Christmas Eve, and our Yuletide dinner where I was to meet my betrothed, came ever closer. It was only days away. I often found myself thinking of the impending introduction, wondering whether Lord Henry was going to meet the expectations I had for him. Father sent letters to several of his friends to confirm that what Lord Walford had said about his son was true. He believed he could alleviate my nervousness with reassurances of his character.

He was not entirely wrong. It did give me great comfort to know that the man I was to marry was well-mannered, accomplished, and the generous sort. No one seemed to have a bad word to say about him.

When the letter from Lord Walford arrived a week before Christmas confirming the dinner, I found myself very nearly excited for the first time since before the masquerade ball.

A great flurry of activity was present in the house as we prepared for the Yuletide dinner. Mother wanted everything to be absolutely perfect for our guests.

“It has been some time since the estate has had the honor and pleasure of hosting a marquess,” she continued to remind everyone, especially the staff, all of whom were excited and working diligently.

“But what of our cousin, Lord Doringham?” Sarah had asked one afternoon. “He is a marquess. Is he not?”

“Well, yes, but this is quite different. Grace is marrying into our guests’ family.”

Sarah had rolled her eyes in response.

Christmas was the happiest time of the year at our home, but this year, with all the preparations for the feast, it was filled with anxious anticipation and overwhelming joy. I caught several servants singing under their breath as they worked merrily, cleaning and decorating every corner of the manor. Fresh candles were made, and the whole house smelled of nutmeg and bread.

The cooks were preparing a special dinner, and we were often stopped and asked to sample various dishes. New tortes, roasted pheasant, and even a tea that came all the way from France. It all seemed so extravagant to me, and I said as much to my mother.

“Darling, we wish to make the best impression we can to your betrothed and his family,” she said, nodding to one of the cook’s assistants, who had brought a soup for her to sample. “Oh, yes, that is truly delicious! Here, dear, try some of this.”

I took the spoon from her, but did not try it. “Surely, this extravagance is too much.”

She gave me a quelling look. “It is Christmas, after all, dear. It is quite all right to be a bit elaborate, if only occasionally.”

I did not wish to upset her by telling her that half of the truth was no better than a lie. Still, the idea of indulging in such a fancy meal had its appeal. I just hoped that my betrothed did not expect such elegance at every family affair.

And the soup was rather delicious.

I was certainly not unhappy with the decorations that were slowly making their way inside our home. Sarah and I sat on the stairs in the foyer as some of the footmen pulled in large, fat pine trees from the surrounding forests, shaking snow from their branches before they crossed the threshold indoors. They were set up in the dining room, the drawing room, and the parlor.

We were delighted as we hung pinecones from their branches, along with red winter berries, ribbons, and small candles. We tucked small, wrapped packages between the branches, and were pleased with how beautiful the finished trees looked.

It was difficult to look at the pine trees and not think of the man in the mask from the ball. Everything about that night had been so magical, so elegant, that everywhere I looked, I was remined of him. The cold air was even reminiscent of standing on the terrace with him, gazing out into the night sky, the glittering stars as a backdrop for our dance.

It was better if I just remembered that Christmas trees were lovely, and that they would continue to be lovely, even if I never saw him again.

With the leftover berries, Sarah and I made garland to wrap around the banisters of the staircase.

As we sat on the hearth watching Father instruct a few of the servants to move some of the furniture around in the drawing room, we tied the strands of berries together with string, the warmth of the fire at our backs.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Sarah asked me. I could hear the caution behind her words.

I tied another strand of berries onto the one I had on my lap. “I am feeling content,” I replied, a bit more forcefully than I intended.

Sarah’s green eyes narrowed. “You have not said a word about that man from the ball since Father told you about Lord Henry.”

I avoided her gaze. “And?”

She sighed in exasperation, brushing a stray curl from her face.

“What?” I asked.

“Am I supposed to believe that you have just forgotten about him entirely?”

