AN: Thanks for all your lovely comments about the last couple of chapters. Thought I'd put this chapter up quickly, because it's been hanging around on my hard-drive for the past two years now. It was the first chapter I wrote when I started this fic, and as such, it has a special place in my heart. Hope it's as enjoyable (in an odd sort of way) for you to read as it was for me to write...

For a few days after that, Kieley was quiet, apart from the usual morning calls and household business. Sir Henry brought books for Miss Evershed, but he seemed distracted and always to be watching her and it confused her greatly. Once or twice she tried discussing the matter with Rosalind, but her old friend denied that she had noticed any change in Sir Henry's behaviour and so Miss Evershed was forced to accept that she was either imagining the situation, or that the significance of it would be soon revealed to her, for good or bad.

Christmas Eve brought news of both kinds, at least to Mrs North's mind. A letter arrived from Elizabeth bearing seasons' greetings to the whole party; she wrote that Captain Levendis was wearying of the army, and was considering selling his commission and returning to England. A slight leg wound from the previous month was adding force to his thoughts, it seemed, but Ruth knew that with a man such as Captain Levendis, no decision was certain until it had actually been carried out. She would not put too high a value on Elizabeth's words for the present.

The news of bad import was addressed in a letter to Mrs North herself. Lady Harris had written back to her, post haste, expressing delight that Rosalind had been able to put her in the way of acquiring such an apparently good governess for her offspring. Miss Evershed, with her education and experience in both raising children and moving in polite society, would be perfect for the position. Perhaps Mrs North would inquire on her behalf as to whether Miss Evershed would be willing to take the position? For a moment, Rosalind considered burning the letter and replying to Lady Harris in the negative, but deception in a matter such as this would be abhorrent. Ruth had asked for her help and she had acquiesced - that was an end to the matter.

But she regretted the decision when she had handed the letter to Ruth herself to read. The latter's face seemed to crumple somewhat as she did so and then she straightened her shoulders as one who was preparing for a great ordeal. Her smile was too wide and bright to possibly be genuine. "Oh, Rosalind, how shall I ever thank you? It is just what I want!"

Rosalind pursed her lips in irritation. "If I could believe that, my dear, then I should accept your thanks without question. As it is…"

Impulsively, Ruth embraced her. "As it is, I shall always be grateful for the help you have given me, and the friendship that you have shown me, Rosalind. Please don't be anxious on my account."

The chance of this, Mrs North silently told herself, was very slim indeed. All she could hope for now was that Sir Henry would make his offer before Miss Evershed had a chance to accept the quite different one she had already received.

Christmas Day dawned with the smell of roasting goose and the soft, dim sound of falling snow. Miss Evershed woke up with a smile on her face, which had been a more and more common occurrence over the past few weeks, and allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of being completely at peace with herself. The sensation would, she knew, not last once the season was over and she had taken up her new position.

She cast aside her less pleasant thoughts and the sheets and dressed. The whole party would be attending church together, and then conveying Mr Wynn-Jones and his mother to Kieley for the rest of the day. There would be joy in that, and in Sir Henry's presence too, and she had no right to ask for more. She examined her face closely in the mirror, sliding in the last of her hairpins, and then attempted a smile. It was shaky and thin, but it would suffice. It had to.

But something arrived over breakfast that transformed this facade of happiness into true joy. When Ruth entered the breakfast room, only Miss Norwood, the daughter of some of Lady Radford's neighbours, was present. She was a pleasant enough girl, but Ruth was not so well acquainted with her that the prospect of any length of time spent alone with her was cheering. However, as she sat down, the door opened and Berry entered, bearing a small wrapped parcel on a tray. A gift for Miss Norwood from one of her suitors, no doubt. Miss Evershed had noticed that young Mr Foxton had been paying her close attention for the past few days - perhaps he was the sender. The prospect somehow depressed her. But to her deep surprise, Berry approached her and, bending down, murmured, "This has arrived for you, Miss Evershed." Curious, she accepted it before she knew what she did. "Oh? I - I'm not expecting anything, Berry. Who delivered it?"

