Phoebe, Marchioness of Eastleigh, stood at the edge of the drawing room near the hearth, her arms folded over her chest, a lump the size of Yorkshire in her throat. They were all here. Every last one of her beloved relations, and more. Everyone who mattered to her in this world was somehow crammed into this one drawing room, laughing, smiling, singing, embracing. It was the greatest gift she could have ever hoped for.
“Did your Christmas wish come true?” came her husband’s voice from beside her. She glanced up at him, still as handsome as the day she’d met him all those years ago at the Stapleton Ball. And as kind and loving and generous as the day she’d married him. It hadn’t been the easiest courtship, what with she and her mother all but in the poor house and him wrongly believing he had killed Phoebe’s father, but Phoebe couldn’t regret a single moment of it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in all my life,” she replied.
Benjamin sidled up behind her and snaked his arms about her waist. “You were awfully happy evening last, if I remember right.”
Phoebe threw back her head and laughed. “Indeed,” she said, her cheeks heating at the memory. “Then I should say this has been the happiest twenty-four hours of my life.”
Benjamin turned her in his arms and she gazed up into his dark, Wetherby-brown eyes. Her heart was so filled with love, she thought it might burst.
“I have a present for you,” Benajamin said.
“Oh, Ben! We promised we wouldn’t exchange gifts this year.”
“Yes, but last time I made that promise, you still got me something. I won’t be fooled again.”
Phoebe laughed. But that pocket watch had been too exquisite to leave behind at the shop. “Well, this year I truly didn’t get you anything.”
“Then we’ll be even,” he replied, placing her hand on his arm and leading her out of the room, away from the bustle of the family.
They walked quietly down the corridor, through a series of rooms and doors, the laughter and chatter from the drawing room fading with every step, until they arrived at the music room, already ablaze with candles.
“What is this?” Phoebe asked, as Benjamin closed the door behind them.
“Come.” He made his way to the pianoforte and sat down, patting the empty seat beside him.
“Oh, Benjamin, it’s been ages since we’ve played that thing.”
“Exactly.” He gazed down at her as she took her place beside him. “Far too long since I’ve made music with my bride.” He poised his fingers above the keys, glancing sideways at her. “Let us see if you remember this one.”
He began to play a tune so familiar to her heart that it nearly took her breath away. It was the one they’d played together that fateful night they’d encountered one another in the Sheffield’s music room. They were supposed to be listening to the music in the other room, but fate had brought them together in another way. A very special way.
And just as she’d done that night long ago, Phoebe reached her right hand up as Benjamin dropped his, and together they played—his left hand, her right hand, working in tandem. In perfect harmony and precision, reminding her once again that she had found her soul’s match, the other half of her heart.
“Merry Christmas, my darling,” Benjamin murmured in her ear over the lilting Mozart tune.
Phoebe smiled. “Merry Christmas, my love.”
The End