A gust of wind twirled a scattering of leaves along the street ahead of her, and Felicity was grateful she'd pulled on her thicker knitted mitts before leaving home.

An apple tart, wrapped in a square of calico, weighed down the creaking basket hooked at her arm. Did Mrs. Carter really have to live on the other side of town? It made deliveries that much more tedious.

Felicity was so caught up in her own thoughts that she nearly collided with a man's broad back as he stood by a white painted fence. She stumbled instead, catching herself before she toppled over.

"My apologies." Felicity ducked into a half-curtsy that she used to maneuver around him and his equally solid companion, keeping her head down. Rarely had she been so keen to continue on her way and leave embarrassment behind.

"Miss Merriman?"

The deep voice was familiar, and Felicity stopped, wishing she could become invisible at will. As it was, she had to turn around and face a concerned Nathaniel Rowlinson.

"Mr. Rowlinson," she said, hoping confusion didn't tint her words. She remembered him as a lanky boy with a shy manner and a penchant for whittling. Before her stood a man who might have been that boy's father. "The fault is all mine."

His eyes, soft and brown, searched her for damage. Felicity straightened under the survey. The inky navy blue of his greatcoat complimented wide shoulders he'd apparently gained during his time in the Continental Army.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you. Just a bit distracted is—"

Ben leaned around Nathaniel and tipped his hat to her.

"—all." Felicity put her unburdened hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes at him. Ben was supposed to be delivering a sack of oats to Mr. Fitchette. "What are you doing here?"

"And a good morning to you as well, Felicity."

She bit her tongue.

Nathaniel grinned. "Mr. Davidson and I were in the same regiment, you know. It's a great comfort to spend time with a friend who fought at one's side."

"Oh."

"It eases the difficulties of return," Nathaniel added seriously, and Felicity swore to herself that she would never speak again.

She bobbed her head in understanding and wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself. Her own adjustment to Ben's return and the end of war surely paled in comparison to the change for them. Ben had a new wariness of his surroundings and a tendency to jolt at sudden loud noises, though both instincts had faded lately. Perhaps Nathaniel was to thank for some of the progress.

"Will you be visiting Miss Cole?" Ben asked, pulling Felicity from her thoughts.

Or maybe he had someone else to focus on. His late-night wanderings hadn't stopped. Felicity felt sick, but swallowed it down. She wouldn't let her own pettiness mar this encounter any further that it already had.

"Yes, after delivering this order."

Ben extracted a tidy letter from his coat pocket, crisply folded and thick.

"I'd be much obliged if you would give that to her in a moment of privacy."

Felicity glanced quickly down at the name, and her stomach churned anew.

E.

Confidential, lightly flourished. The single letter was formed with more care than the entire note he'd left in Felicity's room the night before. He was putting in effort to impress Elizabeth, and Felicity felt something shutter in her chest.

She plunged the letter to the very bottom of her basket.

"I will."

After dipping into a hasty final curtsy, Felicity withdrew, relieved to be on her way.

Behind her, Nathaniel's voice drifted over as he spoke to Ben. "The intimacy extends to given names in public, does it?"

"You're not public, and the intimacy is an old one."

"I'm public enough."

Ben mumbled something that made Nathaniel laugh, and she made haste to Mrs. Carter's house, already craving the normalcy that awaited her in Elizabeth's parlor.

"Good evening, love." This early in the night, the server at Charlton's was still perky, not yet worn down by calls for more tobacco or another pot of chocolate. Here, Felicity was just a scrawny regular hunched over in their usual seat. "Will it be coffee tonight?"

Felicity pitched her voice a little lower. "Yes, ma'am." The coffee would be laced with roasted dandelion root and chicory to stretch the supply, but Felicity preferred the smoother taste anyway.

"Of course." The woman picked up a copy of the Virginia Gazette from an empty table and set it in front of Felicity. "There's your favorite." After a comforting pat on the arm, she was gone.

Felicity searched through her leather pouch for coins. The allowance her father gave her went far less to ribbons and candy than it did to funding her time here.

Charlton's private dining room was far beyond anything she could ever afford, as was the lodging rented out to those in town on business. She stuck to the common space: lively and endlessly fascinating. It was all less raucous than any of the taverns, however, even as the night wore on.

She found the correct change and set it on the table with a satisfying clink. A group of five men crowded into the coffee room, talking loudly, and their wet riding boots left prints on the wood floor as they hung their hats on pegs that ringed the room.

Out of habit, Felicity pulled her hood down even farther, and not a moment too soon. Ben was the last one through the door.

Panic iced along her limbs in the cozy room. If she got up and left now, it would only draw more attention to her.

No, she would have to stay.

They were clearly continuing an ongoing conversation. As they found a table, they debated whether Cornwallis or General Henry Clinton was responsible for the surrender following the siege.

Despite her instincts screaming at her to leave, Felicity's ears perked up.

