Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jemima Potts had always loved Christmas, for as long as she could remember. Sure, there were no big piles of presents under the tree like the illustrations in her storybooks, but Daddy made their presents, and they were always so special and unique. Last year he’d made them these painted wind-up soldiers who could actually walk around... they’d lost that ability by New Year’s Day, but weren’t they wonderful while they worked!

There were always peppermint sticks and oranges and gingerbread and all those splendid things, and the prettiest decorations made by Daddy himself, and songs sung around the fireplace.

This year, though, this year was special. This year they lived in a big house, and Jemima would be dreaming of sugarplums in a big, comfy bed in her very own room, and there would be a big pile of presents under the tree waiting to be opened.

Most importantly, though, this year, they had a Mummy. A mother who laughed and sang and played with them, who kissed their scrapes and bruises and sang them their lullaby in harmony with Daddy, who told them she loved them every single day. She was as pretty as an angel, and as good and sweet as one, too. Jemima wanted to be just like her when she grew up.

(Daddy was always so happy now, too. He smiled even more than he ever did before, especially at Mummy, and Jemima thought this was the most wonderful thing in the world.)

Jemima and Jeremy had conspired, several years in a row, to send off a letter to Father Christmas asking if he might find them a mum. Truly had come to them in the early days of summer, so it seemed that her miraculous entrance into their lives probably had nothing to do with those particular letters. Still, Jemima had thought it might be worth a try to post a letter asking for a baby sister this year. At going-on-nine years old, she knew that babies grew inside mummies - somehow - and did not simply appear, but she wanted to use all the wishes she could on the only thing that could make their family more perfect. 

And what - other than Chitty, at least - was more magical than Christmas?

xxx

Even with the Potts family’s newfound wealth, Truly knew that she would be entering into a far more middle-class existence when she married Caractacus. Though they were very, very comfortable and money was really of no concern anymore, her husband wisely had no interest in wasteful new-money extravagance, preferring to save most of his fortune for the children’s futures and little luxuries here and there.

So they lived in a house that was grander than most, but certainly not a mansion, and they had a housekeeper, but no coterie of servants. This suited Truly just fine. She’d always longed for a cozier, more private existence when she’d imagined her future marriage and family, and she didn’t think it was healthy for children to grow up as she had, either, with so much distance and indifference between parent and child.

Truly also knew from the start that there wouldn’t be anything too traditional or rigid about their household - how could there be, when Caractacus had raised his children and kept the house on his own for the past six years? Besides, his inventions and his fondness for new technology had made those everyday housekeeping tasks a lot simpler for him even when he’d been poor. So it didn’t matter too much that she knew little about things like cooking and laundry. This, too, pleased her, the easy, egalitarian way they split tasks as needed, the way he never expected her to carry the household on her shoulders simply because she was a woman.

Caractacus had been accustomed to cooking already, and he was a very good cook, too, when he could keep the recipes straight. But Truly had wanted to learn. She wanted to make herself useful, wanted to be able to pick up the slack if her husband was busy or poorly, and, perhaps most of all, she wanted to be able to fully connect with her family through those little motherly and wifely gestures she’d always dreamed about performing - to be able to make a birthday cake, a pot of soup on a cold day, a plate of biscuits. Besides, she simply thought that cooking might be something she’d enjoy. She’d already spent years helping her father review changes in the recipes at the factory and assess batches of sweets for their flaws, so learning how to cook seemed like it would be relatively simple in comparison.

Mere days after she and Caractacus became engaged, Truly had donned her most practical blouse and broadcloth skirt with an apron, pinned her hair up high, and presented herself to Mrs. Peavey, the amiable head cook at the Scrumptious manor, asking to be taught. All throughout her engagement, she’d spent much of her time when she wasn’t with the Potts family studying cookbooks and taking practical lessons in that kitchen - practicing boiling eggs and beating them, rolling dough, making broth, slicing vegetables finely, watching bread dough rise and souffles fall. It felt like she had her own little inventor’s workshop, in a way.

All the while, her mother tutted under her breath when she saw Truly coming and going from the below-stairs kitchen each day, still not quite reconciled to the commoner’s life that her daughter had chosen for herself, but glad to see her happy and in love and on the cusp of marriage, all the same.

