She passed the taper to Benedict, who also lit one of the tree’s candles, and then all of those gathered stood in line to light one as well. Soon the whole tree was glowing with gentle light, and Silas’s heart flooded with warmth.
He squeezed Grace’s hand, drawing her in until her head rested on his shoulder. She exhaled, the tension of the day dissolving.
“Last year, I promised her that better days lay ahead,” she whispered. “Thank you for helping me keep that promise. We never could have imagined a Christmas like this.”
The last week had been spent doing all the things he remembered from his youth, when Christmas had been the most magical time of year. Benedict, Theodora, and their children had come for the holiday, along with several friends from his school days that he hadn’t managed to drive away. They’d gone ice skating on the pond, traipsed through the woods to find mistletoe, ivy, and evergreens to bedeck the manor, and sang Christmas carols and played parlor games at night.
Emmaline’s excitement for every new experience had given him more happiness than he’d ever thought possible. Even the things he’d done a hundred times had seemed new and fresh when he looked at them through her eyes.
“It has been my greatest pleasure,” he answered his wife honestly.
Emmaline, finished with her ceremonial task, made her way back to them. She slipped her arms around their waists and nestled between them, her face flushed with joy.
“Are you happy, little one?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head so vigorously her dark curls bounced around her face. “This is the best Christmas ever.”
Benedict raised a mug of mulled wine and called out in his best orator’s voice, “To new beginnings! To old wrongs made right! And to my uncle and his lovely family, may their Christmases always be bright!”
A cheer went up, echoed by the ring of glasses and the sudden, jubilant laughter of children as they dove for thetables laden with sweets. Even the most reserved guests found themselves smiling, swept along by the current of goodwill.
Silas kissed Grace’s temple, murmuring, “Thank you for giving me this, for giving me her.”
Grace turned to him, her blue eyes shining. “We gave her to each other.”
They watched as Emmaline ran to join the other children by the fire, her laughter sweeter than any carol. Grace held Silas’s hand in both of hers, neither willing to let go.
Benedict joined them, his face flushed with wine and happiness. He clapped Silas on the shoulder, then embraced Grace. “This is what I always wanted for you, Uncle. I’m so happy for you both. I wish my mother could have been here to see this.”
Silas’s heart clenched at the thought of his sister, but he no longer wanted to forget about her. His new relationship with his nephew was but another joy that the year had given him. “I wish she were here, too.”
The party resumed its cheerful din, but for Silas and Grace, the world had narrowed to the circle of warmth and light that bound them together. And for the first time in years, the house echoed not with loneliness but with love.
When the last of the guests headed for their rooms—their goodnights echoing down the corridors—Silas led Grace toward the bedchamber they would finally share. The candles had burned low, but the scent of holly and pine lingered.
He guided her up the staircase, his desire for her swelling with every step. He had no doubt that if he’d come to her in the year since they’d reunited, she would have welcomed him, but he’d wanted to do it right this time. He’d wanted to give her time to heal, both physically and emotionally, from the years they’d been apart. He’d wanted her to trust him again. He’d wanted her to know that he cherished her enough to wait. Most of all, he’dwanted any future children they might share to be born in the shelter of their union.
Their hands remained entwined; every few steps, he squeezed hers as if to confirm that she was real, that she would not slip away from him again.
At the threshold of the master suite, Silas hesitated. The door had been left ajar, spilling a thin fan of golden light onto the hall carpet. He pushed it open, and the room beyond felt like a world apart. The bed was dressed in fresh ivory linens, a cascade of winter roses arcing over the headboard, the great hearth ablaze. The windows were frosted with ice, making the inside seem warmer by contrast. A crystal decanter with two small glasses waited on a table before the roaring fire.
For a moment, they stood in silence, simply taking it in. His housekeeper had outdone herself.
Grace stepped in first, her arms folded close about her waist. “It’s so lovely,” she said, her voice tentative and low.
Silas smiled. “I told Mrs. Greaves to make it into a winter wonderland.”
He followed her, letting the door fall shut behind them. The night outside the windows was a storm of ice and wind, but inside, they were safe and warm.
They stood by the fire, side by side. Silas poured the wine, his hands steady now, and handed one glass to Grace. She took it, her fingers brushing his, and the touch sent a jolt through them both. He found himself watching her mouth as she sipped; he remembered the first time he had kissed her, years and lifetimes ago, and how every thought had stilled in the wonder of it.
Grace set her glass aside after only a taste. She pressed her hands flat against her skirts, as if searching for pockets, and then laughed, the sound soft and self-mocking. “I am more nervous than I thought I would be,” she admitted.
“I’m terrified,” Silas confessed. He tried for levity, but the words were too true to be a joke. “I’m so afraid that I’ll ruin it again.”
Grace shook her head, a single smooth motion that made the winter flowers in her hair tremble. “You won’t.”
She moved closer and placed one hand on his chest, not as an invitation but as a reassurance. Silas covered her hand with his own, and for a moment they simply stood like that, breathing the same air, letting the world slow.
