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The light in the ballroom was as gray as the sky overhead, which had alternately dropped snow and soft hail on the area for the past week. Despite the weather, the house had slowly filled with a myriad of nobles and their servants, laughter and joyous greetings ringing through the halls.
Emalyn dearly loved Christmas. She had been thrilled when her father told her while they would return to London for New Year’s, they would be back at Ashton Park for Twelfth Night. He didn’t explain those decisions, but as it put Emalyn in repeated proximity to Philip, she didn’t question it. If this was to be their last Christmas together, then she would cherish each moment.
Philip. Emalyn sighed. She had not seen him yet, although she knew he had arrived a few days before. Mary had said he spent a great deal of time with his father, to be expected. But she longed to find a slip of paper under her door with a time for them to meet.
So much had happened! She ached to talk to him. Her father still played coy about what exactly was going on in their lives, but she had overheard an argument between her parents, after which all talk of suitors had stopped. He simply kept repeating that everything would be different after New Year’s. Emalyn tried to squash the hope that bloomed within her, but it felt like trying to hold a cork underwater.
Down on the ballroom floor, one of the rosemary trees toppled over, sending a spray of dirt over the freshly polished floor. An anthill of activity resulted, and Emalyn could hear the screeches of the housekeeper.
“Careful, boys, she will wring your necks.”
“That would be unfortunate.”
Emalyn squealed and pivoted on the stool, which slipped and fell. Emalyn’s arms flailed, but Philip scooped her up, his arms closing around her as he pulled her close, his laughter rumbling through his chest. “Careful, my love. I do not wish to see you break your neck before I have even had a chance to kiss it.”
She smacked his shoulder. “How dare you scare me like that!”
He lowered her to her feet, but Emalyn still trembled. He steadied her, then sat on the stool, rubbing her arms. “Are you all right?”
“You mean other than being frightened out of my wits?”
“Your wits seem to be in fine order to me.”
Emalyn paused, staring at him. More handsome than ever before, if that were even possible, he had changed in a way she could not state—more a man, less a boy. He had lost weight, the lines in his face more pronounced, his muscles more defined. Tears welled in her eyes.
Alarm crossed his face. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, swallowing hard. “You are so beautiful.”
A shy smile crossed his face. “And this makes you cry?”
Emalyn nodded. “For so many reasons.”
His smiled faded into a look of concern so earnest, her heart almost broke. With a slight shake of his head, he urged her toward him. She went, letting him fold her into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder, absorbing his warmth as she whispered his name. “I could stay like this forever.”
A low growl sounded deep in Philip’s chest. “Oh, I want to do so much more than hold you.”
Emalyn raised her head, her eyes wide. “Philip?”
He took a deep breath, examining her closely. “We have a great deal to talk about.” He pulled one of the chairs closer and urged her to sit, gathering both her hands in his. “I want you to listen to me carefully and not speak. You know a great deal has happened with your father.”
Emalyn nodded, waiting.
“What I am about to tell you cannot be shared with anyone.” He grimaced. “Especially not your mother. Your father has plans to tell her in his own way. Yes?”
Another nod. Her curiosity threatened to burst into a thousand questions, but she tamped it down. This seemed important to him.
“The Crown hands out awards twice a year, one of those being New Year’s. This year, the king, at the urging of the prince—which is a miracle in itself—is going to award your father with letters patent, granting him and his family denization, and then a baronetcy—”
Emalyn gasped, squirming in her chair, trying to pull away from him. The implication of his words—
Philip gripped her hands tighter, watching her with clear amusement on his face. “Ah. I see I don’t have to explain the potential results—” She tried to wrench her hands free, but he held tight. “Oh, no. If you think I’m going to let you hit me—”
Emalyn could contain it no longer. “I love you!”
Laughing, Philip released her, and she flung herself into his arms. He held her again, whispering softly. “So you will marry me?”
*