And now, Truly stood on the threshold of her greatest self-imposed test - Christmas dinner. She and Caractacus had managed to work out a balanced deal with her family: the Potts family would have Christmas Eve and most of Christmas day to themselves, joining the Scrumptious family’s celebrations on Christmas night and also on Twelfth Night. This would give Truly and Caractacus the opportunity to prepare their own Christmas dinner, just as she’d dreamed of them doing all those months ago.

Though it was only Christmas Eve and she and Caractacus would be doing much of the cooking together tomorrow, there were certain things that had to be done well in advance. Truly had insisted on handling certain dishes alone, especially when she’d learned that, unsurprisingly, her husband did not usually make any of the traditional English desserts, so she’d not be stepping on his toes by trying to make them herself.

A few weeks earlier, Truly had prepared the Christmas pudding just as she’d been taught to do, with Jeremy and Jemima and Caractacus taking turns stirring it as it steamed - and, as Mrs. Peavey had taught her, each person who stirred the pudding got to make a wish.

(The twins had shared a conspiratorial glance when Truly told them that, and, though nobody was supposed to tell anyone their wish, she suspected that brother and sister had somehow managed to wish for the same thing, whatever that may have been.)

None of the four Potts had ever engaged in this custom before, with the twins having been raised solely by an American father and Truly having only had Christmas dinner prepared and served by household staff, and she felt proud of herself, somehow, for bringing a new tradition into their lives.

The pudding wouldn’t be finished until tomorrow, when she’d have to steam it again, but she still had plenty of baking to do today. Currently, she was carefully frosting a traditional Christmas cake, which had been maturing for over a month and which she’d covered with a layer of marzipan a few days prior - Truly was somewhat shocked when Mrs. Peavey had taught her just how drawn-out the preparations for Christmas dinner really were, having spent her entire life at such a distance from the preparation of the traditional desserts her family had always enjoyed!

But then, she’d always been kept at a distance from everything.

For Truly, Christmas had always been a time of merriment, beautiful decorations and music - she’d always so loved singing carols - but not until this year had she experienced it as a time of warmth and closeness and familial love. Most of her childhood Christmases had been spent playing with her cousins while their parents paid little attention. As an adult, sitting about with those same cousins at Christmas and playing parlor games and discussing the latest insipid society gossip, she’d watched those cousins’ children run through the hallways with their new toys and felt the oddest sort of twinge.

It wasn’t as though she longed to join them - of course not, that would be ridiculous - but a part of her ached when she realized how much she longed for a husband and children of her own. And Truly knew, instinctively, that when she had her own children, she wouldn’t leave them for hours and hours to sit in a parlor full of adults talking about nothing.

She dearly wanted a family, but not like this one, where children were raised by nannies and governesses, seen and not heard, where parents barely knew them; where Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were spent entertaining a household of fifty or so guests. But then, this was her lot in life, wasn’t it - the deal she had to accept in exchange for her good fortune of being born into wealth and luxury? This was her world, and though she could make changes here and there once she had her own home, she could never fully escape it.

Until, of course, she did.

A sudden commotion in the front hallway interrupted Truly’s reverie as the door opened and closed and the mostly-silent house came alive with footsteps and children’s voices.

“It smells good in here!” Jeremy called excitedly down the hallway.

Though she couldn’t yet see the children and the dog, Truly knew in what state they’d left the house a couple of hours ago, and, ever since the first snowfall of the year a few days ago, she knew exactly what state in which they’d return. Actually, as this was the first day they’d been allowed to take their ice skates, they were probably in an even more frightful condition.

“Make sure you stamp the snow off your boots before you take them off. Leave the ice skates where Daddy and I told you. And don’t forget to towel off Edison!”

“Yes, Mummy,” two bright, clear voices called back dutifully.

A few minutes later, Jeremy and Jemima emerged into the kitchen, faces still flushed from the cold, a damp-looking Edison trotting along behind them.

“Did you have fun playing in the snow with your friends?" She glanced over her shoulder at the twins as she worked on the icing. "I hope you didn’t get any bruises out on the pond.”

Jemima nodded as she pulled herself up onto a kitchen chair and swept her flyaway flaxen hair out of her face. “There wasn’t deep enough snow to build a big snowman, so we built a little one. I wanted to build a snow dog that looked like Edison, but the ears wouldn’t stay on.”

“And we didn’t fall on the ice!” Jeremy protested, looking up from filling Edison’s food and water bowls. “Ollie Morris kept falling down, but he’s only five years old.”