Cornwallis couldn't follow commands, one man in the group said; another countered that General Clinton's orders were always changing anyway. All agreed that Cornwallis abandoning his outer defenses gave the French and American troops the chance to dig in, and that was the beginning of the end for the British.

It was only when the topic of manumission came up that Felicity risked a glance at the table. Ben was nodding as one of his friends spoke in adamant favor of it, and he thumped his palm on the table, rattling the spoons and saucers, to signal agreement when they launched into a strongly worded avowal of liberty and natural rights.

The server returned, placing a warmed cup on the table for her, along with sugar and a small pitcher of milk, and Felicity's attention was forced away from the conversation. A piping hot stream of fragrant coffee tipped from the side-handled pot. Felicity dropped her coins into the woman's hand.

"Thank you."

"Any time, love. This boisterous bunch will be gone soon enough and you'll have your quiet back."

Felicity didn't admit that she was hanging on to every word, drinking it in like the creamy coffee. She certainly didn't come here for silence, but sitting by the wall and hiding behind a broadsheet probably made it appear that way.

"Are they here often?"

"Couple times a week, I'd say. Usually they come in later. Army, from what I can tell, and polite enough. They eat their weight in Brunswick stew and leave."

Felicity slipped the woman another coin for the information and returned to pretending to read, trying not to guess what Ben would think if he knew she was listening.

By the time her third cup had cooled and she'd read the most recent issue of the Virginia Gazette, the group had long since left. The risk was small when Felicity stepped out into the chilly night.

She always took circuitous routes back and alternated randomly between them so anybody peeking from a window would be unlikely to see her often. Avoiding houses with loud dogs or nervous horses, she wove through empty lanes, her breath clouding in the frigid night. The moon was full so she kept to the shadows.

As she got closer to home, Felicity slowed her pace. The back of the house had its own risks — restless hens, creaking gate hinges, and gardens full of cold frames and hoop covers.

Hopping the fence easily, Felicity landed on frost-paled grass and crept along, crouching and steering clear of the shell walkway that would crunch underfoot. It was a path she had taken countless times, her movements all habit and repetition. When she got to the stoop, she pulled her shoes off so they wouldn't track in telltale garden dirt or make any noise as she sneaked up the stairs. Felicity straightened and, with measured care, reached for the door latch.

This was always the most difficult part. It required all her concentration to squeeze just enough to push the lever, but not enough to make the metal rattle, especially when it was so cold out. If the latch was frozen, she would have to work it loose. She took a steadying breath.

A hand clamped over her mouth.

Too frightened to scream, Felicity twisted wildly. She drove her elbows hard behind her at the attacker but they stood too close and blocked the ineffective blows, drawing another strong arm around her. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Surely someone in the house would hear the struggle. Her stockinged feet scrabbled against the brick steps, readying to kick with all her strength and knock her assailant off balance.

"Felicity!" It was as much of a hiss as a muffled whisper could be. "Stop. It's me."

Ben.

She almost collapsed with relief before new panic drenched her. This was bad, too. In fact, this was an unmitigated disaster.

And, worse — Ben seemed to know it.

He released her, and the thick felted wool of his overcoat brushed against her as he moved away.

"Come with me," he said. "We need to talk."

Heart racing, Felicity put her shoes back on and followed him. The fresh dread grew as they crossed the stable yard, crouching all the while to stay low. Mr. Merriman would forbid her from going to the Christmas ball, Felicity was sure of it. She would have to spend Twelfth Night reading by the fire, bored and trapped with William and her father, while Elizabeth and Nan and Ben drank punch in a sparkling, music-filled ballroom.

But just as Ben had caught her, he'd also been caught, and she could use it to her advantage. By the time they slipped into the barn, Felicity had a plan.

Ben shushed the horses and, after some quiet nickering and a few curious snorts, the animals were silent. When he turned around to face her, his expression was unreadable in the uneven dark.

"What were you doing out?" she demanded before he could say anything.

Ben blinked at her, his eyes a glint in the slant of moonlight. "Felicity, that's not—"

"Who were you with?"

The question was more severe than she'd intended. More wounded. It had been well over an hour since he'd left the coffeehouse and there were only so many places to go at night. Though it would be a perfect time for a rendezvous.

She felt unsteady. Surely Elizabeth would've told her if something so serious was going on between them.

Surely.

"My friends," Ben replied calmly. "Your father is aware. He also knows that I sometimes take walks when I can't sleep. Alone."

In an instant, Felicity's ammunition vanished.

"If anybody else saw you right now…" Ben went on.

"I would deny it."

"Felicity, you are a walking scandal. You are a young woman of marriageable age, sneaking through town at night unattended, wearing that."

She lifted a shoulder.

"Regardless of what I think," Ben said, "others won't be so understanding."

"Don't scold me."

"I know that was you at Charlton's."

Her stomach plunged to her feet. This was bigger than being caught outside. Her freedom was entirely at Ben's mercy.

"Please don't tell Father."

Behind Ben, Blossom stuck her head out from her stall to nudge him sleepily and nibble at the collar of his coat. Absently, he gave her a pat over his shoulder.

