In the meantime, I try to see Bram as often as I can. Ours is not an easy romance to conduct. I cannot introduce him to Mama, who would put a stop to our seeing each other at once. And the grounds she would use to do so would rankle and irk and cause me to inwardly rage, and yet I would know them to be valid. This means we are compelled to meet in secret or, at least, with utmost discretion. In this, Charlotte has proved a great ally, due, I think, as much to her love of the idea of love, as to her affection for me. She provides the necessary alibi, so that I might leave the house unquestioned, and otherwise unaccompanied. Bram has finished his portrait of her, so that when she sits for Mangan—who has yet, helpfully, a fair amount of work to do on his sculpture—he and I are free to spend our time together. And what freedoms exist in that house! We take ourselves up to his garret rooms, unchaperoned, where we can be reasonably sure of uninterrupted privacy. If Mama knew … well, she must not know.

The motor cab speeds through the icy streets of Bloomsbury. Christmas shoppers are abroad, and the atmosphere is already festive. Charlotte is full of her plans for the next few weeks, but I find it hard to be attentive. There are things I do not wish to think about, and Christmas is one of them. How will I ever be able to engineer further meetings with Bram if Charlotte is engaged on a ceaseless round of parties and functions? This will be such a difficult Christmas for Mama as it is, I cannot give her something else to fret about. And Freddie grows ever more restless at Radnor Hall, threatening almost daily to return to London. Bram has not spoken of his own plans, but it would be perfectly reasonable of him to go home to Yorkshire. I cannot bear the thought of being parted from him so soon.

“Oh! Do look, Lily, the Mangan children have decorated the house.” Charlotte tugs at my sleeve.

Indeed they have. Not satisfied with a simple holly wreath on the front door, most of the lower half of the narrow town house has been festooned with greenery, either fir boughs or holly or mistletoe. The effect is quite mad, but at the same time enchanting. Two of the younger children, tightly wrapped against the cold, are still adding to the decorations, tying string through painted wooden shapes and distributing them here and there as Jane and Perry hold them so that they might reach. They see us and wave. I consider it nothing less than marvelous, the way in which the household has quietly accepted the closeness between Bram and me. I have received not so much as a disapproving glance or any of the more robust responses I might have expected from the great sculptor himself.