“Next time we go skating, you and daddy should come with us,” said Jemima. “Daddy’s the one who taught us, and he’s very good at it.”

Truly laughed, carefully smoothing a layer of white icing across the top of the cake. “I’m afraid I never was very good at ice skating myself, and it’s been years since I’ve even tried... but with the three of you to hold me up, at least I won’t have to worry about falling.”

“Perfect! Then we’ll do it," Jeremy affirmed. "It’ll be an adventure."

"A Potts family adventure, the best kind!” Soon after those words had left Jemima's mouth, the girl looked around the room, her expression turning thoughtful and curious as she examined what Truly was doing at the kitchen counter and then sniffed the air. “Hmm, it smells like gingerbread.”

“It does, indeed.” With a warm smile, Truly gestured toward the oven, the source of the delicious aroma that was permeating their home. “This cake is for tomorrow, but I thought that perhaps in a little while, we could all use the spare icing to decorate gingerbread men for tonight.”

Jemima hopped to her feet and clapped her hands in excitement, doing a little twirl in her red tartan dress that made it obvious just how sodden the hem had become while she’d been out in the snow and Truly noticed that the cuffs of Jeremy’s trousers were similarly soaked.

“This is already the best Christmas ever,” the boy proclaimed with a grin, running over to give Truly a hug, and his sister followed suit moments later.

When Truly looked down, she saw Jemima gazing up at her with that incongruously serious expression she wore from time to time. “I hope you know it’s not only because of the house and the presents and everything. It’s because of you. Everything is better now that you’re our Mummy.”

Truly’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes misting over as a rush of love and gratitude filled her heart, and the bag of icing fell from her hand. Kneeling down so she could hug them both, she responded, “Everything is better now that you’re my children, too,” and gave each twin a kiss on the cheek, wondering how she’d ever gotten so lucky as to be welcomed into this family that was everything she’d ever dreamed. 

The only thing that could make her life more perfect would be - well, what she’d wished for when she stirred the pudding. And for some reason, she currently felt more certain than ever that it would come true.

The moment that he’d been released from her embrace, Jeremy abruptly exclaimed, “Do you think that maybe next - ”

Immediately, Jemima leaned over and gave Jeremy a pinch on the arm, making him yelp.

Truly was left so startled and confused by the whole inexplicable exchange that it took a great effort not to laugh as she scolded, “Jemima! Don’t pinch your brother!”

“Only I think he was going to tell his wish! It won’t come true if he does that!” She turned back to Jeremy, scrunching up her nose at him. “And anyway, I told you that you shouldn’t say anything about - “

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were about to.”

Shaking her head, Truly finally allowed herself to break a smile as she knelt back down and placed a hand on each child’s shoulder. Growing up as an only child, she’d never experienced such sibling squabbles for herself, but she was glad that whenever the twins had a row, it tended to be a petty one and fizzled out quickly. Even though, in this case, she’d never had the faintest idea what they'd been fighting about in the first place.

“Now, why don’t you two run along and change out of those wet clothes, and then go find Daddy? He was looking for you a little while ago - I think he hoped you’d help him out with wrapping some presents upstairs.”

Jeremy gasped. “Ooh, right, we still have to wrap our - “

Though she didn’t pinch him this time, Jemima did give her five-minutes-younger brother a light poke between the ribs. “Jeremy! Don’t tell!”

Cheeks turning pink, Jeremy rubbed his hand across the back of his neck in that way of his that was so very like Caractacus. “Oops, sorry.”

Before they dashed off to join their father, they each gave her a kiss on the cheek, as natural as anything, and, when Truly stood up and watched them run out of the room as she dusted her hands on her apron, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

(She still had no idea what the twins had wished for on the pudding, but she did wonder if, perhaps, she and Caractacus had wished for the same thing as each other, too.)

xxx

When, in the first year after losing Mimsie, Caractacus had felt utterly lost and forlorn, alone in the world with two-year-old twins and a grumpy father who didn’t believe in him and almost no money to his name, Christmas had been the first thing to pull him out of his all-consuming grief.

The twins were almost three, that first Christmas in England after Mimsie’s passing, and Caractacus had realized one day that it might be the first Christmas they would be able to remember. He’d grown up fairly poor, himself, but some of his fondest boyhood memories were of the joy and excitement of Christmas. No matter how poor he was or how miserable he felt, he wasn’t going to deprive his children of that. If he could give them nothing else, he was going to give them magic.

