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A Very Happy Christmas Indeed
by Dana Stevenson
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Romance/Historical Fiction

Copyright ©2006 by Doreen Rebh

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

A Very Happy Christmas Indeed

by

Dana Stevenson

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

A Very Happy Christmas Indeed

COPYRIGHT ©

2006 by Doreen Rebh

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

Cover Art by R.J.Morris

The Wild Rose Press

PO Box 706

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First English Tea Rose Edition, November 2006

Published in the United States of America

Theo Dennett placed his glass of wassail upon the mantel, crossed his arms about his chest and scowled. It was with reluctance that he'd agreed to attend his Aunt Celeste's Christmas celebration. He'd gone along with making merry, conversing by the fire, even partaking of a sampling of the wretched pudding pie. In the spirit of the season he'd consented to spending the weekend with her other eighteen houseguests. He'd even found the festivities surprisingly tolerable. That is of course until she arrived.

Diandra Cole. Just by the mere act of appearing, the dratted beauty had spoiled his evening. Dressed in a simple white frock that no doubt cost less than the other female guests’ stockings, she'd breezed into Celeste's country estate like a fresh breath of December air. There were no jewels draped upon her white throat, no elaborate feathers adorning her hair. In fact, unlike the other women, whose hair was done up in elaborate style, Miss Cole's chestnut locks were left free to fall softly against her shoulders and part way down her trim back.

Hadn't anyone told Miss Cole that hair stuffed with blasted feathers was all the rage this season? Didn't she realize her gown was outdated? That her throat was too bare? As he thought about it he realized the truth. Had she been told, no doubt the strong-willed Miss Cole wouldn't have cared.

Graceful as an ice queen, Diandra walked further into the drawing room, arresting every male's attention with her simple movements. Apparently unaware of the eyes upon her, she stopped to chat with Celeste, an easy uninhibited smile upon her face.

Theo's mood darkened. In an effort to arrange a suitable marriage for him, Celeste had invited the belles of London, the loveliest women of all society, and yet he barely noticed them.

Diandra, on the other hand, the one woman he didn't want to notice, was the one woman he did notice. She looked natural, unadorned and unfashionable, and yet it didn't matter. Damn her. She was still the most beautiful woman in the room.

“Your cousin's quite a lucky fellow.” A familiar voice spoke in Theo's ear. “Rumor has it he's about to be betrothed to Miss Cole."

Theo glanced toward his friend, Stephen St. James, who watched Diandra as hungrily as the other men in the room. If the rumors were true, his cousin Walter's engagement to Miss Cole would no doubt be announced this weekend. At this party. He supposed Diandra Cole would get what she had always wanted, a titled husband. By spring she'd become Lord Walter Sprout's wife.

“I fail to see how that makes my cousin lucky, Stephen,” Theo said. “I assure you, Miss Cole requires much in the way of attention."

Not to mention discipline.

Theo recalled the hours he'd spent with her, back when he'd been almost courting her. Surely at the time he must have been insane? He remembered that she'd laughed much too often for a typical female. She'd ridden like a hellion. She'd taken great pleasure in endless games of Casino and Faro. Taken great pleasure in endless games with his heart.

He pitied poor Walter. After all, what type husband would have the patience to put up with a wife such as Diandra? He certainly would not.

He ripped his gaze from the woman and turned to Stephen. “Trust me, once my cousin marries Miss Cole, he'll not know a day of peace for the rest of his life."

Or a day of boredom.

Annoyed by the peculiar thought, Theo nabbed another drink, brandy this time, from a passing footman. He took a hefty swig, and then another for good measure.

“Well, who needs peace when she's so lovely to look upon?” St. James took a sip of his wassail. He sighed, clearly smitten. “The lady is perfection. Pity she doesn't have a sister for you to wed, Dennett.” He seemed to think about it, scratched his head then added, “Or for that matter, one for me as well."

“There's a rather large obstacle in the way of your reverie.” Theo looked meaningfully toward Stephen's bride, Fortuna, who stood gabbing loudly with a partygoer in the center of the room and beckoning wildly at her husband to join her. “Or have you forgotten that you're already wed?"

