CHAPTER TWO.
holly and ivy.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     AS MUCH AS SHE DEBATED NOT COMING, Winifred now finds comfort in recognising the winding roads of her hometown, the ones she grew up in. The Chilterns are framed like a portrait within her carriage window, one that thaws her frozen heart temporarily. Perhaps this was a good idea after all.

     It had been her mother's idea to return to Hertfordshire. As early as the middle of November, Winifred received the invitation to join the family at Christmas, just like the old days — there would be no need for performance or etiquette, and she should not feel obliged to attend any festive balls if she wished. It was merely a homely alternative to what her Christmas would otherwise be... sitting by herself in front of the fire, with no one to share a drink with or converse.

     So now here she is, braving the wintry roads to go back to her old home. To her family.

Her carriage soon processes down the long, winding lane to Heyworth House — her childhood home — and flashes of her youth appear before her. Winifred remembers running around the sparse, open green with her sisters. Then there are the trees they used to scrape off the bark from, pretending they were conjuring potions with the mashed sap. It is reminds herself of someone she once was: before she was a wife, before she was a widow.

     The carriage has barely stopped in front of the house, and yet she can already see her mother emerging from the entrance. Octavia has a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, carefully padding across the slippery ground that threatens to frost tonight. Winifred steps carefully down from the carriage, one foot at a time, walking into her mother's embrace only moments later; suddenly she feels like a little girl again.

     "Oh, how I've missed you! How are you? Did you have a pleasant trip?" Octavia asks, both with a motherly tone and a youthful eagerness.

     "It was alright," Winifred smiles, "the roads weren't too frozen."

     "Then you are just in time. We suspect there might be some considerable snowfall over the next couple of days... now then, you must be quite chilly — come on in and warm yourself by the fire. The girls are so eager to see you... and your father, of course!"

     In-character for her, Octavia continues to chatter to her daughter, unable to hide her joy at having so much of the family together at Christmas. The entrance contains a familiar warmth, with the high ceilings and paintings hanging on the wall, of family members and ancestors alike. Candlelight glows in all corners of the room, trembling with the wintry breeze that the open door brings.

     "Come in, come in..." Octavia ushers her inside, nodding gratefully to the footmen.

     Now that Winifred looks closer, she notices some festive decorations have already gone up — surrounding the candles are small wreaths of holly. "You've decorated quite early this year, haven't you?" she asks curiously. Usually, the decorations go up on Christmas Eve.

     "Oh, the decorations are far from complete. But this year, well, I convinced your father that we could put something special up beforehand... as a warmer welcome, of sorts."

     Octavia tilts her head at her daughter, filled with doting. Winifred isn't quite sure how to reply, so she simply lets out a hum while removing her gloves. Soon after, they make their way to the cosier living quarters of Heyworth House — each corridor and hallway they traverse through reminds Winifred of simpler times — and finally, to the drawing room. Instantly, she recognises the silhouettes of her two youngest sisters, gathered near and chattering by the crackling fireplace.

     At the sound of footsteps, it is Abigail who turns around first. Her face lights up with utter joy. "Oh, Winifred's here!"

     She instantly leaps up to her feet, scurrying over and enveloping Winifred in a hug. Abigail Seymour has always been the most sociable of her sisters — or the one who enjoys it the most, at least. There seems to be nothing in the world that pleases her more than the whole family united, or to meet new people at balls and assembly rooms. Now that she has been out for a few years, the girl of two and twenty is in her element looking for a husband. In her warm features, Abigail's brown eyes are most often crinkled with a smile, likely to charm anyone she will meet.

     "Girls, please, don't smother your sister!" Octavia tuts, now that Jemima has joined in the group hug. Winifred can't help but laugh weakly.

"You said you wanted a warm welcome, and she has received a warm welcome, Mama," Jemima counters cheekily. "What else could you ask us for?"

     Jemima Seymour, aged nineteen, couldn't be more contrary to Abigail in a number of ways. The youngest of the four sisters, the pale, raven-haired girl is the one her parents struggle the most to keep in check. She has never cared for fanciful balls, ladylike pursuits, or indeed the concept of finding a husband. When she wanted to be loud, Jemima enjoyed performing in amateur theatricals or sharpening her wit. When she wanted to be withdrawn, she could most likely be found with her nose stuck in a gothic novel.

