#Merry Wilkinson

[panelshowsource]

Happy holidays!! Thank you so much for all that you do, you are a lifesaver for those of us abroad! If there is any way, could you please share the Brassic Christmas special with Greg Davies? I'm just a bit obsessed with the man 😄 Merry Christmas to you and yours!

hello happy holidays! thank you for the nice message :)

yes i put the brassic episode here for you! i'm not going to leave this up for more than a couple of weeks since it's not panel show content and i just don't have a ton of extra space atm, so please take a moment to stream or download it at your convenience sometime shortly :') if i delete it before you get it feel free to send another message!

yes! you can find it on the non-panel show masterpost here :)

my fave screenshot from the episode lmao

i do have quite a few but only for the people in the collections folder — so any episode featuring alex horne, david tennant, joe wilkinson, michael sheen, and/or victoria coren mitchell should be there! otherwise, i am not currently hosting more last leg, but check out r/panelshow & r/tv_bunny (i see the christmas special is there!), and lmk if you need more help finding anything specific :)

having something fun to watch is a tenant (see what i did there) of the holiday season 🥹 enjoy and happy christmas as well!

—

as well, you can find the new christmas episodes of qi, wilty, buzzcocks, late night lycett, and more updated on the masterposts :)

btw is anyone else PISSING that frankie boyle and lucy beaumont will be on the new year wilty?

hope everyone is having a lovely holiday season!

PANEL SHOW WATCH LINKS / NON-PANEL SHOW WATCH LINKS FAQ / TAGS / ASK

[auslgbtqya]

Deep Is The Fen by Lili Wilkinson

(2024)

From the Publisher:

A bewitching journey behind the closed doors of a secret society, featuring sinister toadmen, resistance witches and a steamy enemies-to-lovers romance, from the acclaimed author of A Hunger of Thorns.

Merriwether Morgan doesn't need a happily-ever-after. Her life in the idyllic town of Candlecott is fine just as it is: simple, happy, and with absolutely no magic. Magic only ever leads to trouble.

But Merry's best friend, Teddy, is joining the Toadmen - a secret society upholding backward thinking and suspiciously supernatural traditions - and she is determined to stop him. Even if it means teaming up with her academic arch-nemesis, Caraway Boswell, an ice-cold snob who hides his true face behind a glamour.

An ancient Toad ritual is being held in the nightmarish Deeping Fen, and if Merry doesn't rescue Teddy, she'll lose him forever. But the further she travels into Deeping Fen's foul waters, the more Merry wonders if she can possibly save her friend - or if she's walking straight into a trap.

Because there's nothing the Toadmen love more than a damsel in distress . . .

Goodreads

[rockislandadultreads]

Christmas Mystery Picks!

A Christmas Vanishing by Anne Perry

Mariah Ellison, Charlotte Pitt’s grandmother, accepts her longtime friend Sadie’s gracious invitation to spend Christmas with her and her husband, Barton, in their picturesque village. But upon arrival, Mariah discovers that Sadie has vanished without a trace, and Barton rudely rescinds the invitation. Once Mariah finds another acquaintance to stay with during the holiday season, she begins investigating Sadie’s disappearance.

Mariah’s uncanny knack for solving mysteries serves her well during her search, which is driven by gossip as icy as the December weather. Did Sadie run off with another man? Was she kidnapped? Has someone harmed her? Frustratingly, Mariah’s questions reveal more about the villagers themselves than about her friend’s whereabouts. Yet in the process of getting to know Sadie’s neighbors, Mariah finds a kind of redemption, as she rediscovers her kinder side, and her ability to love. 

It is up to Mariah to master her own feelings, drown out the noise, and get to the bottom of what occurred, all before Christmas day. With the holiday rapidly approaching, will she succeed in bringing Sadie home in time for them to celebrate it together - or is that too much to hope for?

Have Yourself a Deadly Little Christmas by Vicki Delany

It’s the beginning of December in Rudolph, New York, America's Christmas Town, and business is brisk at Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, a gift and décor shop owned by Merry Wilkinson. The local amateur dramatic society is intensely preparing a special musical production of A Christmas Carol. But it’s not a happy set, as rivalries between cast and crew threaten the production.

Tensions come to a head when a member of the group is found dead shortly after a shopping excursion to Mrs. Claus's Treasures. Was someone looking to cut out the competition? Everyone in the cast and crew is a potential suspect, including Aline, Merry’s mother, and Merry's shop assistant Jackie O'Reilly, who was desperate for a starring role.

It could be curtains for Christmas - and for Merry - unless the killer can be ferreted out of the wings.

This is the sixth volume of the "A Year-Round Christmas Mystery" series.

'Twas the Bite Before Christmas by David Rosenfelt

Reluctant lawyer Andy Carpenter is at the Tara Foundation’s annual Christmas party. The dog rescue organization has always been his true calling, and this is one holiday tradition he can get behind because every dog that’s come through the rescue - and their families - are invited to celebrate.

This year’s party is no exception. But before the stockings can be hung by the chimney with care, homicide detectives ruin the evening. Derek Moore, one of the foundation’s best foster volunteers, is arrested for murder.

Andy discovers Derek - whose real name is Bobby - is in the witness protection program after giving evidence against his former gang. The police believe Bobby murdered a member. But Bobby swears to Andy he didn’t do this. He’s built a new life, a new business, has two new dogs after being a double foster-failure.

There isn’t much Andy likes about this case, but he likes Bobby. If he’s innocent, Andy wants to help. Before Andy can settle down for his long winter’s nap, he has a client’s name to clear, a murderer to catch, and two new dogs to look after: a golden and a Dalmatian. Andy’s golden retriever, Tara, will have to adjust to not being the only golden at the house while Andy gets to the bottom of this one…

This is the 28th volume of the "Andy Carpenter" series.

Murder on the Christmas Express by Alexandra Benedict

In the early hours of Christmas Eve, the sleeper train to the Highlands is derailed, along with the festive plans of its travellers. With the train stuck in snow in the middle of nowhere, a killer stalks its carriages, picking off passengers one by one. Those who sleep on the sleeper train may never wake again.