"I won't," he said. "I have always kept your secrets and I always will."

Tears sprang to her eyes, prickling as she blinked them back.

"Thank you, Ben." Felicity hesitated, unsure if she wanted to know the answer to her next biggest fear. She would ask anyway. "Are you disappointed in me?"

"For getting caught? No. It took a few tries, to be honest. You're quick. And much craftier than I remembered."

Felicity tried to ignore the rush from his words, but pride simmered through her all the same. She focused again on her question.

"No, for going to a coffeehouse."

Ben shrugged, and Blossom pushed her head against his back to nuzzle more. He kept his balance.

"You should be allowed to go where you please," Ben said. "It's an interesting place. Although maybe a bit unrefined."

Felicity thought of all the lewd conversations she'd overheard, the lascivious tales of libertines read aloud to bellowing laughter, of the things about the world she never would have learned otherwise. If she had to listen to the occasional ribald story, it was worth it to be in a place that felt open. Even if she had to sit alone on the edges and dream of what she'd say if she could really join in.

"Unrefined? That's rich coming from a soldier," Felicity pointed out.

Ben laughed. "Oh, it sounds like a church sermon compared to the army," he agreed. "I just meant for a..." He trailed off, sweeping a hand up and down to take in her full height. "You."

"A me?" Felicity crossed her arms, suddenly very aware of the fact that she wore no stays beneath her waistcoat and shirt. The thick wool of her cloak kept her from feeling too exposed.

"Yes." Ben turned to give Blossom a quick kiss on the nose and a final pat. "And if you ever want somebody to sit with you at your table in the corner, just ask. I would like to. We could talk about anything."

Felicity imagined how wonderful it would be to have a friend she could pass the newspaper over to, to point out an interesting headline over steaming cups of thick, spiced chocolate. Not the strangers that sometimes took the empty seat at her table, trying to chat before they gave up and turned their chairs to join a more talkative group, but a real friend who knew her truly.

"People might get suspicious," she said. "I've been going for years and always by myself."

Ben froze.

"You've been going for years?"

"Yes. How did you recognize me?"

He shook his head slightly as if clearing a fog. "Your hands."

Felicity looked down at them. Her gloves were on now, but she was careful to forego any jewelry. She tended to keep her hands tucked in her cloak unless she was turning a page of the newspaper or drinking her coffee. They looked vaguely delicate, she imagined, but bodies came in all shapes and sizes. And even that would only have tipped Ben off that there might be a woman at the table. Not that it was her.

"What about them?"

"I know what your hands look like." Ben said it like it was obvious. As if hands all appeared completely distinguishable at a distance.

"That is ridiculous."

"It's not. See—" He reached out to grasp her right wrist. He pulled off her glove and pointed to the back of her hand with his own gloved finger. "These freckles, in a line right here." Felicity squinted at them and angled to catch a glimpse in the light of the moon; she supposed they were aligned. "And this scar." Ben traced the edge of her ring finger, where she had once accidentally nicked herself with a penknife. "And your knuckles always get red when you're upset or too warm."

"They do not."

He didn't let go of her hand.

"They do, Felicity."

She looked up at him, the white plumes of their breath mixing in the cold air by the stable door. She didn't know what to say. Her entire body thrummed. Under his cravat, she could see Ben swallow before he cleared his throat and stepped back, dropping her hand.

"Let's go inside," he said, holding her glove out to her. "It's colder than a witch's—" Ben caught himself in time but Felicity was already laughing.

"Go on," she teased as she slid her hand back into the glove. "Finish the phrase."

"No."

"Teat." Felicity enunciated the word clearly and Ben winced. "Aye, 'tis. Though I'm not sure who does the comparing."

"You have spent far too much time in bad company," Ben mumbled as he closed the stable door behind them.

"Or not enough," she said. "Otherwise I would've heard about the exact temperature of all the parts of a witch."

"I am rethinking my offer to sit with you, Miss Merriman." But even in the dark, he was grinning.

Two days later, Felicity had a moment alone with Ben before breakfast, between setting the table and calling everyone in to eat.

"There's another letter for you." Felicity extracted it from her pocket. The bottom corner of the paper was a little crumpled, but she had enough dignity to pass it to him unapologetically and without looking at the small flower inked neatly in the precise center. If she didn't look, it wasn't real — a childish game that was proving surprisingly effective.

"Thank you. I will take that upstairs directly, if you'll excuse me." And Ben left.

Felicity went back to straightening the round-tipped knives at each place setting. She pressed her lips into a grim line to stop her chin from shaking. Little by little, she was losing her dearest friends. Only to each other, it was true, but the loss wounded.

To her surprise, Ben returned quickly, coming down the steps with a speed that could only stem from years of familiarity and a bit of recklessness.

"You're not going to open it?"

"Of course not." Ben gave her a strange look. "I'll take care of it later."

She supposed it was intrusive. He probably wanted more privacy and time to read it. Whatever was in the letters, it was intimate enough to warrant hand delivery and secrecy.

