Marry Christmas. Jane Goodger

      I find him so…masculine.”

      Maggie laughed. “My dear, that is the best part of him.

      He looks like a scoundrel. A pirate, even, with that dark hair and piercing gray eyes. How could you not think so?”

      “Pirates are romanticized criminals of the worst ilk,”

      Elizabeth said, setting her jaw stubbornly.

      “I didn’t say he was a pirate, I said he looks like one.

      Tall and fierce and…”

      “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Maggie, do be quiet. I don’t want to talk about the duke or the earl or anything. I just want to walk about and get cool.”

      Maggie put on a little pout that lasted, perhaps, ten seconds. “I’ll marry the earl, then. He’s nearly as hand some as the duke and not nearly as dour. I do find the duke rather dour, but then again, that adds to his charm, doesn’t it. The dark, tortured duke.”

      “Maggie,” Elizabeth said, sounding slightly exasperated.

      “Oh, you know I am just joking. You are no fun.”

      “I’m plenty fun with the right people,” she said stubbornly.

      The lawn was scattered with couples and women strolling about, but was large enough that the two could talk without fear of being overheard. The sky was darkening to night and the first stars were dotting the late summer sky. Servants were hurrying to light lanterns, which had been strung from poles to light the paths crisscrossing the lawn. It was a magical scene and one Elizabeth tried to enjoy as she walked arm in arm with her friend. She let out a sigh and Maggie gave her a searching look.

      “I’m trying very hard not to be maudlin, but it’s just—” She let out a shriek of pain as Maggie dug her fingers into her arm. “Ow.”

      “Henry,” Maggie said, whispering harshly.

      Elizabeth’s heart nearly stopped. “Where?”

      “By the beech tree. Oh, Lord, Elizabeth, what are you going to do?”

      They had stopped still, clutching each other, aware that anyone walking nearby could see Henry as well as they. But at that moment, no one was close enough to recognize anyone as dusk settled onto the lawn.

      The beech tree was one imported from Europe, a huge tree whose large, beefy branches drooped down much like a weeping willow. But the canopy of privacy created by such a tree was unsurpassed. The Cummings had such a tree in their garden, one that had delighted Elizabeth when she’d discovered its secret. For once you passed through the branches that dipped into the ground, you could not be seen. The foliage created a thick screen, a cool cavernous place where one could walk about or picnic. Or plan a secret rendezvous.

      “I thought you said Henry wasn’t coming,” Maggie gushed. “I think this is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”

      “That’s what his note said. Oh, Maggie, what shall I do?”

      Maggie gave her friend a little shove. “I’ll keep watch,” she said, her eyes lit with excitement. “Go.”

      And so, Elizabeth walked as if on clouds to the man she loved most in the world.