"A man from the village, ma'am. I asked from whom it was, but he said that he had been paid well to keep his silence." He frowned as he spoke; any person so obviously devoted to the mistress as Miss Evershed was earnt an instant place in Berry's affections, and he was anxious to protect 'the young lady', as he privately thought of her. "I do hope that everything is all right, Miss Evershed."

Ruth smiled at him cheerfully. "Yes, of course! It shall be nice to have a mystery to puzzle over! Merry Christmas, Berry, and thank you." Berry bowed, not entirely convinced, and withdrew. Miss Evershed opened the parcel carefully, revealing a book and a folded note. She opened it quickly and read. To one who will appreciate this gift, with the warmest wishes of the season. The handwriting was by no means unfamiliar.

With heightened colour, she turned her attention to the book itself. A copy of Ovid's Heroides. He had been perfectly right in his choice. She smiled over the gift and set it down beside her plate. Miss Norwood glanced over. "Oh, a book! How delightful! Whoever can it be from, Miss Evershed?"

Hastily, Ruth folded the note back up and slipped it carefully into her reticule. If the gift had been sent secretly, why, then its sender would remain anonymous. "I do not know. There was no note," she replied calmly.

Miss Norwood clapped her hands together in delight. "How exciting, Miss Evershed! I am sure I should find it most thrilling to receive a anonymous parcel!"

Ruth inclined her head. "Indeed." The coolness of her reply had the desired effect, at least - Miss Norwood coloured, recognising the implicit rebuke, and returned to her breakfast. Ruth rested her hand on the book and shook her head wonderingly.

How wonderful of him!

The rest of the morning passed off very well. The Kieley party made their way down to the church in their various carriages and curricles, and afterwards returned to the manor house. Once the spiritual business of the day had been dealt with, so to speak, the guests felt themselves able to relax somewhat and enjoy the more secular festivities. Lady Radford's cook had outdone herself, and the fat roasted goose and trimmings were a source of delight to all. Small gifts were exchanged between those who knew each other best, but not a word or a look passed between Sir Henry and Miss Evershed until the afternoon was drawing on.

At this point, Sir Henry mustered his courage, interrupted the quiet conversation that was going on between Miss Evershed and Mrs North while they watched the younger members of the party playing a game of charades. "Perhaps you would care to take a turn about the grounds with me Miss Evershed? I find myself in need of some air."

Miss Evershed smiled up at him, a little confused, but receptive nonetheless. "I should be glad to accompany you, sir." Rising, she hurried off to find a pelisse and bonnet, while Sir Henry remained with Mrs North. She gave him a questioning look, but the gentleman merely returned her gaze steadily, leaving Rosalind to draw her own conclusions.

The grounds were covered in a thick dusting of snow, and more was already floating through the air, but neither Sir Henry nor Miss Evershed were paying the slightest attention to it. The former was wondering how to embark upon a matter of great import, and the latter was asking herself whether it would be terribly improper to remark upon the gift which her companion had gone to such lengths to give secretly. At last, she decided that she would risk it.

"I must thank you for my book, Sir Henry," she smiled as they approached the bridge near the old summerhouse. "It was very much appreciated." The gentleman's answering grin was enough to convince her that she had made the right decision. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at her as they continued walking. "It is not a new copy, I am afraid - merely an old edition that was sitting in my library, gathering dust," he admitted, somewhat embarrassed. "I thought that it would find a good home with you."

The thought that the book had once sat in his house, in his library, as his possession strangely thrilled her, but she forced herself to speak calmly. "Indeed it shall," she replied. A sudden thought made her smile. "But I fear that the anonymity of the giver piqued Miss Norwood's curiosity very much."

"She informed me of the 'great mystery' when I arrived this morning. I struggled somewhat to keep my countenance, ma'am. I take it that you did not trouble to enlighten her?"

She blushed and her voice was very quiet when she said, "It did not seem… proper." Sir Henry seemed to jump, surprised. His head had twisted around to search her face for any trace of disapproval or shame, and his voice was anxious when he asked, "The gift has made you uncomfortable? Forgive me, I - "

She raised her hand, quick to reassure him. "No, not in the slightest, sir. But I felt that it would give rise to unnecessary gossip, were I to make it known that you had given me the book. Very few people would understand the nature of our friendship, I fear."