Stephen heaved a sigh of regret. “Try as I might, I'm afraid Fortuna won't let me.” They both watched as Fortuna's motioning grew more vigorous. Resigned, Stephen placed his empty glass on the mantel and started toward his wife. “I suppose I'd better return to her side before apoplexy sets in."

Theo smiled as he watched his friend leave. His smile vanished however as he noted his aunt Celeste among the party guests. She clutched Miss Cole's wrist and looked frantically about the drawing room. He winced. He had a sinking suspicion he knew whom she searched for. An ugly chunk of something formed in his belly.

Apprehension? Fear? The odd sensation made him want to do something ridiculously absurd. He, who'd never backed away from adversity. Who'd faced no less than half a dozen men on as many different occasions at dawn for duels. Who'd been robbed at gunpoint and divested of his money and his coach. And who, although he had no horses because the thieves had taken them, had still given chase. On foot. He, who had never so much as flinched when faced with what other men found terrifying, considered running for the doors of the patio like a frightened schoolboy.

Noticing his rotund aunt and the delicately formed Miss Cole descending upon him, Theo fought the urge to step back and conceal himself amongst the holly boughs and potted Christmas greenery like a cowardly milksop.

He forced himself to stand fast. Remembering the reinforcement he held in his hand, he quickly drained the rest of his brandy. When he looked back again, his meddlesome aunt and the vexatious Miss Cole were standing in front of him.

“Well, there you are,” Celeste said. “I know you have been avoiding Miss Cole, so don't deny it, nephew.” She clutched Diandra's wrist tightly, giving Theo the impression that if not for the constraints of that vise-like grip, Diandra too would have run away.

“Come now you two, we're here to enjoy the holiday,” his aunt advised sagely. “We must put the past behind us."

Theo felt a muscle tense in his jaw. How could he put the past behind him when here it was blatantly being thrust in his face?

“Never mind that it was only just last Christmas that the two of you were lovebirds,” his aunt continued, oblivious to his warning glare. “Never mind that you were practically engaged."

On the word engaged, Diandra ducked her head and looked embarrassed.

Hah! At least she had the decency to do that. After all, it was she that had put an end to their ... their, whatever it had been. She who had said no to his proposal. It was Diandra that couldn't be bothered with any but a titled man. Well, she'd have her title now, he supposed. And his cousin Walter, the weak-willed dolt, would have a wife he'd never be able to control.

“You exaggerate, Aunt Celeste,” Theo said, careful to keep his tone steady. “It was never our intention to wed."

At least it had never been Diandra's intention. Hadn't she said as much their last night together? The night he'd spilled his guts like a besotted schoolboy? Presented her with his family's emerald and begged for her hand like a bloody, infatuated fool?

Still bitter, Theo hardened his gaze, focused it upon Dia and added, “And we were certainly never in love."

Dia seemed startled by this announcement. She lifted her head. And just as it had when he'd first met her all those months ago, her beauty struck him like a blow to the belly. It caused his traitorous heart to pound wildly in his chest. And hell, though he didn't want to, he couldn't stop himself. He studied her. Drank her in.

He noticed that her skin was still as smooth as it had been last Christmas and that her forest green eyes were still as bright. Her lips were full, lush and as berry-red as he remembered, which caused an insane question to form in his brain; were he to kiss her as he did last Christmas, would those lips still taste as sweet?

He frowned because, damn it, he knew the answer. They would.

“In fact, what I most remember from mine and Miss Cole's time together, Aunt Celeste,” he lied scornfully, keeping his gaze upon the younger woman. “Is that it was apparent she and I would never suit."

Diandra's smooth brow furrowed. He thought she looked wounded. As if he'd hurt her. Which was ridiculous. Obviously those few sips of brandy on top of the wassail had gone directly to his head.

“Well, that's very peculiar, Mr. Dennett,” she said softly. “Because I remember things differently."

What the hell did she mean by that?