"I'll go and see if I can find your father," Octavia says. "Probably in the library again..."

Once she disappears, Winifred takes a seat by the fire, removing her gloves and raising her bare hands to them. Instantly, she sighs with pleasure at the warmth that seeps into her fingertips. She glances across at Abigail and Jemima, who have sat down opposite her. She senses something strange with them — a hesitance, almost. Usually, with any of her sisters, the conversation flows easily, even if it is bickering. But now, it is as though they are trying to tread carefully, not quite sure what to say. It is especially strange coming from Jemima, who usually lacks any filter between her head and her mouth... Winifred looks at her pointedly.

     This is not a new experience — people, even those closest to her, not quite knowing how to treat the widow in her deepest grief.

     "Please, don't try to be polite," Winifred finally murmurs.

     "Why are you looking at me?" Jemima scrunches her brows, as if mildly offended.

Winifred gives her a look that soon dissolves her sisters into dropping the act. Jemima sighs, whilst she swears Abigail's shoulders relax slightly. The last thing she wants is for the people closest to her to treat her differently. To look at her with... what is it exactly?

Pity.

She hates that word.

"So, Jemima..." Winifred begins, a slight glint in her eye, "I heard you enjoyed yourself during the Bath season."

The Bath social season began in the autumn, and it was the perfect place to find your daughter a respectable gentleman to marry. It could work wonders — the eldest Seymour daughter, Madeline, met her husband there. Winifred can't say she hated it, but it was not an environment she flourished in when she was younger. But clearly Jemima didn't enjoy it as she scoffs with distaste. "If you enjoy standing idly like a candle-holder for a whole evening, then I suppose, yes..." she mutters.

"There were plenty of dances, Jem," Abigail reminds her. Then, smiling brightly at Winifred, she adds: "I danced all night!"

"But they're so long!" Jemima whines. "And what are you supposed to talk about, really, aside from the mundanity people end up spewing?"

Winifred sighs sympathetically, retracting her hands from the warmth of the fire and folding them on her lap. Oh, how she knows that feeling. She must admit, if there is a twisted benefit to being in mourning, it has been not needing to endure the painful small talk of society.

"They aren't for everyone, but you will find something you can get out of it, personally," Winifred advises Jemima.

"Indeed!" Octavia's voice suddenly enters the room, her footsteps following suit. "Not everyone is an instant fit with balls and social occasions. Winifred should know. Why, we could hardly get a word out of you, let alone a dance... you were so modest, you barely thought anything of yourself and didn't dare put yourself forward."

Winifred feels herself blushing at the memory. Lovingly, her mother appears behind and squeezes her shoulder; it is like a period of time they can look back at and laugh about.

A few laboured footsteps later, her father walks into the room. He winces slightly as he tightens his grip on a small cane, on which he leans some of his weight. "Papa..." Winifred rises up to her feet, already walking over to him.

"Hello, dear," Charles replies. His daughter embraces him gently and presses a kiss to his cheek. When they break apart, he seems surprisingly emotional to see her. Octavia is always fearless, bold and clear in her intentions, whereas her husband is quieter, more thoughtful, more careful. "It's been so long," he says, with the relief that they are reunited again.

"I know," Winifred swallows thickly. The last time they saw each other was the day of Joseph's funeral.

     "I wish I could've visited, but—"

     "Your knees, Papa, I know. How are they at the moment?"

     "Giving me a bit of trouble, I must admit, but I shan't let it stop me," Charles says firmly. Since a near-fatal illness many years ago, he has suffered from occasional bouts of pain in his joint, particularly in his knees. They seem to flare up the most in the winter, when the cold seeps in. Nevertheless, Winifred has never seen that stand in her father's way — except from refraining to travel as far, Charles remains loyal to his tenants and just as hard-working as ever.

"In fact, you're coming to the ball, aren't you, Charles?" Octavia asks.