Can former Met detective Roz Parker find the killer before they kill again?

[playboy-jewelry]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Playboy Necklace Miss June Bunny Pendant Gold Plated Birthstone y2k NWT RARE HTF.

[ticketmastersince2k4]

Just the Ticket #166: Maniac Cop

Merry Christmas, Ticketholders!

This year, Ticketmaster Claus brings you a mixed bag of poorly aged but uncomfortably contemporary horror that doesn't feel like it fits the genre, doesn't make sense from movie to movie, and wastes its protagonists, but adheres to a formula, has a powerhouse cast, and features some endearing musical surprises.

Good tidings of comfort, and enjoy!

[dollycas]

Welcome to Cozy Wednesday! It makes me merry to share my thoughts about A Slay Ride Together With You Today! A Slay Ride Together With You (Year-Round Christmas Mystery) Cozy Mystery 7th in Series Setting - New York Publisher ‏ : ‎ Crooked Lane Books (September 24, 2024) Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 288 pages ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1639108793 ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1639108794 Kindle ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0CQWX976D Audiobook ASIN B0D9YT76GL The slay bells are ringing in this festive seventh installment of national bestselling author Vicki Delany’s Year-Round Christmas mystery series.  Rudolph, New York, shop owner Merry Wilkinson’s best friend Vicky Casey is newly engaged to Chef Mark Grosse and is moving into the historic Cole House–a home surrounded by drama, intrigue, and a possible haunting that is in desperate need of renovation. The wedding is just three weeks away, but all is not bliss for the newly engaged couple as estranged relatives of the late owner fight over her will. Then, late one night, Vicky and Merry come across a dead body in the garden of Cole House–and Mark is the one standing over the corpse. As Detective Diane Simmonds focuses on Mark as the prime suspect, Vicky asks for Merry’s help to clear her fiancé’s name in time for the wedding. As they dig deeper into the connection between the house, Cole relatives, and town residents, past and present, it becomes clear that plenty of people wanted the victim dead. With a bakery to run, the busy Easter weekend fast approaching, a house to renovate, and a fiancé to clear of a murder accusation, Vicky’s wedding may end up on the chopping block. It’s up to Merry to put aside the chocolate bunnies and stuffed rabbits and help her best friend save her wedding–and her life. Dollycas's Thoughts While Rudolph, New York goes all out for Christmas they need tourists to visit year-round. Right now, they are decking their halls for Easter. Merry Wilkinson, owner of Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, and the other shopkeepers are adding some eggs, chicks, and bunnies to their wares and windows. Merry is also looking forward to her best friend, Vicky Casey's wedding. It is just three weeks away and she and her groom Chef Mark Grosse have made a major purchase, the historic Cole House. It has been empty for a long time and needs serious renovation but it is also plagued with a history of drama and it may be haunted. On top of that alienated relatives of the previous owner are fighting her will and want the house. Vicky and Merry are having a girl's night at the house and a noise leads them outside. There they find a dead body in the garden and Mark is standing over the body with blood on his hands. Mark is now Detective Diane Simmonds' prime suspect and Merry knows she and Vicky need to prove his innocence. Can they do that before the wedding? or will Mark be locked away on their big day? _____ Merry Wilkerson is a terrific protagonist and a master juggler taking care of everything thrown at her in this story. Her father Noel performs his Santa duties whenever needed. Her mother gives voice lessons. They are a perfect match. Merry is dating Alan Anderson, woodworker extraordinaire. Her best friend Vicki owns Victoria's Bake Shop. Her fiance Mark is head chef at the fancy Yuletide Inn. Merry's dog, Mattie is a big lovable drooling Saint Bernard who goes with her almost everywhere. All the core characters in this story feel like old friends including Mattie. The victim, Jim Cole has made many enemies over the years and hadn't visited the property he wanted in very long time. Merry and Vicki soon had a nice list of suspects. With Vicky's wedding day quickly approaching she and Merry worked hard to follow every clue much to the angst of Merry's assistant Jackie who was left handling the shop. Ms. Delany has written a well-plotted story. I thought I had my focus on the right person but her talented writing sent me in another direction only to realize she tricked me. She really is an expert at creating twists and turns to keep her characters and her readers on their toes. The Cole House was a character in itself. It is a rundown creepy place. Boarded up for years, red brick with multiple chimneys, the old Victorian featured dusty chandeliers, cracked tile, mouse-chewed carpeting, heavy dust-filled curtains, moldy furniture draped in sheets, cobwebs, and an overgrown yard and that was just at first glance. Over the years it became a kid's hangout and a right of passage to spend the night there for the students from Rudolph High.  It did have a working kitchen but I wouldn't have made it beyond the porch and I definitely wouldn't have moved in. I would have sided with the people who thought Mark and Vicky had lost their minds. Ms. Delany also uses her descriptive writing talents when describing the food served in this story too. Her words may have you drooling as much at Mattie. She does include recipes at the end of the book. The Holiday Shortbread recipe was scanned and printed out immediately. A Slay Ride Together With You is an entertaining read that takes us on a merry chase to catch a killer. It was unusual to visit Rudolph in the spring but I enjoyed catching up with the Wilkerson's, their friends, and the town's residents. Until next year, Ms. Delany. I am excited for this series to continue. Your Escape Into A Good Book Travel Agent About the Author Vicki Delany is one of Canada’s most prolific and varied crime writers and a national bestseller in the U.S. She has written more than forty books: clever cozies to Gothic thrillers to gritty police procedurals, to historical fiction and novellas for adult literacy. She is currently writing four cozy mystery series: the Year Round Christmas books for Crooked Lane, the Tea by the Sea mysteries for Kensington, the Sherlock Holmes Bookshop series for Crooked Lane Books, and the Lighthouse Library series (as Eva Gates) for Crooked Lane. Vicki is a past president of the Crime Writers of Canada and co-founder and organizer of the Women Killing It Crime Writing Festival. Her work has been nominated for the Derringer, the Bony Blithe, the Ontario Library Association Golden Oak, and the Arthur Ellis Awards. Vicki is the recipient of the 2019 Derrick Murdoch Award for contributions to Canadian crime writing. She lives in Prince Edward County, Ontario. Also written by Vicki Delaney  Find more of Vicki's books HERE.  Find her books written as Eva Gates HERE. Thanks to the publisher I have 1 hardcover copy to give away! The contest is open to anyone over 18 years old with a US or Canadian mailing address. Duplicate entries will be deleted. Void where prohibited. You do not have to be a follower to enter but I hope you will find something you like here and become a follower. Followers Will Receive 2 Bonus Entries For Each Way They Follow. Plus 2 Bonus Entries For Following My Facebook Fan Page. Add this book to your WANT TO READ shelf on GoodReads for 3 Bonus Entries. Follow Crooked Lane Books on Facebook for 3 Bonus Entries  Follow Crooked Lane Books on Instagram for 3 Bonus Entries Pin this giveaway to Pinterest for 3 Bonus Entries. If you share the giveaway on Threads, Facebook or anywhere you will receive 5 Bonus Entries For Each Link. The  Contest Will End on January 1, 2025, at 11:59 PM CST The Winner Will Be Chosen Using Random.org The Winner will be notified by email and posted here in the sidebar. Click Here For Entry Form Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. Receiving a complimentary copy in no way reflected my review of this book. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.” “As an Amazon Associate, I earn a commission from qualifying purchases.”     Read the full article