And as always, Felicity tried very hard not to think about what he might do alone in his bedchamber.

"Anyway," Ben said, "the new bridles came in and they're quite fine. You should come pick one out for Penny."

"Aye," she grumbled miserably.

Elizabeth and Felicity stopped short at the crack of a gunshot, echoing from a pasture near the creek and sending birds scattering.

"A hunt, perhaps?" Elizabeth suggested, but her usually rosy complexion had drained.

The noise was too close to town, and it was not yet the twenty-fifth, so it wasn't some overzealous boy shooting in the Christmas.

"Let's go see." Felicity took Elizabeth's arm and dragged her along behind her.

"Must we?"

In the field, two distant men aimed muskets at a tree along the water.

Felicity squinted at the enormous oak. Its bare branches were full of green clumps. She pointed.

"Mistletoe."

Elizabeth hummed. "It's very different in England," she said. "And they certainly don't use guns to collect it."

Perhaps the target practice would have been helpful, Felicity thought to herself. But she didn't say it. Loyalty was a complicated thing.

"Is that Nathaniel?" Elizabeth was asking. "And Ben?"

One man braced himself, legs wide as he seated the musket against his shoulder, taking aim. There was a loud crack and a puff of smoke, and a loose ball of mistletoe tumbled out of the tree.

"I think it must be," Felicity said as Ben got a congratulatory slap on the back. He moved over to reload while Nathaniel eyed the tree and gestured to the top branches, obviously saying something to Ben. They were too far away to hear, but the way Ben answered, holding up his hand like he was carving a line with the edge of it made Felicity think they were discussing angles.

"We shouldn't keep your mother waiting," Felicity said to Elizabeth.

"Don't you want to watch? It's quite dashing."

Felicity waited for more. For a confession, another observation, an apology. Anything. Even a bit of smugness. But Elizabeth said nothing more. Nathaniel took longer to aim, repositioning himself several times, but when the powder flashed and the shot rang out, two clumps fell to the ground. Triumphant shouts drifted over the frozen field. The truth was that it was nice to watch them, and to know that it must feel good for them to use their muskets for something besides war. But there was much to do before the holiday and Felicity didn't want to waste time. And she certainly didn't wish to be caught gawking with Elizabeth.

"I don't want to watch men shoot trees, Elizabeth. 'Tis cold besides."

"Suit yourself."

But Felicity did look back as they walked away.

All anyone spoke about for days was the recent fire at the Governor's Palace. They'd barely had time to evacuate the patients, still recuperating after Yorktown, before the main building was engulfed. The spread was so catastrophically fast that the crowd could only look on in shock as the structure collapsed, sending flames licking into the sky. Nobody knew what had started it.

The Cole's parlor offered an orderly, insulated reprieve.

"Has Ben mentioned a letter recently?" Elizabeth asked as she poured their peppermint tea.

Perched at the end of a chair, Felicity straightened her back.

"No."

"I suppose things are probably quite busy for Mr. Hall this time of year," Elizabeth said.

Felicity choked, managing to turn it into a passably polite cough that she remedied with an audible gulp of tea. Things tumbled decidedly into place. The timing. The secrecy. Every folded bit of foolscap. She glanced around the room with new understanding, feeling utterly foolish.

"Mr. Hall?"

"Yes, it's been so kind of Ben to pass our notes along. And of you as well, of course," Elizabeth said sincerely, and returned her cup to her saucer. "I do hope it hasn't been an inconvenience. I know Ben has a bit of a walk to the college, but it wouldn't be half as discreet without both of you."

Felicity nearly slid from her chair in relief. If Elizabeth noticed, she was too polite to comment.

"Not at all. Yes, I think Mr. Hall's been quite busy with his studies," Felicity said, recovering quickly. She felt giddy enough to float away, but would have to make sense of it all later. With new clarity, a re-examination of the past weeks was sure to be instructive. Gone was the near-constant tension in her body, and that was good enough for now.

Felicity cleared a strange tightness from her throat and continued. "William has a larger stack of books than usual to tide him over. But I believe he said that Mr. Hall is staying for Christmas, and intends to visit his family in Philadelphia in the spring."

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to look pleased.

"I suppose I'll have to be less shy at the ball," she said.

"With all the mistletoe the Hendersons have ordered from Father, I suspect so."

Elizabeth brought her hand to her forehead.

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that!"

Felicity's eyes narrowed. "You've never thought about kissing him?"

Elizabeth collected herself, adjusting the ribbon tied around her neck to center the dangling pearl pendant. "Briefly."

Felicity took a bite of a gingersnap.

"If your fan is big enough, you can just hide behind it all evening," she suggested.

Elizabeth looked scandalized.

"Of course my fan will be big enough," she said. "We could both hide if we wanted."

"It's just a game. I'm not afraid of a kiss."

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, as if entertained by a secret joke.

"We shall see about that, Miss Merriman."