Theo stared at her for a long, hard moment and she, stubborn, foolhardy woman that she was, stared back.

“Well, I must see to the other guests,” Celeste yammered, looking worriedly from Theo's face to Diandra's. “I promised we'd play pantomimes before the fire. Besides, you two have much to discuss."

Before Theo could stop her, his obtrusive aunt flounced away.

Dia never would have come if she'd known he'd be here. Not that she didn't want to see him. She did. Lived to see him in fact. Just not in such close proximity. How many times over the past year after all, had she ridden through Hyde Park hoping for a glimpse of Theo Dennett on the adjoining Rotten Row? Attended the opera, sitting discreetly amongst the masses, hoping she might spot him in his box? For a torturous year now, she'd loved him from a distance.

“Give it time, Dia,” her mama had promised, not unkindly. “You'll see, dearest. You'll forget."

But Dia hadn't forgotten. All the rest of that cold winter and into the spring, through the summer, the fall, she'd thought of Theo. Alone in her bed at night, she'd relived every word they'd ever spoken to each other, recalled the warmth in his gaze when he'd looked at her, remembered every plane of his handsome face.

She'd loved Theo Dennett with all her heart. Loved him still. And now that he was here, standing so close she could see the tiny lines at the corner of his blue eyes, so near that she could almost reach out and touch the grooves at the sides of his unsmiling mouth, she realized the humbling truth. She'd love him for the rest of her life.

With a small start, she realized she'd been staring. And he'd been staring back. It wouldn't do. She yanked her gaze from his.

Celeste's sudden departure had left an awkward silence. Apparently Theo had forgotten his manners, because he made no effort to fill it with small talk. But then another peek at his grim expression told Dia that he hadn't truly forgotten etiquette after all. He'd intentionally cast it aside. He wanted to make her uncomfortable. His posture was rigid, his expression aloof and she knew he was trying his best to appear bored. The hard glitter in his eye and the muscle that tensed in his jaw told her he felt something different however. Anger.

He could try to hide it, but she knew the truth. She'd hurt him. And knowing this made her own heart ache until she thought it might burst.

I'm sorry, Theo, she wanted to say. But of course, she didn't say it.

Instead, she bit her lower lip then looked around the drawing room. Due to Celeste's well-intentioned meddling they were forced to spend the weekend together. Dia knew that if they were to reach a civil arrangement, she'd have to ignore his hostility. A small price to pay, she supposed. She owed him that. Owed him that and more.

“The party is lovely,” she said, settling on what she hoped was a polite topic. “There are so many interesting people in attendance."

Theo straightened his shirt-cuffs, first one and then the other. “Really?” he said coolly. “I'm surprised you've noticed anyone but my cousin, Lord Walter."

Dia recognized the derision in his tone. She also recognized the emphasis on the word Lord. Last year at this time she'd told Theo she couldn't marry him. Unable to come up with an adequate excuse for refusing him, she'd stammered the only thing she could think of, that he had no title.

“Walter and I are good friends."

One of Theo's dark brows lifted. “Come now, Miss Cole, surely you consider Walter more than just your friend?"

“What are you implying, Mr. Dennett?"

He looked at her closely. Dia felt a burning warmth where his gaze rested upon her face. Her pulse quickened. Her heart beat faster. She was not surprised by her suddenly agitated state. Since their very first meeting, Theo Dennett's closeness had caused her body to react in heated ways.

“It is common knowledge, is it not?” he said. “You and Walter are about to become engaged."

Engaged! Why, she had no intention of becoming Walter's wife. True, he had been wonderful to her this past year. He'd been a kind and thoughtful friend. But she'd never considered marrying him. She'd come to terms with her situation long ago. She was unfit to be any man's wife.

“Mr. Dennett, I will not be marrying Walter. Or any other man for that matter."

It was painful to admit, but true. A life spent in solitude was her destiny.

Theo looked surprised. Then his torrid gaze lowered until she could feel it burn across her bodice. “You're hardly the type of woman meant to be a spinster,” he said, his voice husky.

