Watching the Esk burble and tumble its way under the wide arch of the stone bridge, Margaret traced the path of the snowflakes as they landed gently on the windowpane before melting. This was a day like any other day, she told herself, but it wasn’t true. If she wanted to torture herself, she could imagine almost to the minute what particular festive ritual or custom her family would be following at Drumlanrig. And Louise, too, at Windsor with the assembled royal family, trying to coax the queen into enjoying the day without lapsing into melancholy, a task that was beyond even Lou. Would she take Margaret’s flippant advice to sneak downstairs and join in the fun in the servants’ hall for a little light relief? Of all the royal children, Louise would be the most welcome, for she had that rare talent of being able to adapt herself to and charm whatever company she kept. Molly would have primed the staff to expect Margaret later, but she wasn’t sure she had the heart to brave the unasked questions and awkward silences which might ensue. Christmas Day wasn’t any other day. To be so very alone, so completely shunned on a day which was supposed to be joyful, when families were supposed to be united and loving, was proving difficult to bear. In bustling, crowded London, where the Season revolved around an endless whirl of tea-parties, soirées, and balls, she had often longed for some solitude. Be careful what you wish for, M.

Enough! Unlike the queen, she was not going to fall into a melancholy, lamenting Christmases past. What she needed, taking her cue from Mr. Scrooge, was to make sure that her Christmas future was different. She was tired of feeling that her life was suspended until further notice. She was tired of being abandoned and ignored. It was time to take matters into her own hands and act. She wanted to make amends, to prove that she had changed, that she had grown up and was ready to embrace her fate, though how she was to do that when her father decreed enforced inaction was quite a quandary.