She rolled out of bed to attend to her morning ablutions, then applied skin creams and arranged her hair without any of the usual haste. Her spirits were high. Today, the sweetmeats adorning the castle tree weren’t just for decoration—children would be allowed to retrieve the little bags and consume the treats inside.
Perhaps she could talk Jonathan into an entire day of pleasure-taking. Twelfth Night was to be performed in the amphitheatre this afternoon, then a tour of the castle grounds, followed by another assembly with music and dancing.
Her skin warmed at the memory of being in his arms. Waltzing together in the castle ballroom. Holding hands as they skated across the frozen pond. Her smile faltered. That conversation had been far less merry.
No wonder he hadn’t pressed her when she’d reiterated she would not lie with a man she wasn’t married to. Because of his mother, Jonathan likely felt the same way. He would not treat such an act casually.
Despite his attempts to appear flippant and carefree, she doubted there was much he did take lightly. Her heart ached at the thought that Christmas meant sorrow to him, instead of happiness. She wished she could bring him joy.
No—she wished he could find his own joy.
Cressmouth had welcomed Jonathan from the start. She doubted there was a single soul he hadn’t bowed to and won over with charm and the shameless allure of free biscuits.
Her relatives weren’t as easy to win, but spending the day with Jonathan had illustrated to them the sort of man he was. She was lucky to have a large, loving family. Her nieces and nephews would have no problem considering him an honorary uncle. He was the opposite of what Luther had imagined for his sister, but even he had grudgingly admitted Jonathan seemed all right.
It would all be perfect, except for two tiny details:
She loved him.
He was going to leave.
Angelica put the kettle on to give herself something to do with her hands. Jonathan had been frank about his temporariness from the moment they’d first met. She could not claim abandonment or betrayal.
At the time, it had been what she liked best about their arrangement: that it would end. She’d be through with him, she’d have finished her contract, and life would be a bright open road.
But it was Jonathan who would be moving on, not her. Out of sight, out of mind. How long would it take him to forget her? There was no sense admitting her heart had got tangled up. It wouldn’t make a difference. She had her future planned out, and so did he.
A knock sounded on the front door. Angelica set down her tea and all but ran to answer it.
Jonathan.
Her heart beat triple-time, despite all her best intentions. Just the sight of him brought a smile to her face and a lightness to her limbs.
Even if he was carrying a... What on earth was he carrying?
She shut the door behind him. “What—”
Jonathan swept into her parlor with a life-size wicker manikin in his arms. Before she could get out the whole question, he stood the manikin to one side and claimed her mouth with a kiss.
She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him back, imbuing their embrace with the love she dare not admit to. Their first Christmas together would be their last.
When he finally broke their kiss, Jonathan made a dramatic gesture toward the wicker man.
“This,” he announced, “is Duke. I bought him from Calvin for ten quid.”
“You did?” she said faintly. “Why?”
He waved his fingers. “Calvin has others back home in his workshop. This one was created to the Duke of Nottingvale’s measurements so that all the prototypes would be ready to wear.”
“Fit for a Duke,” she said slowly. “A real duke.”
“The spit and image.” Jonathan patted the manikin’s wicker shoulder. “We won’t hold it against him.”
“But... why is it here?”
“Nottingvale agreed to everything! He’ll start printing the catalogues as soon as reasonable. He and Calvin will work out where to source materials for the apparel and who to employ for expedient production, and I will be off spreading the good word. I have news about your percentage, by the way.”
“They wouldn’t agree to fifteen percent?”
“You’ll have to make do with twenty. It was the best I could do.” He grinned at her.
Her heart skipped, then stuttered even faster.
“Duke is here to keep you company when I cannot,” he continued. “If you don’t like him, I’m told he can be excellent kindling for one’s fire. Very practical, this beast.”
“When you... cannot?” she stammered. “Does that mean you’ll be back sometime?”
“What if I said many times?” His gaze held hers. “Would that be all right?”
Her breath caught. “I... You...”
“I’ll primarily be traveling,” he warned. “Perhaps fifty weeks out of the year. But Nottingvale has made the very good point that people are otherwise engaged over the Yuletide, and should not be harassed by nagging salesmen decked in extremely fashionable ensembles. Which would give me a fortnight to spend with you.”
Her exhilaration faded.
“You want to spend every Christmas with me,” she said warily, “and only Christmas?”
“I’m willing to spend Christmas here,” he corrected. “And only Christmas. But the rest of the time, you can travel with me! The factory will produce all the lockets based on your designs. You won’t need to lift a finger. Now that you’re not anchored to this village anymore, there’s no reason to be in it at all!”
She gaped at him. He surely couldn’t mean…
“No reason,” she repeated carefully, “except the fact that I’ve dedicated seven years of my life to becoming part of a community, establishing my reputation, and making my store a stop worth seeing on every tourist’s visit to Cressmouth. I sacrificed precious years with my family because I want this. I