Despite the inappropriate comment, or perhaps because of it, Dia felt a tingling sensation rush through her veins.

“Don't tell me your intention is to lead the man along then?” he asked. “Miss Cole, is this just another one of your heartless games?"

His words stung. She hated that he thought her cruel.

“I assure you, I am not heartless."

Oh, how she wished she could tell him the truth. Wished she could explain that her refusal to marry him last Christmas was for his own sake. She'd said no to spare him. But her mother's voice echoed in her ears, you must never tell anyone, Dia. They would not understand. Ashamed of her past, her burden, herself, Dia lowered her gaze.

“It was never my wish to harm you,” she murmured.

When she looked up again, she saw that he watched her intently, his brow furrowed.

“Have you been well, Mr. Dennett?” she asked finally, not just to fill the unpleasant pause, but because she truly wanted to know.

His eyes narrowed, as if he thought it a trick question, then his expression became unreadable once more. “I've been fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I see your mother headed toward us. I'll leave you to her."

Dia didn't want him to go. Not yet. Not ever. “Please, don't..."

He looked bemused. “Don't what?"

But there was no time to answer him.

“Diandra, come dear.” Her mother was suddenly at her side. She felt Louisa's hand firmly grip her elbow. The older woman did not spare a glance toward Theo. “Remember dearest, that you mustn't get too excited,” her mother said in a voice barely above a whisper. “It's not good for you.” And then louder, she said, “There's Miss Lowth in the corner. I told her we'd join her for refreshments."

Dia knew her mother was right. She shouldn't get excited. And being near Theo made her feel ... much more than that.

“Very well, Mama,” Dia relented to her mother's urgent pull. “I suppose we should go to her."

She looked once more toward Theo. His ice blue eyes seemed cool, his expression guarded.

“Good bye, Mr. Dennett,” she said politely.

He bowed his head then walked away without another word.

* * * *

Theo woke well before nine the next morning. Happy to eat alone, he headed to the dining room only to stop dead in the entrance. The immense room was empty save for one person who sat at the table some twenty-five feet away. Dia.

What was she doing up and about at this hour? He knew that most of the other guests were still in bed. The female ones would most likely sleep until noon, at which time they'd require their maids to help bathe, clothe, and groom them before they'd even dare to come out of their rooms.

And here was Dia, elbow on the table, chin in hand, casually reading the London Gazette, looking well-rested, refreshed and uncommonly beautiful in the bright light of day. He couldn't help but notice how the winter sun burst through the large windows of the room and fell on her bent head. Streaks of red and gold shone throughout her hair and Theo had the oddest urge to brush the heavy mass from her neck and kiss her there. Were the circumstances different, he might very well have been pleased with the sunshine, the season, the view.

But circumstances were what they were. He'd once cared very deeply for Diandra. She hadn't felt the same. And therefore, he had no wish to sit across from her now and worshipfully admire her perfection as she ate her morning meal.

Annoyed by his jumbled thoughts, he hated her, he cared for her, he was about to turn and leave when his aunt appeared by his side.

“Oh, good. You are here."

He backed his way out of the entrance before Dia could notice their presence. “And I was just leaving,"

“Well you can't leave now."

Proving that he could indeed do just that, Theo walked down the hallway. Celeste followed.

“You must entertain Miss Cole,” she said as if it were the most reasonable request in the world.

Theo shot her a look of incredulity. “I assure you, Madam, I must do no such thing."

“But you must! You must stroll with her this morning. Walter was meant to do it, but now the poor boy has taken to his bed. He never does well with the crisp, country air. You know his constitution is weak."

As was his mind, his body and his spirit.

“Pity for poor Walter. I, however, have other plans."

Celeste set her chins stubbornly. “Fine,” she said. “I'll have Lord Fane do it. Lord Fane requires the exercise at any rate. And he likes nothing better than to stroll with young girls."

It was a well-known fact that he liked to corner them in the shrubbery too. The thought of the fat earl stealing kisses from Dia made Theo frown. As much as he disliked her, he couldn't stomach the idea of Lord Fane's chubby hands upon Dia. He knew he'd have to protect her. One glance at Celeste's smug smile and he knew that she knew it too.