He appeared to relax somewhat, and for a moment stared out over the frozen stream. "Undoubtedly you acted for the best, as always." Now was the moment, if he was ever to speak the words that had been revolving in his head for so many months. He cleared his throat carefully. "In fact, it was of our friendship that I wished to speak."

"Oh?" She seemed surprised, curious perhaps; she had tilted her head on one side, just so, in that birdlike way that he so adored, drawing forth confidences and confessions alike. They had reached the bridge, and he turned to look out at the stream, bracing his arms against the intricate stone balustrade. She watched him silently, hands clasped before her. "Miss Evershed… Ruth… you know well, I think, how much I admire you. Your talents, your abilities… and we rub along quite comfortably together, do we not?" He tilted his head round, almost pleadingly, and added, "You are not afraid of me, and you do not think my informalities improper…" Sir Henry trailed off, and Miss Evershed sensed that some sort of reply was needed. "No, sir," she replied, with a little hesitancy.

He nodded, but he appeared distracted. "Well, then, I was rather hoping… it would make me very happy if…" He pressed a hand to his temples, and his next words were uttered with more frustration than was common in such situations. "Blast it! I've no deuced skill at this, Ruth! I want you to marry me." There, it was said - now he had only to wait for her reply.

There was silence. He chanced a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She had stepped forwards to stand at his side. Her head was bowed down, focused on the two hands which gripped the stonework of the bridge tightly. She was trembling. At last, the words came. "Marry you, Sir Henry?" She sounded stunned, wondering, breathless… He was not sure what it all meant. Anxiety was paradoxically making him calmer. Gruffly, he repeated, "Aye, marry me." He reached out slowly and rested his hand on her arm. "I've been a bachelor too long. I don't want to end my days rattling around Middlethorpe alone, growing bitter and set in my ways. I don't want my funeral to be one of those dreadful affairs with only six mourners present, all of 'em only there in the hope they've cropped up in my will, and I don't want that for you either, Ruth." He paused, and then admitted, in trembling accents, "You have become too dear to me for that."

The lady released a shuddering breath and raised a hand to her lips. "I do not know… I did not expect…" she breathed, and still she would not face him.

In later years, Sir Henry would look back upon this moment, and wonder why he acted as he did next. Perhaps he had been overwhelmed by the terrifying prospect of her refusal. Perhaps it had been a clumsy attempt to remind her of the advantages of the match. Perhaps his impatience had simply got the better of him. In any case, the words had slipped from his mouth before he could even think of reasons to stop them. "Would you prefer to die a pensioned-out ex-governess?"

It was no exaggeration to say that she froze in that moment. He felt her arm stiffen beneath the hand that was still resting there, in defiance of all proprieties. Then, very slowly and carefully, as though she was vainly grasping at the reins of her temper, she said, "You have been speaking to Mrs North, sir." It sounded like a question, but he knew her well enough to realise that it was not. At last, she looked up at him, and he saw that the wide-eyed wonderment and delight in her eyes was dying, to be replaced by hurt and humiliation, and anger.

He could sense her slipping away from him and grasped vainly at an excuse. "She informed me that she had found you a position that she thought would suit you very well, and I could not in all conscience allow you to leave without having spoken my mind." It was useless, and he knew it. She kept her pride well hidden, but it was there nonetheless.

"I see." Fuming, she stared angrily up at him. "I believed you to be the last man on earth who would mock me."

He frowned, bewildered, and removed his hand. "Mock you?"

"Aye, mock me!" With an effort, she controlled her temper and lowered her voice. "I am well aware of my position, Sir Henry. I know the feelings you claim to have to be impossible!" She rested a hand on the stonework once more, steadying herself under the weight of her disappointment. "How dare you presume to come here and propose marriage to me? How dare you pity me?"

