Bonus Epilogue
F rom all Mirabelle had heard, the town didn't usually hold their annual Christmas dance on Christmas Eve.
But they were doing so this year. Mirabelle was glad of it.
Attending her very first dance, wearing her blue gown, and knowing she would get to dance with Quinn was the most wonderful Christmas gift she could think of.
She brushed her hand along the sleeve of her dress, then let her fingers trace the scalloped lace at the wrist. Quinn had surprised her with a very small bit of lace, just enough for adorning the cuffs.
He'd apologized for not being able to afford enough for the hem or neck.
Silly man. She didn't need fine and fancy things.
That he thought of her and cared was the most wonderful thing in the world.
Bits of lace were far less important to her.
A light rap on her bedroom door pulled her attention that way. She opened it, expecting to see Quinn. But it was Tiernan. His expression was as gruff as ever, but she'd learned to recognize the kindness underneath it in the three months she'd lived in this house.
"I've a Christmas present for you, lass. But I mean to give it to you now." He unceremoniously held out a length of cream-colored ribbon. "'Twas my wife's. She sometimes wore it in her hair. I thought it'd go nicely with your blue dress."
"Oh, Tiernan. How kind of you." She took the ribbon. "I've set aside a carrot loaf for you. No sense taking it all to the sociable."
"No one'll appreciate it half as much as I do." He gave a quick nod, then turned and walked away.
She'd known he wouldn't offer any flowery speeches nor endure any drawn-out expressions of gratitude. But neither were needed. They understood each other well enough.
Mirabelle took a moment at the little mirror on the bureau and tied the ribbon in her hair.
It looked perfect. Not only was she going to her very first dance, she was doing so looking lovely.
She stepped out of her room, her heart soaring with excitement.
The lonely orphan she'd once been would weep with joy at the beautiful life she was building now.
"Quinn fetched your other carrot loaves and took them out to the sleigh," Tiernan said from his chair near the fire.
Mirabelle stepped up onto the wooden box Quinn had built for her and placed under the coat hooks so she could more easily hang up and take down her coat. "Are you certain you don't want to come to the Christmas dance?"
"Perhaps I'll attend one in the spring." He turned a page in his book.
"Do you think Quinn will dance with me tonight?" she asked as she buttoned her coat.
Tiernan just snorted, which set her to laughing.
"Enjoy yourself, lass. I'll see you in the morning."
Quinn was just stepping away from the sleigh, which he'd pulled in front of the house, when she stepped outside.
He handed her up and saw her settled, even spreading a blanket over lap, all without a word.
His tendency to be very quiet didn't worry her as it had once done.
She'd learned to hear his unspoken words and read the language of his expressions and posture.
They arrived at the dance, and Quinn helped her down from the sleigh.
He smiled at her in that way of his that never failed to make her heart pound a little.
He fetched her burlap-wrapped carrot loaves and then walked with her inside.
While he took the loaves to the table where the various goodies others had brought were laid out, she pulled off her coat.
By the time he returned, she had found a low enough hook for hanging it on.
"The lace looks nice." He nodded toward her cuffs as he pulled his own coat off.
"I'd best be careful," she said, "or someone'll come by tomorrow insisting on taking the dress like they did after the last dance."
He gave a firm shake of his head. "I'd not let them."
"You are going to brawl with Mrs. Howell?"
"If need be. Her fighting style, no doubt, tends toward thuggery, but I think I could hold my own."
She laughed and wrapped her arms around him. "You are good for my heart, Quinn."
"And you have been a miracle for mine."
The trio of musicians began a tune in that moment.
"Will you dance with me?" Quinn asked. "You know well enough, thanks to your music box, that there'll be no grace in it."
With a look she knew was a little saucy, she said, "I think I can hold my own."
He took her hand and walked with her out onto the dance floor.
They passed Horace and Jane, who were still just as obviously in love as they had been months earlier.
Seeing their tenderness then had shattered Mirabelle, sure as she was at the time that she would never be loved that way.
Now, she was simply happy for them. More than that, she was happy for herself and Quinn.
They were still coming to know each other, but the love was already there. There and growing.
As they began to dance, she looked up into his eyes. He was concentrating on the steps, and it was adorable: this enormous, mountain of a man focusing so hard on the steps of a dance.
After a moment, he realized she was watching him. A bit of a blush touched his cheeks. She'd always loved that he colored up, but she knew he found it embarrassing. "You know I've the dancing ability of an arthritic goat. So I'll understand if you'd rather skip the dancing."
"I've been dreaming of dancing with you for months." She stretched up on her toes and reached up to pull him closer to him. "You can't back out now."
"Not a chance of it."
And he was as good as his word. He danced with her again and again. And he kept her close when they weren't dancing. And the last remnants of loneliness she'd carried with her for so long faded away.
***
Quinn had never once imagined himself driving home from a town dance with a woman curled up against him, sleeping.
But, arriving home in just precisely that situation, he now knew it was something he ought to have been dreaming of.
How had he ever believed he could live a life with Mirabelle in which they each did their work and offered only the occasional nod in passing? He'd been a fool; that was how.
He hated to wake her, but the air was frigid, and she'd do best to go inside and warm up. He told her as much as she shook off her lingering sleepiness.
"Can't I stay with you?" she asked. "I don't mind being a little cold while you unhitch the horse."
"I'd not want you to grow ill, dear."
She smiled. "I like when you call me that."
"Do you, now?"
She nodded.
"Well, then, dear , I'll be quick as I can so you don't catch your death waiting on me."
Mirabelle wrapped the blanket he'd brought around her shoulders and sat on the bench of the sleigh while he saw to everything that needed seeing to. She didn't say anything, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence between them.
Once everything was sorted, he returned to the side of the sleigh and reached for her.
As she reached for him, he could see that she was shivering.
So he scooped her into his arms and carried her.
She hooked an arm around his neck and leaned against him.
Now this was an arrangement he could certainly grow used to.
"Thank you for dancing with me tonight," she said.
"It wasn't a burden, Mirabelle. I enjoyed dancing with you."
"Because I look so fine with my lace cuffs?" she asked teasingly.
"The only reason," he answered, making certain his tone of teasing was unmistakable.
They'd reached the door.
"I'll have to set you down so I can open the door. Promise me you'll rush in the moment I do. You're cold as ice."
"I promise."
He reluctantly set her on her feet. If not for the fact that she immediately began shivering again, he might have lingered there on the doorstep, just enjoying being with her. Instead, he opened the door, and she hurried into the warmth just beyond.
Quinn closed the door behind them. She climbed up onto her box and pulled off her coat. He had his coat hung on its nail a moment before she did.
She turned, still standing on the box, but now with her back to the wall, facing him. He slipped an arm around her waist, but not to help her down. He stood there, holding her, watching the dim light of the low-burning fire dance in her eyes.
Mirabelle lightly touched his cheek. "I beginning to suspect you're pleased that the William’s Matrimonial Bureau sent me to you."
"Pleased?" Her brushed his lips along her forehead. "That ain't a strong enough word, my dear."
"Then what is?" Her whisper was warm.
His pulse sped up as he tucked her to him. "I don't know that there is a word to explain it. Grateful. Relieved. Ecstatic. Joyful. Even wrapped up together like that, it don't do it justice."
She tipped her head enough to look him in the eye once more. "Tell me you love me even half as much as I love you, and those'll be words enough for me."
"I do love you, Mirabelle Quinn." To punctuate the declaration, he kissed her slowly, deeply, fervently. "I love you more every day. And I'll go on love you all the rest of my life."