[vlkwsouthpens]

Day 5, 25 Days of Christmas Books~2024

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0CQWX976D The slay bells are ringing in this festive seventh installment of national bestselling author Vicki Delany’s Year-Round Christmas mystery series, perfect for fans of Amanda Flower and Donna Andrews.Rudolph, New York, shop owner Merry Wilkinson’s best friend Vicky Casey is newly engaged to Chef Mark Grosse and is moving into the historic Cole House–a…

[theobviousparadox]

Review: Deep Is the Fen by Lili Wilkinson

Deep Is the FenLili WilkinsonDelacorte PressPublished April 16, 2024 Amazon | Bookshop | Goodreads About Deep Is the Fen Merry doesn’t need a happily-ever-after. Her life in the charming, idyllic town of Candlecott is fine just as it is. Simple, happy, and with absolutely no magic. Magic only ever leads to trouble. But Merry’s best friend, Teddy, is joining the Toadmen—a secret society who…

[litlemonbooks]

Book Tour: Deep in the Fen by Lili Wilkinson

Summary: Merry doesn’t need a happily-ever-after. Her life in the charming, idyllic town of Candlecott is fine just as it is. Simple, happy, and with absolutely no magic. Magic only ever leads to trouble. But Merry’s best friend, Teddy, is joining the Toadmen—a secret society who specialize in backward thinking and suspiciously supernatural traditions—and Merry is determined to stop him. Even…

[elliepassmore]

Deep is the Fen review

5/5 stars Recommended if you like: witchy reads, secret societies, conspiracies

Big thanks to Netgalley, Delacorte Press, and the author for an ARC in exchange for an honest review!

Back in the world of Hunger of Thorns, only this time from a different perspective. Merry is very much anti-witch and buys into everything that the schools, government, and corporations say about witches. Further, this book takes place in Candlecott and in the fen, two places that feel pretty far removed from the more sub/urban feel of Inglenook. At times it felt as though the two books take place in totally different worlds, especially since there was no mention of the Toads anywhere in book 1, but they seem to be pretty prevalent.

It was definitely a bit of whiplash going from Maude's POV to Merry's, and if you come into this one having read A Hunger of Thorns, then Merry's firm anti-magic beliefs might make you a bit exasperated since she's very much wrong. At the same time, I understand where Merry is coming from considering what she's been told about her mother's past and the way she died. Still, she's definitely a character who believes what she's told and doesn't really question it.

This book explores more of the underside of the world and how the movers and shakers get to be those things. As part of this, we also get to see one of the rehabilitation centers for witches, which is both more and less creepy than I thought. Wilkinson definitely took a direction there that I wasn't expecting, but I think it works considering what else we know about this world. It was interesting seeing how things are connected behind the scenes, and of course Ilium comes up again as a major contender for 'reason why bad things are happening.'

It was definitely interesting to see the direction this book took, and I like the secret society, swampy theme it has going on. Where Hunger had some eco-horror vibes, I feel like this one has more classically fae vibes, where you're having fun one minute and eating glamored maggots the next. I was intrigued by the Toad rituals and thought the mechanics/magic behind some of it to be quite interesting. I feel like there's the makings of a third book here, what with the first one being focused on poisoned mettle and capitalism, this one focusing on the dangers of those working buddy-buddy behind the scenes, and the next one can focus more on the front-facing side of Ilium...we'll see.

As mentioned, Merry is very anti-magic...except when she uses her 'threadsight' (aka witch-eyes), though she is consistent and doesn't like it when her best friend Teddy uses his magic. But her deep-held beliefs also transfer to deep-held loyalties and that makes her a good person to have on your side. She's also very witty, I enjoyed her banter with Caraway a lot, and thought her friendship with Sol was cute. Merry really comes into herself throughout this book, and I think a little toady weekend away from Candlecott did her quite well.

Caraway is definitely someone who is more than meets the eye, in more ways than one. I felt like it was kind of obvious from the get-go that he liked Merry even though she seemed to think he hated her, and I found him to be quite charming in an out-of-place sort of way. He's definitely keeping a lot of secrets, but I also think he kind of desperately needed friends. Despite the icy distance he can hold himself at when it comes to other people, it's clear that he cares for Merry, and toward the end of the book it's also clear that he fits in with friend groups, since he and Sol have some good interactions that make me want a novella of them bonding.

Sol and Teddy are Merry's best friends and they're a bit harder for me to pin down. The book opens with them all being extremely close, and with Merry seemingly pining for Teddy, but as the book progresses I found myself getting annoyed with both of them because they kept brushing off Merry when she repeatedly told them the Toad's were bad news. That combined with some other things almost made me want to see their friendship break up by the end of the book and see Merry looking to a future with new, better friends. That being said, Sol did come through and he's redeemed imo. Teddy needs some additional work, but he was also being manipulated, so not entirely his fault.