He couldn’t provide too much in the way of presents, but he had ingenuity and imagination and a great deal of spare parts and scrap metal. He’d built a little Christmas village all through their tiny home - little wooden houses with windows that lit up,  and a train that ran all around their small cottage and delivered sweets and tiny trinkets in its cars.

Though few people had a home Christmas tree wrapped in electric lights in the early years of the new century - and most that did were very wealthy - Caractacus had followed the example of Thomas Edison’s associate Edward H. Johnson and wired together his own strings of white and colorful bulbs, and the Potts family Christmas tree sparkled and glowed without the need for anything so dangerous as candles. 

And, just as he’d hoped, little Jeremy and Jemima had looked around with wide, wondering eyes, smiled and laughed and sang and filled up the whole tiny house with their joy, and it had never been so clear that they were going to be the ones to save him from complete despair. He’d do anything, give anything, just to make them smile, and he would make that his life’s work above all else.

Ever since then, it had been his policy to do everything in his power to make each Christmas as magical as possible for his children. This year, now that he’d made himself a fortune, “everything in his power” had increased exponentially, so Caractacus had done his best to scale his Christmas magic accordingly.

There was a pair of festively-painted trains running on a fairly complex system of tracks around their much-bigger house, swags of pine and holly festooning their parlor and dining room and the banister leading upstairs, four velvet stockings hanging by the stately fireplace, and a bigger tree to spangle with electric lights and a stunning electric star on top. 

(He could have easily afforded to buy string lights now, but, after considering that option, he’d deemed that his own were superior to the ones on the market already, and had actually begun to make some inquiries into selling his design. It was incredible the way his success and his self-confidence had continued to grow, ever since Chitty and Woof Sweets and Truly’s unwavering belief in him - he still put his cardigan on inside-out a good deal of the time, but he’d never felt less like a crackpot.)

But, better than all of that by far, there was Truly.

His heart had grown slowly over the past six years, learning to hold his grief and loneliness, learning how to put it aside most of the time and go on living, even if he had to relentlessly distract himself with work in order to do so - and then this year, a pair of sparkling blue eyes had looked into his and his heart had doubled, tripled in size, now so full of love and sunshine and hope for the future that grief no longer had the power to consume him, and the pain of loneliness was a thing of the past entirely.

Just like with the children, he’d do anything, give anything, just to make Truly smile; just like with the children, he needed her the way he needed to breathe, and his life’s work was now making sure that all three of them felt as happy and loved as could be.

Truly poured light into all his dark and empty places, made him feel more alive than he’d ever known he could feel, reawakened some parts of himself and awakened others for the very first time, and filled his days with laughter and excitement and spirited conversations. For the first time in six years, Caractacus had anticipated Christmas with nothing but joy in his heart.

After Mass at the village church (where he’d gazed rapt and awestruck at her as she sang in her soaring soprano) and tea with Grandpa and gingerbread men for dessert, after Caractacus had regaled the children with a spirited reading of A Visit From St. Nicholas, after the stockings were hung and the twins snug in their beds and all of the gifts were set in place for the morning, Caractacus laid out a few blankets and pillows so he and Truly could cuddle by the fireside beneath the glow of the Christmas tree.

He held his darling wife close, just breathing in the moment, and wondered if he’d ever been so perfectly happy. Of course, he’d wondered this several times each day ever since the June morning when they’d confessed their love, but there was something about being perfectly happy at Christmastime that was too precious for words.

He could still vividly remember sitting all alone before the fire in the old ramshackle cottage on last year’s Christmas Eve after the children were asleep, a little cold, a little melancholy, hoping that the twine-wrapped packages in their threadbare stockings didn’t look too shabby and that the homemade toys wouldn’t fall to pieces when they opened them. Now they lived in a house with rooms to spare, no leaks or drafts to let in the December chill, and an entire parlor room to dedicate to Christmas decorations. The stockings were stuffed and the tree was piled with presents, too, and only a few here and there were homemade; tomorrow morning, Jemima would finally have that porcelain doll she’d pined after and Jeremy would have an electric Lionel train set far more elaborate than anything Caractacus could build himself. And the most beautiful woman in all the world was in his arms, wearing his ring and sharing his name, loving him and the children with all of her heart, and that was the greatest treasure of all.

