One would have thought that tears would come after the man of one’s dreams had walked away. Instead, Evangeline strode to Charlotte’s door, knocked quietly and waited.

It took several moments, but Charlotte opened the panel, blinking sleepily. “Are you unwell?”

“You heard nothing?” Evangeline inquired, astonished but grateful.

“Only the sounds of tonight’s carols in my dream,” she said, half-smiling but clearly worried. “Shall I come in?”

Evangeline stood back.

Her friend entered, clutching a wool blanket about her shoulders.

Charlotte frowned. “What transpired? You seem distressed but oddly calm. It is a most confusing state.”

“If it looks thus it is because I am both.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

She snatched up a shawl from the chair and hauled it over her shoulders as if its warmth could shield her from the pain falling upon her now. “Anthony visited me.”

“Here?” Charlotte yelped.

“Yes.”

“You let him in?” she gasped.

“Yes.”

“My goodness.” Charlotte remained silent for several moments then asked in quick succession, “Did he? Did you? What did you two do?”

“Mostly we spoke, but we kissed.”

Charlotte’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Well, you’ve certainly thrown yourself into your new boldness.”

Evangeline collapsed into the chair by the fire feeling so very tired. “I must confess that I am now at a loss as to what to do next.”

“Do you think anyone saw him?”

“I had not even thought of that,” she confessed, horrified.

“Let us hope not. But why did you let him in? He is handsome, I grant you.” Charlotte shook her head, her red locks glinting gold in the firelight. “But the risk—”

“I love him.” The words were out and true. It felt so good to say them even if they would come to naught.

“But you barely know him!”

“I cannot explain it. I love him.” She gazed at the flames leaping in the fire, wishing they would give her answers. “When I am with him, I feel so alive, so true.”

“Is that not because he is handsome and exciting?”

“While I agree he is both of those things, that’s not it. I swear, he sees me. He saw me first. When everyone else ignored me, somehow, he saw beneath it all and knew I could be more. That I am more.”

“Oh, Evangeline.” Charlotte crossed to her and knelt down. “Did he ask you to marry him?”

She gave a tight shake of her head. “I don’t think he shall. Even the idea of passionate love seems to upset him.”

“Are marriage and passionate love synonymous?” Charlotte inquired. “I do not think I’ve seen such a marriage until this house party. We are surrounded by loving couples. It is most alarming.”

Evangeline laughed and then a tear slipped down her cheek. “I want that. I want it so much. To have more than just a passing existence.”

Charlotte squeezed her hand. “You could grow to love Ellesmere.”

Holding her friend’s hand, she tried to see Charlotte’s logic. “I should be lucky to have him.”

“Evangeline! He would be lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, dear friend. I would not have agreed until now, I suppose. I always felt deep in my heart that my existence was so small, that there were grander chances for me than my parents thought. But now, seeing it is true? I want more than a marriage of convenience.”

Charlotte sighed. “They seem rare.”

“That doesn’t stop me longing for it.”

“Whatever will you do?”

Evangeline swallowed. “I will not push him. He has made himself plain. So, I must accept it. But I do think I shall go home and plan anew. Now that I know I can be myself, that my parents cannot rule my every moment, I think I will wait until. . .”

“Until?”

She lifted a hand to her eyes. “Charlotte, I cannot help but feeling my chance at love has abandoned me.”

“I do not believe it,” Charlotte decried. “Something will happen. You deserve love.”

“We all do. But how shall it occur?”

Charlotte smiled ruefully. “I do not know. It’s a mystery.”

“Life is.”

“Men are a confusion to me,” Charlotte said suddenly. “They say women are the emotional sex, but men seem to be every bit as silly as women.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Logic is a delusion we all cling to.” She shook her head. All the logic in the world could not save her now. “Still, I cannot regret any of this. It has given me myself.”

“I have always liked you.” Charlotte stood and hugged her then. “I like you even more now. You’ve given me a great gift.”

“Have I?”

She nodded. “Now, I see that when a lady is herself and speaks, there are men who will listen and company that will admire her for it. I won’t forget.”

“We have both been given something priceless then.” Evangeline clung to this, desperate to see something good in this terrible mess.

