Chapter 3

It was Christmas Eve, the night Frank had dreaded since the moment he’d agreed to spend the holidays with the Earl of Beckett’s family. In the smallest recesses of his forlorn heart, he knew it couldn’t be right that this gaiety, this Christmas merriment, could cause a person such pain.

But it did.

He’d suffered through the agonizing hours of decorating the tree. Each member of the Rowley family placed the new ornament they’d either made or purchased for this year’s Christmas tree. Then they all gathered around the beautiful fir and placed more ornaments on the swiftly laden branches.

Because of his height, Frank was in great demand to help the shorter members of the Rowley family decorate the higher branches of the tree. There was laughter. Too much laughter. And gratitude. So much gratitude, as if the simple act of hanging an ornament for them was an immense blessing with which he’d heroically favored them.

Then, when all the ornaments were hung, Miss Rowley opened a box of gingerbread cookies, each strung with a piece of red thread, and they were hung where the youngest members of the family could reach them. Tillie’s brother George provoked great hilarity by accidentally eating several.

Although he tried not to stare at Miss Rowley, he found it impossible not to. The lady simply glowed. He’d never seen anyone who enjoyed the holiday season as she seemed to. The smile on her face didn’t fade once, but only seemed to broaden with each ornament she placed on the tree.

When the decorations were all hung, and ribbons of red and white velvet and lace and satin were draped on the branches, it was time to place an angel on the top of the tree.

“Are we ready?” Miss Rowley asked. The excitement caused her eyes to sparkle.

“I believe we are,” Miss Rowley’s sister, Lady Halstead, said while rushing to the door. A few seconds later she re-entered the room with two nursemaids, each with one of the infant twins. The twins were given into waiting arms—one to the Countess of Dennison, and one to Viscountess Dunstan.

But it wasn’t upon the babes that Frank concentrated. It was on the two other children—a boy of about five, and a girl of about three.

Frank’s heart ripped apart, stricken by a thousand shards of cruel memory. His blood crashed inside his head and thundered in his ears. Sheets of lightning exploded behind his eyes and the room spun around him. The little boy everyone called Willie, and the girl they called Zoe, were so like his children the last time he’d seen them.

Frank stumbled to his feet. The floor shifted beneath him, but somehow he managed to stand upright. He staggered to the opposite side of the room, searching for a door, but found only a window frame. He leaned into it, wishing to fade through the glass.

It was snowing, almost as if Frank’s frozen tears were falling to the ground.

“I know this is difficult for you,” a voice said from beside him.

Frank turned to face Lord Beckett. “I thought I could handle it.”

“You are handling it, Frank.”

“Ha,” Frank scoffed. “Why did you do this?” he choked. “Why did you ask me to accompany you, my lord? Why have you put me through this?”

“Because I need you. And you need this.” Beckett indicated the celebration that was going on behind him.

Frank shook his head. “Yes. I see that. More pain, is that what you prescribe?” He felt childishly petulant hearing the words that tumbled from him.

Lord Beckett’s hand clasped reassuringly on his shoulder. “You need to step back into the world.”

Frank couldn’t answer Lord Beckett. Instead, he turned back to watch the gently mounting snow.

“Stay here as long as you like. Join us again when you can.”

Frank heard the commotion behind him, then a rousing cheer when the angel was securely settled atop the tree. He took several deep breaths, praying that his heart would not shatter inside his chest.

Next, he heard the clinking of glasses, and turned to see a servant following Miss Rowley who was handing out mugs of warm cider. She came to him last.

“Would you care for a mug of cider?”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching for the cup with a trembling hand.

Frank took a long sip, then another.

“Oh!” she cried as she turned to see what he was watching. “Yes! I’m going to do it!” She thrust the tray onto a table and danced a few sideways steps to a nearby glass-paned door. “It’s perfect,” she sighed. “You simply must come out!”

Frank drained the cider in his cup. “Isn’t it too cold for you?”

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Is there anything more perfect on Christmas Eve than walking in winter’s first powdery snowfall?”

“If you say so,” Frank answered, even though he didn’t feel there was anything perfect about this night. There hadn’t been for eight years.

