I have had the great pleasure of writing a number of Christmas novels and novellas, all of them set in Regency England. They are all love stories, of course, and therefore have a hero and heroine who fall in love in a happily-ever-after kind of way. But I have always contended that a Christmas romance ought to be not just a love story that happens to occur at that particular season, but one that happens because of the season. Christmas ought to be, in fact, almost a character in its own right, the very embodiment of love itself. Christmas, even regardless of its religious significance, and regardless too of all the excesses of commercialism that do their best to stifle it in our own era, is that time of year when we celebrate all that is finest in human nature–the power of love and family and forgiveness and peace and goodwill and warm enjoyment of the company of loved ones coupled with a reaching out to those less fortunate than ourselves. Christmas is a time of joy and hope, a time we would all love to hold onto for all of the year to come and beyond if only it…