“Very well. I'll spend time with her. But only for half an hour,” he snarled. He turned back around and headed for the dining room.

He could have sworn he heard his aunt mumble gleefully behind him, “I dare say it will require only a fraction of that time."

Theo entered the dining room and stalked toward Diandra. Fine. He'd walk with her. But he wouldn't enjoy it! And under no circumstances would he make idle chitchat like an infatuated buffoon.

“My Aunt Celeste has suggested I join you for a stroll,” he said once he'd reached her.

“Really?” She put the newspaper down. “And you've agreed?"

He'd been bullied into it was more like it. He shrugged. “I could do with the fresh air."

She stood, obviously eager for company. “That's very kind of you, Mr. Dennett.” The smile she gave him was open and sweet.

Gad. Her pleasantness made him uncomfortable. She made it too easy to like her. He didn't want to like her. He mustn't forget that.

“Well, you'd better get your cloak. It's December after all."

She continued to smile, despite his gruffness. “Yes, I'll do that. It will just take a moment."

They met outside not five minutes later, Theo wearing his boots, buckskin pants and double-breasted riding coat, Dia in her red cloak and cape. Upon her head she wore a wide brim hat, decorated with white and red satin trimmings. Two ostrich feathers poked through the brim, one at the front and one at the side. Theo found her so lovely, that he had trouble pulling his gaze away from her face, which made him angry with himself all over again. Where the hell was his bloody resolve?

Well aware that he was behaving as immaturely as an adolescent, but nevertheless unable to stop himself, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and set off at a brisk pace down the graveled path. He felt Dia fall in step behind him, practically running in an effort to keep up. They continued at this pace as they entered the garden.

“Do you always walk so quickly, Mr. Dennett?” she panted, after a while.

Only when I want to get the chore over and done with, he thought. He almost said it, just to insult her. But then he felt an annoying something nag at him inside. A twinge of guilt. He rubbed the back of his neck. What kind of a cad made a woman run just to keep up with him? He was still a gentleman after all, was he not? Bothered by his childish behavior, he slowed his pace.

She fell easily in step beside him.

After a bit, he felt her steal a glance at his profile. “The weather's lovely today, don't you think?"

He didn't answer.

“Much warmer than yesterday. Though colder than the day before."

He made no reply.

“Walter and I planned to stroll the gardens this morning,” she continued good-naturedly. “That is, before he was feeling so poorly."

What kind of idiot, Theo wondered, when faced with the prospect of spending a morning with a woman as beautiful as Diandra, could not drag himself out of his bed?

“If the weather holds and he's feeling better, Walter promised that later on he'd take me for a carriage ride."

Talk of Walter this, and Walter that continued for several more minutes and caused Theo's blood to practically boil. Hadn't she noticed how much alcohol his cousin had consumed last evening? Carriage ride. Hah! She'd be fortunate if Walter could walk to the bloody stables without stumbling, let alone be sturdy enough to handle the reins.

“Do you plan on hunting today, Mr. Dennett?” she asked cordially.

“Yes.” He'd planned on exactly that.

Now however, a picture of Dia and Walter sitting cozily in a carriage had been planted in his brain. The notion of the delectable Miss Cole and Walter doing anything together made him feel frustrated and a little ... All right, he'd admit it, jealous. It made him want to strangle his unworthy cousin, who was no doubt still snoring, oblivious in his bed. Hunting no longer sounded appealing. Which was just as well as he wasn't certain he should be trusted with a gun in his hand.

“You're welcome to join us,” she said pleasantly.

He almost laughed out loud.

“I'm certain Walter would prefer it be just the two of you, Miss Cole. Perhaps my cousin might use your time together to his advantage and finally muster up the courage to propose."

She tilted her head and looked at him. “Propose what?"

“Why, marriage of course."

She sighed. “Mr. Dennett, I told you last evening, Walter and I are friends. We will never marry."

