Chapter Eighteen
Christmas morning
Mia awoke to the unmistakeable—and incredibly welcome—scent of frying bacon. She let out a moan of pleasure and rolled over, opening her eyes. She looked around the cosy bedroom. Thomas was nowhere to be seen, but that was to be expected—because if he wasn’t frying the bacon, then who was? It was just the two of them, tucked away in his cottage at the rear of the grounds, with no particular plans for the day other than a nice turkey dinner with all the trimmings. In other words, bliss.
She lay still for a minute, shaking off the languidness of sleep and the reluctance to emerge from the warm embrace of the bed. Then, the allure of bacon spurring her on, she got up and headed for the bathroom. After using the loo, she washed her hands and face. Then she
