Page 11

Caroline smiled. “Indeed. We did not need any more fatherless children in Chatternwell because of the little tyrant’s quest for power.

Charles had a choice in his fate because he was allowed to grow into a man.

He had a mother and father who loved him, and he chose to honor them by protecting the liberty of England. ”

William sat down, his knees no longer able to hold him up as he adjusted his perspective of the past. He had lived in regret for five long years, but would he have done anything differently? Would he have convinced Charles to stay home, never himself signed up, based on what he knew now?

“Regretting the past is a waste of time, William. We must count the blessings and then continue with our lives.”

Caroline had taken a seat beside him, her white skirts blinding in the sunlight as she placed her delicate hand over his. “Charles would want his sacrifice to be meaningful. He would want to know that his memory lived on through you."

The chains that had bound him since this day at the fields of Waterloo slowly loosened their hold and the weight of them melted away.

As the tight bands disappeared, William felt his eyes welling with moisture.

Raising his hand, he found tears streaming down as he quietly accepted the past and released his guilt.

Next to him, Caroline resumed her melodic humming as he finally wept for his cousin’s death, but understood that it had played an important role within a hitherto unknown master plan.

When William’s eyes flickered open, he was surprised to find his cheeks were wet. A strange discovery—for he must have wept like a babe in his sleep. The room slowly came into focus as the dream faded.

He flinched when he realized Caroline was standing over him, her hand resting gently on his arm as if to wake him. A candle flickered on the table beside her, casting golden light upon her worried face. She was stroking his arm in a soothing gesture.

“William! Thank heavens you are awake! You were having a nightmare, and I could not rouse you.”

He blinked, struggling to clear the lingering haze of sleep from his eyes.

“How did you know? What was I doing?”

“You were highly agitated—growling and flailing in your sleep—and then you …” Her voice softened, clearly hesitant to finish. “You were weeping?”

William swallowed hard and slowly lifted himself to lean back against the arm of the settee. “I was counting my blessings.”

“And that made you”—Caroline faltered, apparently reluctant to wound his pride—“cry?”

He paused to consider how best to explain what had happened. “I discovered that counting blessings can stir emotions that have long lain buried. I was grieving my past … and releasing my failings. You were there.”

She drew back slightly, surprise flickering in her expression. “In your nightmare?”

“It was a nightmare. One I have experienced frequently, but then you arrived, and it … changed. Your words stayed with me. I saw events from a new vantage.”

“It was good that I was there, then?”

“Very good,” he said, his voice rough but sincere.

Something had shifted deep within him. For the first time in years, he felt a measure of peace. Caroline’s gentle counsel before he had drifted off had followed him into sleep, and her dream-self had guided him through memories he had never dared revisit.

Charles would not have wished for me to grieve forever.

This woman—who smelled faintly of beeswax and rosemary, who had offered him sustenance and warmth—had done what no other had managed in five long years. She had pierced the veil of guilt that clouded his soul.

He let his gaze drift down, noting that her wrap had slipped slightly, revealing the delicate fabric of her night rail.

He quickly looked away, a flush of awareness prickling at the back of his neck.

When his eyes rose again, they settled on her face—on her soft, expressive lips—and he found himself wondering, fleetingly, if she was still thinking of the tea and biscuits they had shared hours ago.

Then, without meaning to, his thoughts strayed to how comforting it might be to pull her close—to simply rest in the gentle presence she carried with her, to feel the calm she seemed to bring into the room, and perhaps, just perhaps, to breathe in the quiet sweetness of her nearness.

Caroline watched William’s gaze focus on her lips, his expression shifting with something unreadable. He drew in a breath, and his tongue briefly touched his lower lip, as if lost in thought.

She recognized the flicker of interest now playing across his features, the faint flush rising in his cheeks.

Starting to edge away, her pulse fluttered, a warm awareness blooming in her veins, as the blacksmith grinned—an expression so rare and startling it revealed a flash of white teeth.

He certainly appeared more amiable than she had ever seen him, his usual grim air replaced by something far more approachable.

And, if she were honest, even more appealing.

No men, Caroline! No men!

But she found herself momentarily caught by the depth in his gaze. The desire to be near him, to feel the quiet strength he carried, was unexpectedly stirring.

The air tingled, like static drawn from brushing woolen garments. She continued to step back, but in her surprise, she had waited too long.

A strong hand reached out—not rough, but firm—and closed gently around her wrist, guiding her forward until she came to rest lightly against him.

William leaned up, his lips brushing hers, and a warmth kindled between them. It was not fire, not fury, but something deep and steady—like the comforting glow of a hearth on a winter night. He tasted her—tea and peppermint—and felt her lips respond, soft with surprise, then assured in return.

Their mouths met again, deepening not with urgency but with a quiet understanding that made his chest ache. She was real. Present. Glorious. And for a moment, hers.

His fingers slid into her hair, carefully loosening the plait, letting the silky length tumble free. He brought a handful to his face and inhaled deeply.

Vanilla. And peppermint.

My word… she is not just the embodiment of sunshine—she is Christmas itself.

She was in his arms. Warm, yielding, and real. The way she leaned into him, her lips moving with his as though she'd longed for this, unspoken and true—it unraveled him.

Through the thin linen of his shirt, he could feel her presence—her closeness, her care. His hands cupped her face, brushing her cheeks, tracing the elegant line of her jaw, reverent in their motion.

Caroline’s fingers slipped into his hair, tentative, then firmer, and a breath escaped him—a sound more of wonder than want. His body ached, not with hunger, but with something fuller. Hope.

She had unlocked something in him. With her gentleness and her laughter, her grace and her quiet resilience, she had drawn him out from the shadows of himself.