He gave her a sardonic smile. “Come now, Miss Cole, Walter has a title. The one thing you most desire in a husband, besides an adequate income of course, is a title."

She frowned. “Despite your belief, I am not so very calculating.” Her tone sounded annoyed.

His tone was even more so. “Oh, but I think you are. Wrenching a proposal from my cousin is your reason for attending this party. Admit it. I may have been victim to your ploys once, but I wasn't born yesterday."

She glanced at him. “Yes, it is obvious. You've had at least four decades on this earth."

Theo frowned. He stopped walking and looked at her. “I'm two and thirty."

“Two and thirty?” She had the nerve to sound surprised. She squinted and inspected him closely. “Truly? Hmmm. I thought you older.” She shrugged. “Oh well, perhaps it's the scowl."

Inwardly, Theo felt a smile. Outwardly, he narrowed his eyes. The glare he shot at her was a fierce one. He knew it. He fired it at servants and employees and random people whenever there was something he wanted done. It never failed to make the recipient scurry to either do his bidding or get out of his way. Miss Cole however seemed immune to his mood. In fact, she smiled sweetly at him, a teasing glitter in her eye.

“Perhaps it's the company that causes me to scowl?” he suggested.

She waved pleasantly to a couple passing through the garden in the opposite direction. Mrs. Willow, bundled in an ermine lined green cloak, had her hand placed lovingly upon her husband's forearm; with her other she returned the greeting.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Dia said. “The Willows are lovely people."

“It's not the Willows I speak of."

“The Geddings?” She inclined her head toward the husband and wife who were just now departing through the garden gate.

“I like them very well."

Dia began walking again and without thinking, Theo followed.

“The Ackworths? The Chiltons?” she asked, obviously feigning innocence.

“Are all very fine people."

Dia looked at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Well, is it me then that you speak of, Mr. Dennett? Am I not pleasant company?"

Her manner bordered on flirtatious. And God, she made him want her! Despite his will not to let her affect him, Theo felt hot blood rush through his veins.

Oh, she was pleasant. And at the same time, unpleasant. Spending time with Dia was like spending time with a fine painting. She was beautiful to look at, but she left Theo with a never-ending sadness. As much as he might admire the masterpiece, it wasn't his to take home.

“Depends upon your idea of pleasant,” he murmured.

“Agreeable,” she defined for him.

Dia agreeable? She had never been that. If she'd been agreeable, they'd be married now. He'd be her husband. Free to kiss her right here in the garden. Better yet, free on this cold, winter morning, to keep her captive in his warm bed.

But she'd refused his proposal. Even now, a year later, her words still stung as sharply as a slap to the face. I cannot marry you Mr. Dennett. My mother would not allow it. Why, you ... you have no title. Isn't that what she'd said?

And so they'd parted, her to find her titled husband and him to Hertfordshire to forget.

Only he hadn't forgotten. He'd remembered every last, tormenting, lovely thing about her. And now, one Christmas later, he was here with her in this garden, fighting the urge to let his icy heart melt beneath her teasing. Fighting the urge take her into his arms and finally cry out the question that haunted him, why didn't you care for me as much as I cared for you?

Dia's cheeks had grown rosy now in the brisk, December air. An aimless snowflake fell on her dark lashes. Theo wanted very much to brush it away. He made a fist until his nails dug into his palm instead.

“You weren't agreeable to marrying me,” he said bluntly, before he could stop himself. He'd thought the thought often enough, and now there, he'd said it aloud.

Her teasing smile vanished. The glitter in her eye was replaced by a glimmer of something else. Regret? “Not because I didn't want to,” she said softly.

A heavy sensation settled in his chest again, weighted there. It had been a constant companion this past year. If he were still a boy, he would have cried out, from frustration, from sadness. He might have even begged. But he was a grown man, so he gritted his teeth. “Then why?"

She looked suddenly flustered. “Please, do not ask me.” She began to walk again. “You would not understand."

“Perhaps if you answered my question. Tell me, Dia. Why?"

