Ewan sat back, watching as Charlotte and her mother sprinkled oil and wine on the massive yule log that had been brought into the house under great fanfare just after Christmas Eve supper had ended. As the two women leaned in at once, they knocked heads, to the uproarious laughter of the rest of the group.
“Oh, we are not good choices for this job!” Charlotte giggled as she shot Ewan a look and rubbed her head. “Gracious, Ewan, children could do better.”
“So long as you two don’t manage the lighting and burn the house down, I think we are fine,” Baldwin teased as he ladled another cup of Christmas punch into his glass. “But perhaps give Matthew and Aunt Mary the salt to finish the garnishing.”
The Duchess of Sheffield nodded and wrapped her arm around her daughter as the two of them made their way back to Baldwin, giggling and whispering with every step. Ewan’s heart swelled at the sight of Charlotte so happy, so carefree. He hadn’t been certain it would be like that after their trip to the village and the tense and passionate ride home.
But in the hours since, she had placed no pressure upon him. She’d left him to his friends until supper, where she’d participated in conversation and even translated so he did not have to bring out his notebook during the meal. And now she caught Baldwin’s hands and tried to encourage him to dance as their mother began to play a lively tune as the yule log preparations were finished by Ewan’s aunt and cousin.
No, she said and did nothing to make her case…except be exactly who she was. Except make him smile and free his heart from the chains he’d felt bind it all his life. All she did was draw him in with her playful, light spirit that made everything seem…perfect.
She had made her last stand in the carriage. He understood that now. She had reiterated what she wanted, and now the future was left to him. A future he had told himself for years that he could not have. And yet as she spun, making even serious Baldwin laugh at her merriment, he wanted that future more than anything in this world.
More to the point, he felt he deserved it, perhaps for the first time ever. Charlotte was an impeccable judge of character, so she would never offer her heart to a man unworthy of it.
He sighed as Aunt Mary and Matthew finished salting the yule log. They stepped back and his aunt motioned for him.
“I think we’ve seasoned it enough. Your Grace, will you do us the honor of lighting our way?”
Ewan nodded and stepped forward. He moved to light the log, but before he could, Aunt Mary touched his arm. The Duchess of Sheffield stopped playing and Charlotte and Baldwin moved toward the family.
“My love, despite holding your title for three long years, this is your first Christmas in this home, and I have one gift for you tonight.” She picked up a small, prettily stitched bag from a nearby table, and from it she withdrew three shards of burned wood.
“What is it?” Ewan signed, and Charlotte stepped even closer to translate his words for the rest.
Sudden tears filled Aunt Mary’s eyes. “Tradition says that we light the yule log with the remnants of the previous year’s offering. But these are not from last year’s lighting.” She took a ragged breath. “These are from your uncle’s final Christmas.”
Ewan stared at the three little scraps of wood and then up to her face. He didn’t sign nor write anything. It seemed he didn’t have to.
Mary touched his arm. “He was so ill then, I knew we had so very little time left. So I saved shards for yours and for Matthew’s fire, as well. If he ever…” She cast an apologetic look toward her son. “If you ever feel ready to wed, my love, you and your bride can start your holiday with these, as well. Orwheneveryou would like them.”
Matthew moved forward. To Ewan’s surprise, his cousin’s eyes were misted with tears. He slung an arm around Ewan, and together they reached out to touch those remnants, little pieces of the life they had lost and all still mourned.
Ewan nodded and took the pieces. He signed, “Thank you. Thank you.”
Charlotte sucked in a breath, her voice thick with tears. “He says—”
“I know what he says, dearest,” Mary said as she lifted to her tiptoes to buss Ewan’s cheek. “I know.”
He returned the kiss, then stepped forward with the shards in hands. Carefully, he used them to light the yule log. Everyone watched as the flames took hold, and suddenly the log flared forth, brightening and warming the room almost instantly. As the rest of them oohed and ahhed, Ewan glanced at Charlotte once more. She was wiping her eyes, smiling and weeping at once. Her face reflected all he felt inside. In this height of emotion, he felt a draw to her. A need to reach for her hand.
And it was rising with every moment. He squeezed Matthew’s shoulder and his aunt’s hand, then held up a finger to say he needed a moment. He slipped from the room, feeling their eyes upon him. Knowing he should explain. That what he was doing was abominably rude. Not caring in that moment. Not able to care because his emotions were bubbling and there would come a moment when he would be unable to hide them.
He pushed through the halls, blind to everything around him and into his study. He shut the door behind him as he moved to his desk. There he leaned, trying to catch his breath, trying to regain control over himself.
There was a light knock behind him and he turned, ready to see Charlotte standing there. Ready for her to push him over the precipice he was so delicately balanced on now.
But it wasn’t her. It was his aunt. She met his eyes, and in her soft gaze he saw every time she had tended his wounds, physical or something deeper. He saw every time she had spoken kindly to him, or helped him communicate when he was frustrated by his inability to do what came so naturally to everyone else. She was his mother, really—far more than the one who had born him and abandoned him when her husband gave the order.
She shut the door behind herself and motioned him to the fire. He hesitated, then trudged over to join her there. As he settled into his place, she took his hand. “Did I go too far?” she asked. “With the yule log?”
He shook his head swiftly and dug into his pocket. He scribbled, “No! That was the most meaningful gift you could have ever given me. I will always know that this house’s yule log is watched over by my uncle. Thank you so very much.”
She sighed, almost in relief, and then her hawkish gaze speared him again. “Very well, thenitis not the high emotion of the gift.”
“It?” he wrote, though he knew full well to what she referred.
She speared him with a glance he knew far too well. The look she’d given him if she suspected him of lying and was ready to demand the truth. He’d seen it a dozen times as a boy and he’d never been very good at keeping things from her. But in this case, the truth was more complicated.