Admittedly I did find some things predictable in this one. I think this one might have been more predictable than Hunger of Thorns, but I still found it to be greatly enjoyable, and it was (mostly) the kind of predictable that makes you want to know how the characters get there.

We did see some mention of the events in Hunger, with Winnie making an appearance a couple times, as well as a throwaway line about Inglenook. If there is a third book, I hope Merry's group and Maude's get to interact, I'm super interested in what the dynamics there would be.

Overall I enjoyed this book and the way it expanded the Hunger of Thorns world. It was interesting seeing things from the perspective of an anti-magic person, and it was also interesting seeing a focus on something other than witches. I really enjoyed the characters in this one, even more than in Hunger! I'm also definitely hoping for a book 3 :)

[bargainsleuthbooks]

#ARCReview #HaveYourselfADeadlyLittleChristmas #YearRoundChristmasMystery #VickiDelany #CrookedLaneBooks #BookReview #NetGalley #September2023Books

It's never too early to read a #cozymystery set during #Christmas. #Haveyourselfadeadlylittlechristmas #yearroundchristmasmystery #vickidelany #netgalley #bookreview #ARCReview #crookedlanebooks #september2023books #bookstagram #bargainsleuth

It’s beginning to look a lot like murder in the sixth installment of this charming cozy mystery series, perfect for fans of Donna Andrews and Jacqueline Frost. It’s the beginning of December in Rudolph, New York, America’s Christmas Town, and business is brisk at Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, a gift and décor shop owned by Merry Wilkinson. The local amateur dramatic society is intensely preparing a…

[siriuslygrimm]

Retrospective of April

Retrospective of April - #blog

Ending April with showers and on to some May flowers. Throughout the month I read 9 books, bringing me to 35% of my goal. April Release Round-Up: Small Joys by Elvin James Mensah The Haunting of Alejandra by V. Castro A Hunger of Thorns by Lili Wilkinson The Merry Dredgers by Jeremy Shipp That Self-Same Metal by Brittany N. Williams

[disneybooksandanimearemylife]

Book Blog: Hark the Harold Angel Slay by Vicki Delany

Again, if there’s anyone out there that wants a cheap holiday thrill and it only takes a few days to finish; this would be a good start. and if your in the mood for summer heat in winter then this should work for you.

PLOT; It’s Christmas in July for the residents of Rudolph, New York. Merry, her parents, and the rest of the gang are doing their semi-annual traditions of celebrating Christmas in the middle of summer with boat parades, and combining red, white, and blue with clashing Christmas décor. Merry has a run-in with her past love Max Folger. Her ex-fiancé, and his new soon-to-be wife Erica Johnstone, the boss of her grandmother’s magazine empire Jennifer’s Lifestyle. Merry is not impressed to see Max in town with ulterior motive other than taking a few pictures, one thing leads to another and in just a couple of days Max Folger is found dead in her shop with wooden cranberries strings around his throat. Not to mention her employee Vicky is missing. What happened in the span of 30 minutes between Merry leaving the shop to go to a beach event and Vicky staying at shop; to find her store the scene of a crime?

PROS: I do like how they still maintain the idea that it is July with the weather, the heat and humidity and yet Ms. Delany can still describe that special Christmas magic. People are friendlier towards each other, children get excited to see Santa and tell him their wishes. When I think about it, it is nice to see people be kind during those times.

Can I also day I love how Delany wrote Erica Johnstone? Because she acts like today’s Hollywierd celebrities! She cries at the drop of a pin, overtly dramatic that it’s embarrassing, and just thinks money will solve all her problems. When Max Folger was found dead at the store Erica immediately accuses Merry of murder and demands the detective to arrest her. Luckily the detective is a reoccurring character; knows Merry well enough; and pretty much told Erica “Bitch please.” 

Also this is the one time Merry is in actual danger. In the other books I’ve read She was either close to being in danger or she had someone with her to help her out of  a bad situation. But this time, right at the climax she is getting strangled and was blacking out in the process. And even in the aftermath Ms. Delany does describe just how close Merry was this time around. 

CONS: I have two complaints in this book. One is that after the climax the ending dragged for another 20 pages. I don’t normally mind that but the thing is, is that it was everyone in the story gathered in Merry’s little apartment like some gert well- awkward party. It felt out of place and like if I was personally there I would be looking for a way out.

Another thing was too many characters in Erica’s entourage. There was Muriel, Jason, Amber, Willow, Clayson. We needed two of them; but the rest could’ve been left out and nothing would’ve changed. I get that in stories like this we need suspects, but they left no impact of motive as to way they would murder Max.

I like it well enough. Sometimes we need a inexpensive read to get back to larger stories. I have to rate this a 6.5/10

[playboy-jewelry]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Playboy Necklace Miss June Bunny Pendant Gold Plated Birthstone y2k NWT RARE HTF.

[ticketmastersince2k4]

GFT Retrospective #70: Christmas Edition 2010

Happy New Comic Book Day, Ticketholders!

Yesterday was a super-productive day for me, training a new deli employee who might actually be promising, finally doing the link inserts for my 7th Prince review, completing today's Retrospective review, and publishing the Omnibusted post on Volume Nine for next week.

For now, though, get ready to celebrate Christmas In July, Zenescope-style, a week early!

[sssoto]

Christmas 2017

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Tonight, my family here in Denmark are celebrating Christmas eve. I didn’t manage to make any visual art for the occasion, but with my friends’ encouragement I wrote another one shot! This one relates heavily to my book project, but my hope is that it will be as enjoyable without context. I wish that all my followers have a grand holiday and will have an amazing 2018 as well; happy holidays to y’all! <3

Silent Night

“Idiot.”

The sky had long since darkened; all light that remained was a candle's flicker on the bedside table. Snow gathered on the window sill, lacy flakes glittering against a black, starless canvas as they dwindled from the sky.

