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She could at least be grateful that it was a Christmas service of goodwill, rather than a discourse upon the evils of man. Rising to sing a hymn, her eyes fixed dutifully upon the words in her book, Caroline tried to make sense of her choices. Her lips moved to form the lines of the verse, but her thoughts remained far from the music.

This connection with William differed from her experience with the earl. She knew it—knew it—but that did not erase the reality of her past. Two years earlier, she had betrayed her dearest friend in the most shameful manner a woman could.

It was one thing to be unwise with a man. It was quite another to break the sacred bonds of friendship. The deeper scar had been the loss of her place—her family—at Baydon Hall. Annie Greer had grown up without a father, but at least her position had been secure. Caroline had forfeited hers, and she had only herself to blame.

As the hymn ended and the congregation resumed their seats—except for the poorer townsfolk standing at the back—Caroline fixed on the stained-glass windows.

The root of her vow was not chastity. It was loyalty. It was the agony of having lost not merely a position, but a family. Miss Annabel, Mrs. Harris, the other servants—they had been her only true kin, once her parents and grandmother were gone. And she had thrown it all away for the charming smile of a nobleman.

That Miss Annabel had provided a reference had only deepened the wound. Caroline had not deserved such grace. She could not risk forming another bond she might one day break. She could not survive such a loss again. And yet—now that she was no longer in William’s presence—she feared she had already grown too close.

She longed to return to him. To be with someone—anyone—who had looked upon her with something like affection. The shame remained, but so too did the memory of warmth. A single day in good company—might she not be permitted that?

What had become of her tidy plans? Her resolute focus on work? Simplicity had been her shield, but she had let it fall. She had allowed her emotions to awaken, and now there was no pretending she was unaffected.

As the congregation rose for the final hymn, Caroline pushed her troubled musings aside. This was not the hour to dwell upon disappointment. Tomorrow would come soon enough. For today, she would share a Christmas meal with William Jackson, and she would cherish each moment. She would hold fast to this last memory of comfort before returning to the quiet life she had made for herself.

The final chords faded, and Caroline blinked, startled to realize the service had ended. Parishioners stood in conversation, dressed in their Sunday best and exchanging warm wishes. She rose and stepped into the aisle just as a familiar voice called out.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Brown!”

Annie Greer beamed up at her, her cheeks rosy with good health.

Caroline smiled, touched by the girl’s vivacity. “Merry Christmas, Annie!”

“Did you enjoy the service?”

Caroline hesitated. “I did.” It was the truth—or near enough. “Are you going to pick up your goose from Mr. Andrews?”

“Yes, Mum and I shall leave shortly.” Annie turned to wave at her mother, who stood talking with another widow. Mrs. Greer waved cheerfully at Caroline, her face flushed with vitality. She looked stronger—healthier—than she had in weeks.

Caroline's chest swelled. She had done this. She had helped. That was something.

Bidding Annie goodbye, she moved ahead of the crowd, her pace swift as she made for Market Street. At the baker’s, she knocked briskly, and Mr. Andrews opened the door. She had paid earlier in the week, so it took but a moment to collect her order.

Then she hurried back to her shop, entering the front so that any passerby might witness her respectable arrival. Only once inside did she slip out the back and into the alley, her pulse quickening.

A sharp wind stole beneath the cuffs of her green velvet cloak, and Caroline laughed quietly to herself. William had been right—it was woefully ill-suited to winter weather—but she adored it. The cloak was feminine, luxurious, and entirely hers.

Reaching the cross street, she checked both directions. All was clear.

Lifting her skirts, she dashed across, her heart racing not only from the cold, but from anticipation.

She wanted to see him. She wanted this moment. Just a little longer.

William’s spirits lifted the instant he heard the back door swing open. He struggled into a seated position, hope blooming in his chest. Moments later, Caroline appeared, her cheeks flushed with delightful color and her eyes alight with excitement.

“I have returned!”

“I have waited with bated breath.”

She beamed at him, and William inhaled deeply, exhilarated. It seemed his courtship had truly begun. Today, he would pursue the magnificent modiste who had stolen his heart.

“I find it ridiculous,” she teased, “that the man who repairs locks for a living has one that clearly needs replacing.”

William laughed. “Alas, I never find the time to repair my own home. I am always occupied with work. Though a modiste,” he added, gesturing to her cloak, “should know how to fashion garments that do not freeze the wearer in winter.”

Caroline giggled. “I shall prepare our meal. How is your ankle?”