The orchestra had arrived. Their instruments were laid out on the small dais in one corner of the ballroom. They were probably belowstairs, feasting on goose and stuffing.

A few servants were busy in the refreshment room beyond the ballroom. Peter wandered through there to chat with them. His only real concern about the ball had been his realization that the extra work would be a burden on the resident servants and would necessitate the hiring of more. But he had discovered when he asked that the prospect of serving at a grand ball at Sidley excited them all-even before they knew that he was doubling all their wages for both today and tomorrow. And tomorrow he would also present them all with a Christmas bonus that was more generous than usual.

And then he could hear that some other people-relatives and guests from the house-had arrived in the ballroom and he went back in there to speak with them. Soon now the first of the outside guests would arrive. He would greet them all at the ballroom door with his mother and Barbara and Clarence.

It was, he realized fifteen minutes later as he shook hands with Mr. Mummert and bowed to Mrs. and Miss Mummert, complimenting them both on their appearance and thanking them all for coming, the first time he had stood in a receiving line. It was the first time he had been the host of such an event.

It would not be the last, by Jove.

The party from Fincham was almost the last to arrive. Lady Markham came along the line with Theo, and Peter greeted them heartily. His mother and Lady Markham, he noticed, nodded civilly to each other. Edith and Morley followed and then Colonel and Mrs. Osbourne. Susanna came last with her maternal grandfather.

Peter discovered that his heart was thudding so hard in his chest that he could actually hear it.

She was wearing the same green gown she had worn to the assembly in Somerset and to the concert in Bath Abbey. Her hair was brushed into soft curls, some of which were held in place by a little pearl tiara, which matched her pearl necklace. The pearls looked glossy and new and were, he would be willing to wager, a Christmas gift from one or more of her grandparents. Perhaps the delicate ivory fan she carried in one gloved hand was from the other.

Her cheeks were flushed but her eyes were downcast. She was not smiling. She would rather be anywhere else on earth than where she actually was, Peter guessed. Perhaps she would never forgive him for this. Perhaps she would always remember it as one of the worst evenings she had ever spent.

“It is good to see you again, sir,” he said, bowing to the Reverend Clapton, who beamed genially back at him. “And you too, Miss Osbourne.”

She raised her eyes briefly to his.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said.

There was no one coming along directly after them. He spoke up before he should, perhaps, miss the opportunity.

“Will you honor me by dancing the second set with me?” he asked. “And the first waltz?”

He would dance the last one with her too-he hoped.

Her grandfather beamed even more jovially.

She hesitated for only a fraction of a moment.

“Thank you,” she said. “That will be pleasant.”

He would have asked for the opening set, but he would not embarrass her by singling her out so notably before all his family and neighbors. He would open the ball with Barbara.

The Reverend Clapton was bowing to his mother and smiling as he exchanged civilities with her. Peter was more than ever convinced that the name Whitleaf meant nothing to the gentleman-or to the Osbournes.

But Susanna’s eyes were downcast again as she curtsied, and he could feel his mother stiffen.

“Miss Osbourne,” she said, “how delightful that you are staying at Fincham at just this time. Do enjoy the ball.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Susanna said without looking up at her.

It must have been an excruciating moment for each of them, Peter thought. Was he quite, quite mad to believe that he could ever marry Susanna and live happily-ever-after with her? But no, he had already decided that he did not believe in happily-ever-after. And he had already decided too that he would fight for happiness.

The moment was past, and both ladies were still in the ballroom, and both were smiling.

“Peter.” Barbara linked an arm through his. “It is surely time to start the dancing. I am quite unwilling to delay any longer since I am to dance the opening set with my handsome brother. I will be the envy of every other lady in the room.”

He laughed as he led her onto the floor, to the head of the set that soon formed for the first country dance. Suddenly he felt lighthearted and filled with hope. It was Christmas, after all, the time of year most devoted to hope and new dreams and love.

“I am amazed to see Susanna Osbourne here,” Barbara said. “Do you remember her? Her father was that unfortunate secretary of Sir Charles’s who took his own life. We were always discouraged from having anything to do with her because her father was basically a servant, though Edith played with her all the time. And yet I always believed there was something of a friendship between Mama and Mr. Osbourne.”

“I met her only once as a child,” Peter said. “But I met her again this past summer at John Raycroft’s and again during the autumn at the wedding breakfast in Bath I attended with Lauren and Kit.”

“Did you?” she said with interest.

And then she glanced at Susanna, who was being led onto the floor by Theo, and looked back at him more sharply.

“Oh, did you!” she said.


Susanna reflected in some wonder on the fact that until the end of August she had never attended a single ball or assembly, whereas now she had been to two, and she had waltzed in the Upper Assembly Rooms in Bath.

And tonight she even had her grandmother as her chaperone and one grandfather to smile kindly at each of her prospective partners and another to frown suspiciously at them.

Although half the guests were clearly members of the ton and might have intimidated her a few months ago, all of them were just as clearly prepared to enjoy themselves. And the other half of the guests were what she thought of as ordinary people. They reminded her of Frances’s neighbors whom she liked so well.

The ballroom, heavily laden with Christmas greenery and decorations, was breathtaking. Even without the decorations it would be a lovely room, she guessed. It was amazing that she had lived so close to Sidley for twelve years without once even so much as seeing the house.