Sir Henry had the sensation of sinking into a nightmare. Miss Evershed was glaring up at him in her distress, and he could only repeat her words and hope. "Pity you? I do not - "

Tears pricked at her eyes at the sound of his lies and she could not bear to listen to them any more. "How could you ever think me capable of marrying a man whose feelings towards me extend only to friendship?" She had heard of such marriages, of course she had - a woman gaining the security of her husband's name and position, with little further involvement. The husband would take a mistress, several mistresses if he chose, the wife would have lovers; if the husband were a kind man, he might even acknowledge her illegitimate children as his own. Their domestic arrangements would be as separate as their lives. The thought turned her stomach! How could he think her so mercenary? And then there were her own feelings to consider. "Especially a man… a man whom I…" She paused, recollecting herself, and searched for the correct words. At last, she found them and he suddenly realised that he had most seriously misjudged the situation. It was not her pride that he had wounded, but her heart. "There is no man whom, at this moment, I despise more! I refuse to marry you!"

His face hardened and silence fell around them along with the snow. At last, he bowed stiffly. His voice was not cold, however - it was simply emotionless. The passion of a few short moments ago, feigned or not, had vanished. "As you wish, ma'am. Forgive me for my… what was your phrase?" His lip curled almost sneeringly. "Ah yes, my presumption. I shall not trespass upon your notice any further. Good day to you, Miss Evershed."

He marched away, shoulders and back rigidly straight, and Ruth was left alone on the bridge to weep in the snow and watch her dreams of what might have been crumble into insignificance like so much dust.

"Rosalind?"

The knock at her dressing-room door was unexpected, but Mrs North allowed herself a brief, private smile of anticipation as she realised that her evening visitor was Ruth. No doubt she had come to reveal her engagement to Sir Henry. Opening the door, Rosalind was momentarily shaken by the evidence of recent, heavy weeping in her friend's red, swollen eyes - but, then, many women, when confronted by the proposals of the man with whom they had so clearly fallen in love, were apt to be reduced to a fit of tears. "Good evening, Ruth. Won't you co - ?"

But she was not permitted to finish her sentence. Quietly and determinedly, Ruth interrupted, "No, thank you, Rosalind. I merely came to ask you to write to Lady Harris and inform her that I should be delighted to take up her offer." Rosalind could not hide her shock. For a moment, she merely looked at her friend, eyes wide and mouth half-open in surprise. At last, she shook herself slightly, and forced herself into speech. "Delighted to…? But - Ruth, I…" She paused, feeling suddenly quite faint. No one had ever, in all her life, succeeded in causing so much turmoil in her heart and mind. After a short silence, she began again, more controlled this time. "Forgive me. I quite thought you had come to tell me something very different indeed."

Ruth's face seemed to harden. In that moment, she might as well have been made of marble; her tone of voice was curt when she answered. "If you mean that you expected me to inform you of my engagement to Sir Henry Pearce, then I can only apologise. We met this morning, he made me an offer and I refused him. I should be grateful if you would write the letter for me, Rosalind."

Her friend nodded, still somewhat anxious. "If you wish it, then of course I shall oblige you. But may I not be permitted to know why you refused him?"

Ruth smiled and pressed her hand, but it was not the sort of smile to inspire any sort of confidence in the equanimity of her feelings. Indeed, she rather looked on the verge of further tears. "One day, Rosalind, I shall tell you everything. One day, when we are both old women. At present, I am in no humour for confessionals."

Rosalind tightened her hold on Ruth's hand, frowning deeply. "Ruth, I have known you since I was thirteen years old, and never once have you refused to tell me anything. Please. I - I am concerned." The words were difficult to utter and had she not been feeling so wretched, Ruth would have laughed.

"There is no need, truly," she insisted. "You will write to Lady Harris?"

Mrs North's eyes widened at Miss Evershed's obsession with this fact. "Yes. I have already given you my promise, Ruth. I shall write tomorrow morning."

Ruth closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of something akin to relief. "I shall be eternally grateful to you, Rosalind. Goodnight."

Rosalind's voice was troubled when she belatedly replied. "Goodnight, Ruth."

AN: So… You didn't really think it was going to be that simple, did you? This is Harry and Ruth - and they're frustrating whatever century you put them in. A note on the weather - I don't in fact know whether or not it snowed in Yorkshire on Christmas Day 1812, but since this year was one of the worst on record weather-wise at the time (with the harvest in many places in Yorkshire only being finished in the second week of November!), it's a distinct possibility. 1813-14 was even worse, I understand. The idea of adults exchanging gifts at Christmastime was also not common, although children did get a present.