After the pinning and tying came more tugging and arranging. The perfumed air of the mantua maker's shop made Felicity's nose twitch, but she stood still to avoid getting poked, though the boning of her new stays felt like armor and it was unlikely that a pin could find its way through a gap.

Finally, Elizabeth gave a satisfied sound somewhere to her left.

"Perfect. Open them!"

At long last, Felicity opened her eyes. A mirror had been angled down to capture the full effect.

The gown was a wash of deep, richly dark plum that ignited her red hair, and the sheen of silk taffeta gathered in soft billows to barely lift the hem from the floor. A subtle woven pattern swirled over the skirt with climbing vines and delicate flowers. The neckline scooped elegantly, trimmed with a narrow, white ruffle and filled in with a small bit of diaphanous muslin that seemed to emphasize far more than it covered. Lace peeked just slightly from the sleeves.

"Elizabeth!" It was an awed gasp.

Her friend practically glowed with pride and happiness. "Do you like it?"

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Felicity said earnestly. The gown had an understated sophistication, a sleek practicality that grounded its loveliness. The bodice met in the front, with no stomacher to readjust all evening. No fabric dripped limply from the sleeves to tickle her arm while she tried to eat.

Felicity squeezed Elizabeth into a fierce hug, and if she allowed herself to think of that long-ago winter when her friend had secretly ensured she'd had a dress, Felicity would weep rather openly. "I don't know how to thank you."

"By wearing it, of course."

"I think the difficulty will be bringing myself to ever take it off."

Elizabeth beamed at her until she shook herself, business-like once more.

"Oh, and these may be untied, if you prefer." With a few pulls of hidden bows, the skirt's gathers fell to trail gracefully.

Felicity glanced down at her chest. Perhaps she was just unaccustomed to wearing formal gowns, but it always caught her by surprise to see so much of her skin on display in public.

"My goodness, Felicity," Mrs. Cole stopped in the doorway. "You look the very height of fashion."

"All Elizabeth's doing."

Mrs. Cole turned smoothly to her daughter. "My dear, I rather think you have a natural talent."

"Indeed she does, ma'am," said Mrs. Lewis. "If it pleases, we could use her eye when sketching some of our more involved designs, as a consultant of sorts."

Felicity was sure that had Mrs. Cole been a bird, she would've preened at the inquiry. But she was a restrained woman, so all they got was a minute tip of her chin and a fresh sparkle in her gaze. "It's her choice, of course, but you have my full support."

Across the packed table, in the midst of the party's churn and spectacle, Mr. Thomas Hall was clinging to every one of Elizabeth's words.

Silver candlesticks gleamed in the light of scores of beeswax tapers, and platters were heaped with roasted meat and butter-drenched potatoes, ruby red port sloshed in glasses, and the Henderson's generous spread stretched the full length of the room.

Thomas's gaze only strayed from Elizabeth for long enough to locate his dinner knife or wine, and Felicity wondered at how unaware she'd been. The man was besotted, and if Elizabeth's bubbly joy was any indication, the sentiment was completely mutual.

Several seats down, Ben caught Felicity's eye and lifted his glass to her in a private toast. The work they'd done, minor though it was, had brought happiness to two deserving people. Whether those letters contained the scandalous or the sweet, a formal courtship was inevitable. Felicity grinned and tipped her glass in return before taking a sip. Now their friendship could be normal again, with none of the strange tension rippling in it since his return.

Between getting ready at Elizabeth's house, greeting the Hendersons, and plunging into the crowd to find her place card at the table, Felicity hadn't had a chance to speak to Ben all day. He'd barely managed to give her a quick bow before being pulled back into a conversation with Mr. Kensley.

There would be time, either between dances or when the party dwindled in the early morning hours. And they could always speak on the carriage ride home if they were not too exhausted, or else the following morning. Felicity relished the thought of reliving the night over a late breakfast with him.

Farther down the table, Mary nudged Nan and nodded in Felicity's direction. By concentrating on spooning up another taste of the chestnut sauce that was drizzled over the pheasant, Felicity managed not to glare back. No onlooker would be aware of the teasing that had only grown in intensity over the preceding eleven days of Christmas.

Nan's friends and their families had invaded the parlor in the evenings, taking up every available seat so that Felicity had to cram onto the settee between Ben and William, apologizing when her skirts billowed over their legs.

The group of girls seemed to take particular delight in ensuring that Felicity and Ben passed each other in the hallway, or, in one memorable mishap, happened to be searching the study's shelves for the same misplaced book that the gaggle of sixteen-year-olds suddenly required. He'd mumbled an apology and Felicity had heaved a long-suffering sigh because, truly, she should've known they didn't actually need a book of poetry while stringing garlands of popcorn and cranberries.

Felicity had returned to the parlor with a faded blush and the slim, worn volume clutched in her hand.

The traps had only become more ornate. Soon, Felicity had found her missing mitt stuffed into the deep pocket of Ben's greatcoat hanging by the entryway. She'd learned to prop open doors so they wouldn't be blown shut and locked by a mysteriously dexterous breeze.