Walls lined with ornate crown mouldings peaked in my hazy line of sight. While certainly not the grandest in the Lockhart Estate, the guest room I'd been dealt for the evening was yet more refined than the humble nest I'd made in Mayfair. As the rest of the house, it possessed an air of royalty usually reserved for peerage: divans and ottomans upholstered with the finest French brocade; velour drapery trimmed with gold; desk and chiffonier carved of polished mahogany—how ostentatious to furnish so exquisitely a room rarely seen, let alone touched. Suppose the drunk wastrel of a man wasn't quite what they expected for an odd visitor here.

“Goddamn bloody idiot.”

The words came in a crocked murmur as I turned in the canopy bed, pulled on the cover till it touched my earlobe. Speaking to yourself couldn't be considered the most sophisticated behaviour, but in my lonesomeness I had little care for how I conducted myself. I sunk into the bedding as one would quicksand, swallowed by comfort—a much needed distraction from the chagrin which terrorised my consciousness. The scene echoed a private encore for me over and over, even hours since its debut; indeed, my sense of time had all but disintegrated, but I could make a fair conjecture. For my inner eye, the young lord gave his oafish grin, one which attempted to suggest that he wished as little part in the romp as his female counterpart—who did he think he was fooling?

My fingers curled into fists, and I only realised when the silk sheet caught in them. The encouragement of those I called my friends and acquaintances sung a haunting tune to my ear. The twig seemed so conveniently placed, much too convenient, as if the earl had been aware of its position and led his dance partner to it deliberately. Yes, that surely must be what had occurred. That man, whom I refused to grant the title of gentle, knew what he was doing, and he trapped my poor childhood friend in a snare she couldn't free herself of.

But that isn't the whole truth, is it?

The fists loosened their grip on the sheets. Perhaps that was not what had happened, for once his lips touched hers, she'd been willing enough. The tension eased in her small frame when she submitted to his unassuming hold; she had received him with a carelessness that could only be ascribed to familiarity. Was it possible that everyone was so blind to how wrong their osculation had been, or was I the one blinded? I would be happy if this was what she wanted, if she were happy—that is what I told myself. Of course, I wished only for her well-being. I knew better now. I would not be so foolish as to let hope fester where it had no chance of longevity.

“Serena…”

Her name scorched like whisky on my lips, burnt my tongue and throat and heart. Lord, what a sorry example of a man; I wondered if the term idiot wasn't more befitting myself than the young Earl of Nayland. I established expectations, and that was my mistake. In a more sober state, I'd damn well curse my complete inability to exercise restraint, and I had no doubt I would regret this later—if I'd remember at all. I never allowed myself to linger on such inevitabilities under usual circumstances, but for tonight I could make an exception.

Just for tonight.

Three knocks, and I blinked.

The world was foggy as I recalled, albeit dimmer; the candle alight still, reduced to a dying dance. This room was not my own, that much I could infer. Another moment and my dormant cognizance came awake, reminding me this was Christmas Eve, and this room a guest bedroom in the lavish Silva residence.

It seemed at some point earlier, sleep had finally taken me in a merciful act of pity. I turned in bed and gazed to the door. What had roused me? My mind, yet drowsy with sleep and dissolving alcohol, was slow to function, and my whole body weighed on the mattress. All was still. Perhaps it was a dream. A self-delusion. Something of the sort.

My eyes startled open at yet another knock—an undeniably real one. I sat in bed, perhaps too hastily, for my head protested strongly against the notion and called for me to pause a moment. “Who—who's there?” I managed in a raspy croak and rubbed my forehead.

“This is Miss da Silva, sir. I came to check on you, as we were informed by our maid you weren't well.”

“M-Miss–?” My limbs gained a will of their own, and before my debilitated senses had chance to process the current happening, they'd already carried me stumbling out of bed. A chill embraced my form, and one glance downwards confirmed to me what I'd somehow dismissed from thought—I'd slept bare, and couldn't very well open the door to receive Cesare da Silva's daughter in such a state. Shirt; where did I leave my shirt?

“Just—One moment, please!”

Despite the incessant battering behind my temples, I managed to recollect where I'd discarded my apparel, and I'd barely tucked my shirt in the waistband of my trousers before I was at the door. I ran a hand through my dense mane in a last minute effort to tame it before I presented myself to my visitor.

Serena glanced up at me, honey brown eyes round and guileless. She was especially petite in this light—in her position—clad in the sumptuous red satin dress she'd worn all evening. Her hair was freed from the braid she sported earlier and cascaded in gentle waves about her small shoulders, and those held a tension, raised slightly as they were, helping her clavicle to finer definition. In her hands balanced a silver tray topped with a water bowl, clean cloth and steaming pot of tea. “Can I come in?” said she in a voice soft and treble, like the tune of a music box.

My vision sailed still with the diminishing effects of insobriety, but I gave a small nod and made way for her to enter my quarters. She glided in nimble steps towards the bedside cabinet with my one dying candlelight and placed the tray. I approached gingerly as she set to work on preparing a cup of tea, gracefully tipping the pot. Each action of hers was performed with such elegance, an ease and deftness—though perhaps that impression was simply amplified by my dulled wits.

She set the teapot back on the tray and looked up at me. I cleared my throat and reached for a chair close by the bed, pulling it forth for her comfort. Her gaze went to the chair, and she regarded it with consideration a while before she seated herself. I followed suit and sat on the bedside, thus allowed myself to fully take in the woman before me.

Serena was here; what a delicate notion, to have her in my chamber, alone. So long she'd been a distant memory, an unattainable dream just out of reach; even as she'd sit across from me at a dinner table, or stand at the opposite end of a room. Always was she fleeting, slipping from my grasp, eluding my fingertips. The presence of other people raised a wall between us, a barrier which made communication insurmountable—now here she was, the wall demolished, and yet uttering words seemed the most difficult in this moment over any other. But if ever there was a time to speak, this was it.

I opened my mouth; no words crossed my lips though, for she thus extended the tea cup. “Please drink this, Mr. Wilkinson,” she said, “for your health.”

