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Alice hurried over to the staircase, saying a quick “Thank you” to Mr. Clarke as she hurried by him. He gave her a wink, then, laughing, he opened the door and stepped outside. His laughter seemed to echo about the entryway even after he’d left.
Alice reached Joseph’s side and took his hand. “What do you say we go and see your present together?”
Joseph nodded, then hurried forward, tugging on her hand something fearsome.
They reached the nursery door and Joseph pushed it open.
Sitting in the middle of the floor was Isaac, a large ribbon tied in a bow resting atop his head.
“Lord Brooks?” Joseph said, listing his head.
Isaac shook his head. “The weirdest thing just happened to me. A jolly old man showed up at my door, shoved me inside his bag full of presents, then deposited me here and told me to wait with this bow on my head. What do you think it means?”
Joseph’s smile returned, more brilliant than Alice had ever seen before. “It means you’re going to be my new papa!” Joseph flung himself at Isaac, nearly sending them both to the ground. Ponto didn’t help as he bounded over to Isaac, placing his front paws against the man’s shoulder.
Alice hurried over, kneeling on the floor as well and taking hold of Isaac’s arm so that he didn’t actually fall. Joseph continued to hug him as Isaac righted himself.
“Are you sure you want this still?” Alice asked him, not in the least bit worried he’d back down. “Things aren’t exactly peaceful here at the cottage.”
Isaac wrapped an arm around Joseph. “You are exactly what I want. You all are.”
“Even the dog?” Alice asked.
Ponto barked, then licked Isaac’s face.
“Down, Ponto,” Alice admonished. Ponto sat, but his tail wagged, and his front paws continued to move up and down as though he couldn’t quite contain his excitement.
Isaac laughed. “Even the dog. Actually, in some way, especially the dog.”
“What?”
Isaac gave her a cocky grin. “He didn’t do his job. If he had, I wouldn’t be here.”
Alice leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. “I suppose he is rather a wise little puppy.”
“Very wise indeed.” Isaac kissed her back. Then he turned to Joseph. “Now, my good sir, what do you say we go build a snowman?”
Joseph cried out with joy and leapt onto his feet. Isaac stood as well, taking Alice’s hand. Once they were standing, she didn’t let go.
She’d had no idea that having a man in her life could be so wonderful. That it could fill a part of her heart she hadn’t realized was empty. That instead of feeling like she was trailing behind someone who rarely thought of her, it could feel like walking beside a dear friend. Her closest friend. The friend who knew her better than anyone, all the different sides of her. And loved all of whom she was without hesitation.
Once bundled, the three of them, with Ponto barking happily alongside them, went out into the snow and celebrated the best Christmas any of them had ever known.
Dear Amelie
Cresthearth Manor, Carlaby
January 7th, 1816
Good news travels fast, and so I am writing this letter to you post haste for I want you to hear it from me first. My dear nephew, Lord Isaac Brooks, is getting married!
I must confess I am a little discouraged at my own follies as a matchmaker—apparently, I didn’t have the right match in the beginning at all. More still, I was so worried he would only marry for wealth. But now, not only has he married the wealthiest woman of our acquaintance, but he is clearly, blindingly in love with Lady Nightingale. The more I have come to know the woman, the more I find her an absolute joy. She has even given me leave to call her Alice. She is such a dear.
Every bit as joyful, they have chosen to live here in Carlaby. After their wedding, Isaac will remove himself to Evergreen Cottage. He will be the best father to Alice’s little boy, and I pride myself that I am already becoming a favorite aunt. I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to have family nearby once more.
Though—I’m not quite sure how to say this—but it seems Alice has begun freckling something shocking. Her cousin, Mr. Allen, always had so many freckles and Alice said their skin is so much alike. She blames it on all the snowmen she, Isaac, and Joseph, her son, have been building as of late.
As for the last letter you sent me, well, I am shocked to be sure. If I had not recognized your handwriting and known you’d penned the words yourself, I would not have believed them.
I agree that things look quite at a loss. But I urge you not to give up faith. Christmas is a time for miracles, after all. I, for one, am certainly glad we ventured on this matchmaking journey together.
And I must insist you write to me soon. I am sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting to hear how all will resolve.
Your dear friend,
Margarette Fudge
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