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Caroline helped Her Grace remove the dress, and they returned to the front of the shop.

“Thank you for taking such trouble to come see me, Your Grace.”

“It sets my mind at ease to know you are succeeding. You have put a great deal of work into this.” Impulsively, the duchess embraced her. “I am so happy you found someone who appreciates you. Take care of him—and do not be too angry with him for interfering.”

Caroline nodded, but her thoughts were already elsewhere—on the dress. William could wait. For now.

She returned to the back as Annie entered from her errand, but Caroline paid her no mind, muttering about a deadline. All she could think about was how she wanted every ounce of respect and love she felt for Miss Annabel to be reflected in her work. The gratitude for all those years of encouragement. The care she had received when she was lost and alone. The regret⁠—

Nay. I refuse to linger on the mistake.

Taking the gown to the window-lit table, she began to work. Annie brought tea and set it on the table, but Caroline did not notice. She worked until her eyes were dried-out husks, and her lids would no longer glide smoothly. She moistened them with silver water and continued until her fingers bled from accumulated pinpricks. Dabbing them to avoid staining the cloth, she labored on.

This was about restoring her self-worth—presenting a gift woven with the threads of her very soul. By remembering the good times, the wonderful moments shared with her truest friend, she found strength to keep going.

When the embroidery did not satisfy her, she unpicked the stitches and began again.

This would be perfection—worthy not just of a duchess, but of her oldest, most beloved friend. And so, as the minutes turned to hours, Caroline worked.

To her surprise, the more she toiled—snatching only brief naps—the better she felt. The black guilt that haunted her, the shadows of self-doubt, melted away.

Finally, as dawn broke over the hills of Chatternwell, she lifted her head. Laying the gown aside, she folded her arms on the table and, utterly spent, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 11

The Gift

THE SIXTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS

William leaned over his anvil, sweat dripping from his chin as he panted from the exertion of his work. It was early. Too early for any of his men to have arrived at the smithy, but he had not been able to sleep. At last, he had surrendered to restlessness and risen from his bed.

The lock was almost complete.

If only he knew what was happening with his sunshine. He had been keeping his distance, not trusting himself to be near her. His longing to be with her was overpowering, but he had to give her time.

He had been both elated and apprehensive to observe the ducal carriage arriving on Market Street. The duchess had kept her word and visited Caroline. But had he been right to intervene between the two childhood friends?

And if it healed her soul, yet he lost her forever because of his autocratic meddling, would it be worthwhile to know he had helped her reclaim her self-respect?

Raising a hand, he combed it through his damp hair and considered the possibility that they might never be man and wife. Could he live with that, if it meant she was happier? If he had succeeded in bringing her the peace she so sorely needed, even if she never forgave him for what he had done?

Since that night with Caroline, his nightmares had not returned. Now his dreams were haunted by something far worse.

When he fell asleep, he dreamed of her.

Like sunshine breaking through the bleak clouds of winter, his joy knew no bounds at being reunited with her—even if only in slumber. To touch her hand. To hear her voice. To feel the comfort of her presence.

But inevitably, he would awaken to find himself alone in the dark.

Caroline had shown him how to live again, and he did not wish to return to the solitary existence that had consumed him since the war. He wanted to live. To feel. To experience life—with her. To witness her radiant generosity when they brought their future children into the world.

To him, she was the very embodiment of the holiday season, and he wanted her by his side every day from here on forward for the rest of his life. He wished he could walk out of the smithy and just go find her. Talk to her right now. But he was determined to allow her an opportunity to lay her past to rest and heal. His impatience to seek her out did not signify.

What had happened during the duchess’s visit? Had Caroline found the peace she so desperately needed? Or did she hate him for his bungling interference?

Her Grace was not coming.

Caroline had waited all day for her return. Long shadows stretched across the street outside, signaling the approach of evening. The ducal carriage had not appeared.