A few days later, Tad sat near the fire in Felicity’s favored sitting room. His wife stood near the window, hand on the glass. He watched as she gazed out, her eyes wide at the shimmering ice that had encased the world outside. The words of the vicar still echoed in his mind, a challenge he was ready to meet.
“Fancy a skate on the lawn?” he asked, joining her at the window. “We could slip and slide our way into becoming the most graceful skaters in the county.”
She turned to him, a laugh escaping her lips. “Oh, I can just imagine the gossip in the local papers: ‘Mr. Harcourt and His Graceless Wife tumble to their doom on the icy grounds of their estate.’ It would cause a sensation, don’t you think?”
His heart lightened at her humor. “A sensation I would most love to cause with you.” He took her hand, leading her out of the quiet chamber and towards the ballroom. “But we must prepare for our grand event. I’ve decided today is a day for us, my dear. A day to explore our new home and make plans.”
A soft blush tinged her cheeks, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “I would enjoy that, Tad.”
They entered the ballroom, its grandeur still awaiting a festive touch. Felicity’s eyes danced over the chandeliers, the polished floor, the tall windows.
“What do you envision?” Tad asked, intrigued by her thoughts. “It’s your canvas, my lady. Paint me a picture.”
She walked through the room, her fingers trailing over the furniture. “I see candles, and greenery, and twinkling lights. I hear laughter and music. But most of all, I see people enjoying themselves, feeling welcome and cared for.”
He followed her to the center of the room, his growing admiration warming him from head to toe. “Your heart is as grand as this room, Felicity. But tell me, where shall we place the mistletoe?”
Her eyes widened, and she stumbled over her words. “The m-mistletoe?”
Tad’s grin widened, and he stepped closer. “Why, yes. It’s a tradition, is it not? A kiss beneath the mistletoe?”
“It is more common below stairs,” she informed him with a slight wrinkle above her nose. “Not at a formal event.”
“Pity.” He looked about with feigned disappointment. “No mistletoe, then?”
“Well.” She drew the single word out and then sighed. “I suppose, as you are the master of the house, if you request mistletoe then I ought to find a place for it.”
He picked up her hand in his, and the quick flood of pink into her cheeks gratified him entirely too much. “I would like that. You can tuck it away, if you wish. Only telling me where it is. Or do you fear my intentions?”
The teasing twinkle returned to her eyes. “Oh, I know your intentions well enough, Mr. Harcourt. The question is, can you handle the consequences of following through?”
They laughed, their shared joy echoing in the room. The ice outside had imprisoned them, but within the walls of their house, where they were safe and warm, Tad couldn’t be more content.
As the afternoon wore on, Tad and Felicity found themselves sitting by the fire in the ballroom, mugs of spiced tea in hand, the grand hall dimly lit yet glowing with the potential of their shared dreams.
“Felicity,” Tad said as the conversation turned more personal, his voice gentle, “what was your favorite Christmas? Surely you’ve had many grand celebrations, as a noblewoman.”
She looked into the fire, her eyes going distant, a smile playing on her lips. “Actually, there is one Christmas I remember most fondly. I was only six years old, and my parents were still alive.”
Tad leaned forward, captivated by her voice, the emotion in her eyes. “Tell me about it.”
She chuckled, a touch of sadness in her eyes. “Oh, it was marvelous. They gave me a beautiful kitten, soft and striped with amber eyes, and an intricately crafted dollhouse. I ended up turning the dollhouse into the kitten’s home. You should have seen the mess it made of the tiny furniture!”
He laughed with her, imagining the scene, but he saw something deeper in her eyes, a longing perhaps. “That sounds like a wonderful memory.”
Her face softened, the laughter fading. “Yes, it was. They died the following spring, you see, taken by illness.”
He reached out, covering her hand with his, her skin cool beneath his touch. “I’m sorry, Felicity.”
She looked at him, her eyes filled with a quiet sadness. “I wish I remembered them more. But that Christmas, those precious memories, they keep them alive for me.”
He squeezed her hand, understanding her loss. “What happened to the kitten?”
Her smile turned wistful. “I had to give her up when I went to live with my grandmother in the dower house. My grandmother would sneeze terribly whenever a cat was near.”
He saw a hint of a tear in her eye, and he realized how much she had lost, how much she had endured. As a child, she would have drawn much-needed comfort from the gifted pet. “You’ve been strong, Felicity. And you’ve grown to be such a compassionate person, despite your losses. Or perhaps because of them.”
She met his gaze, her smile returning, softer now. “I try, as many do. And now I have a new beginning with you.”
They sat there, the fire crackling, their hands entwined, the past and the future merging in a single moment. Tad knew then that he would do anything, give anything, to make this woman happy, to be the joy in her life that she had once found in a playful kitten and a loving family.
Felicity’s hand squeezed his, a look of curiosity in her eyes. “What about you, Tad? What was your favorite Christmas?”
He looked away for a moment, the warmth of the fire suddenly feeling distant. He should’ve expected her question.
“Truth be told,” he began slowly, “I cannot remember a time when my family celebrated Christmas together. Father was always consumed with work, saying we hadn’t the money or time to waste. Mother didn’t wish to go against his word. Before I knew it, I found myself swept into the business as well.”
Her face fell, a look of sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sorry. That must have been lonely.”
He shrugged, trying to brush off the sting of the memories. “It was what it was. We had our successes, our triumphs. They were our family celebrations.”
She looked at him, her eyes searching his, as if trying to reach deeper. “But surely you must have wished for something more. Something personal, something joyful?”
He looked into her eyes, the depths of green and gold drawing him in. Suddenly, the emptiness of those past Christmases seemed more pronounced, the longing for something more, something real, more acute.
“I suppose I did,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I suppose I always wished for something more.”
She raised her hand, her fingers gently brushing his cheek. “We ought to make this Christmas something special. Something just for us.”
He smiled, the weight of the past lifting. “This first Christmas with you will certainly be my favorite.”
Her eyes sparkled, her smile radiant. “I hope so.”
He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. They fell silent, watching the flames. Saying nothing more of the past.