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The Gift

THE SIXTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS

W illiam leaned over his anvil, sweat dripping from his chin as he panted from the exertion of his work. It was early. Too early for any of his men to have arrived at the smithy, but he had not been able to sleep. At last, he had surrendered to restlessness and risen from his bed.

The lock was almost complete.

If only he knew what was happening with his sunshine. He had been keeping his distance, not trusting himself to be near her. His longing to be with her was overpowering, but he had to give her time.

He had been both elated and apprehensive to observe the ducal carriage arriving on Market Street. The duchess had kept her word and visited Caroline. But had he been right to intervene between the two childhood friends?

And if it healed her soul, yet he lost her forever because of his autocratic meddling, would it be worthwhile to know he had helped her reclaim her self-respect?

Raising a hand, he combed it through his damp hair and considered the possibility that they might never be man and wife. Could he live with that, if it meant she was happier? If he had succeeded in bringing her the peace she so sorely needed, even if she never forgave him for what he had done?

Since that night with Caroline, his nightmares had not returned. Now his dreams were haunted by something far worse.

When he fell asleep, he dreamed of her.

Like sunshine breaking through the bleak clouds of winter, his joy knew no bounds at being reunited with her—even if only in slumber. To touch her hand. To hear her voice. To feel the comfort of her presence.

But inevitably, he would awaken to find himself alone in the dark.

Caroline had shown him how to live again, and he did not wish to return to the solitary existence that had consumed him since the war. He wanted to live. To feel. To experience life—with her. To witness her radiant generosity when they brought their future children into the world.

To him, she was the very embodiment of the holiday season, and he wanted her by his side every day from here on forward for the rest of his life.

He wished he could walk out of the smithy and just go find her.

Talk to her right now. But he was determined to allow her an opportunity to lay her past to rest and heal.

His impatience to seek her out did not signify.

What had happened during the duchess’s visit? Had Caroline found the peace she so desperately needed? Or did she hate him for his bungling interference?

Her Grace was not coming.

Caroline had waited all day for her return. Long shadows stretched across the street outside, signaling the approach of evening. The ducal carriage had not appeared.

She traced a fingertip over the delicate embroidery. She had unpicked the stitches and redone them several times. Absolute perfection had been required, and she had worked the Halmesbury coat of arms until her fingers ached with exhaustion.

It was all for naught.

She sighed heavily.

Was it a sign?

While she had labored over the gown, she had swung between certainty and doubt. Should she seek William out? The duchess’s failure to return suggested that Caroline had not earned her forgiveness in any genuine sense. She could only be grateful that the noblewoman had come at all.

“Mrs. Brown, would you like me to make you some tea?”

Annie’s expression betrayed her concern. The girl had hovered nearby for some time, clearly worried by her employer’s somber mood. Though Caroline had attempted to maintain a cheerful countenance, her disappointment must have shown.

“That would be lovely, Annie.”

Caroline smoothed the gown and folded it gently into layers of silver paper, wondering what to do with it. Her own desire to wear it had long since vanished. In her heart, it already belonged to Her Grace. Perhaps she ought to have it delivered to Avonmead and close this chapter of her life.

Packing it carefully into a box, she carried it to the back and placed it on the highest shelf. Then she joined Annie near the fireplace for tea.

Just as she picked up the cup and saucer, the front door opened and closed.

She rose at once, heart in her throat.

It was the duchess.

Caroline’s spirits ascended so sharply she felt dizzy.

“Mrs. Brown! I do apologize for the delay. We had trouble with one of the carriage wheels, and the duke wished to ensure it was repaired before nightfall. It appears the effort was successful, but we shall have to fly home come first light to make it to Avonmead for our Old Year’s Day celebrations. ”

The ducal carriage was visible through the front window. The duke and coachman stood behind it, inspecting one of the large rear wheels.

“I feared you had changed your mind, Your Grace.”

The duchess shook her head. “Never! My word is my bond.”

“I am so glad you are here.”

“As am I. Is the dress complete?”

Caroline’s chest tightened with nervous anticipation. She had taken such care with the embroidery. Every stitch had been deliberate. “I shall collect it from the back.”

She retrieved the box from the shelf, butterflies taking flight in her stomach. So many hours had gone into the gown. Every spare minute over the past months—and the final burst of effort overnight.