“I won’t need a wrap. Come!” She stepped out and looked back to see if he followed. “Now, silly!”

Frank stepped onto the terrace. He didn’t turn to see if any of her family gave them looks of disapproval. If they did, he might turn around and escort her back into the room. But he didn’t want anything to stop him, because for some reason he failed to comprehend, he wanted to follow her. Into the snow.

He needed someone tonight like he hadn’t needed anyone in eight years. He needed someone to tether him, lest he drift off into the expanse of white.

. . .

Tillie led the way across the terrace. There was a light dusting of snow on the surface of everything and she took Major Collyard’s arm when he offered it. The steps could be treacherous when snow-covered, and her slippers weren’t designed for walking in the snow. She hoped that some remnant of boyish impatience would help him understand her eagerness, that it would have taken too much time to change into walking shoes, and the moment would have passed. She’d seen the desperation to escape in the major’s eyes and knew that—cloak or no cloak, shoes or no shoes—she was going to step into that snowy garden with him.

“Is it too blustery for you, Miss Rowley?”

“Not at all, major. You will find I quite relish winter weather.”

Tillie led the way down the central path. In the middle of the garden stood an enclosed summerhouse at the brink of a pond that had not yet frozen over. Tillie and her family skated there when the ice was thick enough, and sought the warmth in the summerhouse and its little coal-burning brazier until they were ready to return to the ice again.

The major opened the door to the pretty structure and Tillie stepped inside. “This will keep us warm enough for a while. When we come here to skate, the staff lights the brazier and the room is like an oven.”

Tillie sat on one of the benches that lined the wall. The major didn’t sit, but walked to one of the large glass windows and stared out onto the still pond.

He didn’t speak for several moments and Tillie didn’t break the silence. It struck her that he needed some time to himself. She wondered if he knew how appealing he looked in that cavalier pose, with the moon lighting his profile. He seemed to gain comfort from the silence, and over the quiet moments she watched his shoulders relax and his breathing settle. At last, he turned to face her. “Is there anything about winter that you don’t like?” he asked.

Tillie thought a moment. “Now that you mention it, I don’t believe there is. I like everything about winter. Especially Christmas.”

“And how do you feel about life in general?”

Tillie smiled. “Why, I suppose I would have to say the same. I find life in general most agreeable.”

The major rested one hip against the window ledge. “Even when some worthless reprobate comes and ruins your Christmas?”

“There’s no need to apologize, you know. It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable, and why shouldn’t you be?” Tillie smiled. “My family can be quite enthusiastic in our celebrating.”

“It wasn’t that,” he said. “I’ve simply lost my appreciation for the holiday.”

“May I ask why?”

He shifted his gaze away from her and stared at something over her shoulder though she knew there was nothing there to see.

She waited. Finally, he shook his head.

“It was… something that happened. One Christmas. Something I have difficulty forgetting.”

“Uncle John mentioned that you don’t have any family. Not any brothers or sisters?”

He shook his head. “I was an only child. I was taken in by the local vicar and his wife when my parents died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tillie said.

His slight smile was so fleeting she couldn’t be sure she’d really seen it.

“Don’t be. I had a wonderful childhood. I think because the vicar and his wife weren’t young when they took me in, they doted on me terribly. They were strict and insisted I get a good education, but I never lacked for anything. Especially love.”

“They sound like wonderful people.”

“They were. They’re both gone now.”

“No wonder Christmas is not a happy time.”

“Yes,” she heard him whisper. “No wonder.”

Tillie felt as though he mentally left her for a brief time, then returned and focused his attention on her. The haunted look in his eyes practically moved her to tears.

“It seems as though there’s something else that saddens you about Christmas,” she ventured.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are very astute?” he said before he turned back to look out the window.

“Astute isn’t what my family calls it. They tell me I’m like a dog with a bone. I don’t give up until I discover everything they’re trying to keep from me.”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you trying to tell me that you have no intention of giving up until I reveal why I find Christmas… difficult?”

“Perhaps. But only because I feel that you need to tell someone what troubles you.”

