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“The swelling is down considerably. It only pains me if I move too quickly. Perhaps it is not as badly sprained as it first appeared. Or your poultices are particularly effective.”

She smiled. “I am so glad. You shall be back at your forge in no time. It must bore you to lie about.”

William beckoned her closer and took her delicate hand in his. Staring into her eyes, he murmured, “Not when you are here.”

She bit her lip before smiling again. “I ought to prepare our meal.”

Reluctantly, he let her hand go. “Be quick,” he implored.

With a nod, she disappeared into the kitchen. William lay back with a contented sigh, whistling the tune of the carol Caroline had sung in his dreams. Once they were wed, she would always be within reach. They would share evenings by the fire, advise one another on their respective trades, and one day, God willing, raise flaxen-haired daughters with hazel eyes who would giggle beneath Christmas boughs.

He breathed deeply, awash in contentment. It must be the magic of the season. Or, perhaps, the magic of her.

When Caroline returned with a tray laden with food, he swung his legs down. “I feel ashamed to watch you toil while I lie about like a lazy oaf.”

She giggled, setting the tray down. “Word about town is that you ought to lie about more often. I hear you work far too many hours.”

“I was filling my days. Too many thoughts I wished to avoid.”

She froze. “You work to avoid your thoughts?”

“I did. But now I plan to turn over a new leaf.”

“Why?”

“Why change?”

She nodded.

William exhaled and rubbed at his beard. “I had a younger cousin. My uncle—the blacksmith before me—was his father.”

“Had?”

He nodded. “Charles and I went to fight Napoleon together.”

“He died?”

“He did. His parents were devastated.”

“And you? How did you feel?”

William huffed. Of course she would ask the very question he avoided. “He was my closest friend. And I watched him die.”

Caroline was quiet, her lip caught between her teeth. Then she crossed to sit beside him and placed her delicate hand over his.

“I am sorry.”

“You have brought me more comfort than you could possibly comprehend.”

“Me?”

“Every night since his death, I have dreamed of Charles. But last night … when you told me to count my blessings … the dream changed. I saw his sacrifice not as a loss, but a gift. I realized that by focusing on grief, I had failed to honor him. I must live—for the both of us.”

She looked down at their clasped hands.

“You are a good man, William. You deserve to live a full life.”

He released her hand only so he could pull her into his arms. Breathing in the familiar vanilla and peppermint of her hair, he murmured, “What have you brought us to eat?”