The house was coming along splendidly, though it was far from finished, since they’d had to slow down their remodeling when Anastasia became pregnant. The main rooms were done, however, and now held a cheerful warmth that had nothing to do with the season, though it was nicely decorated for the season as well.

For Anastasia, it was her first English Christmas as well, and so a new, wonderful experience for her. For her people, Christmas had always been a time to visit as many towns as possible, as quickly as possible because it was a time people spent money on gifts, rather than just themselves, and the Gypsies had many gifts to offer. But that meant they were never in a place long enough to give it a festive look, to decorate a tree, or hang a wreath. That was a Gajo thing to do. But not for Anastasia—not anymore.

With her servants to help her, she had unpacked the many trunks that Christopher had had sent from Ryding, filled with Christmas heirlooms that had been in his family for generations, and they had spread them throughout the house together. He hung mistletoe in every room, and made the silliest excuses, to lure her under it every chance he got.

She made or bought gifts for all the servants. They delivered them on Christmas Eve, where she got to experience her first sleigh ride, since it had begun snowing earlier in the week, and a thick coat of snow now covered the fields and roads. It was quite fun, despite the cold, and they weren’t gone long, since many of the servants lived in the mansion, but the warm parlor was a welcome respite when they returned home.

They spent the rest of the evening there, sitting on the sofa near the fire where a large Yule log burned, watching the small candles flickering on the tree Christopher had gone out and cut down himself.

Anastasia was feeling such peace, such contentment, despite the feeling that had come to her a few days ago that she must try and explain to her husband. It was different from her normal “gift,” her insight, and yet it wasn’t.

She was four months into her pregnancy. She wasn’t actually showing it yet, nor feeling it, other than the brief bouts of sickness she’d had in the mornings for a while. Yet she felt a closeness to her unborn child that was akin to holding him in her arms already. And the feeling that had come to her had to do with him, yet not exactly with him.

It would be best if she could get it into words that made sense, and she tried to do that now, telling Christopher, “There will be one more gift for us to make, though it won’t be for us to deliver.”