It is my best work. It will have to do.

She brought the box to the front and set it on the counter. Her Grace joined her, and Caroline opened the lid, peeling back the silver paper to reveal the gown.

The duchess gasped, both hands rising to her cheeks. “Oh! It is beautiful. You are an artist, Caroline!”

Caroline exhaled harshly, not realizing she had held her breath. “Truly?”

“It is breathtaking. Heraldic. May I try it on?”

“Of course.”

She led the duchess into the back room.

Annie stood at the hearth, her mouth ajar and eyes wide as the noblewoman entered. She collected herself swiftly, dropping into a curtsy. “Milady.”

Caroline realized Annie had not met the duchess the day before. “Your Grace, may I present Miss Annie Greer?”

“Your Grace?” the girl echoed, blinking. “Cor!”

The duchess grinned. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Greer. How do you enjoy working for Mrs. Brown?”

“I love working here … Your Grace.”

“She is a remarkable artist. You will learn much as her apprentice.”

Annie nodded, eyes bright with admiration.

Caroline assisted Her Grace with removing her carriage dress and then with donning the walking gown. Stepping back, she admired the final effect.

The duchess’s chestnut hair shimmered in contrast to the Prussian blue velvet, and the golden embroidery of the coat of arms glowed with quiet splendor across the back.

Her Grace turned this way and that in the mirror, then returned to the front of the shop. The duke had entered during their absence. When he saw his wife, his gray eyes lit with appreciation.

“Is it not splendid, Duke?”

“It is,” he said, his smile fond, “but it cannot rival the beauty of the wearer.”

The duchess laughed sweetly, brushing a hand over the front of the gown. “I adore it, Mrs. Brown. It is truly unique. I shall wear it when we visit our tenants on New Year’s Day. I believe it shall cause quite the stir at Avonmead.”

Caroline exhaled, the tightness in her chest dissolving as the past fell away and an unencumbered future took its place. “I am so pleased to have done this for you.”

After assisting the duchess in removing the gown and wrapping it once more in silver paper, Caroline watched as the noble couple took their leave. She stepped outside to see them off in the fading light, waving as the carriage rolled down the lane.

Looking down, she saw Annie had come to stand beside her.

“Do you think I shall make a gown for a duchess one day?”

“Anything is possible if you work hard and practice.”

“The dress was very beautiful, Mrs. Brown.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you sad it is not to be yours, like you intended?”

“Not at all. I did not realize it at the time, but it was always destined for Her Grace. Everything is as it should be.”

Caroline accepted the truth of it.

Two years ago, she had not the means to repair what she had done.

In the interim, she had worked hard to further her skills, even when there had been no hope of owning her own shop.

When the opportunity had presented itself to pursue her dream, in the form of Lord Saunton’s apology and offer of amends, she had seized it to make her dream come to fruition.

Then, as a final step, she had expressed her gratitude to Miss Annabel and completed the dress.

The garment had been a method of proving herself, but sacrificing it to regain her self-respect felt right.

Its value had grown by gifting it to the person who deserved to have it.

Of course, her happy ending had been facilitated by a certain blacksmith who had seen fit to meddle.

What was she to do about William?

William stood on the road outside the smithy, taking a break from the heat of the forges to savor the wintry chill against his skin.

As he lifted his face to the cold breeze, a familiar sight caught his eye. The ducal carriage was gliding along Market Street.

His brow lifted. The duchess had returned for a second visit?

It must be a promising sign.

He supposed—hoped—that meant the past had been laid to rest.

Yet he still struggled to reconcile his own audacity. He had demanded an audience with the wife of a duke. Not just any duke, but the Duke of Halmesbury—one of the most esteemed peers in the realm. A man of consequence and unassailable dignity.

What had possessed him?

Love, he supposed. Or something that looked very like it.

He gazed after the elegant carriage as it passed, then turned his thoughts toward Caroline.

Should he attempt to visit her?

His eyes dropped to his current state—his shirt soaked with sweat from hours of toil, hands black with soot, breeches bearing evidence of his labor. Hardly a suitable sight for calling on a lady, let alone the most admirable woman he had ever met.

No. Not today.

Tomorrow.