Her pace quickened. He followed her, down the stone stairs that led to the lower garden, her small steps no match for his. The sun's rays did not penetrate here through the full branches of the evergreens. In the lower garden, the air was crisper. Quieter. Obviously chilled, Dia clutched her cloak tighter about her chest. She moved so quickly that she was almost running in her effort to escape him.

As if he'd let her get away.

“Tell me,” he said, following her as she stepped behind the trellises that in springtime trained the roses. There, they were in solitude, away from any guests that might still wander the garden. “You owe me that, Dia.” He had to know the reason. He touched her arm. Why hadn't she loved him? “What did I do wrong?"

Finally, she turned to him and he watched as her expression crumbled. “Nothing,” she said. “You did nothing wrong. You did everything right. So right that for a little while, you made me think ... You made me almost hope...” She stopped and roughly wiped a tear from her cheek. It must have given her time to consider what she'd been about to reveal for she shut her mouth tightly.

She'd almost hoped what?

“Please,” she said, her voice a harsh whisper. “Please. There is no reason for you to think we could ever be together. There is no..."

He didn't wait for her to finish. With one step forward he was against her.

And before he knew it, her arms were about his neck pulling him down to her. Her fingers were in his hair.

Theo's hands fell to her waist and he tugged her forward. And at last, his mouth touched hers, his lips parting her lips, tasting her finally, finally getting for one moment more the taste of Dia. The feeling she gave him. The feeling he knew he couldn't live without.

I love you, he thought. And then realized, he'd said it aloud.

When he opened his eyes he read the same thought in her agonized expression, felt it as she touched the side of his face. He heard it in her voice when she tenderly whispered his name.

She loved him too. He knew it.

There is no reason for you to think we could ever be together, she'd said right before he'd kissed her.

“You're wrong,” he panted. “There is very good reason."

They stared at each other for a long moment. He noticed how her shoulders rose and fell with each heavy breath she took, how small puffs of white filled the air as she exhaled. Suddenly, voices could be heard in the distance.

She pulled away from him. “You don't understand. I must leave. I'm ... I'm not well."

Theo dropped his hands from her waist and watched her rush from the garden.

This time, he let her go.

* * * *

A quarter of an hour later, he found his aunt in the study, her head bowed as she worked at seating plans for that evening's meal.

“I'd like a word with you, Madam."

Celeste didn't bother to look up. “Oh. Are you back from your walk so soon?"

“I'm afraid Miss Cole concluded our stroll rather abruptly."

She looked up quickly, her expression more than a little concerned. “Is she not feeling well?"

Her reaction confirmed Theo's suspicions. “That's precisely what I'd like to know from you. You must tell me, is Miss Cole ill?"

Celeste's brow furrowed. “Really, Theo,” she said. “It is not my place to gossip of my guests and their situations.” She placed her pen in its holder, hurriedly slid the chart into the desk drawer. “Now if you'll excuse me, I must see to..."

“Is illness the reason she and Walter will not be married?” Theo asked, stopping her.

Celeste pushed back her chair and stood. “Don't be silly. Dia could never marry Walter. Walter's not the type man to ever understand her condi...” She stopped. Shut her mouth tight.

“You know something about Dia,” Theo said. His heart began to pound.

His aunt lifted her chin regally. “I know that she is a lovely young lady. Anyone that cannot see that for himself is blind."

Frustrated, Theo touched her arm. “What is this condition you speak of?"

“Theo, really. It is not my place to..."

“Did she refuse my proposal because she didn't care for me?” he asked. He'd had enough of these infernal secrets. He had to know the bloody answer. “Or because she did care for me?"

Celeste studied his features. “You must tell me of your feelings for her first."

The past year had been torture without her. Seeing her these last few days had been heaven. Hell. Those were his feelings regarding Diandra.

“I care for her,” he admitted.

Celeste made an exasperated sound and pulled away from him. “Yes, well you've cared for many young women in the past, have you not?” She crossed the room. “Left the poor dears to cry alone in their handkerchiefs too."

“Not this time. I will not leave her."

At the door, she turned back and looked at him. “How do I know what you say is true?"