I did not answer her. I fumbled with a knot; my fingers were shaking slightly.

“Grace, that man was everything to you a fortnight ago. I had never seen you so excited about anything in your whole life. And the fire in your eyes…” She trailed off.

Still I said nothing. The fire crackled behind us.

“Why are you not talking to me about any of this?”

“Because there is not anything to talk about,” I answered sharply, rounding on her.

She stared at me for a few moments, and then lowered her gaze to the berries in her fingers.

“I am sorry,” I said, more gently. “It is just that there is nothing more to say. I am to marry Lord Henry, and…” I trailed off. “And that shall be the end of this conversation. I see no sense in discussing anything else.”

Sarah looked back up at me, studying my face.

“And you will just accept this arranged marriage?”

I took a steadying breath. “Yes,” I told her, as honestly as I could. I knew that I could not say it enthusiastically.

“Are you sure?” she pressed.

“I am,” I replied. “Truly. I am very fortunate to be able to marry someone like Lord Henry. You have heard all the wonderful things Father has said about him.”

I picked up another twig of berries and began knitting it to the others.

“He is kind,” I began, “handsome, well accomplished. He loves his family dearly, and his estate is not so far away that I could not come home for visits.”

I smiled and looked at my sister.

“I have imagined him to be a sort of knight in shining armor. Strong, attractive. Enjoys reading. Listens to the birds early in the morning. Has a cup of tea every afternoon at the same time and in the same place.”

Sarah did not seem convinced, so I continued.

“Best of all, he has wonderful connections. Perhaps we can find you a husband among his group of friends.”

She gave a great harrumph and pursed her lips together.

“Connections or not,” she said, “he is not the man that made you come alive with passion.”

Her words struck me like a knife. It was the same thought that continued to spring up in my mind, a thorn in my flesh.

“That does not mean that I will not fall in love with him in the future,” I responded, telling her the very same words I often told myself.

“That is true,” she said quietly. “Well, if you are content, then I shall be as well.”

“Thank you,” I said earnestly. I did not have the heart to ask her to forget about the masked man for my sake, but I knew that was what I needed. Saying it out loud would have been too difficult. I was grateful that Sarah had seemed to understand me, and the struggle it was to not reopen that wound.

Christmas Eve arrived before I was ready for it. Mother fussed over my hair for hours, insisting that I adorn my curls with the golden pin I had worn to the masquerade ball. She also insisted that I wear my best gown—a dark bottle green with golden buttons—and ensured that it was tied more tightly than usual before I followed her down the stairs later that evening.

I stood beside Sarah in the foyer, my mother talking excitedly with our governess. Father was out in the garden, awaiting the arrival of our guests. The minutes ticked by, and my mind whirled. Would Lord Henry be handsome? Would he be amiable? Compassionate? Was he excited about our betrothal?

My palms were clammy, and goosebumps covered my arms. I was glad that my dress had long sleeves.

Sarah held my hand as we waited, and when Father opened the door to inform us that they had arrived, she squeezed it affectionately.

With my heart beating rapidly against my chest, I tried to remind myself that he was most likely nervous, but just as aware as I was of the importance of our first meeting.

The marquess stepped through the door first. A tall man, with dark hair greying at his temples, and a thick, bristling moustache. He was quite handsome, and he walked with a grace equal only to my father’s. He stepped into the foyer, removing his tall bowler hat.

“Good evening, Lord Walford,” Mother said, bowing.

My sister and I followed suit.

“It is my great pleasure to be able to visit you and your family in your home, Lady Graystone,” he said, taking her proffered hand.

He turned his eyes to my sister and me, who were standing together beside the staircase.

“Lord Walford,” my father began, stepping back inside. “These are my two daughters, Lady Grace Graystone and Lady Sarah Graystone. Grace and Sarah, this of course is Lord Walford.”

“How do you do?” Lord Walford asked, inclining his head.