“I—Oh.” I accepted it with as much grace as I could muster; its warmth spread in my palms, but no further than that. She watched the cup expectantly, and so I brought it close to inhale the steam and blow cool air on it. “It smells quite delicious, thank you.” Her eyes shifted to me, wide and pure and painfully innocuous—I had to look away. Calling to my best manners, I brought the cup to my lips and had a tentative sip.

She seemed satisfied with that effort. “You should drink the tea before it runs cold.” She turned towards the tray and placed a light hand on the bowl's edge. “I brought water and a cloth so you may cool your forehead to lessen your discomfort. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to call on a servant. Your comfort is in our best interest.” She looked at me again and heaved a breath; my eyes followed the movement of the tendons in her slender neck, down to the lines of a dainty collarbone. “I shall leave you in peace so you can convalesce.”

Serena made to raise from the chair, but before she came fully upright, my hand locked around her wrist. She froze, as did I; the action hadn't been beckoned from conscious thought. I stared a moment at my treacherous palm clasped round the flimsy link between arm and hand. Her pulse fluttered beneath her silken skin, an excited thrum against my fingertips. A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed in defiance. “Please,” I forced myself to look at her, “stay?”

She fixed on my hand around her wrist, and I let go in an instant. What shameful conduct on my part; to grab a lady's wrist so abruptly, wholly unsolicited, in such presumption. I looked away, only waiting for her to give a kind excuse and leave, as would be the most optimistic expectation—if not she was so outraged she'd outright forgo courtesy altogether. Not that I would blame her for it, as my action wasn't the least deserving of a polite response.

In the periphery of my vision, her hands fidgeted, smoothing invisible ruffles in her skirt. “All right.”

I glanced up again as Serena sat back in the chair. An unexpected turn of events—perhaps she wasn't so offended by my brash display of audacity after all. Dark lashes fluttered down, shielding her gaze from mine. I moistened my lips. What would she expect of this? What did I expect of this? Better not to think of such prospects; I averted my own gaze and helped myself to another sip of tea.

Silence lingered between us. I would say something, but what would be under the bounds of propriety? I had her alone at last—this was my opportunity to gain answers to questions I'd pondered over the past six moons. But what could I say which wouldn't send her into a state of distress? Was it at all possible to avoid when approaching the topic of our history? She had a such tranquil air about her, rickety and frail as though she would break; a crystal chime disturbed by the slightest breeze, doe ready to spring away at the smallest threat. An entirely different point might be whether I'd fancy hearing the answers to my questions at all.

Serena shifted in her seat. “Do you need anything else? I'll arrange it for you.”

I blinked. “N-no, no no, I'm quite all right, this… this is fine.” To prove my point, I took a generous sip; the tea had cooled a little to my benefit. I gave a trying smile as I swallowed, “The tea is very good.”

She granted me an amused tug on her lips and—dare I say, blushed? “Oh, I didn't make it. It was our cook.” She nodded in earnest and added, “She was happy to do it.”

Despite my want to, I could think of nothing to say, so I simply nodded. “I see.”

Quiet fell between us once more. The air was thick with something, and I couldn't quite tell what it was. Remorse, perhaps? Regret for the abrupt end and all that was left unsaid—I certainly had many things I wanted to say, but forming the words was a task I was unequipped for. Delicacy was never my forte; I stumbled and faltered over sentiments like one would pebbles scattered in your path, and so expressing them didn't come easy. Well, not to me, at least.

“I—I surely hope your ailment isn't a fault of the dinner?”

I jolted straight. “Oh no, certainly not! The dinner was absolutely delightful; ravishing, truly. It's nothing of that sort, I assure you.” I waved my palm along with my shaking head, perhaps a bit too emphatically.

Serena nodded in a slow movement, as if carefully measuring my words. “All right. I'm glad.” Her eyes widened, aghast. “I mean, not of your sickness, but–”

“I understand your meaning,” I nodded, more briskly than her.

Her visage eased, and she took on a bashful smile instead; her attention returned to the fidgety hands in her lap, and so they fidgeted on away, transfixing her with impressive force. Another lull took place of our dialogue—if one could call it that. This stilted attempt at conversation grated my nerves, and I rummaged my throbbing head for something of substance, something to take us somewhere—wherever that might be.

“This is quite a turnout, is it not?” Serena peered up at me, brows raised. “For us all to be here on Christmas Eve, celebrating…” I attempted a smile in good humour, “The two of us, together. Imagine that.”

She smiled in turn, though not quite as easily as before. “I don't have to imagine,” she spread her hands, “Here we are.”

A strained chuckle escaped my throat, desperate to maintain a lightness of heart despite my protesting nerves. “I only mean that…” I paused to find words, “Who would've thought … that after all these years, we'd end up here? So far apart, yet right under each other's noses. It's … remarkable, really.”

Serena looked to her hands again, brushing her thumb over a smooth, crescent nail. “Yes.”

“I… I'm glad to see you doing well.” Her eyes flitted up, though she didn't otherwise move. Something was changed in them: a faint trace of sorrow. “And your family. And you have new friends. And a cat.” I glanced away distantly, a weak shrug all I could offer. “I'm truly glad you've found happiness.”

There was no response, and I dared not look to see her expression. A new lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed it to make way for the words hardest to articulate. “That you've found happiness with someone else.”

“Daniel, it's not–” She caught her own words in a bite on her lip, swallowed them as I had my nerves—and perhaps more than that. Small hands clasped over her chest; her eyes clenched shut, tears laced on her lashes. She looked in pain, and I was helpless, so I only waited in quiet before I'd break something I shouldn't have touched. She sat so perhaps a minute, perhaps a half, then released the air she'd kept trapped in her lungs. “It's not like that.”

My chest tightened, locked the air in my own ribcage. “Not like what?”

She shook her head in a light motion. “I'm so sorry.”

I knew better than to press her. Forcing myself to a deep breath, I asked instead, “What are you sorry for?”

