Twelve gifts will arrive before the beginning of Christmastide.

Welcome to day one, my love.

“Mama?”

Mena quickly hid the card behind her back as her daughter walked into the room.

“There you are. I daresay it’s freezing outside—” She broke off mid-sentence as she noticed the bouquet sitting on the table. “Ooh! Who are these from?”

Mena shrugged. “I have no idea.”

As her daughter smelled the roses with a pleased sigh, she said, “Surely you have some sort of clue?”

With a defeated sigh, knowing her tenacious daughter would not cease and desist until she gained the information she wanted, Mena handed over the card.

It only took a moment before her daughter’s blue eyes were lighting up with interest. “You have a secret admirer!” she nearly squealed.

Mena rolled her eyes and snatched the card away, only to shove it in the pocket of her skirts. “I daresay it was probably a wrong delivery. Once the mistake has been noted, I’m sure the messenger will return.” As she turned away, Mena could practically feel her daughter’s sigh. Pulling the rope near the door, Mena ordered tea before sitting down on the settee. Only then did she face her daughter’s firm glare.

“Why is it so hard to believe that you might be the object of someone’s affections? You’re not in your dotage yet, Mama.”

Mena clasped her hands together before she spoke in a calm and rational tone. “Don’t be ridiculous. True, I’m not yet a grandmother, but I hope that will change very soon.”

Marigold instantly blushed, and as hoped, Mena had deftly turned the subject away from herself.

“Robbie and I have only been married for six months. I wouldn’t expect too much just yet. Besides…” She shrugged and then took a seat across from her mother. “It’s nice being able to focus on each other.”

Mena couldn’t argue with that. “I suppose you’re right. Laurence and I were married two years before Jacob was born.”

The teacart arrived at that moment. It wasn’t until the maid poured their tea and departed, that Marigold asked softly, “Did you love Papa?”

“Of course.” Mena didn’t hesitate. “He was my husband for nearly twenty-one years, after all.”

Marigold stirred her cup slowly, keeping her gaze on her task. “I know that, but he was quite a bit older than you.”

“He was a mature gentleman, but that didn’t mean respect and compassion wasn’t part of our union.” Mena smiled gently. “He gave me two, precious children and a comfortable life. That’s all I could have ever asked for.” She frowned suddenly. “Don’t tell me that something is wrong—“

“Oh, no! Not at all.” Marigold reassured her. “I was just wondering…”

As her voice trailed off uncertainly, Mena prompted, “Yes?”

In the end, her daughter blew out a heavy breath. “Did you feel passion?”

Surprise sent Mena’s brows rising toward her hairline. While she tried to adopt a perfectly natural pose, her heart began beating with another time, another place. Another man. Someone she hadn’t allowed herself to think of in more than twenty years. “What’s all this about, Mari?” she asked curiously.

“Does it fade over time?” Marigold returned abruptly. “The passion?” She set aside her cup and touched her forehead anxiously. “I guess now that the wedding is over I’m looking to the future, and I’m afraid that what Robbie and I share will begin to break apart.”

Mena chose her words carefully. “I don’t believe that true love ever falters. While initial attraction may wane over time, it will never disappear completely. Trust me, that man would move heaven and earth to try and please you, so I wouldn’t worry about what tomorrow holds, for as we both know, it is rather uncertain.”

Her voice must have trembled a bit, for Marigold jumped up and rushed to her side. “Oh, Mama. I’m so sorry! First I bring up Papa, and I’m sure that only makes you think of Jacob.”

Mena swallowed over the lump in her throat, but once she assured herself that she could speak, she said, “I will always mourn your brother’s death. There is a gaping hole in my chest that is missing, but it gives me comfort to know that he did not die in vain. It was in the service of his country and there are many more ways to perish that aren’t nearly as honorable.”