     "A ball?" asks Winifred.

     "Yes, the Thorpes invited us a little while ago. There have been quite a few these last couple of weeks. Of course, don't feel you have to come if you aren't up for it, Winifred..."

     "Actually, I'm not quite sure my knees are co-operating tonight," Charles quickly interjects, with a pointed look at his daughter. Winifred has to stifle a grin — given the choice, as much as he cares about his community, he equally enjoys hiding away in his library and studying various books and maps. "I'll just stay at home with Winifred tonight. We do have so much to catch up on, after all."

     So it is settled. Around eight o'clock, Abigail, Jemima and their mother set out for the festive ball, while Winifred stays at home with her father. They instantly retreat to the library. Most of the girls had snuck in there at some point in their childhoods — Madeline for poetry and foreign languages, whilst Jemima looked for robust gothic fiction. Winifred, meanwhile, could become engrossed in one of the heavy encyclopaedias or books on the natural world. When her father found out, she thought he would chastise her for reading them in so much depth.

     On the contrary, Charles rejoiced at one of his children sharing similar interests with him. When alone, they could spend hours in the library, poring over pages. Outside of that room, they were acutely aware that young ladies like Winifred weren't expected to read into anything that would extend beyond refined conversation. But inside, there was no need to hide. She was welcome to explore.

     So, in her first few days back at Heyworth House, Winifred spends a lot of her time in the library, or familiarising herself with parts of the home again. She passes their old nursery, which still looks as they did when they were children — Octavia insist that the grandchildren can use it when they come to visit. The white light of the mist and frost washes over the old rocking horse, next to the wooden chest where their ivory dolls were.

     In some ways, she feels like a spectator, not quite sure which life she fits into now.

     One morning, however, there is a muffled knock at the door. Snow had fallen the previous night, blanketing everything in pristine white. Winifred places down the small book in her hands and listens for the butler answering the door. The voice sounds feeble from the cold — pleading, in fact — in such a way that makes her shiver. She gets up to her feet and wanders through to see what is going on.

     Nearly at the door herself, Octavia walks by, seeming preoccupied. "Who is it?" Winifred asks, catching her mother's gaze on the way.

     Her mother hesitates, mouth open and shutting before she finally answers. "... It's Saint Thomas' Day. I've just sent for some spare wheat from the kitchens. We don't need all of it, after all."

     Of course. On the twenty-first of December, otherwise known as Saint Thomas' Day, it wasn't uncommon for elderly women to go knocking on the doors of those more fortunate than them, asking for gifts, food or money... due to the wars, they were most often widows. The Seymours have never turned anyone away, ensuring they have something spare to give, should one of these women stumble onto their estate. It has only become a tradition in recent years, but it holds a whole new meaning now.

     Feeling compelled to see her now, Winifred walks through the hallway to get a look at this widow for herself. Just past the butler's shoulder, she sees her — and she's young. Drooping eyes, gloved hands held to her heart, all draped in black. The woman seems to notice Winifred standing there, their stares locking onto one another for a moment. A shared recognition of their grief. Like looking into a mirror.

     Soon, she is gifted with some parcels of cooked wheat, for which she thanks Octavia endlessly before heading off again. But the meeting leaves Winifred with an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. She cannot help but feel guilty for the widow. It certainly forces her own situation into perspective, for a moment wondering if that could have been her — struggling for money, knocking on doors begging for something to help her along. Winifred finds herself thinking how fortunate she is to have had a decent financial cushion, and a family who wouldn't cast her out...

     Even if the word 'fortunate' tastes bitter in her mouth, all things considered.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

1806.

     "YOU have certainly been lucky to grow up with so much space to roam around..." Joseph turns around on the spot slowly, admiring Heyworth House standing between the fading greenery.

     Winifred nods. They are stood together on the lawn at her family home, gazing out at the scenery with both of their families. After hitting it off each time they have met so far, the Seymours invited the Erstwhiles over to Heyworth House one morning, and currently they have been getting the whole tour. Winifred found herself only able to watch Joseph, judging his every move and reaction — what did he think of it all? Or, perhaps more pointedly, what did he think of her?

