Lily’s shy smile as they iced gingerbread with the boys.
The touch of her hand as they sang hymns during the service at St. Aldate’s.
Her head resting against his shoulder on the ride home, peace settling like a warm blanket around them in spite of the winds buffeting the carriage as it returned to Boar’s Hill.
The magic also warped time into something ephemeral, and despite his best efforts, Philip couldn’t slow down the moments nor create more of them. After their encounter on the stairs, hehad carried his wife to their room, and they’d talked until weak morning light broke through the gaps in the curtains and painted the bedding in streaks of gold. She told him about her stables, the challenges of being a woman in a man’s field, and he kissed her lips and cheeks, praising her cleverness and tenacity. Reluctantly, he’d shared the darkest hours of his quest for sobriety, of the chills that raked over his skin, how paranoia clouded every thought until all he wanted was the drug.
“Who took care of you?” Her question had been tremulous, and he knew she hadn’t wanted to ask but needed the answer.
“No one,” he’d managed.
“You were alone?” Tears had spilled over her cheeks, glimmering in the lamplight. “I wish I’d been there for you. I would have helped you.”
He’d wrapped his hands around hers and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m not alone anymore, love.”
Eventually, she’d fallen into a deep slumber tucked against his side, her hand clutched on his chest as though she feared he’d disappear again in the middle of the night. He fought—an ultimately futile battle—to keep himself awake, to savor every second of being with his wife, holding her and cherishing her. He knew all too well how precious those moments were.
How many he’d wasted.
But something remained between them, a veil nearly palpable in the last vestiges of her defenses, clouding the woman he’d married from his vision. He deserved that distance after the pain he’dcaused her, but he knew he hadn’t earned her trust entirely, not yet.
And his time was running out.
Now, seated next to each other at the table for supper, Philip curled his fingers around Lily’s and his chest swelled when she squeezed back. This was the magic of Christmas, the miracle he’d prayed for. His wife, his family, welcoming him into their embrace. The future he’d been too frightened to dream of suddenly sliding into crystalline view.
Lady Redbourne had instructed the kitchen to create a feast worthy of their reunited family, and the table groaned beneath the weight of trays of roast goose and potatoes, candied parsnips and carrots, chestnut stuffing and oyster stew. Already full to bursting, he picked at his plum pudding while watching Lily eat, grinning as her lashes fluttered and she hummed with every bite.
After several moments, she caught his eye, and a blush climbed up her throat. “You’re watching me.”
“I’m enjoying the view.”
She blushed, and he once again appreciated how beautiful she looked in her red silk gown. He took advantage of their proximity and dragged his fingertip along the delicate white lace on her sleeve. She followed the movement, but her expression soured.
“I wanted to tell you…” She shifted in her seat before exhaling in a rush. “I didn’t get you a gift. I hadn’t expected—”
“Of course,” he interrupted, and the furrow between her brow softened. “But you listened to me. You forgave me.”
The tension returned, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly at the wordforgive.“I still can’t believe this is real,” she whispered. “That you’re here.”
He caught her hand beneath the tablecloth, and the ache in his chest eased when she didn’t pull away. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Lily.” Her brows pleated again, and he pressed on. “I wanted to show you—”
An explosion shattered the air from across the table, and Lily—along with everyone else—shrieked. Marigold had her palms clamped over her ears, and Archie stared wide-eyed at Matthew. The lad stood between them with the remnants of a cracker in his hands. Tendrils of smoke curled from the shredded paper tube, and the boy stared at it in wonder.
After a long moment of preternatural silence, he shook his head and grinned. “That wassmashing!” he shouted.
“You were supposed to wait for everyone else,” Archie said, pressing his palm to his forehead, but Matthew paid him no mind, instead donning his paper crown and unfolding the slip of parchment that had fallen from the cracker.
He cleared his throat. “Why is a Christmas pudding like the ocean?”
“Why?” the family chorused. Reading the riddles aloud must be a tradition, one Philip had not been a part of. The knowledge settled like a weight behind his sternum. He’d missed all this—his family, the love they offered. But now it could be his, with his wife by hisside.
Matthew started giggling before he could finish his sentence. “They’re both full of… currants!”
His aunts and uncles howled in put-on laughter, but Reggie scowled. “That isn’t funny. It requires a spelling error, so once it’s in writing the homonym isn’t amusing.”
Fern raised her wineglass in a mock toast. “I agree, Reggie.”
Archie exhaled audibly. “Am I forgiven for unleashing the chaos early?”
