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When they finished eating, she offered him a second helping, which he accepted. Carrying their plates to the back room, she replenished his fondly. A large man like William clearly needed far more sustenance than she. Chuckling to herself, she carefully arranged some choice cuts of chicken and laid a generous wedge of mince pie beside them. She hummed softly as she poured more tea, then returned to the sitting room with the tray, setting it down with care.

Moving about the room, she straightened pillows and stoked the fire in the hearth. She had grown accustomed to his home, and the thought of leaving it behind—to return to her silent rooms—was depressingly bleak.

“Do you have someone to take care of you in the morning?”

William stretched his neck, rubbing one shoulder. “One of my apprentices will come by to check on me. I am hoping Dr. Hadley will give me permission to walk when he visits. The swelling has gone down quite a bit. I hope a second look will reveal that the sprain was not as bad as we feared.”

Caroline wandered over, bending to peer at his ankle before gently probing it with her fingers. “It certainly is better than when I first arrived.”

He nodded, then said hesitantly, “If you sit with me, I can read to you.”

She took her seat beside him, and he reached for the book he had left on the table.

“What will you read me?” she asked, settling in.

“It is Christmas,” he said, “so I thought I would read verses from popular wassails.”

Throwing out an arm, he drew her close into the crook of it, resting his head lightly against hers. Reaching around her, he held the little book open and began to recite. The timbre of his voice stirred something gentle and unexpected within her, a warmth that settled behind her ribs and refused to leave.

Huzza, Huzza, in our good town

The bread shall be white, and the liquor be brown

So here my old fellow I drink to thee

And the very health of each other tree.

Well may ye blow, well may ye bear

Blossom and fruit both apple and pear.

So that every bough and every twig

May bend with a burden both fair and big

May ye bear us and yield us fruit such a stors

That the bags and chambers and house run o’er.

As he turned the page to find another, Caroline’s eyes drifted shut. She surrendered to the crackle of the fire, the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, and the warmth of his voice washing over her like balm.

This is what true happiness must feel like.

Soon, it would end. But until then, she would hold tight to the promise of returning. Of spending next Christmas with him again. The season could not come soon enough once she returned to the silence of her everyday life.

After reading for some time, William finished and reluctantly shut the book.

Caroline slowly opened her eyes and sat up, forcing him to relinquish his embrace. “I suppose I must replace your poultice, provide you some supplies, and then head home.”

Her usually cheerful voice held a sad intonation as she rubbed her eyes.

William licked his lips, wishing he could prolong their time together. “Must you leave so soon?”

“I am not sure when my landlady will return, and I should be there when she arrives to avoid questions about where I have been.”

His throat thickened with emotion as she stood and moved away. Their time was ending, and the only promise he had secured was that she might return a year from now.

The intelligence that had built his business deserted him in the face of desperation to keep her with him—even a minute longer.