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orchestra from the ballroom. The Effington Christmas Ball was, as always, a huge crush and unqualified success. Lizzie had slipped away to her room to fetch the book she wished to present to Nicholas, even if doing so had been rather more difficult than she had imagined. Thus far she had danced every dance with one gentleman or another and two with Charles, who was as charming and thoughtful as ever, although he gave the distinct impression of being a bit nervous. In her experience, Charles had never been anything but thoroughly lighthearted and completely confident. She feared that his odd manner tonight was indeed an indication of his intention to ask for her hand, and, at the moment, she had no idea how she would respond.
    Lizzie hid the book in the folds of her gown and headed toward the library. She navigated her way through the crowd milling in and out of the ballroom and acknowledged various greetings politely but without overt encouragement. She had no desire to waste time with anything akin to a conversation at the moment. She was altogether too anxious to engage in mindless pleasantries. Still, she could not help but overhear any number of comments in passing, most about the two small fir trees on linen-covered tables that flanked the entry to the ballroom. They were bedecked with sweets and flowers, garlands of ribbons and tiny candles, unlit as a precaution against setting careless guests aflame.
    "The Queen has had trees like these in celebration of Christmas since, oh, 1841, I believe," one lady said to her companion. "It's the Prince's German background, no doubt."
    "I quite like it," the second lady said firmly. "It's exceedingly festive. I shall have to have a tree in my own home next year."
    "As will I." Her friend studied the closest tree. "The duchess says, regardless of what the Queen chooses, she may well have a larger tree with decorations in the future. One that does not sit on a table but rather stands on the floor and reaches toward the ceiling."
    "A full-size tree? In the house?" The other woman snorted. "Absurd idea." Lizzie bit back a grin. If her mother, Marianne, the Duchess of Roxborough, wished to have a full-size tree, or an entire forest, in her house at Christmas or any other time of the year for that matter, she most certainly would do just that, regardless of what anyone else might think.
    Lizzie reached the library, and all thoughts of Christmas and fir trees vanished. She drew a deep breath, pushed open the door, and stepped into the room.
    The huge library was shadowed, the endless shelves of books little more than a hint of scent in the air, the gas lights dimmed. For a moment she was afraid that he hadn't come. That he wouldn't come. Or perhaps this emotion that pooled in her midsection was relief that she had arrived before him. Or relief that he might not come at all. It would certainly make her life easier. She could push these disquieting feelings she had for him aside, lock them in a place in her mind reserved for other discarded and fanciful notions, and go on with her life exactly as she, and everyone else, had planned. Marry Charles, the man who had always loved her. The man she had always loved. Until Nicholas.
    "Good evening, Elizabeth." Nicholas emerged from the shadows on the opposite side of the room near the desk.
    She started, as much from her own nerves as his sudden appearance. "Good evening, Nicholas." She forced a casual note to her voice. "It's a wonderful party, don't you think?"
    "It always is. Indeed, I have long thought of your family's ball as the highlight of the holiday season."
    "Yet you did not hurry back from your travels last year or the year before or the year before that to attend." She kept her tone light and teasing. "Indeed, by my count, you have missed the last three Effington Christmas Balls."
    He raised a brow. "And you were counting?"
    "Of course." She smiled. "You and your uncle are as much a part of the family as if you were blood relations.