Page 41 of A Christmas Miracle for the Frosty Marquess
There was a key held within Clara’s joyous spirit, a key that fit too perfectly into the complicated lock of his brooding heart. The truth hit him with an undeniable force. He needed to open himself up, to let his guard down and consider the reality that Clara could indeed hold the key to a part of him he had kept so vigilantly secluded.
For years, Julian had hidden behind the grief of losing his mother, keeping himself at a distance from the possibility of unguarded affection. He had been too deep in his mourning to consider having a wife or a family of his own, and he had been afraid of losing another person he dearly loved. But now, as the laughter filled the room, mingling with the scents of burning brandy and festive spices, he acknowledged the barrenness of a life lived behind an impenetrable wall. Was this what he had been missing? The thought both exhilarated and terrified him, plunging him into an unknown realm he had never thought to traverse.
Gone was the spectator, the reserved bystander. He was drawn into the gravity of the present, anchored by the unassuming delight that was Clara. As the room swelled with the joviality of the game and the closeness of gathered friends and family, Julian made an internal commitment that he could not yet fully understand but felt unmistakably right. That night, he would set aside his reservations, allow himself to be vulnerable and be led by the newfound revelation. Tonight, he would take the first, tentative steps toward unlocking his heart and showing it to Clara.
As the clock chimed the late hour, their exhausted but happy group bid their adieus and stepped out into the crisp night, their carriages pulling away to dissolve into the distance. And for the first time, when he and his family arrived back home, Julian noticed how Thornmire Manor was enveloped in a placid quietude. It was a silence he once thrived on, once sought relentlessly. Now, it felt almost oppressive, and he almost longed to be back in Clara’s company already.
Julian ascended the staircase, each step echoing softly against the high walls lined with aging portraits of long-gone relatives. They watched him with stoic permanence, a juxtaposition to the vitality that had pervaded his senses just the hour before. Once within the sanctuary of his chamber, Julian closed the door and allowed himself a moment of introspection. The curtains were drawn back, and the moonlight streamed in, casting a celestial glow on the dark wood and sumptuous fabrics. He untied his cravat and tossed it carelessly onto the dressing table, then sank into a cushioned armchair, his eyes staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace.
His thoughts, unbidden, turned to Clara. Her laughter reverberated in his memory, so clearly that he could easily envision her sitting right beside him. The way her eyes had sparkled, how her fingers had dared the sapphire flames of the Snapdragon, and the gentle kindness she had offered freely to everyone around her, in addition to her good-natured teasing was all enthralling to him.
For days, the looming inevitability of their arranged marriage had loomed in his mind, inked in the prosaic colors of societal expectation and family duty. Clara had existed in his thoughts as an obligation, a role to be assumed rather than a person to be understood. And yet, this evening had been a revelation, slow and gradual, but powerful, nonetheless.
It occurred to him that his life could be something far different from the barren landscape he had imagined it to be for so long. Clara might be the reason color and laughter returned to his world. In her, he might find a new appreciation for companionship, something which he was once convinced he lost the day his mother died.
Julian clenched his fists, wrestling with this newfound understanding. Before him stretched a chasm filled with uncertainties and vulnerabilities, but also potentials for happiness he had never dared to contemplate. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, a paradox that he could neither ignore nor easily resolve.
Hope started to kindle within him. It was a strange sensation for a man so accustomed to suppressing his emotions, treating them as liabilities rather than the rich tapestry of a life fully lived. This hint of hope was a siren call, distant yet captivating, and it started thawing the icy barriers he had so assiduously erected around himself.
Chapter Nineteen
The morning sun had yet to fully rise as Clara stood before her looking glass, her fingers excitedly twisting a lock of her auburn hair. Barbara deftly laced the back of her simple, forest green muslin dress. She had a soft green cloak that would match, and Clara felt it was perfect for the day ahead. She had no desire to dress in her finest, as she would be making stops at the homes of far less fortunate people than her family was. It was pretty and warm, and that would be enough for the day.
“Is the fit to your liking, milady?” Barbara asked, her hands poised over the last eyelet.
Clara nodded, giving her lady’s maid a sweet smile.
“Yes, perfect as always,” Clara said. She felt an unusual sort of vulnerability today, her emotions veering between exhilaration and apprehension. She enjoyed her charity work, to be sure. But it always made her sad when she saw the conditions under which the people the vicarage helped sometimes lived. It made her long to do more than just the baskets and gifts at Christmastide.If only we could permanently put an end to the poverty in the world,she thought, as she did every year.
When she was dressed, she hurried downstairs, delighted to find that the dogcart was ready for her to travel. She hurried into the breakfast room, where her parents were just sitting down to breakfast, rushing into the room.
“I’m off,” she said, clasping her hands together with delight.
Her mother nodded, gesturing to the food before them.
“You should eat something before you leave, darling,” she said.
Clara shook her head apologetically at the countess, touched by her motherly concern, but determined to begin her mission.
“I’m all right, Mother,” she said. “I am sure that we will have tea at the vicarage soon enough. And I am too excited to eat.”
Her mother gave her a fond smile and nodded.
“Very well, darling,” she said. “Have a wonderful day.”
Clara nodded once more, waving goodbye to her father, who just glanced up with a small smile over the newspaper. Then, she flew out the front door, going straight to the dogcart and climbing aboard. Everything, including the road, was coated in a thick layer of snow. But at a steady pace, she made her way safely to the vicarage, admiring the white world around her. It was certainly cold, but her heart was warm, and she was ready to spread that warmth throughout the village of Thornmire.
As Clara stepped into the vicarage, a wave of warmth greeted her. Her heart teemed with anticipation as her eyes scanned the room. Elizabeth and Stephen were there, of course, readying the baskets filled with bread, fruit, and other necessities. And beside them, to Clara’s surprise, were Julian and Thomas.
Julian looked up, and their eyes met. For a split second, she was transported back to the last time he had come to help, remembering how he had abruptly left the vicarage, his eyes tinged with an emotion she couldn’t decipher. But now, he greeted her warmly, his eyes shimmering with what seemed like genuine happiness, much as she had seen him doing the evening before. The smile that graced his face was the most charming she’d seen since before the sad passing of his mother.
“Clara, you look radiant this morning,” Julian said. Clara blushed, noting the sincerity with which he spoke. She smiled at him, looking him over with bemusement.
“And you look… prepared for charitable work,” she said, deciding that teasing would best keep her own emotions at bay.
Thomas grinned at her, bowing with such an exaggerated motion that his heavy black cloak slipped over one shoulder and dragged the ground.
“That we are, Miss Bennett,” he said. “This is sure to be a delightful day.”