“I never, ever imagined I’d be able to give my kids a Christmas like this,” he said softly. “When I think of how this year began and where we are now...” Turning to Truly, he gazed down at her gorgeous face and her sea-blue eyes brimming with love, and he felt himself getting choked up all over again. “And of course, I never imagined a wife like you at my side on Christmas Eve. How could I? I couldn’t dream up someone as lovely and wonderful as you if I tried.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I can’t believe I didn’t know how badly I needed you, or the way I tried to deny it. It seems so obvious, now!”

Truly nodded thoughtfully, biting her lip. “I know just what you mean. I didn’t know how it would feel to be loved like this, and none of the women I knew in high society seemed to have particularly loving marriages, so I couldn’t miss what I hadn’t even imagined possible for me. Now I wonder how I ever thought I was content to live - ”

“ - such a lonely life!” he chimes in, both of them finishing the sentence in unison, then laughing together when they realized that they’d done it yet again. Even from their very first meeting, when they’d had nothing but acrid words for each other, they’d been finishing each other’s sentences, and with the benefit of hindsight, he wondered: how had they not known?

Caractacus had no idea that such a feeling as this existed until he met Truly - a harmony of two hearts, two souls that understood each other perfectly even without words, two people who were seemingly put on this earth to love one another. Everything he’d ever been through had been meant to lead him to her arms, he realized - across an ocean, across a class divide, through the walls they’d both built up around themselves, it made no difference. He’d been made for her, and she for him, so their happily-ever-after had always been an inevitability.

That thought was a bit too heady to contemplate for long on an evening when he was already feeling emotional, and it also wasn’t something he could yet put into words, so he just kissed his wife and hoped she might understand everything he didn’t yet know how to say aloud.

Looking up at him with a sweet smile, Truly remarked, “You know, when I was a little girl, sometimes I’d lay on my back beneath the big Christmas tree in the great hall and just - look up through the branches at all of the lights and ornaments above me. I always thought there was something magical about the way it looked. Of course, I haven’t done it in many years. It would have been - ridiculous.” She glanced at the tree thoughtfully, “I don’t know if it would work with this tree, as it’s certainly not as tall as that one, but...”

“Let’s try it,” Caractacus answered, grinning. 

Pushing a couple of boxes to the side, he laid down his head on the velvet tree skirt first and then helped Truly get into place beside him.

Even with his considerable imagination, he’d never thought to do anything like this before - not that he’d ever had access to a Christmas tree large enough to make it worthwhile, anyway. The sight of nothing but pine branches and baubles and lights overhead really was something breathtaking, like a secret little world. Still, as always, he found that he couldn’t stop himself from turning his head to watch Truly gaze at the beautiful sight. The play of emotions across her face was enchanting, her happiness absolutely captivating, and his heart ached with love too great to contain.

“It’s lovely as I remember. Even more so, because it’s our tree.” Truly affirmed with a sigh of contentment. Leaning up on one arm, she turned to face him, eyes sparkling with flecks of all the little colored lights above them. “I don’t quite know how to say this, but with you, I feel like - like I can find that little girl within me again, the one my parents tried to stamp out. I’ve felt that way since the first day by the seaside.” Flushed, she added, “Of course, you also make me feel more like a woman than I’d ever known I could feel. Both things are true at the same time - oh, you understand, don’t you? I don’t sound strange?”

Caractacus felt a pang in his heart. Though he had a good relationship with his in-laws, and he was very grateful that they’d accepted him and their marriage and the twins, he could never understand how they could have raised their own daughter with such coldness, even if they’d mellowed somewhat with age. It was a marvel that she’d turned out so warm after they’d tried so hard to mold her in their image - but then, there was no easy way of stamping out a heart as bright and playful and good as hers.

“I understand,” he assured her, stroking her hair. “I think every grown-up needs to laugh and run and play sometimes or - or you’d go crazy! See, it was easy for me to keep that inner child alive, spending so much time playing with the kids. It was the man I tried to stamp out during those long years - ” he loaded the word with the same significance she’d just given to woman “ - and I thought I’d done a thorough job of it, too. But you brought back that side of me and more the moment I first saw your face, sweetheart.”

Her cheeks pinkened delightfully, making her glow just as she did whenever they came inside from the cold, and he kissed them with gusto. Soon, because he couldn’t resist, he was kissing her lips, too, pulling the two of them upright and back to their more comfortable nest of pillows and blankets with Truly in his lap.