     She would be too shy to say it otherwise, but in the short time she has known him, she enjoys his company immensely. Joseph never hesitates to include her in a conversation, always interested in what she has to say. He is cheerful, more outwardly so than she is, and seems to make friends wherever he goes. This is one of the first moments they have shared as a pair, alone... well, almost alone. Their parents stand only a stone's throw away, acting as chaperones.

     "The forest is much more secluded," Winifred adds, gesturing to the patch of woodland at the back of the garden, where trees tower and foliage overgrown. Winifred blushes slightly as Joseph hums with extra curiosity. "My sisters and I have spent a great many hours down there, as children."

     "You seem very close with your sisters," Joseph observes fondly.

     "We are, I suppose..." she trails off, staring at her sisters scattered about the lawn. Jemima, who only turned twelve last week, chases a squealing Abigail around the grass while cackling wildly. Madeline, meanwhile, seems preoccupied whilst she has been nudged together with Laurence Erstwhile — he looks just as uninterested in their matchmaking as she does.

Winifred turns back to Joseph. There has been a pause in their conversation. He gazes at her expectantly, like he wishes to know more. Feeling herself blush, she suddenly finds herself extrapolating: "Well, if I had to be honest, I'm the closest with Madeline, what with our proximity in age — even if we are so very different. But I love all of my sisters. Abigail has such a tender heart, and Jemima, well... she's a handful..."

"So I gathered," Joseph chuckles at Jemima, who is plucking grass and trying to toss it at Abigail when their parents aren't looking.

"What about you and your brothers?" Winifred hears herself ask. It feels so easy to talk with Joseph like this, it surprises her.

He squints into the sun behind her a little bit, sighing with a small shrug. "Yes, well, we're all rather close too. But things have never been the same since..." Joseph catches himself — he looks cautiously at her, hesitance straining the usual gentleness in his blue eyes — before quietly adding, "... since our mother died."

Winifred's heart drops into her stomach. "Oh..."

'Oh'? That's all you can say? she scolds herself internally. She hadn't expected him to open up so soon. Why would he tell her this? Winifred opens her mouth to try and say something comforting, then shuts it, thinking she couldn't do it justice.

For Joseph, he doesn't seem to mind at all. He goes on and tries to sound as lighthearted as possible. "We were only boys," says Joseph quietly, "and our father really struggled without her in the beginning. That's when Hugh stepped in. He's been brilliant, taking on all these responsibilities, but he doesn't feel like a brother anymore. And Lance, well... Lord only knows what he gets up to when he's out of town."

"That must have been very difficult."

"It was. But, we push on through."

A light breeze rolls across the grass, making the fading green blades tremble. Winifred pulls her shawl closer around her shoulders and stares at him sympathetically. Joseph smiles at her, as if to reassure her that he is alright, before he continues walking at a slow pace beside her with his hands behind his back. She can feel the conversation slowing between them — or maybe it's the impending dread that he might get bored of her — but Winifred attempts to quickly make new conversation.

"So—"

"I was—"

They stop; they both tried to speak at the same time. After they share a laugh of nerves, Winifred says, "I apologise, I didn't mean to—"

"No, I insist, Miss Winifred..." Joseph nods politely.

Blushing again, Winifred clears her throat. "Well, you spoke about your brother's occupations earlier on, and I was left wondering what it is you'd like to do?"

Joseph seems thrilled at the question — like he rarely gets asked the question. She sees his shoulders straighten, his posture correct itself, and his chin rise a little higher with pride. It almost shouldn't surprise her when he gives his answer:

"I want to be a soldier," he tells her. "Very soon, I'm going to purchase my commission to be an ensign, but one day I hope to be right on the front line where I can fight."

     Winifred considers this. She has sometimes seen soldiers pass through town, young men on horseback in their blazing red uniforms — it is certainly not a life of predictability. Part of her wonders how Joseph could ever wish to be right at the centre of the fighting, while the other admires the sense of duty he seems to have.

"Aren't you frightened that something could happen to you?"

