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In woman’s eyes,
Has been my heart’s undoing.’”
“Wooing?” she echoed. “If you were wooing, Lord Farleigh, then there would be a lot more kissing—”
He bent the rest of the way, and she stopped talking altogether as her lips met his in their first kiss. Soft. Brief. Only the barest sample of what she knew was to come.
Because they were in a ballroom.
And people were cheering as they parted.
She looked over Simon’s shoulder, and there stood Josephine and Sir Andrew, Emma and herconte, and Isleen’s own traitorous brother, all of them applauding.
“About time,” Sir Andrew said, his voice carrying all too clearly to Isleen’s ears.
Emma and Josephine both elbowed him in the ribs, then Josephine fluttered forward to kiss Isleen upon the cheek, the token of affection quite sisterly. “Congratulations, Isleen. You’ve now partaken in one of our favorite English traditions.”
For a moment, Isleen’s heart pricked with pain amidst her joy. Would marrying Simon mean giving up all she loved of her Irish heritage? What of her own traditions?
She looked up at him, her hand in his, and the truth was a gentle pressure on her heart. Even if she had to give it all up, loving Simon would be worth those sacrifices and more.
Emma looped her arm through her husband’s. “This is one of the most wonderful Christmases we have had in a very long time.”
“All of you owe me a forfeit,” Sir Andrew stated, surprising Isleen. He pointed to his wife, Emma, and theconte. “I told you it wouldn’t be until Christmas Eve that they admitted their feelings.”
“How do you know it was today?” his cousin Emma argued. “It may have been yesterday. Or the day before. Or—"
It was the ambassador who took pity on Isleen. He took his wife by the hand. “Come now, let the two of them alone. We can sort everything out later, yes?”
Teague appeared ready to lose the battle with his laughter, and Isleen heartily wished them all on the other side of the castle. Mistletoe, while presenting a pleasant opportunity for a kiss, was far too public.
Simon leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Will you step outside with me a moment?” Simon asked, and Isleen wondered if he’s read her thoughts. “Just for a moment.”
They slipped away amid the others’ excitable chatter, and Isleen’s cheeks cooled at last. Simon had kissed her. Beneath the mistletoe and where anyone could see—and everyone had, in fact, witnessed that moment.
She followed him down a corridor strewn with guests, to a glass-paned door that opened onto a small balcony. They stepped outside, the cold air dancing across her mostly bare shoulders. He shut the door behind them, and Isleen narrowed her eyes, wondering if he had given up on propriety. She wouldn’t blame him if he had.
His arm came around her waist, and she forgot everything she ought to say. “Look.” He drew her to the stone rail and pointed downward with his free hand.
A wagon pulled by two large horses waited in the quiet below, with servants carrying crates and baskets to fill its bed. She peered through the dim evening light, trying to make out what happened below.
“Loaves of bread,” Simon whispered in her ear. “Rounds of cheese. Barrels of apples. Gingerbread. And anything else the kitchens could prepare to go down to the village.”
She stared, her heart beating faster. Had he done this for her?
“It isn’t the same as leaving our doors unlocked with food on the table,” he added, sounding less sure of himself. “But as you said, who would make the climb up to the castle on a snowy night like this? The vicar said we could use the churchyard. All of that will be laid out for anyone who has need to come and take whatever they wish. And here.” He gently turned her around and pointed at one of the windows, where a single candle burned. “The candle in the window, to let the Holy Family know that there is room for them here.”
Her eyes burned with tears that fell in silent tracks down her cheeks. “Simon. I don’t know what to say.”
“Perhaps next year, we can go down to the village, too. I am sorry things didn’t work out where you could have a part in it this time, but—”
“It’s perfect. And beautiful.” She looked up at him, and the light coming through the curtained door softly touched upon his features. “Thank you.”
“If you put up with our Christmas traditions, the least I can do is honor yours, too.” His gloved thumb wiped away the tears on one cheek. “I would do anything for the woman who holds my heart.”
Isleen stood on her toes and kissed him. A true, deep kiss. Her hands went to his shoulders for balance, and his arms wrapped around her waist and drew her closer against his chest. He tasted of gingerbread and sugar, and of all the good things she had ever known.
Their lips parted, and she lowered herself back to the ground, though she leaned her cheek against his chest. He turned his head to rest his lips against her forehead. “Merry Christmas, Isleen.”
