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Perhaps he might travel. He could visit the fields of Waterloo to pay proper respects to his cousin’s memory. Or explore Italy and take in the ruins of Ancient Rome. He could even journey to the Americas, where he might begin again in a new land with no shadows of his past.

It was a marvel, really. Mere hours ago, he had clung to numbness like armor, unwilling to risk any feeling at all. And now he stood at a crossroads—one he had not imagined even in his wildest dreams. Apparently, changing one’s mind could happen in an instant.

Or in a recurring nightmare … interrupted by a woman who brought light and vanilla and evergreen boughs into his quiet life.

She had no idea what her quiet strength had done. She had no idea the gift she had given him with her simple, profound advice:

Count your blessings.

And for the first time in five years, William Jackson had.

Chapter 5

The Present

Caroline was humming her carol in the kitchen.

William was pleased to hear the soft melody. It was a comfort, that sign of her returned good spirits as she boiled water and moved around the back room. The sound of her presence—so capable, so quietly cheerful—soothed the unsettled edges within him.

Soon she returned with a tea tray, which included the rolled wafers she had given him earlier. He pushed himself more upright, careful of his leg, so he might drink, while Caroline perched on the table and gently explored the swelling at his ankle with cool fingertips.

“The swelling appears reduced,” she said with satisfaction, before rising with her cup and saucer and moving back to the other settee.

William shifted uncomfortably. There was now a pressing matter he could no longer ignore. He grimaced as he set his tea aside, trying to work out how to approach the issue with a measure of dignity.

Caroline must have noticed the movement—her expression flickered with realization. Without a word, she stood and crossed the room. William watched her go, lips twisting as he braced himself for discomfort—then brightened when he heard the gentle creak of the stairs. She had understood.

Shortly, she returned and crossed over to him, placing a chamberpot discreetly on the floor beside the settee. Without meeting his eye, she turned and quietly exited, closing the door behind her. William exhaled a long breath of relief. With a few cautious exertions, he managed the necessary task and eventually repositioned himself with some difficulty back onto the settee.

“You can return!” he called out once decently settled.

The door opened, and Caroline re-entered holding a bowl of water and some cloths. Without comment, she set the bowl on the table, moistened a cloth, and handed it to him. William accepted it with gratitude. The water was warm, and he used it to wash his hands, then placed the cloth on the tea tray. She handed him another, which he used to mop his face and neck.

“Thank you.”

“Not at all. I should have thought of it before. You have been trapped here for hours.”

Caroline resumed her place on the other settee and sipped her tea. William crunched into a wafer, grateful for the quiet civility between them. They sat for a time in companionable silence, the fire crackling softly as the storm beyond the windows thickened with snow. Eventually, William broke the quiet with a question that had lingered in his mind since the day they met.

“Why did you move to Chatternwell, Caroline?”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean? I came here to start my business.”

“Yes, but … why Chatternwell? How did you choose this town? Are you from Wiltshire?”

A touch of color rose in her cheeks. William noted it with interest.

“I am originally from Somerset. My man of business searched for a good location to open a fashionable shop, but I wished for it to be in a smaller town with a strong community. Mr. Johnson did excellent research and found this location while I apprenticed with Signora Ricci in London, learning to manage a millinery and dress-rooms of quality.”

He tilted his head. “You did not want to set up in London? Similar to … Signora Ricci?”

She shook her head. “No. I have no family left, and I miss the time I worked at Baydon Hall. There was a strong sense of community amongst the servants, and I enjoyed the support we provided each other. Chatternwell is a good town. The people are productive, the town is doing well, and one can build professional relationships with honest proprietors.” Her voice softened. “London is too large and aloof for the likes of me. I … like it here. It feels more like a home.”

William leaned back against the cushions and turned his gaze up to the dark beams of the ceiling, thoughtful.

He had grown up in Chatternwell. Worked here as a boy, then as a man. Other than his years fighting Boney, he had known no other home. He had never thought about the town in such deliberate terms. It had simply been the place of his birth, the place to which he had returned.

Now, hearing his home described by someone who had chosen it—who had seen its strengths and its promise—was strangely affecting. It made him view the cobbled streets and aging cottages with fresh eyes.