. It had never occurred to him that she had her own questions about what had happened between them.

But there was a footnote to her question over the Snapdragon, clearly stated. Amelia wanted to know why he hadn’t married her.