Of course, it wasn’t a normal Christmas for them. It wasn’t their house, wasn’t even their tree that they’d put presents under. But that had nothing to do with giving. Christmas wasn’t about a place, after all; for them it was about family, and sharing, and love. And that was where it wasn’t normal, since they weren’t a complete family this Christmas and were sore missing that completeness on such a traditional day of gathering together.

Mara and Mary helped them to forget, ohing and ahing over Thomas’s whittling skill, which was improving each year, and over the little trinkets Larissa gave them, which, fortunately, she had bought before the money ran out. Mary didn’t stay long, though, anxious to get to the kitchen, which was Larissa’s real gift to her, having talked Vincent’s cook into letting Mary cook the Christmas goose for dinner, which she did so well.

She didn’t worry about Thomas getting overexcited either, as he tended to do on Christmas, though she would have a week ago. But he was recovered from his sickness finally, thank God, not quite as full of energy yet, but much more his usual buoyant self.

“May I have a word alone with your sister?”

Vincent stood in the open doorway. He looked a bit hesitant to enter the room.

Thomas, to whom the question had been addressed, didn’t glance his way, nor was there any inflection in his voice when he replied, “Not if you’re going to make her cry again.”

“Excuse me?” Stiffness now.

“Her eyes are all red—”

“Thomas, hush!” Larissa cut in, thoroughly embarrassed by now. “That has nothing to do with him,” she added, and blushed a bit more for the lie. “Please, take your new soldiers and go upstairs. I’ll join you shortly.”

Thomas gave her a disgusted look that indicated he knew very well she was lying. But Mara, much more tactful, helped him gather his new wooden soldiers and books, and half prodded, half dragged him out of the room.

Vincent wasn’t nearly as astute, or deliberately chose not to be, because as soon as they were alone, he said, “You were crying over your father again?”

“No.”

He blushed now. Well, if he hadn’t wanted the truth, he shouldn’t have asked a question that would lead to it. And she didn’t take pity on him. It was time for plain speaking between them. He had repeatedly avoided or evaded her questions when they were alone at night, and in the day there was never the opportunity to speak of anything personal with so many servants always near to hand. But for once they were alone, and he wasn’t kissing her to distraction or cutting her off with silly remarks until he could kiss her to distraction. In fact, for once, he was the one with burning questions.