Joseph shakes his head. She can see him practically glowing. "I'm not entering the armed forces because I want to die a heroic death, if that's what you're asking. I just..." Growing more serious, he takes a step closer to her with a lower voice. "I want to prove myself by doing something worthwhile. Third sons can't just sit around and follow their brothers. Why, do you think me completely mad for doing it?"

Winifred stays in the moment for a while, perhaps for longer than is needed. She just hangs into his words whilst he waits for hers — she could do this all day. Back and forth, back and forth. But she also thinks she understands where he is coming from. Don't all the second, third, and more younger sons and daughters scramble to make something of themselves?

"Not at all," she answers, smiling at him, "just courageous."

Joseph Erstwhile smiles at her, with such warmth and gratitude, that she finds herself vowing to find a way she can see that smile again.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     CHRISTMAS Eve arrives, after nearly a week of the Seymours sharing quality time together, and it marks the day when the festive decorations will adorn Heyworth House. The family and staff go out to gather frost-tipped holly and evergreens from their natural surroundings. Even more candles light the home to mark the end of the darkest, longest days of the year.

Winifred must admit, she is feeling in better spirits than she has in a while. She enjoys immersing herself in the hands-on decorating of Heyworth House — for the Seymours, at least, it is always a team effort between them and their staff. With her sisters, she works on weaving wreaths and garlands of rosemary, bay and laurel, which they decorate with the finishing touches of oranges, apples, ribbons and holly berries. It leaves the room with a hazy aroma that eases them all.

     Abigail has just added the finding touches to the kissing bough made of mistletoe, holding it up proudly. Nudging her, Jemima teases, "Hoping you'll kiss a handsome prince under the mistletoe, duckie?"

     "I don't hope anything, Jemima..." she replies through gritted teeth, embarrassed. Her face flushes rosy red at the childhood nickname — Winifred remembers that it started years ago when they saw Abigail, at the time only a small child, guarding and ushering a trail of ducklings to safety in their garden. Complete with the fact that she'd been wearing a pale yellow frock at the time, it was no wonder Madeline started calling her 'duckie'. The teasing term of endearment soon caught on with the rest of the family, much to Abigail's dismay as she got older...

     Winifred holds up her garland with outstretched arms, assessing its quality. "There. How does that look?"

     "Oh, it's perfect," says Abigail. "Far better than mine..."

     "Are you nearly done with yours, Jem?"

     "I am but one orange away from a masterpiece."

     "Well... there is something you seldom hear every day."

     Once Jemima has completed her garland, the three of them head to the drawing room with their decorations, hoping to find out where their mother wants them. Octavia is essentially the head of decorations — and this year, they soon discover, she has gone all-out. When they step into the drawing room, their eyes widen at the sight... a large fir tree being carefully hoisted upright in the corner of the room.

     "What is that?!" Abigail's jaw drops.

"That, my dears, is our Christmas tree," Octavia remarks proudly. Next to her, a thin-faced maid struggled to hold a pile of prickly holly as she is instructed: "Left a bit... no, left a little bit more, Polly... ah! Perfect."

Jemima holds up her garland, weighed down with oranges, and says, "You do know we have plenty of festive foliage already, Mama, let alone with a whole tree?"

"Yes, but I thought I would try something a bit different. I've heard that this is what Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte does, so it seems worth a try, don't you think? I'm not quite sure how we will decorate it, though..."

"Perhaps we should focus on the garlands first?" Winifred suggests, signalling to her sisters to start helping; the holly leaves have started to prick her fingers. They get to work draping them in various areas, such as over the mantelpiece which frames the fireplaces, or along a windowsill. Soon, they hear the laboured footsteps of their father walking in to check on them.

"Hello, I was just coming to– oh my..." Charles freezes on the spot, bewildered at the large tree in his room.

Octavia, exasperated, turns to him and says, "Honestly, Charles! We spoke about this. I said I felt like trying something a little bit different this year."

"I didn't think you were being serious."

"Of course I was! When do I ever exaggerate?"

"Well—"

"Don't answer that."