A single tear trickled down Marigold’s cheek. “I didn’t call to upset you. Truly, I didn’t.” She sighed heavily, and Mena stroked the side of her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“With the death of Princess Charlotte last month, along with that of her stillborn child, the entire country has been in perpetual mourning. Not to mention the unrest with the East India Company in Mahidpur. It only stands to reason that we should feel the same ill effects. As far as something being wrong—” She forced Marigold to look at her. “—are you quite sure that you aren’t increasing? I had very similar symptoms at the onset.” Her daughter’s blue eyes instantly widened, and Mena smiled gently. “Make an appointment to see a physician. I think you’ll find that things are perfectly fine once you do.”

Mari threw her arms around Mena’s neck. “Thank you, Mama.”

Mena closed her eyes. Three sweeter words had never been spoken.

Unless they were, I love you.

Mena sat patiently as her maid brushed out her long, brown hair. After helping her into her nightdress, the maid quit the room, leaving Mena staring into the mirror on her dressing table. She looked at the face that had survived nearly forty-two years of joy and heartbreak. While she still maintained a somewhat youthful appearance, there were certain, marked changes, like the slight lines around her blue eyes and mouth, and the few, snowy white hairs near her brunette crown. Naturally, her figure had suffered as well, but she had never been concerned with the changes brought about by childbirth. Her mother had always told her that a bit of weight was healthy on a woman, but perhaps she had only said that because she was rather plump herself.

She smiled at the memory of her mother. She had died when Mena was but a child, and her father a few years after her marriage to Laurence. She’d loved them both dearly, but now, in essence, Philomena was alone. Of course, she had her daughter and son-in-law’s love and unending support, but if her suspicions were correct and they were getting ready to start a family, they didn’t need her constant presence when they were trying to carve out a life of their own.

With a sigh, Mena recalled the card she had stuck out of sight earlier. She’d hidden it from her maid as if she was a wayward debutante concealing secrets regarding a disreputable beau.

Then again, she hadn’t been expecting such a lovely boon.

Standing, Mena walked over to the bed and sank down on the edge. She’d asked for the roses to be brought up to her room after dinner, and now she leaned over to her bedside table and breathed in their delightful scent.

She suddenly found herself transported back to an age of innocence on her father’s estate in Kent. He had been the local squire, well liked by the entire hamlet for his fair mindedness and gentle dealings with any issues that might have arisen from the tenants. It was because of his popular social standing, and the fact he was a close friend with Lord Lipscomb, that the earl became a prime candidate for Mena’s hand. In truth, their union had been planned since she was a child.

Mena had always known her role as Laurence’s countess was already arranged. She’d never had any cause to doubt it, or rebel against the decision.

Until the local vicar’s son arrived for a visit.

Julian Solomon. She blew out a heavy breath. She hadn’t let herself think of that name since she’d married Laurence, deciding that it was best to put the past behind her. And it wasn’t as though Julian was a large part of that. In truth, they’d only been casual acquaintances that summer he’d been on leave from school.

It was the manner in which he’d left that had stuck with her until this day.

An eighteen-year-old young man with dark blond hair and mischievous green eyes, a smattering of freckles across his nose, he’d handed her a plain, cotton handkerchief. “So you will have something to remember me by when I leave to make my fortune in the Colonies.”

Mena remembered scoffing at his dreams. “It’s everyone’s hope when they leave England, to make a new start in that land infested with scavengers and ne’er-do-wells. Why would you want to risk your life on such a fool’s quest?”

His only reply had been a wide grin. “Because I will be one of the few to succeed.” Only then had his eyes sobered. “And then I’ll come back for you, Mena.”

Her youthful thirteen-year-old heart had stopped. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re my girl.”

Mena had never seen nor heard from Julian after that day, and seven years later, at age twenty, she’d married Lord Lipscomb, who was nearly thirty years her senior.

She’d always rejoiced that Julian had found the courage to strike out on his own, while she had stayed behind to settle into her role as a future wife and mother. She had never thought of doing anything more than what was expected of her, and so, when Laurence proposed some years later, she had promptly accepted. She had known her duty to her family, and she never thought that the path her life took would be carved out any differently. While she admired Julian and his determination, she had never regretted her life decisions.