“I don't know.” Still she shook her head as she brought a hand to the tender skin beneath her eye. “All of it. I'm sorry you're here. That you're forced into this difficult position.” A small sigh escaped her. “For what you had to witness. Having to face my father. Your sister.”

“You.”

Serena's eyes darted up; wide and glossy were they, crystal coating her iris, pearls balanced on lashes. Her breath hitched and shook in a struggle to find words, until at last she procured a voice stronger than I believe she herself expected. “Why… Why did you also have to come here?”

“Here?” I frowned. “Why, I was invited!”

She shook her head, this time in exasperation. Exasperation; how did this sudden shift come about? “No, not here. London!” She dropped her hands in her skirts with a hopeless disposition. “Why must you come to this place? To the city in which you knew my family and I are located–”

“Excuse me?”

She halted her stream of speech. Her face was not one of anger nor frustration, only despondency—yet I didn't take kindly to her tone nor the accusations it implied. “You're well aware this was always my ambition, Serena. Back from boyhood.” I shook my head without care to hide my disbelief. “I didn't come imagining I'd ever see you again. London is a grand metropolis with a rather sizeable population, and you and I are of different classes, complete opposite worlds. I didn't dare think that I, as a measly university student barely managing on a part-time job, would soon be consorting with the likes of you and your parents. I could not have foreseen that we'd cross paths like this, that my professor would be a family friend of yours; if this is what you blame me for, then I do apologise that I have very little control over coincidence!”

She uttered no response. Her countenance looked possibly more miserable than before, but I couldn't be sure it was remorse at her outburst which plagued her. “I didn't come for you, Serena. I came here for Hazel. I came for myself.”  My jaw tensed with the grit of teeth against teeth. “As I always said I would.”

Serena was still. She only looked at me, the melancholy in her eyes striking; a poignancy so potent I was left disarmed. She thus resumed studying her hands, now idle in her lap, and my chest sank. I was after all a goddamn idiot. Had my intention really been to alienate her so, to let it be known how little care I had for her? I had acted too rashly, for my perception of Serena's words wasn't in her nature, and I knew that. This wasn't an accusation of following after her and refusing to accept our parting. She lamented what I in my idiocy had dismissed—that the risk of running into her parents here was high, and now I was suffering under it. And she was right. Of course, she was right. But did that mean I wasn't welcome here, that I should give up my dream when the opportunity was right there, ripe for the taking? Dammit. I didn't mean to say she meant nothing, that I would never have come for her. Idiot.

Serena's gaze found the water bowl still left untouched. “Sir, you do look rather haggard,” she said, face stripped of the previous hurt. “You should lie and rest yourself.”

I didn't protest when she picked the teacup from my grip and placed it on the tray—didn't care to. The thought of lying down seemed a rather lovely notion in this moment, as my headache had only increased over our strenuous conversation; it now pulsated against my temples, threatening nausea and all sorts of other displeasures to my being. I pulled myself back in bed and sank down on the pillows, and Serena stood to help me under the covers—a surprisingly charitable gesture on her part, which I might have been more appreciative of if my sickness had been less.

She tugged the duvet around my form and sat on the bedside. I squinted against the dim candlelight; it would die any moment. Serena seemed to sense my alert, for she promptly reached into the cabinet drawer and picked a tinderbox to renew the flame. What kindness. I hadn't needed to say a word, and yet she remembered. She remembered.

Serena placed the tinderbox back where she'd found it and grabbed the cloth instead, soaking it into the bowl of water. I closed my eyes to allay my head of strain, and then—coolness. A heavenly sensation came over my forehead, the relief instant. I let a sigh and sunk deeper into the silk sheets, relishing the cold, how it numbed my ache. Its pressure shifted to gently wipe my skin before it eased, and the coldness receded.

I turned my head to the young woman by my side, watched her elegant hands sink the cloth into the bowl, thus extract and wring it. She turned towards me again and placed the wet cloth back on my forehead. What bliss—so much more than what a fool like I deserved, but I could hardly bring myself to reject the accommodation; indeed, all I could find within me was fierce gratefulness for Serena's presence this very minute.

She continued to dab the cloth around my face and brought a hand to my cheek, knuckles grazing over my skin. “Your temperature is quite hot; I hope you've not gained a fever?”

“No,” I groaned and leaned into her touch, “not a fever. Just too much to drink. Stupidly much to drink…”

She said nothing, but I caught the mild slump in the soft curve of her shoulders, the faint expansion of her chest as she sighed a wistful breath. Disappointment—she wasn't alone in that sentiment. So many years spent in an effort to separate myself from the man I so despised, yet here I was, treading his pathetic footsteps. Her eyes asked why I did this to myself, and I had no answer.

Serena made a trail down my neck with the cloth, distributing the cool further for my comfort; she stopped at my open shirt collar. “Do you mind?”

I shook my head, and she loosened more buttons to reveal my chest. Her hand glided over my skin with only the wet fabric between us. My breath slowed, soothed by her nurture; it had been so long since I'd been awarded her touch, and yet nothing felt strange, as though it had been merely days and not years. She was warmth and safety and comfort—home. How I wished to go home, but would I be welcome?

Her hand slowed to a halt, palm rested on my leftmost side. I let out a deep breath, and her hand remained in place as my chest rose and sunk. Perhaps she was searching for a heartbeat in the hollows of my ribcage, fearful that it had gone still with the dying hopes and romanticisms of child mind. Her face carried solemnity in the stark candlelight, a serene acceptance in something beyond my understanding, as though she kept knowledge of human existence and fate and the universe; secrets disclosed only to angels and other such bodies. A glow danced around her silhouette, pouring her thick tresses in divine light, and I didn't question the matter—to me, it was fact. She'd always been a higher state of being, elevated above mere mortals with our petty vices and scruples, wholesome and ethereal. Never quite belonged, always hung onto the corporeal world by a bare thread, and if the day ever came in which she'd come free and transcend to the heavens, I had no doubt the Earth would grieve selfish tears over the loss. She wasn't for mankind; she was too good.

“Should I leave so you might sleep?”