Winifred shares a glance with her sisters, who are equally amused by the exchange, while their father peers up at the great tree with uncertainty. "I'm not entirely sure this whole thing will catch on... but anyway, that's not why I am here." Keenly revealing a letter in his hands, he gives them a small smile. "Madeline appears to have written to us."

     The missing piece of the day. As they all rush over to see the letter, Winifred instantly recognises the romantic cursive lettering of her older sister's hand. "Why don't you read it, dear?" Octavia suggests to her. The other family members cheer her on, so Winifred takes the letter in her hands, removing the red wax seal and unfolding it to reveal her message. Clearing her throat, she reads it out:

Dear Mama, Papa and all of the family,

I hope this letter finds you all well, and that you are enjoying each other's company this Christmas — I only wish that I could join you myself, but Adrian has been suffering a cough for the last week or so, and I feel more at peace if I am there to keep an eye on him. But we all send our love — Adrian, Camille and Lucian are all missing their grandparents and their favourite aunts very much!

Aside from the unfortunately-timed bout of illness, things are well with us. Lucian is taking very well to walking now. The other day, in the nursery, he completely abandoned his rocking horse and charged toward me like his life depended on it! Silas was even there to see it that day. He is also quite well, and he sends his regards. We are making preparations to head to London in the spring, as usual, but it shall be very strange leaving the children behind.

I heard that Winifred would be with you all this Christmas, which is why I am especially devastated that I am unable to join you all. Please give her all my love (and the warmest of embraces, too) for I miss her dearly and think of her very often. If she happens to be reading this, Winifred, I apologise for my lack of correspondence with you, life has been a whirlwind with us — we must catch up soon! As for Abigail and Jemima, I hope they have managed not to strangle each other just yet. If they could wait until a few months time, I might have a small proposal for them...

Happy Christmas, and my heartfelt best wishes for the new year — may 1814 be a good one to us all.

Most sincerely,
Your loving daughter and sister,
Madeline.

     "I wish she could have come," Abigail murmurs, once Winifred finished reading the letter. "And the children, too, it would have been so nice to see them..."

     A conversation starts between the rest of her family, but Winifred does not hear it. She is staring at the opened letter with a sudden weight pulling her down. Reading about Madeline being together with her husband and children is a comfort, but equally it is an unwelcome reminder of the person who isn't here — Joseph. In another world, if he were alive and not away at war, wouldn't she just be spending Christmas with him? The candlelight would be glowing in their eyes as they talked, laughed, and danced the night away...

     But Joseph is not here, and he never will be again.

     Winifred's eyes scan the letter all the way to the bottom words: "... my heartfelt wishes for the new year — may 1814 be a good one to us all." She hopes for the same thing, too. 1813 has easily been the toughest year of her life so far.

That evening, the Seymours bring in the Yule log from outside and light a candle to ward away the winter gloom; although it does nothing to remove the chill that has now settled in Winifred's heart.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     CHURCH bells chime through the village on Christmas Day — after a morning service of carols and blessings, the Seymours are heading home where a festive feast will await them. The ground is dusted with snow that fell the night before, a sprinkling of white on the chapel roof and the path of the churchyard. Looking around at the tombstones, all shapes and sizes, Winifred thinks the winter's snow illuminates them... it doesn't look so grim this way.

"God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay..." Abigail is softly humming behind her, like a little songbird after the carol service. Once she catches up to Winifred, she links arms with her, smiling brightly. Jemima also arrives and falls into step, her bonnet ribbons coming undone around her neck as her petticoat drags through the snow without a care in the world.

     The guests back at Heyworth House are not too overwhelmingly large in number. There are a few aunts and uncles, a handful of good friends from the neighbourhood, and even the girls' old governess, Miss Rippon. It is a good thing too, for the feast that has been prepared is huge and mouth-watering — a glistening stuffed goose sits in the middle of the table, surrounded by carrots, Brussels sprouts, parsnips and turnips.

     Sat between Jemima and her old governess, Winifred disappears into the white noise of conversation around the room, trying to nod and appear polite in response to other conversations. People conveniently skirt around the topic of Joseph's absence, instead talking about merry stories from their own lives. But as she gets more comfortable, it does get somewhat better. Still, as she and Miss Rippon reminisce over her days teaching the Seymour daughters, Winifred feels like there is still a heaviness in her...