She would have been enjoying herself enormously, she thought at the end of the fourth set as the very young and eager Mr. Flynn-Posy led her back to her grandmother’s side, if only…

Ah, her life had been blighted with if-onlys since the summer.

She would forget them for tonight. She would simply enjoy herself. She had already danced four sets in a row-one of them, a set of vigorous country dances, with Peter. The next set was to be a waltz.

She would not even think of it as the last waltz.

“You dance so prettily, Susanna,” her grandmother said, taking her by the hand and drawing her down to sit beside her. “And you are so pretty. How proud I am of you, and how happy to have lived to see this day.”

And then Peter was there again, bowing and smiling and charming her grandmother, and finally turning to her and holding out one hand.

“This is my waltz, I believe, Miss Osbourne,” he said.

And then once more they were waltzing. Except that this time, though she smiled into his eyes and smelled his cologne and felt the exhilaration of every step they took, she did not lose herself in the dance. This time she was aware of his home about them and his family and neighbors. She was aware of her own family and almost wept at the novelty of the thought. She was aware of her friends-and the Markhams and Morleys were her friends and always had been. She did not know what Lady Markham had meant in that long-ago snippet of conversation she had overheard outside the nursery, and she had not asked, but she knew now that Lady Markham had always cared for her and would have somehow continued to do so. It really must have been a burden to be left so suddenly with an orphan child and not to know what to do with her.

And she was aware of Christmas, that season of love and family and peace and generosity.

It was all, she thought, simply magical.

“A penny for them,” Peter said as they twirled about a corner, and she remembered that he had said that to her once before, after their walk to the waterfall. She had been feeling melancholy then.

“You do belong here,” she said. “I am so glad I have seen you here in your own proper milieu. I think your dream is within your grasp.”

He smiled as he twirled her again-and somehow they ended up outside the ballroom doors, and he was taking her by the hand and striding purposefully off with her in the direction of the hallway. Except that they did not go all the way there, but stopped outside a closed door, which he opened, and then proceeded inside before he closed the door firmly behind them.

It was a library, she could see, a beautiful, cozy room dimly lit by a fire burning in the hearth and a single branch of candles on the mantel.

“Peter?” she said. “The waltz? My grandparents…”

“…know that I am bringing you here,” he said. “At least, your grandfathers do, and I suppose your grandmother does too. She smiled very sweetly at me in the receiving line.”

He released her hand and strode over to the fire and busied himself with poking it into fresh life.

Susanna went a little closer herself and sat on the edge of a chair.

Her grandparents knew?

But they did not know…

He straightened up and stood gazing into the fire, his back to her. She waited for him to speak. And she ached with love for him. And with a knowledge of his kindness, his tenderness, his passion, his very essence.

“My mother drove your father to his death,” he said.

Ah, so he knew? But surely he had not known two days ago.

“He killed himself, ” she said. “He might have made a different choice.”

“She has lived with remorse ever since,” he said, “a fact that does not, of course, excuse what she did. I love her, Susanna. I always have, and I always will. Love, I have discovered, does not judge. It just is.”

“My mother and my father did dreadful things,” she said. “Among other things they broke the hearts of my grandparents. They caused the death of my uncle. But I have always loved them both though I never knew my mother.”

“What I mean,” he said, resting one hand on the high mantel and dipping his head forward, “is that I will never renounce her, Susanna. I will always visit her, and she will always be welcome here, though it will not be her home for much longer. We will be finding somewhere for her to live in London. If I were ever asked to choose between her and you, I would not do it. I would refuse. One cannot choose between love and love. One can choose only by judging one choice better, more worthy, than the other.”

She swallowed.

“Peter,” she said, “you do not have to make a choice. I am going back to school in a few days’ time. My grandparents want me to go and live with them, but I have said no. I will gladly spend holidays with them. I will write to them constantly, but I will not live with them. Or with you.”

His head dipped even farther forward, and there was a lengthy silence between them while she listened to the waltz music coming from the ballroom. Then he straightened up and turned to look at her.

“Tell me you do not love me,” he said.

She shook her head slowly.

“ Tell me.”

“Love does not have anything to do with anything,” she said.

“I beg to disagree,” he said. “Love has everything to do with everything. Tell me you do not love me and I will take you back to the ballroom and we will not see each other again after this evening. Tell me, Susanna. But tell me the truth.”

She had never seen him so serious. His face looked drawn and pale in the candlelight. His eyes were intense on hers.

“Peter,” she said, looking sharply down at her hands, “it would be distasteful, even sordid, when your mother and my father…”

“…were lovers,” he said. “Did it seem sordid at Barclay Court? Did it seem sordid at the dower house two days ago? It is an ugly fact, and it should make any connection between you and me somewhat distasteful. But we cannot do anything to change the past. It is as it is. Are we willing to give up the present and the future because of it? Life is not perfect, Susanna. We can only live the reality of what is. It would not be possible without love. I know it is something of a cliché to say that love makes all things possible, but I believe it does. It is not a magic wand that can be waved over life to make it all sweet and lovely and trouble-free, but it can give the energy to fight the odds and win.”