William wrapped his arms around her, gathering her gently to him. They kissed again—slowly, reverently. He pressed his face to her neck, breathing her in. One hand traced the curve of her back, the other cradling her head.

Her name fell from his lips like a prayer. “Caroline …”

And then, as if sensing the line neither wished to cross, he stilled. His breath was uneven, his heart thudding against hers, and he rested his forehead to hers, close, but unmoving.

The warmth inside him burned steady and clear, but he made no move to take more.

Instead, he cupped her face once more and whispered, “You bring me peace. And I do not wish to ruin that.”

In a daze, Caroline realized William was no longer kissing her. His head was rolled back on the settee arm as he panted for air, holding her head tenderly to him with a large hand that covered most of her crown. He was so powerful; she felt like a delicate fawn in his arms.

Listening to the thudding of his heart in his chest, she was amazed at what had just happened.

She had never felt such closeness, scarcely able to grasp that he had stopped.

Was he regretting their embrace? Or was he attempting to be a gentleman, halting his attentions at the edge of the wall of chastity she had spent years building?

Caroline did not know what to think. Her test of her resilience had not proven her moral fortitude had improved these past years, but she could not bring herself to regret the precious, stolen moments in William’s arms. She knew the regret would come, but not yet.

Not while she listened to the fire crackle and his heart thunder.

This—this closeness—was the nearest she had ever come to contentment.

As their breath gradually slowed, Caroline realized it was time to rise and break their embrace.

How had such a fine specimen of manhood remained unmarried?

Why was he not husband to an attractive young woman with several children already?

She guessed he was a few years older than herself; old enough to be settled, and young enough to enjoy it.

If William was married, you would not be in his arms on Christmas Eve.

She shut her eyes in painful regret. That might not be true, given her past mistakes.

With that reminder, the past came rushing back, and Caroline recalled why she must stay away from virile men. She was not to be trusted. She did not trust herself.

Caroline gently pressed her palms to his chest and eased away, rising from the warmth of his arms. William let her go, and she could not decide whether to feel grateful or bereft.

Blast, this was why she stayed away from men. Because she turned into a dithering twit, as Lord Saunton had proved, and did stupid things just because she received a tidbit of male attentions.

She walked across the room and stood in front of the hearth, staring into the flames as if the answers to her character might be found flickering among the embers.

At last, she found her voice. “Would you like some tea?”

Truly? That is the first thing you could find to say?

Caroline squared her shoulders. It was the proper thing to say. Her voice had been calm, giving no hint of the inner turmoil lashing at her. She ought to behave as if nothing had occurred and simply carry out the task the doctor had entrusted her with.

Why did the holiday season dredge up so many private longings?

If only it were a normal day, she could work on her walking dress and restore her equilibrium.

On a normal day, the doctor would have found someone else to attend William Jackson, and she would not now be confronted with the humiliating truth that she remained the same flawed girl who had made a ruinous mistake two years ago.

She had not matured at all. No, she had simply avoided situations where her poor judgment could do further damage.

No men, no opportunities to betray my friends. No friends, no risk of losing their regard.

Work was the only answer. Work kept her focused. Work kept her safe from herself.

William’s voice, hoarse and roughened by emotion, broke the silence. “That would be appreciated.”

Caroline gave a short nod and left the room to prepare the tea.

William had kissed the modiste.

Yet, he could not find it in him to regret it. She had resuscitated his dead heart and made it beat again. It was as though he had been a corpse walking for five years and suddenly awakened to discover an entire world of possibility.

He was grateful she had moved away and offered the tea, because the truth was, he was currently overcome. After years of detachment, he did not know what to do with the powerful feelings surging inside him. He needed time—time to accustom himself to this altered perspective.

What a revelation it was to discover that he had been punishing himself needlessly.

He agreed with the dream version of Caroline—he would best honor Charles’s memory not through endless sorrow, but by respecting his cousin’s sacrifice and building a future while carrying him within his heart. But what did that mean?

Where do I go from here?

He had broken off the kiss because he did not know what path he was careening down.

His soul had cried out at the interruption, yearning to remain in the arms of the remarkable woman who had opened his eyes.

Who had spoken with such bright conviction and offered him hope, without realizing what her words would set into motion.

He needed to find his footing again.

This future that now stretched before him must be considered carefully. He could not involve another person—especially not someone like Caroline—in the midst of his confusion. He owed her more than a half-hearted affection born of gratitude and recent awakening.

But holding her had been an unadulterated delight.

The kind of moment that settled into a man’s bones and never left.

Still, it would not be fair to her. He had no plans to court or wed—not now.

Not when he had only just stepped out of the prison of grief and guilt.

After five long years, he had found his freedom.

He needed to live in it a while before making any promises he might come to question.

She had shown him what was possible, but the path ahead must be walked alone for now.

And what a question it was—what paths lay open?

His business was thriving, largely due to the very single-mindedness that had kept him emotionally numb. He was not lacking in income or resources. The issue was not whether he could change course, but rather how.

Perhaps he might travel. He could visit the fields of Waterloo to pay proper respects to his cousin’s memory. Or explore Italy and take in the ruins of Ancient Rome. He could even journey to the Americas, where he might begin again in a new land with no shadows of his past.

It was a marvel, really. Mere hours ago, he had clung to numbness like armor, unwilling to risk any feeling at all. And now he stood at a crossroads—one he had not imagined even in his wildest dreams. Apparently, changing one’s mind could happen in an instant.

Or in a recurring nightmare … interrupted by a woman who brought light and vanilla and evergreen boughs into his quiet life.

She had no idea what her quiet strength had done. She had no idea the gift she had given him with her simple, profound advice:

Count your blessings.

And for the first time in five years, William Jackson had.