Tonight, thus far, the girls had been unnervingly well behaved. But dessert was being cleared and dancing offered a new host of opportunities for mischief.

Felicity took a fortifying sip of sherry before getting to her feet. She followed the party's pull into the ballroom, where a violin's opening trill announced the minuet. Ivy-wrapped chandeliers set the room aglow, and cedar sprigs studded with holly pillowed each windowsill. Everything seemed to twinkle in the dark glass, creating a phantom duplicate of the ballroom in the gathering night outside.

Felicity watched as the sedate dance wove people through the room with gliding steps, lining them up again before threading them around each other. The first dances at balls, graceful and regal, always seemed like the calm before a summer thunderstorm, and she loved them mostly for the building sense of anticipation. Soon enough, jigs would bounce everyone along and the night would wear late.

James Geddy claimed her first dance — a surprisingly brisk waltz that left Felicity fanning herself in the elegant room as the song drew to a close. He bowed easily and smiled at her, and there truly were worse ways to spend a winter's evening. He hadn't trampled her toes, which was Felicity's primary concern. Her lavender-colored dancing slippers remained unscuffed and unpinched.

"You have quite the talent for dancing, Miss Merriman."

Felicity waved away the compliment with her fan. "Thank you, but 'tis no work at all with a skilled partner."

He grinned, teeth white and straight. "Then I hope you find one. Should you crave another round of my graceless stomping, I'm at your disposal."

Felicity laughed at that and curtsied again before wandering over to the sideboard paved with silver trays of lemonade.

Elizabeth soon joined her. Powdered and rosy, the misty sheen of exertion was kept at bay across her brow. Elizabeth's gown, a cloudless sky blue, was still impeccably neat. Felicity passed her a glass.

"Mrs. Ewing seems to be out of mourning. It's a shame your father's not here to see how fetching she looks in green."

"I'm sure Nan will tell him every detail."

"She does have some talent for matchmaking, you know."

Felicity ignored the gentle prod. The past evenings had been a maelstrom of Nan's social maneuvering, some of it aimed at herself and Ben and some at their father and a certain widow. "I suspect she simply wishes her dear friend to become our sister through an advantageous match."

Elizabeth sipped at her drink. "He's quite naturally taken with Mrs. Ewing. Their temperaments are complimentary."

"It sounds like you are an aspiring matchmaker as well."

"Sometimes things are plain."

"Rarely."

Elizabeth clicked her tongue softly. "The heart makes itself known."

"Then why should anybody bother with hurrying it along?"

"As a distraction, I imagine. And many people wish to see the ones they love happy."

Felicity could scarcely argue. She had, after all, delivered the notes and the result was well worth it. Perhaps the inclination to meddle wasn't so foreign to her after all.

"I see you've given several dances to others," Felicity observed finally.

"Only out of duty, and very begrudgingly."

As if Elizabeth's pronouncement had summoned him, Thomas appeared. A few faint ink stains that he'd been unable to scrub off dotted his fingers, and affection bobbed high in Felicity's chest.

"Miss Cole." He bowed deeply.

"Mr. Hall."

Felicity grinned against the rim of her lemonade glass.

"If you are not otherwise engaged—"

"I'm not," Elizabeth blurted. Felicity had never seen her hands clasped so tight. "I mean. Yes, I will."

Thomas breathed out, his shoulders settling to a more comfortable slope. "That is a relief."

Before Elizabeth followed him into the crowd, she turned to Felicity. "I'll be back shortly."

"Surely not."

"But you're all by yourself."

"I am still recovering from the waltz," Felicity said.

"It was a bit fast."

"Elizabeth, go."

And her friend was gone, like the flash of a bluebird's wing through the trees. Felicity set her empty cup on a waiting tray, trying not to think of the mountain of work that must be filling the scullery. She moved farther down the table to a quiet corner of the ballroom where a punch bowl waited patiently. Festivities would progress, and people would seek out the eggnog, with its flecks of grated nutmeg and heady wafts of rum and vanilla-laced bourbon.

In the meantime, Felicity decided to sample it as she watched Henry Bracken keep up with Nan through a jig. One never knew when the host's kitchen had an overly generous pour, and Elizabeth would appreciate a warning.

The first sip of the eggnog was creamy heaven, sugar and richness smoothing over the bite of alcohol. Then came the festive, indulgent burn. She swirled the cup and inspected the languorous flow.

A broad shoulder, wrapped in the fine wool of a close-cut coat, bumped softly against her as someone reached for the silver ladle. Felicity withdrew to a nearby window to seek a draft of frosty night air through unseen cracks, leaving the row of chairs lined up against the wall for the truly fatigued or overwhelmed.

The man in possession of said broad shoulders settled again beside her and watched the room in companionable silence as they sipped their way through their cups of eggnog. Even without glancing up, his height and steadiness were unmistakable.

Finally, Ben spoke.