The clock chimed, a soft gentle ding, twelve times.

“Just in time for Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, my dear friend.”

Though her heart was heavy, she could not feel sad. Not when she had gained so much. “Merry Christmas, Charlotte.”

Now, she only wished it could be merry for all.

* * *

Unlike his parents, Anthony adored children. He always had. They were magnificent beings, always in the present, always laughing, running, feeling their emotions to the fullest. They had not yet learned to hide their hurts, but expressed them. They understood that play was not a pastime but the vital thing of life and every moment was a discovery to them. They did not avoid leaping because they feared the fall. . . They thought of nothing but the leap.

How he wished he could still be like that, seeing the world for the first time, not mistrusting that it would hurt him.

As he gazed at the children making short work of their Christmas presents, he held a slim volume in his hands. Was he about to commit a grave error?

He’d had this book since he turned fourteen and had fallen in love with The Bard. He’d carried it with him wherever he went. Now, it was time to let it go.

Evangeline stood across the room, speaking with his sister, dangling a silver ball for the baby to play with.

She looked so merry and happy that one would never have the thought that the events of the previous night had occurred at all. Had he imagined the sheer disappointment on her face?

Ellesmere bent down beside her and whispered something.

She smiled, a beautiful, kind smile.

His heart sank. He had told her she could never be his. She had taken him at his word. As an intelligent woman must. And Evangeline was the wisest woman of his acquaintance.

Even so, he found his feet taking him across the room.

Once there, he stood silently. He was uncertain what to say, so he did not try to say what he could not yet. He extended the volume and said with as much joy as he could muster, “Merry Christmas, Lady Evangeline.”

With that, before she could reply, he turned away and strode to the huge fire which now hosted the Yule log. There was nothing he could do now. He had acted the fool and now had to pay the price for it. But by God, he would not make the mistake again. No. Now, he would leap and not fear the fall.

* * *

The book fit perfectly in her palm. She turned it carefully. The leather was worn with years of reading and obvious use in harsh climes. Instinctively, she knew he’d been carrying it for years.

The audible gasp from the Duchess of Hunt confirmed it.

Slowly, she lifted the cover. The pages had been kept perfectly straight except one. She turned the leaves until she came to the dove-eared page.

“My dearest Evangeline, there are no truer words than these,

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Evangeline’s throat tightened. It was the poem she had referenced in one of their conversations. But why would he send her a sonnet which spoke of love unchanging? Was he being cruel?

The Duchess of Hunt leaned forward and placed her hand on Evangeline’s. “The moment I saw you, I knew you were the one for him.”

“But the Earl of Ellesmere—”

“Is a very fine man,” the duchess said truthfully. “But when you two stand next to each other, the stars are in the heaven, and the fish in the sea. It is right.”

The duchess’ words wrapped her up in a hope for something she knew she could not have and the pain of it was excruciating. “But he—”

“He won’t admit it,” the duchess supplied brokenly. “If you wish admission of his love, that book is it. He has carried it nigh twenty years. He has never leant it to anyone. It has been his comfort during many a storm. All through the years of pain he weathered when our parents were at the worst. This was the book he’d turn to.”

“And he has given it to me?” she marveled.

“And with it, his heart, though he seems not to know how to say it or how to give it.”

“What am I to do?” she asked, truly at a loss.

“I cannot tell you, but I can tell you this. He is stubborn. But if anyone is to conquer that, it is you.”

“You wish us to be together?” she asked, astounded.

The duchess smiled through the bittersweetness of the moment. “Since the moment you rushed so nervously into my salon, his eyes following you like a man who has seen a raft in a storm, I knew. You are the answer to his heart’s call.”

She gasped. “And he to mine.”

“I know it.” She took her hand. “I only hope he can admit it in time. What did Ellesmere whisper to you?”

“He asked me to meet him in the library after we were finished here.”

“Ah.” The duchess nodded as if to seem content though she clearly was not. “I wish you happy.”

The proper reply was to thank her, but the words wouldn’t come because the wrong man was waiting for her. A wonderful man. But the wrong man nonetheless.