Even after six months together and three months of a very happy and very passionate marriage, the act of simply kissing her had never lost its thrill. Certainly, there was an extra, different sort of excitement now that prolonged kisses usually led to much more, but that didn’t mean that kissing had become merely a means to an end. On the contrary, it could be slow, deliberate, every moment savored. They didn’t have to worry about going too far like they had when they were courting, and she wasn’t afraid to let out the softest little moans as his tongue slipped between her parted lips or to press closer to him as they kissed, and he, of course, could let his hands wander anywhere he pleased.

After a few minutes and more than a few deep, clinging kisses, Truly leaned back to look into his eyes with that sweetly mischievous expression of hers. “Well, Mr. Potts, I’m no Father Christmas, but I’d say you’ve been very good this year.” She tilted her head and pursed her lips, as if seriously considering the issue. “But also very naughty. Those are rather the same thing when it comes to you, you see.”

Caractacus broke into a wide grin. “I love the way you say that word.”

“Which word - naughty?”

“Yes.” He let out a playful growl, nipping at her neck. He’d never been shy about expressing his fondness for her voice and her accent, but he thought that one might be one of his very favorite words to hear her say. Something about her wonderfully rich and rounded vowels, so unlike his own, the crispness of the T, all combined with what she meant by it... it was irresistible.

With a low, throaty laugh, Truly shook her head. “You love the way I say every word!”

“Mm, you caught me there.” After giving her a quick wink, he schooled his features into an expression of mock outrage. “But, hey, why am I the one who gets called naughty? I have it on good authority that you’ve also been very naughty these past few months, darling - and very, very good.” He murmured those last words with his lips nearly touching her ear, grinning with self-satisfaction when Truly shivered and gasped in response.

Her breath was coming fast, face flushed and eyes darkened with lust, looking delicious enough to eat, and the only thing stopping him from pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless while sliding his hand up her thigh was how eagerly he was awaiting her next volley in their heated flirtation.

But she surprised him with what she said next, a sweet wistfulness in her eyes. “I was just thinking - after everything I’ve seen since I met you, I could believe that Father Christmas really might come to visit us tonight. I could believe in any sort of magic, knowing that I live in a world where Chitty exists!”

Caractacus brushed her golden hair away from her lily-white neck and trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses there, smiling against her skin as he reached down to cup a soft breast through her nightgown, almost overwhelmed by the softness and warmth and sweet scent of her. “We’d better get to bed soon, then. Doesn’t mean we have to sleep.”

The way that Truly eagerly leaned into his touch and let out a warm, wordless murmur of pleasure and assent was enough to make him resolve to get her upstairs and into their bed as soon as humanly possible. But the moment he’d started to rise to his feet and pull her up with him, Caractacus remembered the reason why he’d wanted to cuddle by the tree with her in the first place, and he abruptly changed course, letting go of her hand and going to retrieve a package wrapped in royal purple paper - Vulgarian purple.

“I can’t believe I almost forgot! If you don’t mind, there is one gift I’d like to give you tonight,” he told her, a bit embarrassed at his sudden and inelegant change of topic. “We’ll show the kids tomorrow, of course, but - I don’t know, I just can’t wait to see what you think of it.”

“Oh, of course I don’t mind!” She craned her neck, eyes scanning through the presents still remaining beneath the tree. “Should I choose something for you to open tonight, too?”

“No need for that. This one is just - special.” Sitting cross-legged on the blankets across from her, he handed the somewhat-heavy wrapped box to his wife. “See, I’ve been waiting to give you this for a long time. This was originally meant to be a wedding present, but it turned out to be too complicated to finish in time after we decided to make some changes to the design.”

Truly raised her eyebrows. “We?”

“Ah, yes. I’ve been corresponding with Klaus about it for months and months. I may be an inventor, but only a toymaker could create something like this.”

She blinked back at him, bemusement written all over her lovely face. “The toymaker? And it’s for me, not the children?” Truly lightly rocked the box from side to side, testing the weight and feel of it, but he knew she’d never be able to guess what she’d find within.

Caractacus nodded with a grin. “He sent along some toys for the kids, too, but this right here is all for you. Just open it up and you’ll see.”

He felt himself almost holding his breath as she carefully, delicately, untied the ribbons and tore the paper, then opened up the box and sifted through all the many layers of tissue paper, eyes widening -

“Oh, it’s me - it’s us!”