“It is an honor, my lord,” I said. My sister echoed my words.

As I rose from another curtsy, I noticed that a young man was standing behind Lord Walford.

“Ah, yes,” he said, gesturing to him. “There you are, Henry. Please join us and meet your betrothed.”

His gaze was on the ground at his feet, but as he stepped up closer to us, he looked up into my face.

And I froze.

“Lady Grace,” said Lord Walford, “may I introduce to you my son, The Lord Henry Fortescue.”

I could not believe it. It could not be.

The gentleman had neatly trimmed dark hair, the same shade as his father’s must have been in his youth. A strong jaw, a narrow, pointed nose, and an easy smile. He was remarkably handsome, and could not be older than five and twenty.

But it was his eyes that made me stare in disbelief. Brilliantly blue, sparkling in the lights from the candles around the room and the chandelier overhead.

I had seen those eyes before. I had danced with the man they belonged to. I had kissed the man whose eyes had gazed into mine so startlingly.

It was him. It was my mysterious man from the masquerade ball.

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Henry said to me, his voice just as I remembered it, unable to completely vanquish it from my mind.

My hands trembled as I lifted one to his. He took it in his own, and I nearly burst with anticipation.

“The honor is all mine, I assure you,” I said breathlessly.

I could not look away from him. It could not be real. I must have been dreaming. After all the agony and sorrow of believing I had lost him, here he was, standing in front of me.

The room swayed around me, and I had to discreetly grip the staircase behind me to prevent myself from falling to the floor. A great weight was lifted from my shoulders. I felt as if I could fly.

I had found him. Just as I had hoped I would. Or, rather, he had found me.

The same recognition had not brightened his face yet, but that was no matter. The mask truly must have hidden my appearance well, but that was of no consequence. Everything was just as it should be. Before the night was over, I would remind him of our time together at the ball.

Lord Walford moved on to introduce my sister to Lord Henry, and when he looked away from me, it was as if the very air in my lungs was pulled from my lungs.

This was not just some vain attraction I held for the man. There was something in our souls that tied us together. All those feelings I had the night of the ball were real. The loss I felt was because I believed I had lost a man that I had fallen for without even knowing his name, and that loss had been real. I grieved as if I had been forbidden from loving him. I had longed for him as if I had known him for a great length of time.

But I knew his name now. I knew his face now. And I knew that he was an ideal match for me.

Could my life get any better in that moment?

The door to the foyer opened once more, cold air rushing inside, and I took the chance to get Sarah’s attention while Lord Henry and Lord Walford looked away.

“It is him,” I whispered as quietly and as urgently as I could.

“Him?” Sarah questioned, her brow furrowing.

“The man in the mask!”

Her eyes widened. “No!”

“Yes!”

“How do you know?” she hissed in reply.

“His eyes”

She glanced at the back of Henry’s head in awe.

“Truly?”

I nodded.

“Our apologies,” came the voice of another man from the door. “Dear Mother nearly slipped. All of that fresh snow took her by surprise.”

I peered around Henry and saw that a very beautiful woman had just entered the house. She wore a lovely red dress, and her brown hair was elegantly pinned up behind her head. She smiled at all of us as a servant moved to help her remove her coat.

But where had the voice come from?

I leaned around Henry a little further and saw another man with his back to us, removing his traveling cloak from his shoulders.

“There is no need to apologize,” my father said as he closed the door to the cold night. “It is I who should be apologizing for slippery steps.”

“Not a thing can be done about it this time of year. Right, Mother?”

The man in the cloak spun around, and I was grateful that everyone else in the room had laughed, because a gasp had escaped me, entirely out of my control.

The young man standing beside his mother had dark hair, a strong jaw, and a narrow, pointed nose. The same easy smile that I had just seen, that I remembered so well, rested upon his handsome face.

And his eyes…they were startlingly blue.

Lord Henry had an identical twin.