The worst part of Hannah’s evening came after the entertainment had concluded, when the large crowd was dispersing and various groups were arranging to meet in one location or another. Natalie pulled Hannah to the side, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement. “In a few minutes, I’m going to sneak away with Mr. Bowman,” she whispered. “We’re going to meet privately on the lower terrace. So make yourself scarce, and if anyone asks where I am, give them some excuse and”

“No,” Hannah said softly, her eyes turning round. “If you’re seen with him, it will cause a scandal.”

Natalie laughed. “What does it matter? I’m probably going to marry him anyway.”

Hannah gave a stubborn shake of her head. Her experiences with Bowman had left no doubt in her mind that he would take full advantage of Natalie. And it would be Hannah’s fault for allowing it to happen. “You may meet him on the lower terrace, but I’m going with you.”

Natalie’s grin faded. “Now you’ve decided to be a vigilant chaperone? No. I’m putting my foot down, Hannah. I’ve always been kind to you, and you know you’re in my debt. So go off somewhere and do not make a fuss.”

“I’m going to protect you from him,” Hannah said grimly. “Because if Mr. Bowman compromises you, you will no longer have any choice. You’ll have to marry him.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to consider a betrothal without finding out how he kisses.” Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t cross me, Hannah. Leave us alone.”

But Hannah persevered. Eventually she found herself standing unhappily at the side of the lower terrace while Natalie and Rafe Bowman conversed. Bowman seemed unperturbed by Hannah’s presence. But Natalie was furious, her voice lightly caustic as she observed aloud that “One can never talk about anything interesting when a chaperone is present,” or “Some people can never be gotten rid of.”

Having never been the focus of such brattiness from Natalie before, Hannah was bewildered and hurt. If Hannah was in Natalie’s debt because the girl had always been kind to her, the reverse was also true: Hannah could have made Natalie’s life far less pleasant as well.

“Don’t you find it irksome, Mr. Bowman,” Natalie said pointedly, “when people insist on going where they’re not wanted?”

Hannah stiffened. Enough was enough. Although she had been charged with the responsibility of looking after Natalie and chaperoning her, she was not going to allow herself to be subjected to abuse.

Before Bowman could say anything, Hannah spoke coolly. “I will leave you with the privacy you so clearly desire, Natalie. I have no doubt Mr. Bowman will make the most of it. Good night.”

She left the lower terrace, flushed with outrage and chagrin. Since she could not join any of the gatherings upstairs without raising questions concerning Natalie’s whereabouts, her only options were to go to bed, or find some place to sit alone. But she was not in the least sleepy, not with the anger simmering in her veins. Perhaps she could find a book to keep her occupied.

She went to the library, peeking discreetly around the door-jamb to see who might be inside. A group of children had gathered in there, most of them sitting on the floor while an elderly bewhiskered man sat in an upholstered chair. He held a small gold-stamped book in his hands, squinting at it through a pair of spectacles.

“Read it, Grandfather,” cried one child, while another entreated, “Do go on! You can’t leave us there.”

The old man heaved a sigh. “When did they start making the words so small? And why is the light in here so poor?”

Hannah smiled sympathetically and entered the room. “May I be of help, sir?”

“Ah, yes.” With a grateful glance, he rose from the chair and extended the book to her. It was a work by Mr. Charles Dickens, titled A Christmas Carol. Published two years earlier, the story of redemption had been an instant sensation, and had been said to rekindle the cynical public’s joy in Christmas and all its traditions. “Would you mind reading for a bit?” the old man asked. “It tires my eyes so. And I should like to sit beside the fire and finish my toddy.”

“I would love to, sir.” Taking the book, Hannah looked askance at the children. “Shall I?”

They all cried out at once. “Oh, yes!”

“Don’t lose the page, miss!”

“The first of the three spirits has come,” one of the boys told her.

Settling into the chair, Hannah found the correct page, and began.

“Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Scrooge. “I am.”; The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance. “Who, and what are you?” Scrooge demanded. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”;

Glancing around, Hannah bit back a grin as she saw the children’s mesmerized faces, and the delighted shivers that ran through them at her rendition of a ghostly voice.

As she continued to read, the magic of Mr. Dickens’s words wrought a spell over them all and eased the doubt and anger from Hannah’s heart. And she remembered something she had forgotten: Christmas wasn’t merely a single day. Christmas was a feeling.

IT CERTAINLY WOULD HAVE BEEN NO HARDSHIP TO KISS LADY Natalie. But Rafe had refrained from taking any such liberty, mainly because she seemed so determined to entice him into it.

After Hannah had left the lower terrace, Natalie had been defensive and sheepish, telling him that men were fortunate not to require chaperones everywhere they went, because at times it could be maddening. And Rafe had agreed gravely that it must indeed be quite inconvenient, but at the same time Miss Appleton struck him as tolerable company.