“I’m sorry too. ’Twas unkind of me to suggest you are anything but honorable.”
“And ’twas boorish of me to suggest what I did about you.” He reached for my hand but then appeared to remember we were on a public street and pulled back, squeezing his gloved hand into a fist. “I cannot bear the look in your eyes when I disappoint you, Libby. In the church, when you looked at me, I felt—” He swallowed and shook his head. “’Tis the worst feeling you can imagine.”
I longed to smooth away the worry lines around his mouth and eyes with my fingers. I felt my face soften.
“’Tis just—” He paused.
“’Tis what, Henry?” Cold snowflakes landed on my face and melted, but I did not mind. They gathered on Henry’s shoulders and the top of his hair, but he did not seem to mind either.
“’Tis just,” he started again, “I did not like seeing you in his arms.”
A tender smile lifted the edges of my mouth. Henry had been jealous of Lieutenant Addison.
“The way you smiled at him and laughed with him ...” He looked away for a moment as his blue eyes filled with the storm clouds that had darkened his countenance the night before. “I allowed it to ruin our evening, and I’m truly sorry.”
I took a step closer to him, ignoring the other people on the street, and said, “You have nothing to be jealous of, Henry.”
The storm clouds cleared as he studied my face, caressing it with his gaze. “Aye?”
I nodded, my heart singing. “Aye.”
He reached out and touched my hand for a heartbeat, his smile filling his handsome face. “May I come tonight, Libby?”
I nodded again, unable to find my voice.
“I will see you this evening, then.”
My own smile met his. “Merry Christmas,” I whispered.
“Merry Christmas.”
I turned, not wanting to walk away from him but knowing I was needed at home. My feet felt light as they carried me up Duke of Gloucester Street, and for the first time all day, I truly felt merry.
Our sitting room was full of laughter and good cheer, as mulled cider and ale were shared liberally with everyone who gathered. Mariah had made lemon tarts, apple puffs, minced meat, and figgy pudding, having laid aside the ingredients for weeks in preparation for this feast. Everything was set upon the table, which had been pushed to the edge of the room. Abraham played a fiddle while our guests danced and sang. We played blindman’s bluff and other games.
And still, Henry did not come.
I gave Mama a new piece of lace, and together we gave Rebecca and Hannah new dolls. To Mariah, I gave a collection of poems, and to Abraham, a new corn pipe. Louis and Glen were given money, which Mama and I presented to them before the party began.
Our neighbors and friends brought food and small trinkets, and Mister Goodman brought us a whole roasted turkey, which we added to the feast.
Finally, when I thought he would not come, Henry appeared at the door. In all the noise and commotion, I had not heard him knock, but Mariah had.
He entered the sitting room, a bit of uncertainty in the carriage of his shoulders. I was on the opposite side of the room, and Mama went to him first. He was so handsome in his fine blue waistcoat and black breeches. He far outshone anyone else in the room in both presence and style, though he did not appear aloof or proud. On the contrary, he was humble and respectful as he greeted Mama, handing her a bottle of some kind.
Part of me would have been quite content just to sit and watch him all evening—but the other part wanted to be near him, to hear his voice and to look into his eyes.
His gaze circled the room and stopped when it found me. He smiled, and somehow it felt as if everyone had disappeared and it was only me and him in the room.
He walked across the floor to where I was standing near the front window. Outside, the snow continued to fall and was piling up around the house. Wassailers were on the street again, and some had stopped by to sing and greet those within our home.
“Libby.” He took my hand. “I’m sorry to be so late. I tried to get away, but Father and Mother are alone, and it was hard to leave them.” He didn’t let go of my hand.
“Thank you for coming.”
“’Tis a lively party.” He finally released my hand and turned to survey the room. “Nothing like the quiet celebration I just left.” There was something melancholy in the way he spoke about his parents and home.
Abraham started to play a reel, and the others gathered in the center of the room to dance.
