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Edward clasped Trelawney’sproffered hand. How many years had it been since someone had offered friendship—genuine friendship, without asking for anything in return? Friends had come and gone, abandoning him when the rumors had spread after Isabella’s death. But this man with the dark gray eyes was different. He possessed an air of open honesty, surpassed only by that of his wife, the brave little soul who’d brought her child into the world in Edward’s home.
And such a small thing it was, too! He’d been terrified to touch the little thing for fear she’d fall apart in his hands. So he had stood back, while her mother followed her instincts and swaddled the child in the blanket he’d found in the attic—the blanket he’d bought for his own child. An insignificant object, but it had represented Edward’s failure to exorcise the ghost of Isabella. By preserving material possessions, he’d perpetuated the grief.
But the dead didn’t care whether he kept their possessions hidden away in a shrine to their memory. What mattered was the living. Giving the blanket to Mrs. Trelawney and her child was the first step in washing away the pain of losses over which he’d had no control. The act of giving was the first step to the absolution of his soul.
For the first time since Isabella’s death, he began to believe that he could forgive himself.
He thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood in the doorway, watching the couple, so obviously in love. Not the love which existed on the surface, or one borne of need and desire—but the deep love of a soulmate. Though he might never find a soulmate of his own, it soothed his soul to witness the happiness of others.
He smiled to himself as Trelawney attempted to scold his wife for venturing out into the night. Her bravery while enduring childbed pains had told Edward enough of her strength of will, and the futility of preventing her from doing anything she’d set her mind to. But nevertheless, Trelawney persisted.
“Alice, what on earth possessed you to venture out? And for a dog!”
She glanced at Edward and shame pricked at his conscience. She’d braved the weather because she’d feared he would harm her daughter’s little dog.
Then she smiled at him, forgiveness in her eyes. “I believe Twinkle has taken a liking to Mr. Scrimgeour’s stables,” she said. “Perhaps you’d be so good as to find her, Ross?”
“Let me,” Edward said. “The two of you need some time together.”
“No,” Mrs. Trelawney replied. “Ross, go with him, please.”
Trelawney opened his mouth to protest, then he nodded.
“Come on, Scrimgeour,” he said, giving him a wry smile. “My wife’s wish is our command.”
Edward led the way out of the house. Since he’d carried Mrs. Trelawney inside earlier, the clouds had cleared. The moon was almost full, and it hung in the sky, illuminating the landscape. The snow glistened, as if it contained tiny jewels, twinkling to mirror the stars.
“This way,” Edward said, and Trelawney followed him to the stables.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Trelawney said.
“You’ve already thanked me,” Edward replied. “There’s no need to do so again.”
“But there is,” came the reply. “You see, I understand the pain of losing a wife in childbirth, having experienced it myself.”
Edward’s heart sank. So the neighbors gossiped about him. Did they, too, think he’d murdered Isabella?
A comforting hand rested on his shoulder. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn,” Trelawney continued, “but I know how you feel. I suffered with grief when my first wife died. And guilt, also—guilt that I had done nothing to prevent it, that I had not said goodbye…” he hesitated, “…and that I had not loved her as I should.” He shook his head. “I love Alice more than anything. But sometimes a love that strong can inhibit a man. The fear that I might lose her, that nothing I can do will save her. That fear grows inside a man when his wife is with child. It’s concealed by the joy of impending fatherhood, but nevertheless the fear of her confinement is there, hiding in the shadows.”
“Your wife is well,” Edward said, his heart aching at the stricken tone in Trelawney’s voice. “She’ll make a full recovery. And the child seems healthy.”
“Thanks to you,” Trelawney said. “And thanks to Alice, I learned to forgive myself over the loss of my first wife, and I can speak of her without pain.” He squeezed Edward’s shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. “When the hand of fate decides it’s time to take a man’s loved ones from him, there’s a time for grief and remembrance. But there also comes a time when he must forgive himself, then move on to live his life without them. To find happiness in a new beginning.”
Before Edward could respond, a small cry rose up from within the stables.
“Ah,” Trelawney said, more brightly. “I believe we’ve found the elusive Twinkle.”
He disappeared inside the stables.
“Well, I’ll be damned—look!”
Near the back of the stables, nestled among an abandoned pile of hay, lay a pug—the same little dog he’d spotted yesterday. The animal was surrounded by a six puppies—tiny, sightless creatures which nestled against their mother, issuing plaintive cries. The pug was licking each puppy methodically, but as the two men approached, she stopped and lifted her gaze to stare at them out of soulful brown eyes.
“It’s all right, little one,” Edward said. “We shan’t hurt you.”
The pug’s tail twitched, then she resumed tending to her litter.
“Well, that explains why Twinkle has been overly rotund of late,” Ross laughed. “I’d wondered whether she’d been getting a little too friendly with Mrs. Pelham’s pug when we visited her in London in October.”
Edward smiled at the little animal, watching her tend to her puppies with just as much affection as Alice had shown when she cradled her baby in her arms.
“What the devil am I going to tell Alice?” Trelawney sighed.
Edward smiled. “You can tell her that there’s been a second Christmas miracle tonight.”