With a delighted gasp, she lifted up an exquisitely carved rounded music box topped with two little wooden figurines: a blonde doll in her green-and-red dirndl and looped braids, and, more surprisingly, a red-and-orange-clad clown at her side.

When Caractacus reached over and turned the key a few times, the figures began to spin, and the familiar song tinkled out - and then Truly let out a little cry of joy as she realized that the music box was playing not just her song, but both of their songs in perfect counterpoint. The movements of the two figurines were timed so that, on each complete rotation, they bent toward each other in a pantomime of a kiss. 

To anyone else, this music box would have been a charming little novelty. To Truly and Caractacus, it was one of the most romantic things imaginable.

“Caractacus,” she whispered with hushed awe. “It’s wonderful.”

“At first it was going to be more like your music box, I mean, when it was you on a music box, but then I thought - I thought that doll wouldn’t want to be alone up there. I thought she’d want her marionette with her.”

“Not below her,” Truly answered instantly, her voice soft and tender. “You - you were exactly right. She shouldn’t be alone.”

With infinite tenderness, he stroked her warm cheek, teasing the pretty curl beside her ear with his fingertips. “She never will be.”

Setting the music box on the floor as its rotation began to slow, Truly turned to face him with wide, glistening eyes, her lip quivering slightly, and for a moment, Caractacus feared that she might be about to cry.

But instead, she pounced on him, pulling him by his lapels into a deep, hungry kiss. In the brief moments where their lips parted, she whispered a plaintive “please”, and suddenly they were both unbuttoning and untying and unlacing until they were bare together in their little nest beside the Christmas tree. 

Caractacus hadn’t been planning on this when he’d set up the pile of pillows and blankets for them, and he hadn’t imagined for a moment that the gift of the music box would elicit such a passionate response from his wife, but he really shouldn’t have been so surprised. Some emotions were too profound for words, and only kisses would do - and kisses alone could only say so much. Passion flowed as easily as words and laughter between them, a secret, sacred language they’d already learned to speak fluently.

It had taken some time for him to admit it without guilt - it felt so wrong to make any sort of comparison, and he never meant it that way - but the truth was that before Truly, he’d never known that lovemaking could be like this, that anything could be like this. The most dispassionate, scientific way he could describe it was that it was like the completion of an electrical circuit every time they touched; or like the north and south poles of a magnet, perfectly compatible, inevitably, irrevocably drawn together. But even those metaphors could not fully describe the connection they shared as lovers, the insatiable need to be as close to her as possible, the soul-deep peace and satisfaction he felt whenever he held her in his arms. 

The simplest, truest, most accurate explanation was the highly unscientific term that had been floating through his mind earlier: soulmates.

Most of the time, when they made love, it was light and playful, at least to start, but there was something especially desperate and intense about this particular time, as if they’d both just traveled back to those early days in their minds, remembering all too vividly just how lucky they were to be able to be together like this, now and forever.

Not all that long ago, Truly had been so far beyond his reach that Caractacus hadn’t dared to kiss her hand. Now, with her arms and naked legs wrapped around him, clinging to him as though she desperately needed to keep him as deeply inside her as possible, she was everything, everywhere, all that he could perceive with all five of his senses. He knew she liked it very much when he was vocal and talked to her, during, and right now, all he could even think to say was how beautiful and perfect she was, how much he loved her. His beloved was radiant with love and ecstatic pleasure, golden locks shining in the soft glow of the fire and the lights on the tree - his sunshine, his angel, his English rose - and Caractacus watched her beautiful face raptly as he made her see stars again and again underneath the twinkling lights.

When it was over and he was still trembling with the intensity of his own climax, he held Truly close in his arms and murmured the sweetest endearments in her ear as she nestled on his chest, her pretty pink lips turned upward in a smile of the utmost satisfaction. Without any conscious thought on his part, his hand made its way to her belly and he traced soft circles there with his fingertips, his dearest wish lingering just beneath his awareness.

“If I’d known that was how you would react, well, it’s a good thing I didn’t have you open it for the first time in front of the kids,” Caractacus exclaimed with a breathless laugh, and Truly broke into giggles in his arms, burying her face in his bare chest as she blushed.