Theo frowned. He was insane. He was a fool to profess it. No doubt this Christmas would be no different than the one before it. He'd get his heart trounced upon. But the devil of it was; he'd do anything for Dia.

“I love her,” he said.

Celeste grinned. “Do you swear it?"

“I just said as much, did I not?"

She clapped her hands like a giddy child. “Oh, I knew that you've always loved her!” She came back into the room. “And I know you still will even after you hear the truth."

* * * *

Dia closed the last of her suitcases. She watched as the footman took it away. She could not leave Celeste's home quickly enough.

“Dia, please, you must go easy,” her mother said, crossing the bedroom toward her. “I'm frightened too much excitement will cause you to fall again."

“Mother, it hasn't happened in two years. And even then, I knew it was coming. I knew enough to lie down."

“But you don't know how horrible it is to see you in such a state,” her mother insisted. “How you shake.” Louisa shuddered at the memory. “How your eyes roll. I know you don't like to hear it dearest, but you are..."

“An aberration,” Dia finished for her. “I'm very aware of that, Mother."

Louisa sighed. “I want what is good for you, that is all. And that is why it is best that we leave. You finish packing. I'll see to our carriage.” With one last concerned look toward her daughter, Louisa left the room.

Dia walked to the window. Outside, the sky had turned gray. The branches of the leafless trees bent and bowed in the wind. The ground, so lush and green in the springtime now looked barren and chilled. She felt an empty coldness inside of her too and fought back tears. She hugged her arms tightly about her chest, for it hurt so badly that she thought her heart might surely break. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving Theo again, of hurting him again. But how could she stay?

Wiping a tear from her cheek, she turned from the window and gasped aloud. A tall figure stood in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Mr. Dennett!” Her heart soared.

“Do you think me a coward, Miss Cole?"

She put her hand to her throat. “I ... I don't think you a coward."

He came into the room, his steps purposeful. “I'll have you know, I've crossed the ocean in a rickety ship. I've faced Indians in the jungle, scornful mamas in the parlor, and vengeful husbands at dawn for duels. There is not a condition or illness strong enough to keep me from you."

Someone had told him of her falling sickness? It was obvious he knew the truth! Why was he here then? Didn't it matter?

Ashamed of her shortcoming, she could barely stand to look at him. “So now you know it. I am not perfect."

He looked at her gravely. “This will no doubt come as a great surprise to you, my love, but neither am I."

Despite herself, she smiled. No, he was not perfect. He was stubborn as a mule, as temperamental as a child when he did not get his way. She adored him in spite of it.

“Mr. Dennett, I am ... I am...” She'd never said it aloud before, but she did so now, for him. She couldn't let him care for her. “Flawed."

Undeterred, he took a step closer. Then another. “As am I."

Did he not understand what she was telling him? “I've had seizures. They may come again. There may be times in the future when I ... fall."

Gently, he touched her shoulder. “And I shall catch you."

Oh, she wanted to believe him.

It was unlikely that her condition would worsen, but it was possible, so she had to tell him. “There may come a time when I cannot feed myself. Bathe myself."

“Then I shall feed you. And as your husband, I will do my duty.” He smiled wickedly. “I will bathe you as well."

Something inside of her melted. “Oh, Mr. Dennett."

He moved closer, until the tips of his large boots touched the tips of her slippers. Then he bent his head.

“Damnation woman, call me Theo."

She smiled into his eyes. “Theo."

His gaze softened and fell upon her face like a tender caress. And she realized, he truly did know her. And he loved her, despite her flaws.

“Marry me, Dia. To hell with our imperfections."

She touched his determined jaw. “There is nothing I'd love better than to become your wife."

Downstairs, the guest's voices rang out with holiday cheer. Outside, a storm began. Flakes of snow, unique and perfect fell to the ground and blended together in flawless white.

“Happy Christmas,” Dia whispered to her beloved.

Theo pulled her closer. He kissed her forehead then her cheek, and finally her lips.

“Happy Christmas Dia,” he murmured. Then he smiled. “A very happy Christmas indeed."