I blinked; Serena's gaze was on me with a look of concern. I'd lost myself in unsound reveries again, and I could but sigh at the acknowledgement. What would become of me if I continued to entertain such ideas? Serena's forgiving nature was my blessing—if she'd been a less tolerant individual, I was assured my entire reputation would be spoiled by my own undoing.

“You… You don't have to stay,” I uttered in a hard swallow. “Only if it pleases you.”

She tilted her head with a sombre mien and ran her fingers along my face from temple past cheekbone, following the jawline to my chin, a trail of sparks left in its wake. “Tell me what to do, Daniel,” said she in a whisper meant solely for me, words so private they needed shielding from cosmos itself. “Tell me how I can make things easier for you.”

My fingers enclosed hers; somehow the action felt neither improper nor brazen any more. She made no move to pull her hand from my grip. “I don't know that you can,” I spoke, my words soft as hers had been, “It will never be easier, Serena.”

Her gentle features contorted in a face of anguish, and one tear finally made its escape from the rim of her eye. She caught it with her other hand, palm against cheek as she shook her head and looked down. Hurt was a jarring sight on her; wrongful and unjust, a scar on innocence itself. Such iniquity had no place here, to so cruelly taint purity with woe. I was contrite to have been the catalyst of it and wanted nothing more than to take it away, to ease all that troubled her.

My lips parted to make way for words which never came. She leaned forward, and locks of black brushed my face. Damask rose permeated the air between us; I inhaled deeply to retain the euphoria. So close, I didn't dare touch. She hovered over me, the tip of her nose just a speck of an inch from mine. The hum in the air went still. Small, exquisite fingers spread over the bare skin beneath my clavicle, though I couldn't see for the dense curtain of black, only feel. She moved so slow it was scarcely movement at all, and only when I tilted my head did I realise how close she'd come; I met her lips then.

She stiffened a moment—hands frozen on my chest—but then eased, her bosom leaning into me in a long breath. Her lips pressed sweet against mine, supple yet firm, peachy as plums. I sipped from them, drank her as one would wine, and she melted against my mouth, so soft I could mould her with my will; how intoxicating to possess such power, such privilege. Triumph surged through me, spiked my blood with intention and rapture, and my hand found its place on her corseted waist.

I moved slow and astute with the apprehension that she might at any moment pull herself from me, but no such thing happened. Quite on the contrary, she pressed further down on me, confident that I would support her, and I happily did. She caressed my jaw, nails scraping lightly over imperceptible, tactile stubble. Upon a tentative nip, she permitted access with the parting of her lips, and so I slipped into her, dipped my senses in sultry, savoury warmth. The feeling overcame me in chest and abdomen, and I had an urge to have her closer, so much so that we'd forget where one ended and the other began. I pulled her onto me, and she drew her limb over my torso to settle on top.

Her light weight pressed on my lower body in a manner most impossible to ignore. A groan escaped my throat into the depths of her cavity, my fingers dug into plump hips, and in this moment, I was hers—she'd conquered me, mind and body. I could never break free if I so desired; this the undeniable truth, and I'd found my peace with it. If it meant my every living breath would be shared with hers, I was content. If she'd break from me, surely I'd cease to be. At least I'd have the memory to hold onto, and that in itself was a gift.

My hands wandered on their own accord, explored a trail down her skirts to discover generous flesh beneath. Her breath hitched and released, fingers entangled in my long strands, but she resumed her feast with greater prurience; fuelled by her insatiable hunger, I did the same, willing to offer all she craved of me. My previous drunken discomfort was lost in the pleasure of our congress. The sensation in my lower body ached against her warm weight, pulsating beneath the cover of her dress, and I wondered how she liked it. My trousers tightened in the space between our structures, where our skin would meet if not for the thin veil of fabric. Was this reality? Perhaps I had passed in the dead of night, and she'd come to take me to her heavens. I could believe that.

“Daniel–”

I blinked as I lost contact with paradise. Serena was before me still, breath heavy and raspy as mine. My hand had found its way to her thigh beneath the layers of skirt, prevented from further travel by small fingers locked around my wrist—she'd broken our embrace. “No.”

Alarm arose within me, and I swallowed. I'd gone too far, taken liberties not bestowed on me. Was this not my usual impudence at play again; how good of her that she possessed the clemency to stop me before I'd disgrace myself. Few other souls would be as forgiving of such foolhardiness.

She gently strayed my hand off its destination and led it back to the surface from a sea of skirts. “We can't,” she breathed, close to my lips so I could taste the words, “You know that.”

I did know; I had only hoped differently. My chest deflated in a disappointed sigh, but I nodded and lowered my gaze as she climbed off me, too tinged with shame to meet hers. Delicate fingers curled around my chin and guided me to face her again. She pressed a kiss to my lips, and I closed my eyes, silently receiving her generosity.

We held the gesture for a blissful time until Serena withdrew. “I must go back downstairs,” she muttered and straightened herself, “The others will begin to wonder.”

“As I do.” My statement was monotone; it was all I could think to respond. Her countenance fell with something like remorse, and my chest tightened at the sight.

“I… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–“

“No.” She stilled, only gazed at me. “Don't be sorry. Don't regret it.” I shook my head and took her hand in mine. “Just … please, don't regret it.”

Serena sighed a small breath, one which eased the tension from her elevated posture. She nodded, “I won't.”

I pressed her hand to my lips and held it there, squeezed the velvety skin in my own calloused palm. She accepted the display of humble adoration without word and brought her other hand to my hairline. “Try to sleep, dear,” said she as she brushed strayed locks from my face, “so you might rally in the morning and come to the ball with us. We would all be loath for you to miss it.” She leaned forward and left a tender kiss on my forehead. “Goodnight.”

She stood at last, and I released her hand from my grip, though not without onerous reluctance. She gave a faint smile, one wishing that I wouldn't torment myself the entire night, but I could make no such promises. She turned and strode towards the door; before she exited, she cast a last long glance of concern to me. I attempted a tug on the lips to set her at ease, and thus she was gone.

Perhaps it was for the best. She wasn't made for man; she was too good, and I should let her go.