"I feel a bit as though you're avoiding me tonight."

Felicity snapped off a bit of the cedar garland encircling the window, releasing its comforting, peppery scent.

The difficulty was in the adjustment. She had grown so accustomed to Ben being gone, and then to thinking that he and Elizabeth were beginning to form some sort of attachment, that she hardly knew how to feel around him now. Especially when Nan's friends were conspiring to make them squeeze past each other on narrow stairs. And here he was of his own volition, with a ballroom brimming with women who coveted a dance with him.

"Well, I'm not," she said. "Perhaps it is you who's been avoiding me."

"Felicity, you won't even look at me."

She dragged her eyes up to meet his. Ben appeared as he always did, if not a bit tidier, with a closer shave and a neater queue.

"There," she announced. "Is that satisfactory?"

"It's a start."

Felicity chafed at that, mostly because she was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to inspect the nearly hidden ringlet that always formed at Ben's nape when the air was humid enough. Instead, she drew her finger through the condensation that had gathered on the window pane's colder edges.

"If this is about—" Ben checked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "If this is about Charlton's, you have nothing to worry about. I told you."

Felicity nearly laughed. She'd relived that night since, in the silence of her bedchamber, rewriting the encounter's every possible permutation.

"No, it isn't about Charlton's."

"Then what is it?" He took a half-step closer, like the answer was just out of reach and not knowing was a kind of torture.

Felicity blinked at him.

"I don't know why you think it's about you at all."

Ben stilled. "Just a feeling."

"Well, your feelings are quite curious."

"Aye. As of late."

Before she could ask what he meant, a cry went up.

"They're going to cut the cake!"

And whatever strange spell had been cast was just as quickly undone. The crowd gathered, Felicity let herself be pulled away, and Ben was likewise drawn into new conversations.

Felicity danced a reel — dizzying and exhilarating — with John Everard, who barely kept pace but always caught up with her in time to gallop down the alley formed by two lines of dancers.

The surge of people had tides, and it was during one of the low tides that Nan and Abigail called her over to chat. To Felicity's surprise, the topic was rather refreshingly not eligible young men.

"What do you suppose those little red bits were in the cake?" Abigail tapped her folded fan to her chin.

"Cherries?" Felicity offered.

"No, the cherries were bigger."

"Currants then."

Somewhere nearby, Ben's voice rumbled quietly.

"Oh!" Nan pointed above Felicity, giving Abigail's arm a shake to get her attention. "Mistletoe!"

A few people close by paused their conversations to crane their necks or clap encouragingly as Ben was pushed closer.

Felicity tried to ignore them all, her ears growing hot. The most obvious trap imaginable and she had fallen for it. The malicious little sprig dangled from one of the chandeliers.

"It's so warm in here," she said to Ben.

"Felicity, we don't have to."

A small, rowdy group had gathered to watch, drawn in by their reluctance. Strictly speaking, the rules were that she couldn't refuse a kiss. And she didn't think her and Ben's mutual hesitation would pass without comment.

"Let's just get it over with," Felicity said, turning her cheek to him. "So they stop."

It was so fast, she didn't have time to get nervous. Just a brush of Ben's lips on her cheek and people were cheering. He reached up to pluck a berry from the plant, showing it to the crowd. In an instant, Felicity had gone from wondering what it would feel like to knowing but not remembering. There'd been no chance to process the kiss, and now that it was over she just felt silly and dissatisfied. And silly for feeling dissatisfied by a meaningless, lighthearted Christmas tradition.

"There." She smoothed the front of her gown. "Duty done. We must be more attentive to our surroundings and more suspicious of my sister and her friends."

"They're incorrigible. Miss Mary Ewing was inquiring about the upcoming shipment of porcelain inkwells and I didn't even notice we were moving until it was too late."

Talking felt good. Still, lingering beside him would draw attention.

She curtsied. "Let's keep our wits about us then."

Mistletoe kisses were infinitely easier before an audience appeared, Felicity decided as she moved through the rooms, chatting. That was all that had her flustered. And she tracked Ben's movements to ensure they didn't end up too close again.

She accepted an efficient, friendly peck from Thomas. Then there was a sloppy attempt from one of the Geddy boys who had clearly underestimated the brandy punch. He almost missed her entirely, and ended up pushing his face into her hair and making a loud, smacking kissing sound instead. Felicity helped him find a chair to plop into and fetched a glass of lemonade.

Ben was the one who was soon cornered as Mrs. Cole's friends gathered around him. One trailed the edge of her fan up his arm and across his chest while asking about Yorktown. He made his excuses and disentangled himself, rushing over to Felicity in a safe, greenery-free corner, straightening his cravat.

"How much mistletoe did you and Mr. Rowlinson shoot down?" Felicity asked. The rooms rang with boisterous laughter as more clumps appeared to replace the ones that had been picked clean of berries.

Ben glanced around. "Too much, I think."

He nudged Felicity slightly to the side so somebody could squeeze past with a tray of immaculately white syllabub in fluted glasses.

