�Agnes.� Her cousin paused and cleared his throat, removing a small velvet box from his jacket pocket.

Oh, no. The most miserable Christmas of her life was about to get worse. If only this storm hadn�t kept other family and friends from sharing her holiday, and her mourning. But the sleet continued to batter itself against the library windows, leaving her and Jeremy alone in an artificial intimacy.

�I�um�this is awkward, isn�t it?� Jeremy continued.

There was no light of adoration in his sea-green eyes, none of the devotion and, yes, love she�d always dreamed would accompany such a moment.

�Uncle Benjamin has so recently�left you�that it seems in poor taste, but I wouldn�t want you to have any apprehensions for the future. Should you agree to make me the happiest man in the world, there will be no need for you to consider leaving the home you�ve always known.�

Jeremy fiddled with the velvet box, which she knew had to contain the Bradford betrothal ring. Years ago, Agnes would have been ecstatic at the prospect of wedding her handsome cousin. As children, they�d been constant companions, exploring the countryside around Bradford Manor until darkness forced them homeward. They�d played at pirates in the cove below the western cliffs, battled dragons in the sea caves along the coast, shared dreams of how, as adults, they would conquer the world and eat all the plum tart they wanted, with or without custard sauce (for this was the one point upon which they could reliably be trusted to differ).

They had crowned each other with laurel, twisted flowers into bright jeweled belts, rings, necklaces befitting their future status as Emperor and Empress of the Entire Earth, even the parts they didn�t particularly care for. Like cold, dreary England.

�Don�t worry,� Jeremy had assured her. �We�ll rule from India and hunt with tigers. I�ll have a turban with a great red ruby, and you�ll wear saris of silk in the same color.�

Agnes bunched her hands now in the black skirts of her dress. Childhood had given way to a young adulthood where Jeremy had fallen head over heels in love with the sister of his best friend from Cambridge and took her to wife instead, defying the family expectation that he and Agnes would marry. Agnes had told herself she didn�t care, and in turn married the first young man who had asked her. Tonight, she and her cousin faced each other as virtual strangers, at the shared age of twenty-seven widow and widower respectively, Agnes now an orphan and Jeremy heir to her father�s estate.

It was only right that they marry.

Agnes wanted to cry.

�Mrs. Woods! Mr. Bradford!� Young Will, the housekeeper�s son, came skidding into the library, interrupting the dreary proposal. �The beacon�s lit!�

�That�s impossible.� Jeremy frowned, tucking the velvet box back into his pocket. �The French would never attempt an invasion on a night like this.� Sleet hissed agreement upon the panes.

�But it�s lit!� the boy insisted. �You can see it from the south windows.�

Agnes followed Jeremy as he strode impatiently into the dining room across the hall. Sure enough, through the storm a flickering light appeared, puny and small on the high bluff over the sea.

�We have to go see,� Agnes said, staring at the weak glow of flames that struggled for life against freezing rain. �Once it�s bright enough to be visible in town, the men will have to come out into this mess, false alarm or not. And the beacon-keeper at Mooresville will have to light his, and it will spread up and down the coast.�

�I�ll go.� Jeremy frowned at her. �Do you think I�d let you out on a night like this?�

Agnes raised her brows. �You haven�t walked these cliffs in years. They�ve changed, Jeremy. We lost several feet just in last year�s spring storms. I know the paths better than anyone here.�

He took a breath. �We have to go quickly, or I�d never allow you to face this danger. If there�s any chance this is an invasion��

�Yes.� Agnes nodded. �Let�s go.�

Even bundled up as they were, the first few hundred yards were an icy shock. It was slow going until Jeremy reached and locked arms with her, and they leaned forward together into the wind. Agnes thought that the only warmth in her body was in her right side, where her cousin sheltered her from the storm. Improbably, Jeremy laughed. �Do you remember the winter we were Arctic explorers? We tied your father�s hunting dogs to a sled, and tried to get them to carry us up the hill so we could slide down the other side.�

�It was colder that day than this.� Agnes held more firmly onto Jeremy�s arm, and they fell into step together. �Especially when we had to chase the dogs until well past dark to get the sled back.�

�No more winter when we ruled the world, we said.�

�And no more spankings,� Agnes added. �Father was not pleased.�

�Nor were the dogs,� Jeremy said. �I still have the scars on my leg where the brindled bitch bit me.�

�Careful!� Agnes pulled on her cousin�s arm just in time to keep him from stepping off into air. �This is one of the spots that eroded last spring.�

�Blast,� Jeremy said, pausing to peer into the freezing rain. �Wasn�t that the little hollow where we�d lie and watch for smugglers on summer nights?�

�Yes, I�m afraid so. The smugglers still use the bay, of course. Sometimes I go up on the roof�you remember, over the ball room?�and�� Agnes flushed, embarrassed to have admitted to such a childish activity at her age. At least the warm rush of blood to her face felt good to her icy cheeks.