After they’d both recovered from their mirth, he stroked her warm cheek lightly, looking into her eyes. “The real reason I wanted to give that to you when we were alone was that, well, part of me couldn’t wait to see how happy it would make you, but another part of me was worried that maybe you wouldn’t like it. Because that moment was - you know, it was dangerous, and frightening. We weren’t exactly dressed up in those costumes for fun and games. As excited as I was about that gift, I was never completely sure...”

Raising herself up on one elbow, she shook her head firmly. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t still have that dress in my trunk if it were such an awful memory! It was the way we saved our children. It was the moment I knew you loved me.” Her eyes glowed softly and warmly with affection as she ran her fingers through his hair. “And I still think it’s a terribly lovely dress. Even under the circumstances, I felt beautiful - but especially from the way you looked at me.”

“My disguise wasn’t something that made me feel particularly handsome, as you well know, and I certainly never want to see myself in it again. Especially not that awful wig! But I thought I should allow Klaus to make a faithful reproduction for the music box version of me, regardless. Your disguise, on the other hand, was just perfect for you. So beautiful - you always are.” He paused for a moment, a little shy about confessing what had just come into his mind even though he knew it would most likely delight her, but, considering that they were naked in each other’s arms and still flushed and perspiring from their passionate tumble mere minutes before, he figured he had little reason to be embarrassed. “You know, seeing as you still have that dress... maybe one of these nights you could wear it just so I could take it off you.”

Truly’s mouth dropped open, and those wide blue eyes glimmered with unbridled amusement. “You... like that dress, then?” With an effervescent giggle, she added, “I daresay you always liked it, is that right?”

It was really something, how, for one so sweet and pure, she’d so quickly developed a knack for making him blush! Of course, he was hardly a jaded man of the world himself, but still.

Rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, Caractacus stammered, “I mean, at the time, I wouldn’t have dared to think - I wouldn’t have ever - and it wasn’t the time or place - but after, when we were safe and home and you were going to be my bride? Yes, I’ve thought about it. I’m only a man, after all!”

“And how glad I am of that!” It was adorable, the way she immediately blushed at the suggestive implication of her words although she’d clearly intended it. So innocent, but so earnest and unashamed in her newly-awakened passion - she really was scrumptious, in every sense of the word. “One of these nights, I will wear it for you. But it will have to be a surprise.”

“Of course. I’ll look forward to you surprising me whenever you’d like, however you’d like.” He buried his face against her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and her hair, warm and familiar and intoxicating all the same. God, she drove him absolutely wild, in the best way possible - only minutes after they’d made love and he could already feel desire stirring in him again.

His passion for her, his need for her, was so different than what he’d known before, ardor so brave and fierce that it had opened up entirely new ways of thinking. Truly made him want things that he’d never even dreamed of previously - much more than just the tame fantasy of the dirndl. There were more adventurous fantasies he hoped to confess to her before long, and considering her enthusiastic responses to, well, everything they’d done so far, as well as her willingness to make her own forays into inventive lovemaking, he strongly suspected that she’d be more than amenable to exploring even more new avenues of their passion when the time came. They really were perfect together, in ways he’d never even known were possible.

“I love you so much, Truly.” The words never felt like enough to encompass what he felt for her, but that was why he was always trying to show her, every day and in every way possible, that he loved her as much as she loved him.

Gazing dreamily into his eyes, she responded with the words that he’d never, ever tire of hearing in her beautiful voice. “I love you, Caractacus.”

They lay cozily entwined like that for a few minutes more, listening to the crackles of the dying fire, until, with her usual efficiency - prim, but not at all prudish - Truly sat up and began to gather their scattered nightclothes, handing him his pyjamas as she wriggled back into her robe. “Come on, let’s tidy up here and then get up to bed so Father Christmas can stop by,” she teased, and her brisk tone had him craving to get her back out of that robe the very moment they got upstairs so he could continue to demonstrate just how naughty and how good he could be.

When they’d set the room to rights so there was no sign of their little rendezvous except for one unwrapped box still sitting beneath their tree, they made their way toward the staircase arm-in-arm. As he turned around to take in the idyllic tableau before them one last time before he switched off the lights on the tree, Caractacus gave his wife’s slender waist a little squeeze.

“Merry Christmas, Tru - I mean, Happy Christmas.”

She beamed, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him with all the love in her heart. “Happy Christmas to you, too, darling.”

xxx

All four of them, of course, had wished for the very same thing. And, though they wouldn’t know it for some time, their wish was already coming true.