Page 30 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Christmas Eve

One year later…

Night pressed velvet black against the windowpanes, but the great hall of Snowdon Grange, Silas’s country estate, was filled with light.

Garlands of fir and holly softened every available surface, and hundreds of candles cast a honeyed light across the ancient stone walls.

Winter flowers—hellebores, snowdrops, amaryllis—spilled from vases and crowded between the platters and goblets on the banquet tables.

The air, faintly scented with pine and spice, hummed with anticipation.

Silas stood at the front of the room, clad in a midnight-blue tailcoat and gleaming black boots. He shifted nervously, his eyes focused on the doorway where Grace would soon appear. The small crowd of relatives and friends blurred into a single presence in his periphery.

He couldn’t believe Grace was finally about to become his wife.

The doors at the far end of the room creaked open, and every neck in the hall craned in that direction. There was a silence so complete it felt like the world itself had paused, waiting.

Grace entered, her gaze locked with his, and his breath caught as “The Wedding March” began to play.

Her beautiful cream-colored gown was lovely, but the love in her eyes was what took his breath away.

Pale gold ribbons wound through her hair, crowned here and there with half-opened winter roses and the delicate spikes of snowdrops, making her look like a winter angel.

Grace kept her eyes on Silas, steady as a compass as she moved toward him, her lips curved in the smallest, fiercest smile.

Silas tried to remain still, but his hands betrayed him, shaking just enough that he had to clasp them behind his back.

She stopped before him, and for the space of three breaths neither spoke, nor even dared to smile. They were finally here. After all these years, she was going to become his wife, and they were both keenly aware of the miracle that had gotten them here.

Then the minister cleared his throat, and the spell was broken.

“Do you both come here willingly?” the man intoned, his voice a low rumble that filled the chamber. They stood side by side as he spoke the words that would bind them together forever.

The vows were meant to be traditional, but when the time came, Silas found himself speaking words that had never been written down: “I promise to cherish what I once foolishly cast aside. I will stand by you in every trial, and I will never again turn from you, even when hope is scarce. All that I have, all that I am, I put into your hands.”

Grace’s eyes shone with tears. She replied in a voice that trembled but never wavered, “I give you my trust, freely and completely. I promise to honor your heart with my own, and to walk beside you in all seasons. In joy or sorrow, in abundance or want—” Her gaze slid to Emmaline, who stood among the children, her face lit with pride.

“—we are a family, and I will not fail you.”

“You may exchange rings,” the minister intoned.

Silas slid the slender gold band onto Grace’s ring finger, and she did the same with his—her hands steadier than his, though he was sure she must be able to feel the tremor in his own.

The minister’s voice, thick with emotion now, declared, “You are bound, as husband and wife, before all present and all who have gone before. Go forward together.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the crowd erupted into applause and cheers, a noise so thunderous it seemed the hall might shake apart. But Silas heard nothing, saw nothing, save for Grace’s face, close and shining and so heartbreakingly beloved.

He leaned forward and kissed her. The touch was chaste at first, a delicate brush of lips.

But Grace answered with a fierceness that took him by surprise, drawing him closer, her hand curling behind his neck.

The second kiss was not for the guests; it was for the years wasted, the words unsaid, the forgiveness earned and received.

When they finally parted, Grace’s cheeks were pink with joy, her eyes bright and full of promise.

Emmaline bounced on her toes and clapped so vigorously that Silas couldn’t help but smile. He swept her up in his arms and spun her around, and her peals of laughter made the moment even more special.

The assembled guests surged forward, enveloping his little family in a tide of hugs, handshakes, and exclamations.

He’d been surprised so many people had turned out for them, but he’d done what he could to rebuild the relationships of the past over the last year, and those who mattered, those who didn’t care a fig about Grace’s background, were here tonight.

The rest could go hang.

Silas found himself adrift in this tide, clutching Grace’s hand as though she were his only anchor. But she, ever composed, guided him through the current with a smile and a nod for every well-wisher.

A fresh wave of laughter and celebration swept the hall. Children darted between the grown-ups, chasing after Emmaline’s new puppy. The servants and residents of the nearby village joined in the feast, joyously toasting the married couple and one another.

As the clock struck the appointed time, Emmaline slipped forward, her green velvet dress brushing against the parquet floor. The transformation in her was nothing short of miraculous; her skin now blushed with health, and though she was still small for her age, she was filled with energy.

The great Christmas tree loomed before her. It was twice the height of any guest, its branches so thick with ornaments, ribbons, and candles that the needles were hard to spot. But the candles were still unlit, waiting for this moment.

Emmaline looked back at her parents only once, as if seeking permission, and when they both nodded—Grace’s eyes warm with encouragement, Silas’s shining with a pride he could barely contain—she reached up to accept a lit taper from her cousin Benedict.

He handed it to her as though it were the most precious thing in the world, bowing with exaggerated solemnity and then stepping back to join the others.

The entire hall watched. For a moment, Emmaline held the taper, her hand perfectly steady. Then, with a gentle tilt, she touched it to the first candle. The wick caught, and a single golden flame bloomed.

She turned to the crowd, her voice clear and strong. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

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 the tables 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.