It’s early afternoon, and we’re making our way down the hill to High Thornesbury. Del and Freya are watching the children to let us show August around the modern holiday version of the town. William had wanted to drive down so Bronwyn wouldn’t need to walk, but she’d insisted she wanted the exercise.
We’ve changed our clothing. The “heading to a fancy-dress party” excuse doesn’t work as well midafternoon. William had insisted he owns only blue jeans on this side of the stitch, which I’m certain was a lie to force August to wear them. I won’t say they look amazing—they are two sizes too large—but that only requires me to use my imagination and picture what he’d look like in a snug pair of worn jeans, and the image keeps me quite toasty warm on the trip downhill.
As for me, I’m wearing a lovely cashmere sweater over riding pants William lends out to young local equestrians. Paired with the boots from my time, it is a delightfully unique outfit, and I’m rather pleased by it. Judging by the looks August keeps sneaking me, he agrees. His looks are purely appreciative, with no hint of what I would have seen in them four years ago, sizing up my attire in terms of how it might attract men’s gazes.
It’s chilly out, Rosie. Perhaps you’d like a stole with that?
Is that bodice comfortable? The neckline seems a little low.
Are you certain you’d like to wear your hair down today? It looks so lovely pinned up.
I’d tried to take his words as mere fashion advice, but in my heart, I’d known them for what they were, and I’d felt judged for my choices. There is no longer any of that in his look, and the relief I feel only serves to remind me that if I ever see judgment again, I will not mistake it for anything else. And we will talk about it.
“Do you know what we ought to do tonight?” William says as we reach town.
“Dare I ask?” Bronwyn replies.
“Caroling. Edmund’s ghostly friend was right. There is a distinct lack of caroling, which we shall rectify. We’ll see whether Freya can look after Grace.”
“I believe Freya would prefer to join us,” Bronwyn says. “And Grace will be fine coming along as well. Bundle her up and take advantage of these early days, where she sleeps so well.”
William hesitates.
“A brief round of caroling will be fine, William,” Bronwyn says. “Unless you’re suggesting I stay home with her.”
“We’ll bundle her up, and I’ll carry her.”
We head along the main road, pointing out everything to August along the way.
“Is that the same pub?” August asks.
“It is indeed.” William claps him on the back. “What do you say we pop inside for a better look? And a fine warming drink. It seems to be about that hour.”
“You two go on,” Bronwyn says. “Don’t spare a thought for those among us who are breastfeeding and need to spend a third Christmas alcohol free.”
William grins at her. “You are most thoughtful, Lady Thorne. And in return, I’ll be equally considerate and have a drink for you.” He puts his arm around her waist and pulls her to him. “I’m teasing. If we do go in, we can all have something warm and nonalcoholic.”
“No, I was the one teasing.” She pats his shoulder. “Enjoy your drink. I need to grab a few things before the shops close.”
“I’ll go with Bronwyn,” I say, and we part at the pub, the men promising to catch up in time to carry our parcels.
Bronwyn and I continue on, chattering away even more now that the men have left. It’s been a very long time since I had a female friend. I’d been too busy with life after my parents died—caring for my sisters, opening my business, growing up fast. Miranda and Portia had eventually taken the role of friends, but as much as I adore their company, I realize now I was missing something in my life. With Bronwyn, I have started to find it, along with the determination to find more.
I tell her about the farm where we stayed, and the Jewish decorations and my own epiphany regarding my heritage.
“Your parents made the choice not to highlight that in your life,” she says. “In their minds, it was the correct choice for the world you grew up in. I’m not even sure how much has changed. Less than I’d like to think. But now you’ll make your own choice, and whatever that might be, it will be the best one for you.”
I smile and loop my arm through hers. “Thank you. I do want Edmund to be aware of his heritage, even if August and I will need to discuss how open we are with it. I’d like to start with the holidays, though. Impart an awareness that Christmas is not the only one.”
“Oh! Then I know exactly where to begin.” She points to the local bookshop. “I was already going there. I need to buy books for William and Edmund. Our first Christmas together, William bought books for himself from me and—”
“For himself . . . from you?”
She waves a hand. “Don’t ask. It did, however, launch a tradition of buying books for one another, which we read on Christmas night when we’re too stuffed to move. We’ve been trying to carry on our favorite family holiday traditions while inventing our own.”
I smile. “I just may steal that particular one from you.”
“Please do.”
She pushes open the bookshop door. As soon as we walk in, I spot a display celebrating winter holidays across cultures, and I smile at that, as well as at the young family choosing books from it.
As Bronwyn goes off to do her own shopping, I find books for Edmund—on pirates—and August—on auto mechanics. Then I return to the center display, where I pick out a selection of books on Hanukkah and one on making your own dreidels from molding clay, a project for Edmund and me over the holidays. Once I have everything, I catch up with Bronwyn.
“I’m afraid I’ll need to ask you to pay for these,” I say. “I have enough in my old accounts to repay you later.”
“As William has told you, you have plenty in your old accounts, and the fact that you never asked us to empty them always seemed to suggest you were not quite done with this world.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “I suppose I was not.”
She takes the books from my hand. “Good,” she says and then heads for the cashier.
13
Late that night, we leave the Thornes in the modern world and drunkenly stumble back through the stitch to spend the night in ours. We tuck Edmund into Amelia’s trundle bed and then make our way to the guest room, where I discover that I was definitely not the only one who thought their spouse looked quite fetching in twenty-first-century garb. August is rather taken with the riding trousers, which I shall have to repay William for and add to my chest of “night-play wear” . . . along with the soft cords I may have secreted back from the modern garage.
While I considered myself adventurous in the bedchamber before, if I’m listing what I gained in the modern world, I must add a newfound confidence in that side of our marriage. I’m quite certain some Victorians were at least as adventurous as their twenty-first-century counterparts, but they were not as open about it, certainly not within the confines of an upper-class marriage. Having spent time in the modern world, I brought confidence to my already curious inclinations, and in August, I have an equally curious and open partner, which is truly wonderful.