Twelve Days in December: A Christmas Novella by Michele Paige Holmes Page A

“Whatever have you bought?’
    “Things little boys need— from new mittens and knickers to blocks and a rocking horse. This shall be a Christmas to remember.”
    Charlotte hugged herself to keep from throwing her arms around William once more and burying her face in his neck and bursting into tears. “How—” She turned away, waving a hand in front of her face, as if that would somehow ward off the moisture spilling from her eyes.
    “What is it? What is wrong?” William was beside her at once, his hands on her shoulders, and he turned her gently to face him.
    “Nothing is wrong. Everything is right, ” Charlotte said, realizing she made no sense at all. Too right. “Only how am I supposed to repay you when you are always doing kindness after kindness for us? You have everything to give, and I have nothing.”
    He walked to the parlor doors and shut them, then gathered her in his arms, where she cried, as she had feared she would.
    “You gave me everything when you married me,” William insisted a few minutes later when her tears were spent. He led them both to the settee.
    “You saved Vancer Furs. Without a wife, I would have lost an important inheritance— one that is already financing expansion to the west— something I must do if I wish to remain in competition with both Astor and Hyde.”
    “But that didn’t cost me anything,” she sniffled. “It was easy.”
    “Was it?” He took her hand in his, caressing the back of it with his thumb. “I believe it cost you plenty to say ‘I do,’ a second time— to a man you don’t love and barely know.”
    “You mustn’t say that.” She lifted her tear-stained face to his. “I do know you. A better man I could not have found, and I—”
    “Careful,” he advised, stopping her. “Don’t say anything that you will regret later— anything you are not sure of. Honesty between us is all that I require now. I would not wish to hear something that isn’t truthful.”
    He was right, of course. Charlotte pressed her lips together, to keep them from speaking the thoughts swirling through her mind. She loved Matthew. Always, she would love Matthew, and she never wanted that to change, did she?
    She and William had something different— a mutual friendship and respect, and she needed to be content with that. Marrying each other had not been a first choice for either; that it was working out so well needn’t alter anything else— past or future.
    She swallowed the regret that came with these sensible thoughts and tugged her hand carefully from his.
    With a smile she did not quite feel, she clasped her hands together and stood, determined to be content and grateful for all she had.

December 24
     
    “It is the loveliest tree I have ever seen,” Charlotte exclaimed for at least the tenth time as she stood back to admire their handiwork. During the afternoon hours, she and William had been busy tying ribbons and carefully placing candles— from one of the many boxes he’d brought home yesterday— upon the tree.
    The fresh pine scent engulfed the room, and Charlotte felt that if she but closed her eyes she would find herself a little girl again, trudging with her father through the forest near their home in France as they searched for the perfect tree.
    As if he’d read her mind, William promised, “Next year you and Alec can come with me to help find the tree. And we will plan ahead and make an outing of it, so it is not a before-dawn-until-dark expedition as was yesterday’s.”
    Next year. “You cannot know how good it feels to hear that,” Charlotte said, bestowing a smile of gratitude upon him.
    William chuckled. “If it means that much to you, perhaps we should get a tree for every holiday.”
    “I was not speaking of the tree.” Charlotte clasped nervous hands in front of her, half-wishing she had contained her thoughts. But now that she had spoken she must explain herself. “Knowing that we shall still be here next Christmas, and the one