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He would rise early and take the time to look his best. He would dress with care and visit Caroline as a gentleman should. If her conversation with the duchess had gone well, perhaps she might allow him to court her.

Please, let her allow it.

He wanted that future with Caroline so much he could taste it.

Caroline paced restlessly in her rooms, her slippers whispering against the rug with each turn.

She had considered, dismissed, and reconsidered a hundred times whether to show up unannounced.

The house was silent; her landlady had retired to her chambers three hours prior and would, by now, be well asleep.

Still, Caroline could not find peace.

In the distance, the mantel clock in the sitting room struck twelve, its chimes echoing through the quiet like a summons. Midnight.

She paused, biting her fingernail. Was it utter madness to seek him out at this hour?

The streets would be deserted. William’s home was only a few blocks away. And she could not rest until she knew—truly knew—where matters stood between them.

Her mind made up in a sudden rush of resolve, she donned her cloak and raised the hood. If anyone happened to see her, they might not recognize her in the dim light. Though she doubted anyone would be about at such an hour.

Easing open the front door, she slipped outside and closed it softly behind her. The cold was immediate, cutting and sharp, but she ignored it. She walked briskly, skirts rustling as she turned into the narrow alley that would lead her to Market Street. To William.

She could have waited until morning, of course, but then she would be forced to speak with him at the smithy—where privacy was impossible, and she might lose her courage.

No, it had to be now. It was still Christmastide.

The holiday magic had not yet waned. There might yet be time for them to reach an understanding.

As she approached Mrs. Heeley’s cottage, her heart leapt into her throat, but all was dark and still. The widow must have remained in Bath. Thank heavens.

At last, she reached the blacksmith’s back door.

Her breath caught. Would the lock still be broken?

If it had been repaired, and William had retired, there would be no way to summon him.

She would have to turn back, chilled and defeated, and spend another sleepless night in a restless torment of what-ifs.

Her gloved hand, trembling with cold and something far more fragile, reached for the handle.

William sat in his drawing room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth as he nursed a cooling cup of tea.

Sleep had proven elusive, and though he had planned to visit Caroline in the morning, something within him resisted the delay.

The sense that time was fleeting, that the fragile magic of Christmastide might slip away before an understanding was secured, pressed down upon him like a weight.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring into the flames, attempting to make sense of his restless heart. Then came the sound. The soft creak of the back door. He straightened, alert.

Footsteps.

His heart hammered in anticipation. Then, from the dimness beyond, a voice—gentle and haunting—began to hum. He froze, wondering if he had fallen asleep and was once again caught in the grips of a magical dream. He made to rise, but then the humming started, causing him to blink and lean back.

Apparently, he had fallen asleep without realizing it and was dreaming of her once more. Was it to be like the dreams from Christmas Eve? A visitation in which she revealed some truth to him?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne?

“And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!

and gie’s a hand o’ thine!

And we’ll tak’ a right gude-willie waught,

for auld lang syne.”

He frowned, uncertain of his conclusion. If this were a mere conjuring in his dream, Caroline would sing the English lyrics he was familiar with—not the original Scottish lyrics, which he did not know.

The door swung open, and there she was. His sunshine.

She stood illuminated by firelight and moonlight alike, her green cloak dusted with frost at the hem, her cheeks pink with cold. Her hands were clasped before her, but her eyes—those luminous hazel eyes—shone with emotion.

“Caroline?”

“You should repair your back door,” she said with a small smile, her voice trembling only slightly. “Since it is gone midnight, I believe I may wish you a happy Old Year’s Day.”

He took a step forward, drinking her in with his eyes. “Is it truly you?”

She nodded. “I was thinking about what you did. Visiting Her Grace on Saint Stephen’s Day … it was no small gesture. I thought perhaps you might like to hear what came of it.”

“I would. More than you can know.”

“I have nothing grand to offer in return,” she said, removing her cloak and laying it across a chair. Beneath it, she wore her night rail, modest and familiar. “But there is one thing I could give you. If you still want it.”

He stilled. “What is it?”

She met his gaze. “Me.”

The firelight crackled, casting golden light upon her determined face. William was speechless.

“I must return home before dawn,” she continued. “But … once the banns are read … if you still wish it … I would like to become your wife.”

The words took a moment to register. And when they did, his heart surged with joy so fierce it nearly brought him to his knees.

“You are accepting my proposal?”

“I am.”

He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, embracing her tightly. “You have no notion what this means to me,” he whispered against her hair.

“I believe I might,” she murmured.

They stood before the hearth, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world narrowed to this one precious moment.

She lifted her face to his. “I would like to remain here for a little while. To talk. And to be held.”

“There is nothing I should like more.” He kissed her, slowly, reverently, sealing the promise of their shared future.

When they finally parted, her cheek resting over his heart, he said quietly, “I shall have to make a display of courting you come morning if we are to wed soon.”

“Tomorrow, or rather later today, I shall close my shop early for Old Year’s Day if you wish to spend some time with me in the afternoon.”

“Aye, we will make a show of it for our neighbors.”

“And you can accompany me to church services on New Year’s Day.”

“Aye, I shall arrange with the curate to share a pew with you at services.”

“It is settled then, blacksmith.”

“Aye, modiste.”

“William … I did not tell you how I raised the loan for my shop.”

He heard the hesitation in her voice, and realized she must have a little more to confess. But tonight was for savoring their new future together, and the details of how she had arrived in his life did not signify. That was the past and this was their present.

“It will not alter my feelings. Let us enjoy the holidays, and we can settle all our matters once the banns are read.”

She was quiet for several moments, presumably thinking on what he had said. Finally, she responded, “You are a good man, William.”

Caroline went quiet after that. Hugging her close, William listened to her breathing as she slowly fell asleep in his arms, his broad grin of sheer happiness fixed in place.

He could scarcely comprehend how much his life had changed in a matter of days.

Solitude and darkness were in the past. Sunshine would light his way as he walked into his future.

Every day, from this day on, would be Christmas with Caroline at his side.