Tillie waited, but the major didn’t speak for several long moments. When he did, his words tore her heart from her breast.

“I lost my family at Christmas.”

“Your parents?”

“No,” he answered in a voice that sounded strangely hollow. “My wife. And my children.”

Harsh fingers clamped painfully inside her chest, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “Oh dear heaven. How… how did it happen?”

“A fire.”

“But you were unhurt?”

“I wasn’t home to save them. I’d been sent on assignment by the army.”

“You had children.” The grief she sensed in him filled those three words with torment.

“Yes. Two. A son about your nephew’s age. And a daughter two years younger.”

“Oh, major,” Tillie said as she rose to her feet. She couldn’t stop them from carrying her to where the major stood. She couldn’t stop her arms from reaching out to him. She couldn’t stop her hands from grasping his hands and holding on to them. “No wonder you find it so dreadfully difficult.”

His hand held on to hers with a strength that bound her to him. She desperately wanted to be able to do something to help him but she didn’t know what that might be.

“Can I do something?” she whispered as she brought his arm close to her.

She heard his agonizing breath. Saw in his reflection in the window a stray tear that spilled from his eye. Watched as his gaze lowered to meet hers.

“Would you mind terribly if I held you?” he asked.

“No. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

He turned and gathered her into his arms. He held her as if she were a lifeline to safety that he had despaired of finding.

Tillie couldn’t explain the emotions that raged through her. She was baffled by the feelings that gripped her heart and refused to let go. It was his grief that drew her to him, but her own need that made her stay.

She felt compassion for him, but it went beyond that. Far beyond. It was a tenderness that felt remarkably like affection.

She’d never felt like this when she’d been held by anyone before. But now she understood that what her heart had hoped for was no fantasy.

The major’s hold lessened and Tillie lifted her head to look at him.

Their gazes locked. Then his focus lowered to her mouth.

He was going to kiss her. She knew he was. Just as she knew she would die if he didn’t.

His lips lowered to hers and he kissed her.

A barrage of bewildering emotions exploded within her. His lips were firm and warm and carried lingering hints of spiced cider and a recent cigar. The sweet bitterness tantalized her, sealed within her the taste of him.

His mouth covered hers as if he needed to possess her. As if he needed to own her. Then he deepened his kiss and his passion became overpowering.

Tillie’s arms skimmed up his chest over his dinner coat and wrapped around his neck. She held him with a desperation that shocked her. Her fingers raked through his hair, pressing at the back of his head to hold him securely to her. And she continued to kiss him.

Their breathing turned ragged. A moan echoed in the silence and Tillie knew it had come from her.

He kissed her once more, then lifted his head and separated his mouth from hers.

He didn’t release her for several moments and Tillie was glad, uncertain whether she could have stood on her legs that seemed to have abandoned their life’s mission to hold her upright.

“I should apologize,” he started to say, but she interrupted his words.

“There is no need. I am not offended. In fact, I’m honored.”

He lowered his head and kissed her forehead. “I expected Christmas misery, not a Christmas kiss.”

She looked into his face and watched the harsh lines soften into something that approached the beginnings of a crooked smile.

“At least we weren’t standing beneath some ghastly sprig of mistletoe.”

His words cut rudely into the rosy glow that had overtaken her, and she blanched. Was it humor? Did he really mean to make light of that earth-shattering kiss? Or was he still just too wounded to know how to savor a dear moment?

She opted to respond as if he’d said something clever and grinned as she swatted his arm.

His answering grunt almost resembled a chuckle and she knew she’d chosen the best possible response.

The major held out his arm. “We’d best return to the house. I’m causing you to miss out on your Christmas, and your family will be concerned.”

“They’ll not worry. They’re probably so occupied with singing Christmas carols that they haven’t noticed we’re missing.”

“I doubt that,” he said, then led her to the door of the little summerhouse and down the steps.

They walked back to the house in silence.

The tracks they’d made earlier had vanished, swept away by a growing wind that brought heavier snowfall. The path lay perfect before them. A clean, white expanse awaiting their silent footfalls. And beyond it, a house ringing with pure, simple Christmas joy.