They reached the beacon atop the bluff, and the pitch-soaked logs were indeed smoldering. No lights belonging to French ships were visible in the bay.

Agnes followed Jeremy around to the door of the beacon-keeper�s shack, where Sam Elkins kept the invasion watch. It took the strength of both of them to pull the door open into the gale.

The door slammed shut behind them, and Agnes had to blink against the light of lantern and fireplace within. With a cry, a small form careened into her and held on tight, despite her rain-soaked skirts.

�Mrs. Woods! I lit it. I didn�t know what to do. Da won�t wake up and I call him and call him.� Annie Elkins, the beacon keeper�s daughter, dissolved into messy tears.

There was a still form lying on the bed in the far corner of the one-room shack. Jeremy crossed to it, made a brief examination, and pulled the blanket up to cover poor Sam�s face. �I�m sorry, uh�� He looked to Agnes for help.

�Annie,� she supplied, hugging the small girl tighter to her. �Annie, we�re so sorry.�

�Excuse me, ladies,� Jeremy said. �I have to extinguish the beacon.�

Agnes nodded, well aware that Jeremy knew how�they�d done the same on a hundred adventures. Pull the logs apart, douse them with water if it�s handy, roll the logs on the ground to smother the flames if it�s not. Tonight, the soaked ground would do the job nicely.

�Annie,� she said gently. �We�ll take you back to the manor. We orphans have to stick together for comfort.�

Jeremy returned from his errand in time to hear Annie�s protest.

�I can�t! I can�t leave him,� she wailed. �And�and it�s cold, and it�s raining, and it�s snowing too.� The last word gurgled into renewed sobs, and Agnes met Jeremy�s eyes helplessly, searching for inspiration.

It came. �Annie?� Agnes asked. �Do you ever play pirates?�

Jeremy�s green eyes glowed approval. �You have, haven�t you? Suppose�suppose we�re a pirate band, and we�re going to pillage the manor.�

The girl stopped crying, looking up cautiously. �We�we would have to leave our fallen com�com��

�Comrades,� Agnes confirmed.

�Leave our fallen comrades behind, wouldn�t we?�

�I�m afraid so,� Jeremy said. �Your captain insists.�

�Yes, she does,� said Agnes, and Jeremy laughed at her over the small girl�s head.

Even so, it was a long and difficult journey back to the manor, and an age until they�d delivered Annie to the mother-hen care of the housekeeper.

Their clothes steaming by the library fire as they warmed their hands on mugs of wassail, Jeremy again retrieved the velvet box from his jacket. �Agnes?� There was a tentative hope in his voice that had not been there before. �Will you?�

She took the box and opened it, staring at the contents within. �But this isn�t the Bradford betrothal ring.�

�No,� Jeremy said. �I�I wanted to make you a flower ring. I don�t know if you even remember. Poppies were rubies, cornflowers were aquamarines� Anyway, at this time of year, mistletoe was all I could find.�

She looked up into his green eyes, and just before he kissed her saw the flicker of what she�d always dreamed of�a small flame that still needed to be built into a proper fire.

Their lips met, and his mouth tasted of wine and spices.

�Agnes?� Jeremy�s breath was uneven as he nuzzled her ear. �Will you rule the world with me?�

From somewhere, possibly the fireplace, Agnes could hear kindling crackle and pop. "With pleasure,� she said. �And plum tarts.�

Marlys Pearson's short stories have appeared in Wild Child (Editor's Choice, also chosen one of Best of 2005), Alamo Bay, The Harrow, and Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine. In addition, she has published two novels with Seventh Window Publications under the name M.J. Pearson, the first of which was a finalist last year in the Romance category of the Lambda Literary Awards. She currently lives with her family in Indianapolis, where she writes full time.