     The clattering of knives and forks soon quietens during the pause between the main course and dessert. Therefore, conversation can be a heard a little better, her father and uncle loudly discussing the hunting season this year. Winifred sighs, turning to her left, where Jemima is starting to slide down her chair.

     "Don't slouch," she mutters.

     Jemima frowns, grumbling under her breath, "You're starting to sound like Miss Rippon..."

     "It was different when you were a child," Winifred snaps under a whisper. Then she seems to assess her demeanour from afar — she has just been worn thin tonight. While it has been nice to see so many old faces, it has also been such a large dose at once, and has overwhelmed her after spending many months alone in mourning. She immediately feels guilty for chastising Jemima. "... Are you enjoying tonight?"

     "If they bring out the pudding soon, then I will be."

     "Pudding? How can you eat pudding? You helped yourself to all the mince pies earlier, and you've just eaten that goose!"

     "I'm a growing girl, alright? But I'm afraid I shan't be able to walk very far after we leave this table."

     "Good grief..." Winifred half-laughs whilst shaking her head.

     "Are you enjoying yourself?" asks Jemima, with a hint of genuine concern.

     Winifred sighs, swirling the last drop of her beverage in her glass. "Well, it's very nice to see everyone again, I suppose. Aunt Katherine looks quite well — I'd wondered how she was since that fall she mentioned."

     Suddenly, Jemima says rather loudly, "I wish Joseph was here."

     She had chosen a moment where there happened to be a gap in everyone's talking. And now, everyone is staring at them, but especially Winifred. Octavia and Charles shoot her a sympathetic look, Abigail meanwhile not having a clue what to say. Jemima clearly didn't mean for everyone to notice her, either — her eyes grow apologetically wide as she freezes. Maybe she expects her sister to be angry with her, or upset... but there is no such reaction. As much as they clash, Winifred sometimes has to admire Jemima's lack of a filter between her mind and her mouth, for it often allows her to be much more honest than others would dare to be...

     And for some reason, just hearing that someone else misses Joseph too... it lifts a massive weight off of her chest.

    Before anyone can speak up again, the Christmas pudding is brought into the room, and everyone happily turns their attention to it.

     "So do I," Winifred murmurs quietly, so that only Jemima can hear her, in a delayed response. They share a private glance, an acknowledgement, before they leave the rest unspoken. The Christmas pudding is doused in brandy and lit on fire, to the delighted applause of all the guests.

When she looks up, across the room, she swears she sees Joseph sitting at the table next to her father: drinking, laughing and chatting as though he had never left at all.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

A U T H O R ' S
N O T E

—

Dearest readers...

The timing of this chapter being written was a lucky coincidence, because the festive setting just so happened to match with me getting in the mood for Christmas! Apart from being an excuse to write a regency era Christmas special and do some research, this chapter was also important to introduce the rest of the Seymours and the dynamics Winifred shares with them. I also hope it showed Winifred slowly trying to process her grief — it is a long and complicated journey, and this is just the beginning. This was a painful milestone for her, i.e. her first Christmas without him.

Anyway, I'm gagging to get into the actual scenes from Bridgerton, and we're almost there! Just one more "setting up" chapter left, and then we can enjoy all the drama of the ton... I've actually been pre-writing a couple of the next chapters, so maybe we will get there sooner rather than later.

If you are curious about some of the Christmas traditions mentioned in this chapter, here are some of the websites I found them on. (These don't work as links, but if you write out the link manually or just look up the website, that should hopefully work):

• www.randombitsoffascination.com
• www.charlottebetts.com/a-regency-christmas/

Also, if you want to imagine what Heyworth House looks like, I used Firle Place as a reference — look it up! It was the location for the Woodhouse home in the 2020 adaptation of EMMA.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was really fun to write. Happy holidays if you are or will be celebrating! And even if you aren't celebrating, I wish you all the best for the rest of 2023.

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 10/12/2023