"We should escape while we have the chance," she said. "Let's just hide for a bit."

"I can think of nothing better."

The house stifled with crackling fires and closely-packed bodies. Their retreat deposited them outside, where there was a dusting of snow and the sharp smell of more to come. The stairs had been swept clean but the portico was wide, and beyond the columns that framed the front door, snow gathered in dark corners. They found a sheltered spot, standing side-by-side.

"I'm sorry we had to..." Ben pointed behind them to the house, where new sprigs hung from every door frame to sow more chaos.

"I didn't mind," Felicity said. "Though I would prefer not to have an audience. Because it was you."

"Ah. I see." He said it with a clipped finality and shifted away from her. The movement was so slight, it was almost imperceptible, but Felicity felt the loss of Ben's warmth and the space between them filled with cold air. "I'm sure your father will hear about it soon enough."

She slipped her arm into his, pulling him nearer again. Ben gave her hand a friendly pat.

"He'll have no objections," Felicity said. "It's just a bit of fun and, anyway, he likes you."

They watched the flurries, the party's muffled sounds giving way to the hushed fall of snow where they stood and the occasional rattle of loose reins when a bored horse shook its head.

"I supposed I always imagined it differently," Felicity told Ben, tracing his coat sleeve's double-stitched seam. "With us."

He huffed a laugh through his nose.

"And how did you imagine it, Miss Merriman?"

It took a good bit more boldness than she thought it really ought to. Maybe because it was Benjamin Davidson. But he had asked. Felicity had to stand on her tiptoes, and she rested her fingers lightly on the side of his face and pressed her lips to his cheek. And left them there, her exhale swirling hot over his skin, the tiniest scratch of his stubble under her lips. The smell of his soap and a splash of lime-infused cologne as she breathed him in. Two smaller, quicker kisses at the corner of his mouth because suddenly, one wasn't enough, and the proximity of their lips sparked through her like a spray of struck flint.

Finally Felicity dropped to her heels, giving his cheek a final brush with her thumb, and turned back to watch the carriages, quite proud of herself.

"Like that," she concluded.

"Aye, that is a bit different," Ben agreed, as if in a daze. Then he cleared his throat and drew his hand slowly down the length of her spine, the sensation dulled by her stays but like lightning all the same. "We didn't do it the way I wanted to, either."

"And what way is that?"

But she knew. Felicity knew before Ben caught her by the waist and pulled her closer, before his mouth met hers, slow at first, a careful testing. Then it was fast, and Felicity didn't care if she raked his hair loose from its neat binding and left it a mess because Ben was underneath it all, and she had loved him all along. She had dreamed of this for so long that she couldn't even remember when it had begun, and if it was ruining everything, she would pick through the wreckage later.

She would blame the party or the punch — that was the trick. All was forgivable.

And she was free.

Felicity dragged him away from the portico's edge to shelter against the wall, the darkness her accomplice once more. Her movements were clumsy and unpracticed, but her lips found his again.

On the other side of the column, a doorknob turned.

Ben spun her around, switching their positions. Felicity pressed herself to the wall as he leaned against the column, the open flaps of his greatcoat shielding her. His breath was gusting like he'd been running.

Felicity peeked around Ben's shoulder just as Mrs. Randolph burst out of the door, flailing as she hauled the ornate weight of her gown through the opening. Inside, a footman hurried to open the other door while Ben and Felicity watched the spectacle unnoticed.

"I have never been so insulted in my entire life!" Mrs. Randolph fumed, righting herself. Mr. Randolph followed close behind, signaling for their carriage. The coachman gave the reins a flick, looking utterly unsurprised by their early departure.

"My dear, I don't believe Mrs. Saunders was implying that your pomander was of inferior—"

"In my entire life," she repeated, punctuating each word with a pointed finger, jabbed at nobody in particular. They hurried across the snow-dusted drive to their waiting carriage.

"I'm glad to see that things are back to normal in Williamsburg," Ben said as Mrs. Randolph attempted to cram herself into the seat, missing the folding step completely in her outrage.

Felicity laughed so hard that she was left gasping, half at the absurdity of a fight about decorated fruit, and half at the relief that things between her and Ben felt unchanged in all of the ways that mattered, even though she'd left him disheveled and any more would have to wait for another night. He still grinned when she collapsed against his arm in a fresh fit of giggles. He was still happy to stay with her outside, no matter the weather. Still her friend.

But, when Felicity finally stopped laughing, some things were new. Like the way Ben seemed to fall into her eyes, and the way he tucked an errant red curl behind her ear like she was the most important thing he'd ever touched. And, before they returned to the party, the way he dragged her into a hug that felt just like home.

Felicity ran the bed warmer between her blankets before she climbed in, watching snow collect on the sill outside as she snuggled beneath the down-filled counterpane.

"Twelfth Night, 1782," Felicity thought, more grateful than ever to leave the intimate details of her life undocumented. "I've done something either very foolish or very brave. And I would like to do it again."