Page 43 of A Very Merry Mistake
“Good,” Helena replied. “He needs sensible influences.”
Miles looked offended. Jillian laughed.
She slipped her hand into his, and he closed his fingers around hers with a gentleness that never failed to move her. They fell easily into step together as the household bustled toward the dining room where supper awaited.
Jillian glanced up at him, catching the warmth in his eyes, the softness in his smile, and she felt something deep within her settle into certainty.
Last Christmas, she had disliked him.
Last Christmas, he had disliked her.
Last Christmas, they had been nothing more than stubborn, contrary adversaries locked in a dusty tower by ill fortune—and perhaps a ghost.
But this Christmas, she had everything she had never dared hope for:
Peace.
Joy.
Love.
And a future that shimmered just beyond her grasp, waiting to unfold.
As they stepped beneath the garlanded doorway together, Helena’s voice drifted after them in gentle, amused triumph.
“Well,” she murmured, “I suppose I shall be an aunt again next year.”
Jillian felt Miles tense in surprise beside her—but then his hand tightened around hers, his thumb brushing lightly across her skin, and the tender, hopeful ache in her heart bloomed into something bright and boundless.
She lifted her chin, smiled at him, and let the warmth of Fairhaven wrap around them like a blessing.
Next Christmas would be different, too.
And she could not wait.
