“Do what you must, son, to secure your future and your happiness.”
Rhys understood what he must do.
And what he was going to do wasn’t a noble deed to win or earn Tilly.
It was simply to give her what her heart desired.
And if her heart desired to share that future with him, then it was her choice.
The point was Tilly was free to choose.
And if she chose not to share her future with him, then he would be wretched and bereft, but he would have given her something her heart truly desired.
And his heart would just have to find a way to make that outcome suffice.
15
Christmas Day
This Christmas, Tilly decided, was a right lackluster affair.
And not for want of trying.
She’d done everything this year that she’d done in past years—changed out the greenery in the drawing room…hung the mistletoe…lit the Christmas candles…laid the Yule log last eve. Further, her gifts had been met with nothing less than delight by their recipients. There was Isabel wearing the delicate gold earbobs that perfectly complimented her late ma’s locket she always wore… Lord Percival packing tobacco into the walnut pipe she’d found at Fribourg & Treyer… Lucy playing tug with her new spaniel puppy, Bonnie, who looked the sweetest thing wearing her silver-studded collar. Lucy had tied a big red bow to it, which Bonnie kept trying her best to paw off.
Later today, they would all make the journey across the duke’s manse to the east wing to take part in Christmas festivities with the whole of Lord Percival’s family, including his brother and wife, the Marquess and Marchioness of Exeter; their five boys, ranging in age from twenty-something to ten or so, and for whom, Tilly, of course, had gifts; and the Duke and Duchess of Arundel, who always gave Tilly a present. Last year, it had been the prettiest enameled hand mirror she’d ever seen.
It all should’ve combined to produce the atmosphere of holiday festivity and fun that she so loved.
But as she sat on the chair nearest the window for light, flipping through the book Isabel had given her on the culture of the Indian subcontinent—she reckoned she had been asking quite a lot of questions about the Royal Pavilion in Brighton—none of that usual delight accompanying the spark of discovery fired through her.
And she knew why.
Choice.
She’d made some choices that had landed her in this spot of despair.
Of course, the choice that had pushed it all into motion was that choice to have a little wild night at a masquerade ball.
Then it was one choice made after another—the choice to hold onto an earl’s fancy signet ring and teach his son a few life lessons…the choice to kiss Rhys…the choice to make love with him…
And now, she was left with no choice but to miss him.
That was new.
Just as she’d never chosen a man before, she’d never missed one, either.
A knock sounded at the door, to which Tilly paid little mind.
“You may enter,” said Isabel without looking up from Lucy and Bonnie.
Irwin entered, but a second set of footsteps had Tilly glancing over—and her heart heaving a great thump and tumbling over itself inside her chest.
She hadn’t known a heart could do that.
But then, until a month ago, she hadn’t known much about the heart.
Though she couldn’t rightly say she knew much more about it now, except for one thing—it was terrible at communicating what it wanted, and then when it didn’t get what it had secretly wanted all along, it became sore and achy and unable to enjoy anything.
